Backwash
Jimmy the Fetus
Hey, kids, Jimmy the Fetus here, your guide to moral values in the Midwest, helping everybody see that what we learned in Sunday school really matters.
Dear Jimmy:
The born-again kids at school have been acting like they’re on crack ever since that gay-marriage thing passed in the election. Now they’re practically foaming at the mouth about this evolution stuff and how much Fox News keeps saying this is “God’s country” or something. They were already annoying, but now they’re trying even harder to get every kid in school to “accept Christ” because they say it’s all proof the Second Coming is about to happen. (One of them thinks it’s already happened and that George W. is the return of Jesus, but even the other churchy kids think that kid’s a jackass.) Anyway, do you know if these retards have a point — is Jesus about to return?
Scott
Roeland Park
Dear Scott:
Remember what the Bible tells us: “I will lay your cities waste, and will make your sanctuaries desolate, and I will not smell your pleasing odors.” In other words, God is a strange mofo, and the chance that a gaggle of acne-prone Christian-rock lovers with messiah complexes has even the slightest clue what the big guy has in store over the next eon or so is so microscopically low, I have no way of calculating it from here in my warm sac of fluid. So just hold tight, Scott. Believe me, college changes everything — and that has the parents of your annoying classmates scared shitless.
Got a moral quandary? E-mail Jimmy at editorial@pitch.com.
God Hates Fat People, Too, Apparently
For reasons too obscure to explain, a member of the Backwash faculty recently snared an invitation to a rather odd birthday party.
Well, it was actually a birthday party for seven people, all of whom happened to be spawn of Topeka’s favorite clown prince, Fred “God hates fags” Phelps.
The Phelps clan is so fertile, populating Topeka with so many protest-sign-toting, Bible-verse-spouting younguns, that the busy brood has to hold monthly birthday celebrations rather than be slowed down by cake-and-ice-cream parties every day a Phelpsite turns a year older.
When our reporter arrived, she made a beeline for “Gramps,” as he’s known to the 8,000 or so little Phelps kids that were running around the large yard that backs up to Westboro Baptist Church. Looking like a tanned, white-haired and watery-eyed aging cowboy, the Fredster was warmly polite and made sure to point out the refreshments on display.
And what a display — treats of various sorts were laid out on long tables, each with index cards labeled with nutritional information spelled out in neat handwriting. Phelps directed our writer to the 45-calorie muffins, extolled the virtues of the popcorn chicken and then politely excused himself.
Our scribe was surprised to find that the fiery preacher was so concerned about the health benefits of finger food. But after talking to more of the tribe, it became obvious that the Phelps flock not only travels around the country to denounce homosexuals and their supporters but also obsesses about the waistlines of the faithful. When a few members voiced health concerns recently, our reporter was told, the rest of the close-knit cabal launched a crusade against fat.
The homophobic harem doesn’t just watch its carbs, either. After the meal, the working off of calories appeared to be a family sacrament. While swarms of children jumped on a large trampoline and scampered up and down a jungle gym, a few of the younger women walked laps around the pool, holding still more babies in their arms or pushing the little future fag-haters in strollers. A couple of teenage girls shot hoops until the men started their sweaty game.
Except for an occasionally repulsive queer-hating remark and the odd Bible verse recitation, the talk at the Phelps party was friendly and, well, intelligent. In fact, our correspondent could hardly believe this was the same collection of folks who had earlier taken over a Topeka intersection holding signs like “Fag-Sex Orgies on Episcopal Altars!”
But perhaps they were just on good behavior. It was a birthday party, after all.
Net Prophet
Notes from KC’s blogosphere.
Now, I don’t have kids and don’t pretend to know the first thing about it. And I normally wouldn’t dream of giving advice on a subject upon which I know basically nothing. But, I have to say, that it just doesn’t seem okay to me, for some reason, to get into a food fight with your highchaired toddler in a restaurant setting, laughing and whooping it up right along with the little munchkinface. And actually throwing pieces of egg and sausage, hitting the rugrat in the nose. Even encouraging the whippersnapper to aim some Cheerios at your chin. And you’re like, 30 years old? Don’t do that in public, you awesome example-setter, you.
From “So Flighty,” the online diary of Sheri Sanders
