Last week, Fred Phelps exposed himself again. But not in the way you’re thinking. He showed his ugly, weathered face. He was protesting the funerals of grain elevator workers, victims of a tragedy down in Kansas. People suggested “ignoring him”. Wake up you idiots.
I know what some of you are saying, “By talking about Fred Phelps, you’re giving him the power. He wants attention.” Isn’t it funny that people only say this about Fred Phelps? If someone speaks out against homicide, that’s alright. They don’t have anyone saying, “Hey, by talking about murder, you’re giving murder the power. Just don’t talk about it and it isn’t an issue.” Uh, yeah it is. Fred Phelps obviously isn’t on the same plane as murder, but I can promise you one thing: Not talking about Fred Phelps won’t make him go away.
What will make him go away? How about death personified, chasing him through his own life, bitter that Fred Phelps was able to skirt the clamping jaws of death. Sound like a familiar story line? It’s every plot for every Final Destination movie. What better way for Fred Phelps to go out then a complicated over the top Hollywood death that makes a Rune Goldberg set up look simple?
Here’s the set up. Fred Phelps didn’t escape death by having a premonition and getting off a doomed flight at the last second. He escapes death every day by being the oldest, living mummy. Fred Phelps looks like a body that was just dug up. Say Fred were to cross the street and “accidentally” get hit by a car, the paramedics would have to clean him up with a broom and dust pan.
One Final Destination plot I had in mind goes as follows: Fred Phelps just had a long day at a protest informing people that “God Hates Fags” and that “Rock and Rollers and Masturbators are going to Hell”. Real informative stuff, stuff you wouldn’t be able to find out on your own. But it was a long day out on the block so Fred goes to his favorite gay strip club/bar to get a few drinks. “What!? Fred Phelps at a gay bar!?” Yes, you read correctly. Fred Phelps is so anti gay because he is actually himself, a closeted homosexual. Because of his upbringing he chooses to hide it by bringing the wrath of God down on homosexuals.
Fred: This oughta throw em off the gay trail!
So Fred goes to his favorite gay bar appropriately titled Big Al’s Back Door Emporium. He walks in, and as he scans the place, lights up a cigarette. His favorite male stripper, Chippy, spots him and comes over to him.
Chippy: Hey Fred! The usual?
Fred: Not tonight Chippy, I’m getting a colonoscopy in two days.
Chippy leaves, sad. As Fred is walking towards the bar, he steps in some grease and other unmentionable substances and slips. He lands on his back, hitting his head pretty hard on the tile floor. He’s woozy, but still alive. Except where’s his cigarette? It fell out of his mouth during the fall and lands in the puddle, igniting it. Fred looks on in fear as a trail of flames goes across the floor and up the bar igniting two patrons as it goes. It gets to two bottles of liquor and explodes sending shards of glass everywhere. Two go into Slippery Teddy, the clubs light and sound guy who keels over dead and hits the control panel for all the lights. The strobes go haywire; people are running everywhere trying to find the exits, and male strippers are falling off the stage left and right. The enflamed bar patrons (I guess you could call the flamers, eh!? No too easy…), run towards what they think is the exit but it’s the janitor’s closet where the janitor (for obvious reasons) stock piles enormous amounts of bleach. These catch on fire and detonate the entire building. A giant fireball goes up into the night air and Fred Phelps’ own family protests his funeral. A happy ending in a true Hollywood fairy tale.
Second Final Destination Plot:
Fred Phelps comes home to find his grand children jumping on a trampoline. He throws his briefcase (do you carry a briefcase when you’re a fake minister in a made up church?) aside and runs through what he thinks is an open door. Psych, it’s a closed storm door. Fred runs through it, shattering the glass. Again, woozy but not dead. He grabs his bleeding face and takes note of the oncoming concussion. Unable to form real sentences, he calls after his grand children with absolute jibberish:
Fred: Hey you fusckin Jews…get off the flibbity…dammit, juntery…
All the grand children stare at Grandpa. They know he’s a senile old man, but this is a level of senile they don’t typically see.
Grandkid: Grandpa, what’s wrong?
Fred: You can’t jump on trampolines!
Grandkid 2: Why not grandpa?
Fred: Because they’re gay that’s why! Homos like trampolines!
One grandkid (the youngest) stops bouncing. A single tear falls down her cheek. At this point in the movie she gives her heart warming monologue:
Grandkid 3: Grandpa, did you ever think that homosexuals are people too that deserve our love and respect? We are all God’s children, and while we may not agree with what they do, we should remember that God will love them no matter what and treat them kindly. Because while their actions are controversial, Jesus wouldn’t be happy with us either if he was to find us mistreating a fellow human.
Fred stares at his grandchildren and then a single tear falls down his cheek as well. It’s like the Grinch recognizing the truth behind Christmas (the real Christmas, not this over commercialized garbage). He laughs, and then laughs harder.
Fred: You’re right! Trampolines aren’t gay! It’s okay to be gay!
Fred runs and jumps onto the trampoline, jumping up and down, higher and higher.
Fred: Kids, I’m gay!
He yells to the world. Then his grandkid accidentally double bounces him and flies off, landing on his head. His neck snaps and his feet fly up over his head. He lies there, bleeding from his nose and mouth and his grandkids laugh. At his funeral, no one wants to give a eulogy, and his family realizes that no one really misses him.
Fred Phelps is worthless. But America, it is past the time for “ignoring”. People must stand up to monsters like this. Ignoring a problem will not make it go away. Wake up.