Can I Get A (Jehovah's) Witness?

I don’t know why I’ve suddenly become squeamish. I don’t usually shy away from criticism of religious beliefs that I find objectionable. I guess it’s more that I personally believe that you’re entitled to your beliefs as long as I’m entitled not to have them thrown at me like a water balloon.

So, when the 14-year old Jehovah’s Witness boy died yesterday because his guardian wouldn’t allow him to have a blood transfusion, I was surprised at my conflict. Normally, I would be screaming, ”Stupid Motherfuckers. How can God possibly want you to let a child die because you believe medicine is some sort of voodoo that messes with His master plan?”

But the faith piece threw me off. Then I remembered that Michael Jackson is a devout Jehovah’s Witness. And that man is certainly no stranger to modern medicine.

So, it’s okay to chop your face up and rearrange it for vanity purposes, bleach your skin and buy little white children to call your own, but it’s not okay to have a LIFE SAVING procedure?

That’s not religion. And that’s not faith. That’s just fucked up.

So, for all my Jehovah’s Witness readers (right?), know this: the next time you knock on my door, wheezing from walking your fat ass up the hill to my house, trying to foist off your poorly designed, poorly written, poorly printed on cheap paper proselytizing bullshit, be prepared for a conversation. I want to know why, in the name of God, you let that child die.

Oh! And why you still buy Michael Jackson records.

Slow Slide Into Stupidity

Somewhere today, perhaps in a parallel universe, a snarky blogger is writing about me as a stupid person. Yep. I joined the ranks of the people I rail about. And I didn’t even realize I did it.

You see, there’s the fabulous supermarket here in Austin called Central Market. It’s sort of a gigantic gourmet grocery store, like big-ass Dean and Deluca or something. Anyway, one of the things they are known for is providing samples of their delicious wares throughout the store.

Day before yesterday, while waiting on my lunchmeat (NO, that’s not a euphemism!), I noticed there were samples of salami. Being a big salami fan (now THAT’S a euphemism), I bit.

And proceeded to deposit my licked-upon toothpick in the very clearly marked “clean” container.

Which was sitting right next to the “used” container.

I did it obliviously and strolled away, marveling at the flavor composition of the sausage. Then I heard another sampling patron, aghast at what she had just witnessed, say to my beloved (who was reaching for his own Scooby snack), “Be careful! SOMEONE,” she said with a shudder, “SOMEONE put their USED toothpick in the clean box. DISGUSTING!”

She spat the last part out. (The word, not the salami.)

As the error of my ways washed over me, I dashed up the nearest aisle and cowered behind a temporary display of Christmas sweets. Should I run back and apologize? Should I turn myself in? Or should I just overly dramatize the entire situation in my head?

I chose the latter.

It’s only now that my humiliation has lifted enough for me to write about it. (cough cough.)

In fact, I’m sure you’re wondering how I’ve managed to type this with one hand backwards on my forehead, anticipating a swoon.

What I’m wondering is how many other fuckers put their nasty, licked-upon toothpicks in the clean pile? I may have to start using my fingers.

Clean Up On Aisle . . .

Apparently, the “blue light special” is now the “black eye special.” As a promotion (and part of the widespread conspiracy by Republicans to bankrupt the average American through credit card debt . . . okay I made that part up) the Kmart in Wauwatosa, WI offered a $10 gift card to anyone opening a new Kmart credit card.

And since $10 is the average weekly wage for most Kmart shoppers, you can imagine how popular this promotion was. Especially when it was discovered that EVERYONE was being approved. That’s right. EVERYONE. Credit-worthy or not. Seems a little computer glitch caught the spirit of the season and thought, “what the hell, let’s give EVERYONE $4000 worth of credit.”

Word spread like wildfire about the “free money.” (At least we know those prepaid cell phones work.)

It was so popular that they ran out of credit applications. Then all hell broke loose. Two women jumped another woman to try and wrestle her application away. Others joined in the melee, never once thinking to curb their primal lemming-like urges. (‘Cause ya know, when stupid people aren’t drinking or screwing, they’re fighting. Or wondering why “matt” has two t’s and “cat” has only one.)

One enterprising Wauwatosa wesident (sorry, couldn’t resist) drove to ANOTHER Kmart, grabbed a stack of credit applications and came back, selling them for $20 apiece in the parking lot. Brain cells unite!

In the end it looked like an action movie, with one employee suffering a broken nose and numerous cuts after being thrown into a glass display case.

Once the police cleared things up, Kmart posted a sign saying they were not processing credit applications “at this time.”

They probably should have written it phonetically.


Ed. Note: I’ve actually been to Wauwatosa, WI. But I didn’t go to the Kmart.

Um . . . World Peace?

Who knew beauty queens were such a bunch of vicious, conniving, back-stabbing hussies?!?!?

Okay, I knew.

But that’s because I have watched every Miss Texas and Miss America pageant since I was in diapers. I used to fake crying while holding a bunch of imaginary roses, walking around my playpen waving at my adoring, cheering fans, occasionally pausing to balance my imaginary crown, which was beginning to list, due to my baby fine hair, ya know. (So can someone explain to me how my coming out years later caught people off guard?)

But I still wasn’t prepared for those Miss Universe contestants. Their foreign-ness always threw me off. Might they actually be genuine? Might they be as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside? I mean, they seem more . . . what’s the word? . . . WORLDLY than Miss Lake O’The Pines or Miss Haltom-Richland Area.

But apparently, being Miss Puerto Rico is some dangerous shit. CNN is reporting today that Ingrid Marie Rivera not only survived the catty comments and bitchy backstabbing, but spiked makeup and gowns coated in pepper spray, to become Puerto Rico’s representative to Miss Universe 2008.

And did I mention that she’s allergic to pepper spray? So every time she touched up her makeup (i.e. every fucking five seconds) or changed a gown (these girls are in and out of clothes more often than a crack whore) SHE BROKE OUT IN HIVES!!!!

Apparently, she’d be backstage packing on the ice bags to reduce the swelling, hurling epithets in Spanish at the other contestants. But she never lost her smile.

No, she persevered. And she won. Proving once and for all that, darn it, if you just use a little sticktuitiveness, you an achieve anything. She was the Puerto Rican Beauty Queen Who Could.

And I, for one, have already set my Tivo for the Lifetime movie.

None For Me, Thanks.

Being in the advertising world, I find that I am hypercritical of most campaigns. Okay, I’m hypercritical of everything. But I’ve come across a new campaign whose good intentions are unfortunately derailed by bad phrasing. It’s the new campaign for HPV, human papillomavirus.

And the tag line is “Pass it on.”

The structure of the radio spot is such that a factoid is given about HPV, then another, more whisper-y voice comes out of the background to say “Pass it on.” So far, so good, right?

But then, some bright bulb decided that the sexual transmission part should be addressed. So, our hero says something to the effect of “HPV can be transmitted through sexual contact.” That is immediately followed by the whisper woman, “Pass it on.”

NO!

I don’t want to pass it on. And I don’t want it passed on to me.

Keep it. Learn about it. Treat it. Cure it.

But please, please, don’t “Pass it on.”

You know, I had a friend complain recently about a gigantic debate in her agency over whether to use the word “pennies” or “cents.” That sort of shit happens all the time and drives the creative team crazy. You’d think someone in the approval chain would have caught this unfortunate play on words.

Godspeed Mr. Wilson

You know, I really try to be thankful every day for the many, many bountiful blessings I have. A loving, supportive family. An amazing group of friends, the kind who define true friendship. A wonderful life. And an undending supply of stupid people, giving this blog purpose and material.

But today I want to express my thanks for a loyal and true friend I lost this week. His name was Wilson. Wilson was our 14 year old Westie. And on Tuesday, we had to say goodbye. Wilson was my Beloved's pet. So I didn't get to know him until he was well into his golden years. He was a crusty old fucker, alternating between "pet me" and "fuck you." Over the past year and half, since I began "working from home" Wilson would shadow me all day, every day. I knew when he was mad, I knew when he was scared, I knew when he was playing, and I knew when he needed me just to be near him for security. (I'm sure he would argue that it was my security, not his, that was the reason for this.)

Our other dogs are a little perplexed at why the Alpha is missing. My little dog has been especially attentive to my Beloved, seeming to instinctively know that doggie love was just the tonic.

We had known for a while now that the clock was ticking. But over the weekend the hands seemed to be turning rapidly. And by Tuesday, we knew there was no other choice.

We are also very blessed to have the greatest vet. Dr. B, I know you don't read this, but you handled this just right. The right amount of respect. For us. And for Wilson.

Radney Foster (one of my favorite singer songwriters) wrote a lullaby for his son that he would sing on the road each night. I find that the chorus comforts me in times of loss.

"Godspeed little man.
Sweet dreams little man.
Oh my love will fly
to you each night
on angel's wings."

Godspeed, Mr. Wilson.

I Love Dan Savage.

There, I've said it. For those of you who are unitiated, Dan writes the syndicated column Savage Love. He goes where no man has gone before, giving great, practical sex advice, no matter how kinky. Todays columns is all about three-ways. And this quote is priceless.

"Most people have either had a three-way or thought about it. Yes, even women. A recent ABC poll ranked threesomes as the most popular fantasy in America. (Outside of America, of course, the most popular fantasy begins with at least one engine falling off of Air Force One.)"

And that's my afternoon giggle. Score one for the smart people.

Yes, He Really Wants to Hurt You.

I was stunned and saddened to see the news this morning that Boy George had been charged with false imprisonment. Okay, maybe I wasn’t stunned. I mean, I’ve always been a big fan of Sister George, but that’s not a pretty fella. And while I’m not advocating false imprisonment, how else is a fat old drag queen going to get a pretty young Scandinavian model to stay for tea?

And why saddened, you ask? Well, if you had seen the photos of me in New Orleans, prancing around with an Amy Winehouse wig on, you’d say, “But you ARE a fat old drag queen!” (It seemed perfectly appropriate at the time, belting out “Rehab” while drunk at 2 in the afternoon.)

Fortunately, I’m lucky enough to have found my beloved, someone who can make me giggle in my dotage and who can actually tolerate my mercurial moments.

And I keep an ankle monitor on him at all times. Some might call THAT imprisonment. I call it love.

Sundays in the Parking Lot

Yesterday, while making my pilgrimage to my favorite grocery store, I happened across an amazing scene. The parking lot was jammed, but I’ve learned over the years that the turnover is rapid, so you usually don’t have to drive around long. I also thought it would be a great opportunity to teach the young ‘un about the joys of parking far from the door. You know, good exercise, it’s actually faster than waiting to pounce, etc.

As I pulled into my space at the far end of the lane, I noticed a woman in a gigantic white SUV much closer to the store. She was merrily chatting away on her cell phone, pedestrians leaping from her path as she doggedly pursued some good, up-close parking. When she saw a woman heading for a close-in car, she began what I call stalker parking. You know, where you follow someone to their car, staying just far enough behind them that they don’t know you’re there, but close enough to ward off any potential parking spot suitors.

The aisles of this parking lot are big enough for two vehicles to pass easily. But Missy Big White SUV decided to straddle the middle, effectively blocking traffic from both directions. But the woman “leaving” wasn’t. Or else she didn’t like being stalked. So she got in her car and waited, I’m assuming for someone else to finish shopping. She didn’t turn the car on and she didn’t indicate in ANY way that she was going to leave, other than getting in her car.

Meanwhile, I have parked and walked all the way to the front of the store, but am so absorbed in the unfolding drama that I stop to watch. How long will Missy Big White SUV wait before she realizes that people are parking ALL AROUND HER? But no, she has to have THAT space. It’s apparently a matter of Big White SUV principal.

So she honks.

I was stunned. Such rudeness. Such entitlement. Such Drama.

I wanted to put on my Krystle Carrington wig and go open her car door and bitch slap her. (I would have chosen the Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter Wig, but my budding nemesis had raven hair. Contrast is critical in conflict.) We could have rolled around the parking lot, making a spectacle of ourselves, climaxing with a very spent looking Missy crumpled in a shopping cart against a tree.

I love Sunday daydreaming.

Anyhoo, Missy finally realized the futility of the situation and squealed off to find another spot, no doubt huffing exasperatedly into her mobile. SHA! OMG! SHA!

Maybe she was so frustrated that she will vow never to return, to only shop at her neighborhood store.

One can only hope.

What's This For?

I have this theory that one day recently, Georgie W. was playing around in the Oval Office, opening and closing drawers in his big desk when he came across a big rubber stamp. “What’s this big VOTE stamp for,” he said.

“Oh, Mr. President, it’s not a VOTE stamp, it’s a VETO stamp. That’s what you use when you don’t like what the Congress is doing,” said the loyal aide, questioning whether this job would really be as big a resume builder as he hoped.

Georgie’s eyes grew big. “Uncle Dick says I should NEVER like what this new Congress does.” And with that he began jumping around the office (God, don’t you wish for a sharp corner now and again) stamping things and clamoring, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE!”

The aide gently took the stamp and president in hand. “No, sir, not on the furniture. On the bills. You VETO the bills.”

Giggling, Georgie W. said, “You said Bills. You mean like Clintons? Can I stamp Miss Hillary? You know behind that door right over there is where he put his thing in that lady’s mouth? I’m not allowed to go in there.”

“No, Mr. President. These kind of bills. The ones Congress sends you. Here,” he said, sitting him down behind a stack.

Fairy tale? You tell me.

How else do we explain the fact that for his first five years in office, Bush didn’t veto a single bill. Guess it was more important to make it look like a harmonious, lovefest between the Hill and the hillbilly.

Since then, he’s taken to using his veto. He killed a stem cell research bill (because people would start cutting fetuses out their mother’s wombs while they slept), an Iraq funding bill (because it would pull troops out of Iraq), and a bill to fund health insurance for kids (toughens 'em up).

But yesterday, something new happened. The Congress voted to override our suddenly trigger-happy cowboy. And by an overwhelming margin. The Water Resources Development Act, which provide resources mostly to areas fucked up by Katrina, then fucked over by FEMA. It also provides resources to preserve Everglades wetlands.

Way to grow a pair, Congress. Although I can’t believe that you haven’t figured out how to get ANY bill passed. All you have to do is put the words “al Qaeda” in there somewhere. Al Qaeda in New Orleans? How about a billion? Bin laden hiding in the everglades? How much do you need?

Trust me, with Georgie’s brain, it will take a while for him to catch on. Imagine how much good you could do.

Can You Believe There Are Actually People Out There Who Think Bush is the Best President Ever?

Latest job approval numbers are out for President Goofmonkey. The good news: 23% say Bush is the worst president ever. The bad news: what are the other 77% thinking?

I mean, honestly, can someone tell me what the man has done RIGHT?

More stats: 35% say he’s doing a poor job. But 40% say he’s doing a good job “compared to his predecessors.” WTF? You’re telling me that 40% of Americans think this dumb motherfucker, who somehow manages to breathe with his head up his ass, is doing a good job?

1% even thought he was “the best president ever in American history.” I don’t think those people took American History.

His approval rating is at 34% (uh, how can 40% think he’s doing a good job, but only 34% approve?), the lowest approval rating for a president since Truman.

But then they break it down in a partisan fashion. And people, let me tell you, if you weren’t convinced that the Republicans were brain-dead before, this should push you right over the finish line.

72% of Republicans polled approve of Bush’s performance. And 27% of Independents.

I’m sorry, but I think I just chipped a tooth when my jaw dropped so hard. Are you fucking kidding me right now? Again, what has he done right? Starting an unwinnable war? Capturing Osama bin Laden (oh, yeah, he hasn’t done that, has he)? Dropping a half a TRILLION dollars in Iraq? Outing a CIA operative (which would have been treason if a Democrat had done it. Seriously.) Being a complete freakshow in the legislative sense (NO vetoes for 5 years, now a flurry)? Delivering cocky fratboy speeches full of “mispronounciations?” Losing the respect of most other nations? I could go on here.

Seriously, give me something. One thing. And if you say, “Well, at least he didn’t cheat on his wife,” I’m going to force you to give all your money to the poor, since your piety has obviously rotted your brain to the point where you’re no longer useful.

The Collapse of Civilization As We Know It.

In a state run by right-wing religious zealots, it’s not surprising that a little issue over televised NFL football should work its way all the way up to the Legislature. Ridiculous, but not surprising. Oh, and just in case you’re not from Texas, we’re talking about the Cowboys. The Texans, in spite of their jingoistic moniker, are just another NFL team to us.

See, the problem began when the for-pay NFL Network announced that they would be televising two Dallas Cowboys games exclusively. That means many Texans, like my mama and daddy, can’t sit down together on a Sunday afternoon and watch the ‘Boys. (Which, aside from Church, also on Sunday, is the only OTHER time they sit down together.)

Unless they subscribe to the NFL Channel. Great marketing ploy, right? Not if you’re a hillbilly who likes his football.

I want to reproduce for you here a piece of an article from the Austin American Statesman (potentially the worst daily in the country). Enjoy.

"’Cable companies need to focus on giving their customers what they want, which is football,’ said Sen. Kim Brimer, R-Fort Worth. (ED NOTE: Hunh? Guess that’s why there are 500 channels, cause so many people want their football. And by the way, they can still watch a ton of fucking football games, just NOT the Cowboys vs. The Packers. Oh, and Brimer is a well known dick.)

Brimer and Rep. Corbin Van Arsdale, R-Tomball, warned last week that if the two sides can't huddle up and agree, consumer-oriented legislation could arise in the 2009 session.

They said a possible proposal would, at the least, establish a third-party dispute resolution process on cable programming and authorize the Texas Public Utility Commission to establish additional customer service protections.”

Okay, you have got to be fucking kidding me. The Legislature is considering taking action because of a FOOTBALL GAME! Apparently there is NOTHING else going on in this state that requires legislative attention. Talk about priorities.

Van Arsdale continued:
"I've had a lot more people contact me about NFL football the last two months instead of child protective services, windstorm insurance or worker's compensation, which are frankly more important issues," he said. "I don't control what constituents call me about."

Ahhh, yes. Those constituents. And what exactly does a Tomball constituent look like? Having grown up in the “other” Boll town, Diboll, I have a pretty good idea. And this is my other brother Daryl.

Maybe, just maybe, Rep. Van Arsehole, we should divert some of the time and $$$ to education. Then your redneck constituency might not have so many misspellings in their letters to you. And maybe, just maybe, they might actually be interested in those other hot-button issues you champion.

Call it a hunch, but I’m betting the majority of your voters couldn’t talk for 10 seconds about any of those issues you mentioned. Don’t know, don’t care. But if you want their football, you’ll have to pry that remote from their cold dead hands.

I know I’ve said it before, but it’s not a bad concept.

Keeping Our Borders Safe From Men in Dreds

Guess last week the terror alert was Orange and BLACK. Happy Halloween at the Department of Homeland Security. While I was slogging through airport security, fully expecting a cavity search, our protectors threw a costume party to celebrate the season.

Now, they’ve got some ‘splainin to do.

See, one of the revelers dressed up in prison stripes, donned dredlocks and put on darkened-skin makeup. The panel of judges, all Republican appointees, no doubt, praised the concept for it’s “originality.” Are you fucking kidding me? When did blackface become “original?” Have these ‘tards not heard of Al Jolson? Did they miss the whole Whoopi Goldberg Friars Club dustup a few years back? Have they never been to a frat party in the South?

Julie Meyers, head of Immigration and Customs Enforcement for the Department of Homeland Security was one of the judges. Meyers, who is whiter than wonder bread, apologized for the incident. But only after people complained. She said a “few of the costumes” were “inappropriate and offensive.” Funny, none of the other costumes made CNN.

And then, in true Federal fashion, she sent out a memo reminding all employees to be compliant with the department’s diversity training requirement (seriously!). Might I suggest she sign up for a refresher course herself.

The real kicker? Apparently most people didn’t realize he was wearing makeup. Unnnnh-huh. Would that be because you’re all a lying sack of shit? Or because Republicans avert their eyes uncomfortably when they think a black person is in the room?

Ms. Meyers said she was deeply saddened by the incident. “All I could think about was poor Mr. Shuffles, the porter at our country club when I was growing up. That wasn’t his name, of course. We never knew his real name. We just called him that because it’s how he walked. But he was the nicest darki . . . uh, negr . . . uh, man. I would hate for him to think that the little girl he made Arnold Palmers for had turned out to be one of those . . . hate people.”

Another man, obviously dressed as Osama bin Laden, was awarded the prize for “Best Cash Cow” and “Best Scapegoat”

Hey, Teacher! How Many Times Does 13 Go Into 25?

Okay, how about the 25 year old Nebraska school teacher and her 13 year old latin lover, er . . . student?

She loved him soooooo much that she decided run away with him to Mexico. Only problem? (okay, it was one of MANY problems)

HE’S AN ILLEGAL ALIEN!

So, Missy, not only are you a stupid fucking child molesting bitch, but you basically just deported the poor boy, involuntarily separating him from the rest of his no-doubt-hardworking family. And his booty call. High marks, teacher.

And lest you take issue with the word “involuntarily” let me point out that a 13 year-old’s penis only THINKS it makes grown up decisions. Those hormones trump reason EVERY time. And that is an infallible defense. Hell, I would have gone to Wal-Mart if it got me laid at 13.

Funny, I always think of teachers as being smart people. But this woman put the “um“ in dumb. I mean, come on she’s a MATH teacher for God’s sake. Can she not subtract 13 from 25?

My favorite was when the boy sent her a note calling her his “Baby Gurl.” Okay, could you at least correct his fucking spelling? And I love the mug shot. Or, actually, I guess it was her school photo from 2006. When her boyfriend was 11. Uh-huh, I know.

But again, she's a math teacher.

And what about the Nebraska school system? What were they doing to protect our children?

Didn’t anybody wonder why she kept singing “De Colores” over and over again? Didn’t anybody wonder why she kept asking if her culo looked fat in those jeans? Didn’t anybody wonder why she kept a poster of Mary Kay LeTourneau in her classroom? Didn’t anyone wonder why she always had the freshly fucked look after 4th Period?

And isn’t Nebraska a red state? They probably figured since he was illegal, he was on his own. In fact, they’ll probably reimburse her for mileage.

Going Undercover

This afternoon I head out on my latest undercover assignment. For the next three days and nights, I'll be observing stupid drunken behavior up close and personal. Like, in a mirror up close and personal. And I do it all for you. And because it's my birthday.

Laissez les bon temps rouler, y'all!

Back on Monday, working whatever brain cells are left.

Apparently, Ain’t No Party Like a Republican Party.

Another Republican elected official has fallen prey to the penis. His and another guy’s. Washington State Representative Richard “Call me Dick” Curtis (married with children, by the way) picked up a young man while wearing ladies’ lingerie. Given his conservative credentials, I’m sure they were sensible undergarments. Not those whorish, slutty outfits the liberal closet cases wear.

The young man, in true gay hustler fashion, stole Rep. Curtis’ wallet and tried to extort him. Ahhh, not sure which one of you motherfuckers is more stupid. Let’s just put you both in the same puddle, shall we. Curtis, of course, proclaimed he is “not gay.” Hey, bra, no problem. We all went to college. We know how easy it is after a kegger to find yourself in cheap lingerie on the receiving end of a Dirty Sanchez. Keep your chin up.

So, just for the record, doesn’t it seem that the more conservative you are, the more likely you are to engage in activity directly contradicting your stated public opinions? Certainly seems that way to me. It will come as now surprise to you that I am gleefully awaiting the next open fly in the ointment. There’s no doubt in my mind that there are more to come.

And you thought Bill Clinton had a problem keeping his dick in his pants?

My God Doesn't Hate Anyone. But If He Did, It Would Be the Phelps Family.

Well, after Tuesday’s ruling, I do agree with Fred Phelps about one thing. There is a God.

Not familiar with the Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas? It’s where the narrowest of the narrow-minded go to “worship.” But thanks to the father of a U.S. soldier who was killed in Iraq, their coffers are going to be $11 million lighter. Can I get an “amen?”

See, here’s the deal. Phelps and his disciples of hate have long picketed gay events, showing their Christian love with such cleverly worded signs as “God Hates Fags” and “The Bible Says Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

Yeah, it also said “don’t eat the apple.” Suck on that Granny Smith.

But Phelps, who has got to rank up there with Donald Trump and Paris Hilton in the Attention Whore Hall of Fame, decided that the war in Iraq was God’s retribution on the U.S. for our tolerance of homosexuality. So he guided his flock to picket . . . are you ready . . . THE FUNERALS OF DEAD SOLDIERS. I’m sure you’re shaking your head like you just got hit with epilepsy. I’ve known about this soooooooper freak for a long time. I’ve even been picketed by his peeps.

But this was just an absolute new low. Showing up at a funeral and waving signs around when people are trying to grieve the loss of a hero. Someone who died in the defense of our country. So, the father of one of the Marines sued. And the court agreed with him.

"It's hard enough burying a 20-year-old son, much less having to deal with something like this," he said, recalling that some of the other signs at the funeral included "Thank God for dead soldiers" and "Thank God for IEDs," according to cnn.com.

Nice. Of course, Phelps says he will appeal. And he actually thinks this will raise his profile.

I, for one, wish the press would make a pact that they will never, ever cover the antics of this man again. Declare him not newsworthy. After all, what’s a preacher without a congregation?