"Reverend" Fred Phelps: I Defy Solon's Dictum

Yeah, yeah, I know already.  I'm a day late with this, but had a few family matters come up last night.  Never mind; it gives my vitriol time to mature, like fine Tokay.

The ancient Athenian lawmaker Solon laid down the dictum that one should never speak ill of the dead.  The spirits of the dead, Solon said, would be hovering around, hear what was being said, and either haunt the miscreant or band together with other ghosts and plague the city.

Now, I'm neither Greek nor speaking to you from 2500 years or so ago, so pardon me if I say:

"Fuck you, Fred Phelps.  You were a pathetic excrescence that should have died in a fire before you were disbarred and decided to set up a cult-like 'church' comprised mainly of members of your extended family.

"Fuck you, Fred Phelps, and the donkey that farted you out of its shithole after that horse screwed her before they gelded him.

"Fuck you, Fred Phelps, for soiling the honest grief of mourning families by picketing funerals and taunting the families with hate-filled rhetoric about their son/daughter/wife/husband/father/mother had died by God's hand because the country was 'soft' on homosexuality.

"Fuck you, Fred Phelps, on behalf of Christianity, for besmirching a God who is purportedly perfect love with caustic volleys of hate.

"Fuck you, Fred Phelps, for finally relenting - just a tiny bit - as you felt the yawning Abyss beneath you, only to be excommunicated from the church you founded by your very own family members."

Good-bye, Fred.  The world's a better, brighter, cleaner place without you.