…wherein Lauren waxes philosophical and crap about hanging with the haters.
Now that the charming and affable Phelps clan of Westboro Baptist Church infamy have finished up their whistle-stop tour of hate here in Vermont and have zoomed out of the state in their peppy little Kia minivan, it might be appropriate to reflect on the day. Other people more introspective and cerebral than I might offer some sort of analysis about hate and peace and love and all that junk, but I can only tell you what I took away from the day. And in order to tell you what I took away from the day, I have to tell you what the day entailed. So here goes. Apologies if you nod off.
I hauled my fanny out of bed at 6 a.m., which for a reporter is like being asked to do math or not make stuff up. I hit the road to Montpelier by 6:45 a.m. so I could make it to the high school in time to watch the Swiss Family Bonkers picket students as they rolled into school for their first day back from summer vaykay. Of course when I arrived I was the last media person on the scene. Everyone was there- radio, TV, the daily print papers from around the region. No one was going to miss the most exciting thing to happen to sleepy Vermont since gay marriage.
11:15 a.m.- After a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday outside of OZ Synagogue- “Happy Birthday to Kennedy’s death, Happy Birthday to Kennedy’s death, the Jews lost their favorite waterboy, Happy Birthday to Kennedy’s death”- the Phelpses piled into their sweet Kia Sedona and hightailed it out of town. Please indulge me in a few observations:
1. The Phelpses (and I say Phelpses because there wasn’t a one of them who wasn’t part of the clan. They like to keep in the fam, nomsayin?) are nothing if not law-abiding. There’s not a jaywalker among them. They hit every crosswalk and followed every directive they’re given by police. When they were told to stand in the greenbelt outside of Chabad, goshdarnit, they stood in the greenbelt. I bet they even drive the speed limit.
2. The Phelpses are really fast walkers. Shirls is a powerhouse. She could go to the Hate Olympics for speedwalking.
3. The Phelpses are really bad singers. No, like REALLY bad. Like braying donkey bad.
4. The Phelpses are not nice. Despite appearances, they’re actually pretty mean. Shirls told me I didn’t look like a professional journalist. Ok, what part of my jeans, T-shirt, sneaker outfit made me look unprofessional?
5. The Phelpses don’t really have their facts straight. Shirls called Seven Days a “fag paper,” which I take exception to since neither of the female owners of the paper are fags. They’re not even dykes. WTF!!! Factcheck, Shirls, before you make outrageous claims like that.
Oh, how I love college kids.
Nothin’ says get the hell out of our state like a little pie in the face.
I cannot tell you how excited I am. OK, I’ll tell you. On Sept. 1, in the year of our lord two thousand niner, Fred Phelps, the hate-spewing sign-monger from Kansas, will be gracing us with his presence here in the Green Mountain State. Well, he’ll probably just be sending his minions, and by minions I mean his toothy daughter Shirley and her umpteen inbred children. They’re coming to protest our little state for crimes against a wrathful God or some such nonsense.
This is what hilarity looks like.
Here’s a little background on Mr. Phelps (no relation to human fish cum mad toker Michael Phelps) and his Westboro Baptist Church. Apparently God visited Phelps and was all like, “Yo son, what’s wrong with this world? Dudes are doing other dudes and it goes against my will ‘n’ shit.” And Phelps was all like, “Oh, word, homes. Guys screwing other guys in the poopshoot ain’t cool. I gotta do sumpin’ about this.” And God was all like, “Dawg, you need to represent me on Earth. Ain’t nobody down there listening to me.” And Phelps was all like, “God/Jesus/the holy spirit, I feel you. You can count on me.” Then he started making crazypants signs that say God Hates Fags and Thank God For AIDS and other awesome stuff like that. Sign Guy Steve totally ripped them off.