Proud of P'burgh!
I've been following a story featuring my old town of Plattsburgh, NY. We moved about a year ago, just before the Phelps contigent from Kansas decided they would protest the Mayor's Cup, onaccounta the Plattsburgh mayor being openly gay. They promised they would descend upon the North Country to rebuke Plattsburgh's churches for allowing such sin to go unchecked. And this is the result:
http://www.pressrepublican.com/Archive/2005/07_2005/070420051.htm
http://www.pressrepublican.com/Archive/2005/07_2005/070420052.htm
Let me just say at this point that I love the North Country. The people have a lot of spunk, and dammit, they take care of their own. I was glad to see how many residents came out to support the Mayor and the churches, and proud of the way the whole thing was handled.
And just for the record, I don't think God hates gays. I think He hates everyone equally, and the proof of it is that we've still got reality T.V. and Paris Hilton is still in the news. I rest my case.
http://www.pressrepublican.com/Archive/2005/07_2005/070420051.htm
http://www.pressrepublican.com/Archive/2005/07_2005/070420052.htm
Let me just say at this point that I love the North Country. The people have a lot of spunk, and dammit, they take care of their own. I was glad to see how many residents came out to support the Mayor and the churches, and proud of the way the whole thing was handled.
And just for the record, I don't think God hates gays. I think He hates everyone equally, and the proof of it is that we've still got reality T.V. and Paris Hilton is still in the news. I rest my case.
posted by Tierant at Tuesday, July 05, 2005
3 Comments:
Blog Damn You! i can't stand this hollow, sinking pain every single morning when I click upon your beloved link, only to find naught save some fred-phelps related stuff. We've moved on. Flood us with trivia, ramble profoundly, sing off-key. Just do something. We can not -- nay, will not! -- stand for it one single solitary minute minute (witty, that, eh?) more.
Where's my damn flit-gun?
Thirteen points if you can id where the quote came from. Six more points if you can get me a copy.
Think James Thurber on Acid. Lactic acid, though. It's not all that odd.
Really.
Do you still miss me, or has this comment cured that?
Oops: That was supposed to be anonymous. I'm not really C. Potts, I'm really Glanda, the semi-sweet witch of the pitutary.
Or the hypothalamus. Witches have piss-poor senses of direction and anatomy.
SHIT! That was supposed to be Anonymous as well. Now I'm really Gandhi, peaceful yet strangely obsessed with salt.
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