God hates Australia

The internet is a mixed bag of nuts. I was rather fortunate to stumble upon this exquisite selection the other day. I'd only heard of Fred Phelps in passing, but after viewing his eloquent speech, I'm sure you, like me, will be beating a path to the doors of the "Westboro Baptist Church" in Kansas to supplicate yourself in front of such a holy and benevolent bloke. On a pedantic note, I think Pastor Fred is just waiting for the opportunity to put the "ugh" back in "Westboro".

Apparently Danny Nalliah was dead wrong, and the Victorian bushfires were a result of Australia's infatuation with unbridled sodomy. It seems that we Aussies cannot walk along the street anymore without fostering urgent desires within ourselves to fornicate with anything and everything, as long as it is of the same gender. Forget the slaughter of millions of innocent babies in the womb, Danny - these bushfires are the direct result of millions of blokes around the country being prisoners of the cesspool of their own steaming desire! What a tragedy. So nice of God to cleanse the place by burning two hundred or more of these fornicators to death, although how the dozen or more babes in arms who were killed got tangled up in sodomite excrescence might be something that Pastor Danny may care to address.

Fred's had a bit of a bee in his bonnett about Australia, land of the sodomites, ever since he attended the Westboro multi-plex in his raincoat and sat through a screening of Brokeback Mountain, apparently starring an Australian actor who is now luxuriating in Hell, because he portrayed a gay cowboy. Now, I don't know whether Fred's objection is that it was an Australian doing this, or whether it is an affront to red-blooded, chest-thumping American manhood that anyone could be as evil as to suggest that a pair of cowboys could ever harbour impure thoughts towards each other (oh, where is John Wayne when you need him?), but I believe a couple of teensy little facts may have escaped Fred's notice. 

The first is - and I know this is a difficult concept to get the old noggin around, Fred - it's called acting. Secondly, according to reports in the daily blatherers at the time of Heath Ledger's death, the actor was in a very happy relationship with a woman, and had, at least once, indulged in the god-sanctioned activity of vaginal sex, because the couple were the proud parents of a bonnie wee lassie!

Perhaps Fred needs to get on the royal telephone. "Ah, God, er, you know when I told you about that actor bloke, and you said 'Right! That's it. I'm burnin' Australia to the ground' - well, I might have made a bit of a mistake..." I'd be inclined to believe in Fred if 208 people and fifteen hundred homes were suddenly resurrected from the ashes, with a little note of apology from the Lord: "Er, Sorry, folks. My fault. Pastor Fred fucked up again. Carry on."

Now, all I can say about this business is that I think Pastor Fred has some secret he's not revealing, in that he obsessively desires the feel of something hard and long penetrating his own sphincter, but is too afraid to admit it. I'd help him out, of course, as one of his born-again flock, but I am afraid that total, fucktard, nut-job lunacy just might be a sexually-transmitted disease. I'd even go so far as to declare that the man's such a wacko that I wouldn't even fuck him with your cock, Brian!