There's an upside to a Fred Phelps stalking

Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist "Church" knuckleheads are at it again.

They picketed Tim Russert's funeral, and now they plan a repeat performance at the late great Tony Snow's funeral.

I'm beginning to think that instead of reviling these people, we ought to thank them. If you get picketed by Fred and Co., besides the unfortunate fact that you are dead, you probably did something right in life to piss him off. You were probably a fallen military hero or -- like Snow -- an honorable public figure. Heck, even Jeffrey Dahmer looks like a dignified saint next to Fred Phelps.

Seriously, as hard as it might be, I think Jill Snow ought to walk right up to Freddie, shake his hand and thank him for all the positive publicity for her dearly departed husband.

I'm only half joking.

Do you think there's a way to piss off Fred Phelps while you're still alive? I mean, wouldn't it be great to get a personal damning-to-hell from Freddo himself? I could sell T-shirts: "Fred Phelps' Proud Whore of Babylon Since 2008."

I mean, I don't think this guy is ever going to relent unless someone turns him into mashed potatoes. (Which I'm surprised hasn't happened yet.) Might as well make a profit and have some fun why he's still making an ass of himself.

Cursing the inevitable -- Tony Snow is gone

I always liked Tony.

He seemed like such a real guy. Solid.

I will never forget the Sunday morning after 9/11. I sat on the edge of my bed, getting ready for church. Tony was on the air, delivering some heart-wrenching commentary that sent me over the edge. I started crying, wondering how he was holding it together himself.

Then he lost it. And I thought, Yep, he's a real person, too.

His affable on-air persona aside, you missed the best of Tony if you didn't read his print columns. In those lines, a very robust, passionate, funny, flawed man emerged. On his aging body:

There was a time, not long ago, when ... I liked shedding tops to display what little physique I possessed. But that was then. I am older. I've found profitable employment. I don't have vast stretches of leisure time. So gravity has taken hold. My sketchy little abs are gone -- along with the gumdrop biceps and squared-off deltoids -- and in their place, a substance eerily reminiscent of bread dough.

On the Clinton impeachment hearings. (This one made me blush.):

One hears not the crisp chiming of outrage, but the languid sigh of waves lapping ashore. The senators linger over the censorious syllables as if hovering over damsels of their dreams.

One senses the palpable thunder of thrumming hearts; the roar of violet, violent passions. While the young pols redden and wag their fingers, the old guys fumble through fobbed pockets for vials of nitroglycerin.

It seems that these honorables, with their demands for fresh revelation, secretly hope for talk of riding crops and nannies' bibs. Yet, whatever Monica's testimony brings, it won't teach us anything new about sex...

Even senators know this. Each has experienced the bursting joys and quiet aftermath of carnal congress.

Bursting joys and quiet aftermath. Tony!!

He was a true dude in every good way. The barest of coverage he's getting on Fox this morning (unlike the wall-to-wall coverage of Tim Russert's sudden passing) seems like a bit of a diss. So, I gladly spill some virtual ink for Tony this morning along with more than a few tears.

God rest your soul, Tony, and God bless your family.

UPDATE: Okay, it's the top of the hour and Fox is devoting a lot of time to Tony. Thank you.

BTW, don't miss clips of Tony jamming with his own ROCK BAND at Michelle Malkin's blog today. Played electric guitar, saxophone and flute!

Sigh. Heartbreaking.