Gather ’round, children. The witching hour approaches. It’s time for Daddy to pour himself a whiskey, throw another Koran on the fire, and relate certain tales that will make your blood run cold.
Don’t start crying. I’m kidding about the tales. And the whiskey. And the Koran. Incidentally, is it Koran or Quran? It’s become a matter of personal preference, I guess. Back in my newspaper days I could answer this question from a deep coma with deep certainty. But today, what with the new media and the death of the AP stylebook, the spelling is willy-nilly, ranging from the slurred phonetic to the original Arabic.
In any case, I have suspended my study on how much of this nation’s energy requirements could be met by burning Korans instead of coal. The Rev. Terry Jones continues to be coy on whether or not his flock of nearly 50 will indeed set fire to a pile of the sacred texts, and without that there’s simply no telling. I do know that Muslim outrage might equal the output of four or five nuclear power plants, but that heat is being generated in places where they really don’t need it.
Here in Kansas, old Fred Phelps has to be fuming. When it comes to bat-shit lunacy, he’s been walking the walk for two decades. God hates fags, right? Fred also points out that he was burning Korans long before it was cool. He always meant to trigger an international incident, but there were just too many military funerals to desecrate. Then this upstart Jones, with his Fu Manchu mustache, comes along and gets global attention just by planning a stinking bonfire. Where’s the justice?
Sorry, Fred. But don’t be too hard on the Rev. Jones. Yeah, he’s Lady Gaga and you’re Britney Spears, but that wasn’t God’s doing. It was CNN’s.