Oh, Smite Me!

Jerry Falwell has died.

My introduction to Jerry, such as it was, occurred in the ninth grade when a friend was sleeping over. We were up late watching "dirty stuff" on HBO (this was before Real Sex and Taxicab Confessions, a soft core version of Lady Chatterly's Lover was as good as it got) when we decided to flip around the channels using that new-fangled invention, the remote control.

When we came across the Christian church services with the sweating and yelling Evangelicals, we were fascinated. It was more bizarre than anything on TV, including Headbanger's Ball. We started watching every time we had a sleep over.

We would argue about whether the audience members were real or actors, whether you had to have southern upbringing to fall for that crap, etc. It was like porn for our east coast, media savvy, church/temple ignorant hearts. We admired the faith, but couldn't believe that people would put their faith in a showboat-ing, yelling, judgmental man like him.

Since then, my contempt for Jerry and his ilk has grown. Though Jerry will always have a special place in my heart as the man who found a gay conspiracy in the Teletubbies. Anyway, he's dead. And it's all over CNN and the flock is expressing their sadness and yadda, yadda.

WHY? Don't they believe he's in a better place? Shouldn't they be happy for him?

I am.