Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States

This same First Amendment that allows us to gather on the National Lawn, or criticize our elected officials, or even take our government to court, also allows jackasses at the Westboro Baptass Church to protest the funerals of dead servicemen and women with signs that say, “GOD HATES FAGS” and “THANK GOD FOR DEAD SOLDIERS”  … Or at least it does right now: The Supreme Court is considering the case of Snyder vs. Phelps, where Albert Snyder, the father of a fallen marine, sued Westboro Imperial Wizard Fred Phelps for harassing his family at his son’s funeral.  There are some limits to free speech: The First Amendment does not allow us to yell “FIRE!” in a crowded theater, and so the Roberts Court gets to decide whether “GOD SENT THE SHOOTER” is appropriate to shout at a memorial service.

I am torn in this regard because I am a true believer in the First Amendment, having been employed as a sportswriter (pseudo-journalist) for seven years. I may not like what the Klan has to say, but I defend their right to say it. And in that spirit, I’d like to exercise my right to free speech in regards to the Supreme Grand Cyclops of Westboro and his klavern…

FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS!

Phelps’ Bible-humping minions have chosen families like Mr. Snyder’s to show how much Westboro’s wrath-spewing god hates America because we don’t persecute homosexuals (well, not all of us); we live (and thrive) amongst Catholics and Methodists; we (thankfully) eschew genocide against Jews, and we allow divorce (and remarriage). I almost forgot: Many Americans believe in the Golden Rule and that Jesus died for all our sins, but not Phelps. He believes the New Testament is mostly a lie, fabricated by “Arminians.” He can exercise all the free speech he wants – he just can’t spell it correctly.

If his so-called god hates us this much, I gotta ask the Grand Wizard: Why doesn’t your giant hate-monger in the sky just smite us or turn us all into a pillar of salt? Phelps argues that events like Hurricane Katrina, the Haiti earthquake and the Sago mine collapes are his god’s way of showing his righteous wrath, and all I gotta say is, “I’M GLAD WE HAVE AN INBRED, BUCK-TOOTHED, MYSOGYNIST, RACIST, DINGLEBERRY OF CARBON STUCK LIKE A BARNACLE ON THE BUTTCHEEK OF KANSAS TO BE THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE SUPREME ORIGINATOR OF THE UNIVERSE.”

I’d hoped the “Creator of the Heavens and the Earth” would have made a better, more elegant selection (Charlton Heston, perhaps?) – and while I don’t know the Bible as well as Phelps claims to, I thought there might be a passage in Phelps’ Moldy Testatment that talks about the arrogance involved in speaking for God.

If I can say one positive thing about Fred Phelps, it’s this: The Imperial Wizard of Westboro has singlehandedly raised my esteem for Bill O’Reilly, who volunteered to pay all the legal fees for Albert Snyder.

And while I was in that state of apocalyptic befuddlement, I had an epiphany: On Easter Sunday, we’d assemble across the street from 3701 SW 12th Street in Topeka, Kansas, and read The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin through loudspeakers that had evolved enough to blast the tarpaper shingles off Phelps’ little piece-of-shit church. (Google it – you will laugh at how pathetic his church is – I thought it’d be a megachurch; instead, it’s the size of a nice house and a leafy suburban neighborhood).

I figured Easter Sunday – the holiest day of the year on most Christian calendars – would be the equivalent of a military funeral – especially if my timing (and epic loudspeakers) coincided with the Grand Dragon’s sunrise service. We could display 7,000-year-old fossils. We could play rock-and-roll (within the confines of the Topeka noise ordinance). My gay friends could come out and hold hands and kiss. I might even invite some divorced friends and Catholics to join us. I believe (actually I know) I count as a sinner among Westboro’s airing of grievances for many, many reasons, but I think on this day, I’d embrace ONANIST because Pat and I are married and don’t have children.

So I’m getting ready to rock this epic protest, and then I remembered Phelps’ little hovel of worship – just begging to have someone paint a red target on its roof so the next tornado could just wipe it off the ass-crack of our planet (Act of God, according to some insurance tables).

Nah, not worth it.

The impact of this jerk’s influence is way out of proportion to the size of his flock. As with the hillbilly Floridian Koran-burner (I forget his name and it’s not worth looking it up), who scored his 15 minutes of fame and the attention of WORLD LEADERS, I just realized that these folks are like screaming toddlers. They will throw a tantrum until they get their way – and once you appease them, they will know you can be played, and they’ll push further next time. (Isn’t that right, Neville Chamberlain?) The only way to handle them is to punish them and duct-tape them to a chair… or ignore them and let them cry it out. (Personally, I prefer to duct-tape them and then ignore them, but I’m an onanist, not a parent)

When our 24-hour news cycle takes a moment, takes a deep breath and DOES NOT REPEAT every sad little press-release that the Grand Imperial Wizard of Media Whores shits on their fax machines, sanity will have won a major victory. There are crazy people standing on corners with sign-boards, toting crosses on their backs, and shouting all kinds of righteously hateful things all over this country at any given moment – and they’re not featured on CNN or the LA Times website. So why Westboro?

Because he’s a communications genius – and I don’t say that lightly: Phelps has figured out that when he holds up a sign that says, “PRAY FOR MORE DEAD SOLDIERS,” he can capture the attention of television cameras across the nation, multiplying the audience for his twisted sense of holiness exponentially. All he needs is one camera and he wins, because all he wants is attention. And apparently, as long as my gay friends are in loving relationships, and Pat and I keep on being married without procreating, and Methodists continue to practice what they preach, then Fred Phelps’ day is RUINED.

How awesome is that? I can go on living my life and this sad piece of crap will have a bad day – and I don’t have to travel to Topeka to do it. Living life, FOR THE WIN!

But, then there’s this matter of punishment, and while the New Testament apparently frowns upon vengeance, I really want Phelps and his ilk to pay for the abuse they heap on these soldiers’ families… but smarter – or maybe holier or more righteous – people than I have found a more elegant solution. Apparently in America, there are still lots of people that respect the Constitution and the right to free speech, but they also know the difference between right and wrong, and they have said to this screaming toddler, “ENOUGH.” People in protest-targeted communities just decide to protect their own and peacefully assemble to block Phelps from his kamikaze hate-missions. They duct-tape him to a chair and exercise their First Amendment Right to say, “THIS WILL NOT STAND.”

And the media is finally starting to pay attention to them… instead of Fred Phelps. And that, my friends, is karma. Fred Phelps’ right to free speech does not trump their right of peaceable assembly.