And I am 700 miles away, in Indianapolis.
The Westboro Baptist Church is coming to protest a funeral.
Probably for the best. I would most certainly end up in jail. There probably isn’t a jury in the country who would convict me, though. I mean, would you send a man to jail for hitting Fred Phelps with a crowbar?
Yikes. I can’t make heads or tails of that ridiculousness.
I’d pin a medal on your ass.
Damn, Fixer beat me to it.
After I hit him, I think I’d hide the crowbar on or about his person where the Sun don’t shine.
I prefer the thought of a red-hot poker, Gordon.
Or, if we were getting real creative, a nice batch of lye to the face. I think that would get our point across to that scumbag.
Sadly I would, sure he deserves it but we can’t go about hitting people with crowbars no matter how tempting.
I couldn’t guarantee I’d hold on to my temper if he showed up at the funeral of a member of my family.