When we got to the park this morning, I noticed some graffiti written on one of the picnic tables. The instant I read it, I knew who’d written it because I saw them when they left yesterday. Two guys, one old and one younger, both rednecks (one obviously so), driving a battered white Lumina bearing bumper stickers with such pearls of wisdom as “POW M.I.A.”, “Support our troops!” “Bush/Cheney ’04 (nope, not making that up), and the kicker, this little beauty:
Not my image (I couldn’t get a shot of their car), but the same sticker, and yes, that does say “The 700 Club.” Anyway, here is what one of them wrote on the picnic table (click for full-size). I think it was the younger one, because he’s the one who was sitting on that side yesterday.
Westboro Baptist Church wants YOU!
Nope, nothing screams “LATENT HOMO” louder and clearer than someone who begins his picnic table personal ad with “No Queers.” Or for that matter, puts a personal ad on a picnic table in the first place, apparently in hopes that some woman will read it, pity him and hang around until he shows up. Uh…yeah. Dude, relax. Queers have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you can’t get a woman; they don’t even like women. They’re actually doing you a favour, since more fags means less competition for you, and men (I use the term in the most generous possible sense) like you can not afford competition. You are the reason you can’t get a woman, because even though you won’t admit it, you’re probably more attracted to the old guy sitting at the table with you than you are to any woman, and even if you weren’t, no woman in her right fucking mind would touch you with a thirty-five foot pole in the first fucking place. LOOK at yourself, facrissake!!
Has it never occurred to you that losing fifty or sixty pounds, cutting that nasty nest of hair and wearing something that doesn’t look as if you’re dressed to watch NASCAR on the tube might go a long way toward getting you a little feminine companionship? Of course, you’d have to pull the stickers off your car and never, ever open your fucking mouth lest she find out you’re an uneducated far-right, Bible-thumping lunatic, but looking a little more attractive would be a good start. The harder you try to prove that you’re a man the less you look like one. Just give it up, lean over the table and give him a big ol’ frenchy with lots of tongue. We won’t even watch!
Special thanks to my partner in crime; the only way I was able to get even the couple of bad pictures of them that I did get was because P let me pretend I was aiming the lens at him, and was willing to go close enough to say, “Hi” (I wasn’t–might catch “teh homophobe”). I’d tried sneaking around them earlier, but every time I was within 100 ft., they were staring at me like they’d never seen a live woman that close before when no restraining order had been issued. Hell, maybe they haven’t; that really wouldn’t surprise me.
I couldn’t make up shit this good if I tried. Their very existence is comedy-fucking-gold. Ah, I do love the American midwest!!
