God hates fags

He knew that something must be done.

Phelps waited for the crowd to die down and then followed Reed back to his room. As Reed swiped his keycard and entered, Phelps shoved his boot into the space before the door could close. He pushed it open and walked through, letting it close behind him. His pulse and respiration quickened -- it had been some time since he'd been alone with a fag. Normally the fags mocked him, laughed as spat the Laws of God, telling them about their futures. He was only doing God's Work, could they not see it, too? This time, however, this time, he knew that God wanted him to teach Reed a lesson. After all, he couldn't allow Reed into public office, where he could gay up all of the people who looked up for him, could he? Of course not. He stepped further into the room. It was at this point that Reed heard his leather boots scrape the carpet and turned, surprised to see Phelps in the room with him.

"I saw you in the lobby," he said. "I hoped you'd find your way to my room, but I admit that I didn't expect you here until tonight."

Phelps wasn't surprised. It was just like these sex-starved faggot jews to come on to a good, God-fearin' man like himself.

"God sent me up here to teach you a lesson, son," Phelps sneered. "He don' like fags like you, and I'm here to make sure you know it."

"Oh, is that what you're into? I've always liked older men, you know. So, should I just jump on the bed?" he asked.

Phelps sputtered. Even as his mind recoiled in disgust and horror, part of him was intrigued. A part of him that he had buried...a part of him that he prayed to God about all those years ago. It was what had led him to become a minister at 18-- an almost-successful attempt at burying those feelings forever. Without even realizing it, he began to rationalize his actions. "What better way to discredit those abominations," he thought, "than to personally testify to how revolting the vile acts are?" Even as the thought formed, he knew what he had to do. GOD WAS TELLING HIM TO BE STRONG AND HOMOSEXUALLY FORNICATE! It was the only way to prove to the public at large how true God's Words were.

Phelps sat down on the bed and took off his trademark cowboy hat. Reed ripped off his clothes. His breath sucked in when he saw Phelps' body.

"Mmm, all these liver spots to suck on. It's like finding the raisins in the porridge of your wrinkled fat!" he exclaimed. Phelps prepared against Satan's pleasurable onslaught by thinking of the most miserable thing he could -- his wife. Reed pulled out Phelps' member and cried out joyously, "Oh yes, you're definitely among God's Chosen Blessed, aren't you?"

The rest of the event passed slowly...and quickly...and slowly...and quickly...and pretty soon Reed collapsed next to him.

Every Gay down in Queerville Liked Buttsehcks a lot...

But the Phelps, who lived just North of Queerville, Did NOT!

The Phelps hated Buttsehcks! The whole Buttsehcks season! Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his penis was two sizes too small.

But, Whatever the reason, His cock or his shoes, He stood there on Buttsehcks Eve, hating the gays, Staring down from his cave with a sour, Phelpsy frown At the warm lighted windows below in their town. For he knew every gay down in Queerville beneath Was busy now, hanging a mistleoe wreath.

"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer. "Tomorrow is Buttsehcks! It's practically here!" Then he growled, with his Phelps fingers nervously drumming, "I MUST find a way to keep Buttsehcks from coming!" For, tomorrow, he knew...

...All the gay girls and boys Would wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the gays, young and old, would sit down to a feast. And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! They would start on gay-pudding, and rare gay-roast-beast Which was something the Phelps couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN They'd do something he liked least of all! Every gay down in Queerville, the tall and the small, Would stand close together, with Buttsehcks bells ringing. They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the gays would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd sing! AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING! And the more the Phelps thought of the gay-Buttsehcks-Sing The more the Phelps thought, "I must stop this whole thing! "Why for fifty-three years I've put up with it now! I MUST stop Buttsehcks from coming! ...But HOW?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE Phelps GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Phelps Laughed in his throat. And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat. And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Phelpsy trick! "With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!"

"All I need is a reindeer..." The Phelps looked around. But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found. Did that stop the old Phelps...? No! The Phelps simply said, "If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!" So he called his wife Margie. Then he took some red thread And he tied a big horn on top of her head.

THEN He loaded some bags And smacked her old sagging cans On a ramshakle sleigh He whistled for Tim & LeAnn.

Then the Phelps said, "Giddyap!" And the sleigh started down Toward the homes where the gays Lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the gays were all dreaming sweet dreams without care When he came to the first house in the square. "This is stop number one," The old Phelpsy Claus hissed And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney, refusing any help. But if Santa could do it, then so could the Phelps. He got stuck only once, for a moment or two. Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue Where the little gay stockings all hung in a row. "These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant, Around the whole room, and he took every present! Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Phelps, very nimbly, Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the gays' feast! He took the gay-pudding! He took the roast beast! He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash. Why, that Phelps even took their last can of gay-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee. "And NOW!" grinned the Phelps, "I will stuff up the tree!"

And the Phelps grabbed the tree, and he started to shove When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. He turned around fast, and he saw a small gay! Little Cindy-Lou-Gay, she was no more than two.

The Phelps had been caught by this little gay daughter She'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water. She stared at the Phelps and said, "Santy Claus, why, "Why are you taking our Buttsehcks tree? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Phelps was so smart and so slick He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick! "Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied, "There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side. "So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear. "I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head And he got her a drink and he sent he to bed. And when Cindy-Lou gay went to bed with her cup, HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

Then the last thing he took Was the log for their fire. Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar. On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.

And the one speck of food The he left in the house Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then He did the same thing To the other gays' houses

Leaving crumbs Much too small For the other gays' mouses!

It was quarter past dawn... All the gays, still a-bed All the gays, still a-snooze When he packed up his sled, Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit, He rode to the tiptop to dump it! "Pooh-pooh to the gays!" he was Phelps-ish-ly humming. "They're finding out now that no Buttsehcks is coming! "They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do! "Their mouths will hang open a minute or two "The all the gays down in Queerville will all cry BOO-HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Phelps, "That I simply must hear!" So he paused. And the Phelps put a hand to his ear. And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Queerville! The Phelps popped his eyes! Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every gay down in Queerville, the tall and the small, Was singing! Without any presents at all! He HADN'T stopped Buttsehcks from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Phelps, with his Phelps-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! "It came without packages, boxes or bags!" And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore. Then the Phelps thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Buttsehcks," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. "Maybe Buttsehcks...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And what happened then...? Well...in Queerville they say That the Phelps's small penis Grew three sizes that day! And the minute his penis felt stuffy and tight, He jismed his load through the bright morning light And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast! And he...

...HE HIMSELF...!

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