I found this in his diary "As the paint finished drying on the latest of many signs created for the recent "God Loves GA, not GAY!" tour, Fred Phelps stood and surveyed his work. Many years now he had been doing God's Work, and never had he been more proud. Just last night he had visited an Atlanta suburb with some of his flock and preached the Word to whole blocks of fag jew nazi sodomites. He knew that their derisive laughing just meant that the fires of Hell would burn that much hotter. He walked down to the lobby of the hotel in which they were staying for the night. He had ordered his wife down to the lobby to bring him food, like women are born to do, and she'd been too long in returning. When he reached the ground floor, he saw some kind of press event going on and figured that the dumb bitch had been impressed by all the cameras. Women. Ever since he'd slashed her hair off all those years ago, she'd been fairly plain-spoken and dressed (almost mannish), the way Phelps liked. It didn't befit god's plan, all of this fancy dressin' and speech. As he searched the crowd for his wife (to assign her an appropriate punishment) his eyes strayed along the front line of people. None other than Ralph Reed was there, politickin' his way into office. Phelps stepped forward, prepared to witness to this man the ideals which God wanted for these times, when their eyes met. An unexpected shiver ran through Phelps as his nigh-dead genitals awoke. As their gazes remained locked, Phelps knew that God was showing him, in that mysterious way of his, that REED WAS A FAG! He knew that something must be done. Phelps waited for the crowd to die down and then followed Reed back to his room. As Reed swiped his keycard and entered, Phelps shoved his boot into the space before the door could close. He pushed it open and walked through, letting it close behind him. His pulse and respiration quickened -- it had been some time since he'd been alone with a fag. Normally the fags mocked him, laughed as spat the Laws of God, telling them about their futures. He was only doing God's Work, could they not see it, too? This time, however, this time, he knew that God wanted him to teach Reed a lesson. After all, he couldn't allow Reed into public office, where he could gay up all of the people who looked up for him, could he? Of course not. He stepped further into the room. It was at this point that Reed heard his leather boots scrape the carpet and turned, surprised to see Phelps in the room with him. "I saw you in the lobby," he said. "I hoped you'd find your way to my room, but I admit that I didn't expect you here until tonight." Phelps wasn't surprised. It was just like these sex-starved faggot jews to come on to a good, God-fearin' man like himself. "God sent me up here to teach you a lesson, son," Phelps sneered. "He don' like fags like you, and I'm here to make sure you know it." "Oh, is that what you're into? I've always liked older men, you know. So, should I just jump on the bed?" he asked. Phelps sputtered. Even as his mind recoiled in disgust and horror, part of him was intrigued. A part of him that he had buried...a part of him that he prayed to God about all those years ago. It was what had led him to become a minister at 18-- an almost-successful attempt at burying those feelings forever. Without even realizing it, he began to rationalize his actions. "What better way to discredit those abominations," he thought, "than to personally testify to how revolting the vile acts are?" Even as the thought formed, he knew what he had to do. GOD WAS TELLING HIM TO BE STRONG AND HOMOSEXUALLY FORNICATE! It was the only way to prove to the public at large how true God's Words were. Phelps sat down on the bed and took off his trademark cowboy hat. Reed ripped off his clothes. His breath sucked in when he saw Phelps' body. "Mmm, all these liver spots to suck on. It's like finding the raisins in the porridge of your wrinkled fat!" he exclaimed. Phelps prepared against Satan's pleasurable onslaught by thinking of the most miserable thing he could -- his wife. Reed pulled out Phelps' member and cried out joyously, "Oh yes, you're definitely among God's Chosen Blessed, aren't you?" The rest of the event passed slowly...and quickly...and slowly...and quickly...and pretty soon Reed collapsed next to him. "Oh, that was amazing!" he cried. "I hope we can do this again, sometime...?" Phelps stared resolutely ahead, knowing that he had the perfect ammunition for his next anti-homosexual sermon. Oh yes, he knew he had it...just as he knew he'd be walking funny for the next few days."
For some reason he always reminds me of the crazy priest in the poltergeist movies. That uncyclopedia link, good stuff!
Dude there's no way in HELL that this entry above was on Phelp's diary or whatever it is. And if what you posted is actually real, than Phelps needs to get run over by a car
