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Shame, my friends, is a magnificent thing. It’s
Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Shut the
fuck up and behave yourself!”
Shame doesn’t oppress people; people do. And
even that can work to society’s advantage. Back
When, there were no grandmas in tube tops. There was
no whuppin’ upside the head on Rikki Lake. It
was gauche to be out of control, so, if righteously
loaded, one stayed decorously put.
Television made a bloody gash in the grace of the
world… and then the Internet, that psycho skinhead,
dealt the fatal blow and ruined everything.
The Net smashed Shame’s Last Stands —
eye contact and the fear of live altercation.
Once online, you’re in a rave of disembodied
spirits. Anonymous. Impunity assured. Any pissant
bully/coward can spew lunacy or poison from a cyber
fort, metaphorical dong now huge without
surgery, or drugs!
The real tragedy of all this, to me, is my fascination
with it.
Torrents of useless data have roared from my screen
to my brain, dwarfing even old song lyrics, overwriting
those already fragile programs “Sense of Direction’
and ‘How To Make Money.’
Why do I continue to pursue this, uh… information?
So you don’t have to. Yeah. That’s right.
I now present to you two elite filleted selections
from my Web Id Jungle Safaris (Part One.) Strap in
or on; whatever suits.
* * * * *
GOD HATES AMERICA
(to the tune of ‘God Bless America’)
God hates America!
Home of the fags!
He abhors them!
Deplores them!
Day and night, all his might, all his days!
AMERICA THE BURNING
(to the tune of ‘America the Beautiful’)
O wicked land of sodomites
God struck the shuttle down
With body parts and broken hearts
He scattered them around (all over Texas)
* * * * *
There are more finely crafted verses for each tune,
but you get the gist. These snappy re-mixes are courtesy
of that kicky, kooky web world, GOD HATES FAGS, the
cyber Versailles of Calvinist Baptist Pastor Fred
Phelps.
God may hate Fags, but evidently He does not hate
plastic surgery. Phelps, 75, has snug, waxy skin and
eyelids big enough to post a billboard. He was #5
in George Magazine’s ‘Top Fascinating
Men In Politics of 1999’ and is dancin’
proud of it, even though God Hates The Filthy Fag
Media, too.
I guess there weren’t any you-know-whats on
the George staff.
Mention GOD HATES FAGS and Leftys go frickin’
wacko, like slugs with salt poured on ‘em. This
is a knee-jerk mistake.
Phelps’ Homey G(od) doesn’t just hate
‘Fags,’ mind you, or the Left. He hates
the Right. Reagan. Bush. Rumsfeld. Cheney. He hates
Canada. Tahiti. Nuns. Outer Mongolian toddlers. The
Amish. Eskimos. He hates Baptists five atoms more
liberal. In fact, he hates every man who isn’t
exactly like him, which pretty much makes
him an average Joe.
Opinions of Pastor Phelps’ vision vary, yet
few really bother to plumb his site — a scan
of his phantasmic brain. I tell you, riches lie within.
Not only is there gratis poetry and song (no sweat
to download a party’s worth of fun!), but free
art as well.
GHF’s sister site, GOD HATES AMERICA, boasts
dozens of ‘fliers,’ screaming to be framed,
any one distinctive gilding for an aesthete’s
home. They are printed on what seems to be an antique
press, with pleasing old-fashioned fonts, text uneven
in the style of yesteryear. Their layout is charming,
each a masterpiece of wordplay and craft. Try to print
just one!
My favorite flier thus far declares that our country’s
military was “sodomized by Clinton” and
now those cockamamie Fags’n’Dykes run
wild “on every level.” Such tsuris, oy
vey iz mir!
It is adorned by an utterly gratuitous, waaay too
graphic illustration (apparently by Phelps) of a U.S.
soldier raping a little boy. Grenades and bullets
fly from his person, yet he is oblivious. “Butt
Lube” is strapped to his helmet. Batman-like
words float around the backside of our man-at-arms:
HUMP. PANT. BAM. SLAM. WHAM.
Prurience level: Off The Charts.
Hey, perverts — what’s the web’s
#1 Nastiest, Jammin’ Steamy Super Freak FREE
Fetish Website? GOD HATES FAGS!
In a cut-and-dried case of ‘protesteth too
much,’ Phelps always bypasses PG descriptions
of What He Objects To for XXX, everywhere, on endless
loop.
This even transcends the Fag Kingdom! There is a
page with the names and detailed vignettes of Godless
fetishes, far out as klismaphelia. Look it up. There
are ceaseless references throughout the sites of…
lower body emissions. All of them. Especially the,
um, darkest. Smeared on the Bible. And worse. Ugh.
Pastor Sicko clearly spends oodles of time ‘researching.’
One wonders if God Hates Masturbation. Sigmund Freud
is guffawing in heaven — oh, I mean burning
in hell for all eternity. Excuse me.
“It’s really creepy for a ‘Man
of God’ to be putting this stuff out there,”
I said to my boyfriend, Aap.
“He’s not a ‘Man of God,’”
Aap laughed, “He’s just a fucking asshole.”
* * * * *
Every parent wonders what their teenagers do when
they’re not around… and teens, you sons-of-guns
— you know what you do.
Most people’s worries, inanely, stop there.
And the childless, in their fool’s paradise,
think, all smug-like, that they can leave their homes
and do errands with no consequence.
HA! Denial, you know, ain’t just a river in
Egypt.
Ever wonder what your furniture is up to? Yeah, go
on — pretend that you have no idea what I’m
talking about.
All of us have had the experience of coming home
and feeling that things just aren’t… right.
Sofas, tables, plants seem a tad off mark. Not quite
as we left them. You find sunglasses on the floor
— you could have sworn that you left them on
the nightstand. And so on.
Throughout history, this universal phenomenon has
been (conveniently) attributed to supernatural sprites,
mischievous spirits, leprechauns, etc. But here and
now, I reveal to you the whole truth. Don’t
shoot the messenger.
Here’s a hint: Hot
chair on chair action.
Furniture Porn (.com) reinforces the theory —
yet again — that ‘the answer’ is
most often the obvious one. Quite simply, your possessions
live the life you dream of, while we idiot humans
slave away to pay the tab.
And we cluck we’re the ‘top of the food
chain.’ Furniture doesn’t even need food!
It parties all day! Who’s more evolved now?
I recommend that when you enter the site, you get
down with wassap by watching the Furniture Porn Movie.
Once oriented, you’ll be prepared to assimilate
such sections as All Amateur Seating, The Office Party,
and the very special Chairlie's Angels.
By all means, take a stroll through their links (Wild
Wicker, Fast Food Fornication, Hot Knob Photos) if
you’ve stout of heart and have the stuff to
really want to know, gloves off, man, What Time It
Is.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.
Xanadu Xero invites you to join the Raw
Story Forums and visit her fiefdom, The
Raw Bar, to discuss these topics, any other damn
thing, or just bitch and talk trash. You can also
view an archive of her columns by clicking
here.
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