Sunday, 23 December 2012

Open Leter to the Westboro Baptist Church,

Dear Westboro Baptist Church, aka Batshit Crazy Hatemongers,

Here's my **snerk** vision for you. You see, I live in Papua New Guinea, where we worship Pikkiwoki. (Google him, he's real). Anyway, I was preying to Him the other day, via an involved ritual that required me to carry a pig and as many coconuts as I could (in preparation for the ORSUM afterlife Imma going to have with Him [Mud Be Upon
His Name]) and I had a Vision for you. At first I thought it might be the malaria kicking back in, but Pikkiwoki ASSURES me it's real.

Anyway, here's what Pikkiwoki says your future holds. You're all actually queer (not that there's anything wrong with that) and Santa is going to come to you in **insert gender of choice** and dress in his most enticing best (Imma betting sequins and Birkenstock's) and you're going to be overcome with teh mad gay passion and get all jiggy with Gay Santa. And one of Gay Santa's minions (probs me, cos I am TOTES his Handmaiden) is going to video it and put it up on The Tubes of You and people ALLLL over the world are going to laugh their fucking arses **pardon the pun** off, when Pikkiwokki reveals that your homophobic rantings are really the pathetic cries of repressed, evil little douche-canoes who use a Bronze Age book written by goat herders to justify their hatred.

But wait, there's more!

As you squirm around the various forms of media, like so many of your hate-filled ilk have done before you when their represses sexuality is finally discovered and their previous hate-filled sermons turn out to be a repressed loathing of themselves, as you snuffle and tap-dance across Twitter or FB or Faux News, trying to justify your "outing", Pikkiwoki and his totes BFF, Satan (oops, sorry, dyslexic slip), are going to be sitting up there on Mount Wilhelm PISSING their pants with laughter. Cos PRIOR to your furtive couplings, Santa has filled his various gay-friendly orifices with the harshest of FUNDIE BULLSHIT ARTIST HATING AMOEBAS, which will have found their way into your bloodstream and have given you all the most AMAZING case of Galloping Knob/Pussy rot. It's like a gift from Pikkiwoki, you know? FBAHA is Pikkiwokki's gift to True Scotsmen everywhere.
  Your various organs will gradually and painfully begin to look like you've contracted some nasty hemorrhagic virus, like Ebola. And you will die in the most excruciating way imaginable and at the very last second you will realize that YOUR god is long dead, and Pikkiwoki is DA ONE, and his face will be turned from you (Cos he's eating pigs and coconuts up there on Mount Wilhelm) and you will die screaming his name, unshriven.

And when you get to whichever dark recess of hell that is reserved especially for slime like you, you'll meet Mr Huckabee and John McTernan and Pat Robinson and Ken Ham, and your special Pikkiwoki punishment will be that your eyelids never close and you have to spend eternity looking up at teh gays and teh feminists and teh godless liberals, to whom Pikkiwoki will grant eternal life and you'll see the transformation of our society without bottom-dwelling fucktards like yourselves, and it will be good. And gay. And queer and straight and asexual and transgender. And fair. And equal. And rational and informed.  And what's between your legs won't define whether you can legally bind to someone. It won't be words like homo. Or hetero. There will just be love.

And you'll hate it. And you'll decry our lovely new civilisation with your puny hatred-filled voices, even from the pit of Hell.

And we'll make the unicorns poop on you.

Sincerely,

Vacuous O'Possum, R.N, Santa's Handmaiden (Duties largely ceremonial).

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