That’s right kids. The good Rev. is coming to my town to protest against bastions of unChristianity, Billy Graham and the Southern Baptist Convention. The Link o’ de Devil
So my question is, what can I do to hassle their buzz? I’m pretty much up for anything legal.
Protesting Billy Graham? Dayum, that’s just wrong.
Bagpipes. Bagpipes and big scary guys on Harleys. How loud can the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing?
You could start and publicize a community pledge drive. For every minute Phelps speaks or protests or does whatever he plans on doing, donors will pledge some increment of money to go to a cause that would rankle Phelps. And there are lots of them. If it’s a serviceman’s funeral, the money can benefit the family of the fallen soldier. Or, it can go to an organization working to legalize open homosexuality in the military. Or it can go to a local chapter of any organization that helps homosexuals or their families. AIDS research, maybe. It’s like a cross between a walkathon but without all that walking and cowpie bingo with Phelps as the cow. I’m in for ten cents a minute. I wish it could be more. I think you will find, though, that with enough publicity, it could add up to a shutting up incentive of thousands of dollars a minute – not that Phelps wuill shut up.
Tabby
Billy may not be so bad; but his son, Franklin, and Fred are only matters of degree different. I love it when they eat their own.
Sorry, typo. That’s “will shut up.”
Of course, you could go with the All-Male Cross-Dressing Puritan Hi-Kick Dance Revue option.
Tabby
Accompanied by accordions.
Are you kidding? This is the guy who came to picket the memorial service of Fred Rodgers. Mister Freaking Rogers. If Mister Rogers is in Hell, what chance do the rest of us have?
Ah, little Fred Phelps. You realize he’s probably done more for the queer rights movement than any fifty of us, bless his heart.
I saw a brief clip of some of those Phelps wackos at the funeral of a Marine, and the woman being interviewed was downright scary looking. She had this frozen grin on her face, even when she was talking. If I ever saw her in person I would scream, run home and bolt myself and the cats in. Just looking at that woman gave me a serious case of the shivers.
DNFTT is a good rule for real life as well as the internet.
Hmmm…well, you’d need something like a double-decker Mardi Gras float. On the bottom level, you put entrants in a Village People Lookalike contest. Up top, you need a choir composed entirely of drag queens, equiped with microphones, singing something like…
oooohhhh…I dunno…howza about…
We Shall Over Cum.
Sounds like my plans for Sunday-after next.
Why yes, my marching band will be attending the San Francisco Pride Parade. How did you know?
No, we will not be on the float, just following it slowly.
Apply cream pies and water balloons liberally at will.
And take pictures. 
Hire your local paintball team to hide in the bushes with their markers and “sniper” barrels, launch paint downrange…
or, have a gay-rights group to go over and give them all BIIIIG hugs and kisses… <evil grin>
I’ve always thought the I’m with Stupid Shirts or He is SOOOOOO gay shirt with Phred in the middle of some kind of hilarity would be hilarious.
Someone has beaten me too it, but the insults, constitutionally protected, are so open.
Here’s a ladder. Get over yourself, Phred.
Phred Felps like Cock (with a picture of a rooster)
(fred)----> Sticks it in the pooper shirt/placard.
I keep hoping some poor person (nothing to get sued for) will kick the ever-living shit out of Phelps and his ilk some day. Just balls-out gonzo pummeling. Then the hero, I mean assailant can whip out his Johnson and piss all over Phelps. All of it captured on tape for the 6 o’clock news.
Showtunes!
Loud and plentiful!
Maybe a medley from “Jesus Christ Superstar”.
Things like this remind me why I really am looking forward to my local Pride celebration this year. It attracts Phelps types like nothin’ doin’. They are getting braver and bolder.
We recently saw them at the BBQ Festival in Owensboro, KY. (They had been protesting at a nearby soldier’s funeral, so I guess it was a routing thing. Fred himself wasn’t there, but I hear he rarely is these days.)
I really wanted to make some signs that said “God Hates Mutton” and “God Hates BBQ” and stand right in the middle of them. I mean, whatever rules keep the police from moving them would keep them from moving me, right? I even had a sermon ready:
“And the BIIIIIIIIIIIble says-uh, that JEEEsus is the Lamb of God-uh. The LAMB of GOD-uh! Would you rub Him with a vinegar based sauce-uh, and put Him on the grill-uh? Over hickory smoke-uh? Would you serve Him on a BUN-uh, with pickles and onions? Would you serve slaw on the side-uh?”