These are the manic ramblings that go through my head at all hours of the day or night.
Whoa, Fred Phelps died? Nice! I knew there was a reason I was feeling inexplicably good today.
On a serious note, could not have happened to a nicer guy. I honestly hope that his death was long, painful, and that right before he kicked the bucket, he had a moment of profound existential and spiritual doubt that carried him into the void or (if you’re a believer in the Big Guy) the unending flames that await a person so committed to spreading misery and I’ll will in an affront to everything a loving God stands for.
My personal hope? In those last moments before he died, I hope a particularly attractive dude came into the room and Fred Phelps’ last thought was questioning his sexuality. Because I think that’d be great.