Friday, October 7, 2011

Proof That, Once Again, Hate is Irony Deaf

Steve Jobs died the other day.

I'm only recently discovering the joys of the various Mac toys - I bought myself my first iPod at the beginning of last year, the first large purchase I ever made for myself by myself, with money I made at my job - I've been a PC user most of my life, because honestly, it's all I've ever known. Hell, I was using 98 right up until a few years ago. I use my iPod almost every day; it quickly replaced my MP3 player when I lost back a few years ago and I don't think I could ever go out for a run without it. I wouldn't mind getting an iPhone, either, and I really do want to get an iPad. I'm just dirt poor. The point is, the Mac toys are pretty cool. It's a sad fact that their creator is gone.

Jobs was a man who revolutionized the way we Internet (yes, Internet is now a verb) and the way we connect to the world at large. It's always sad to loose someone brilliant; there's so few of them in the world today, when a brightly shining star goes out, it's always noticed.

Oh, and speaking of dim stars - the Westboro Baptist Cult has announced that they, being the awesome, Christ-like Christians they are, will grace Job's funeral with their presence. And they did it from an iPhone, too, on Twitter. Irony deaf much?

Apparently, it's some business about how they're attention starved, and how they want to be a part of everything and the media hasn't been paying attention to them lately - you know how it goes. When worthless people start feeling lonely, they try to make everyone else feel worthless as well. They're looking for a platform to spread their arrogance and filth; that's why I usually don't talk about them. Yeah, we all know the WBC. Nobody gives a fuck about them. Fine, you're going to heaven. Good for you - if you're there, I don't want to be anyway. I couldn't think of a more horrific way to spend eternity than with the Phelps clan. There's not a loving God one that would enforce that sort of punishment on anything in creation.

Unlike Jobs, the day Phelps dies will be a day to rejoice and gather up, sing songs, and enjoy the passing of an evil, wretched, dirty little old man who deserves all of the scorn he gets.

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