It's the 'I'm not going to sugarcoat something or try to be eloquent and diplomatic' journal entry!
Fred Phelps and Friends (they need a morning television show of their very own filled with cardigans, slippers, and hate speech!) arrived on campus and stayed with us until 3:30 today, I hear, holding signs protesting 'Gay Mizzou.' It's 'Coming Out' week so I imagine he couldn't have had better timing. Do you ever stop and think to yourself 'Wow, I am really flattered that someone is so impassioned by what goes on in my bedroom that s/he stopped to make signs and drive miles from home to protest my relationships and sex'? I do, and you know what, it sort of makes me feel a little special inside.
Anyway, like I had said in an earlier entry that was posted in another blog and is probably no longer visible to anyone now reading, these people - extremists - are the least of our problems. They are a problem to be sure, but according to Fred Phelps, God hates everything. God hates Missouri, Republicans, cable television, Target. God hates coffee, God probably even hates cats. God's allergic to cats. He's ridiculous - Phelps, I mean - but for as ridiculous as he is, he is still espousing the notion that unless you are heterosexual, you are inferior. Okay, maybe people don't think about it in such blatant terms. But for someone like me that is what it comes down to: you aren't Fred Phelps and you aren't holding signs, but you're still disgusted.
If you think I am talking about you, then I probably am. Maybe you are a very nice person. You have a gay friend. You say 'But I have a gay friend!' You refer to him as 'the gay friend.' Everyone gets one, right? Your 'gay friend' is also probably male and makes you laugh so hard because he loves pop music and fashion, oh isn't your life just so Will & Grace. You're okay that he's gay. You say that to him and to other people, 'I am okay that you're gay.' Thanks, wow!
You are a very nice person. You smile at people when they pass. You are always very polite even with people you don't like very much. You don't wish harm on anyone.
You just don't think we all deserve the same rights.
Somehow who you love or sleep with or both entitles you to certain rights that others shouldn't have because there is something about their loving or fucking that makes you feel all icky inside. Probably as icky as I feel when I think about really old people having sex, or my parents having sex. I can't imagine refusing them rights, though.
So in the end, yeah, you're not Fred Phelps, but you're still kind of a POS.