Christian Terrorists Alive and Well In the U.S.

By Kelly Mahan Jaramillo, Sunday, May 31st, 2009

I really do not know where to start.  George Tiller, a late term abortion doctor, was shot and killed  this morning while serving as an usher at his Wichita, Kansas Church.

 

You can read the full story here.

The folks who are screaming “Murder” at abortion clinics do not believe in murder, and proved it by…………Murdering someone!

And to prove the point, the murderer of the doctor stands right by  the body in defiance, righteous in his beliefs……oh, I am sorry, that is in my fantasy of people who are deeply committed to a cause.  

In reality, the shooter of Dr. George Tillman ran. Shot him in church and fled the scene like the fringe Christian coward that he is.

I live in Pittsburgh, and there is a Womens Hospital in the city, I just had surgery there.  They are a full hospital that specializes in the specific needs of women, from pregnancy, delivery, OB-GYN, Mid-life, Menopause, everything.

I had to go to the emergency room about a week before my surgery, as I was in so much pain from what is called Serous Cystadenofibroma, not pregnancy related.

I was referred to the Women’s Hospital by the wonderful Doctors at the Northside Christian Health Center.  Let me repeat.  The Northside Christian center referred me to the Women’s Hospital.

As Tomas tried to pull into the big parking lot of this amazing, big beautiful hospital, looking for where he could flag down a wheelchair as I was in so much pain I could not walk, he was blocked by picketers, showing their tired pictures of abortions, yelling their tired rhetoric, as we are trying to pull in and a ninety year old ambulatory woman was trying to get out.

I had enough strength to flip them the bird, at least.

Hey, Fringe Anti-choice Christians?  I have a message for you:

You make God and Jesus sick to their stomachs.

I would venture to say that you murdering bastards are going to burn in hell along with the rest of us.

 

Note:

Author credit above in red, because she is about to have an aneurysm from how angry this event has made her.

A Nazi Outfit in a Dream?

Hello boys and girls -

I am back, and very very tired.  I have been relieved of a few body parts, none of which I were using.

I was given extremely strong pain medication, ick.  I have spent a good portion of my life staying away from ingesting anything mind-altering and strong.

So I dumped all of them in the loo, and have been trying to get my sleep pattern back to normal while we wait with bated breath on tests and results.

My dreams have gotten really weird – last night, for instance……..

Los Angeles,  Mid – Wilshire  Area, Dusk, 1978.

It is as it was in 1978, desolate and quiet when I would drive, late at night listening to music and enjoying the silent, deserted streets.

However, in the dream, a person can only go out at night, it is the future, and there is a slowly forming gang who look like SS Officers.  They can help you or kill you, and it does not matter what your race or gender is, they are utterly unbiased, your fate lies in their taste or mood.

In the dream I have a friend, one I recognize from awake life. His nickname is “Homo” and for the life of me I cannot, until now, remember his real name.

His name is Chris, he was the boyfriend of my long ago friend Wanda.  They parted without anger, just faded from each other like an old fax from long ago, stuck behind the  fax machine.

But she is not in the dream, there is a man, apartments, and a phone.  ’Homo’ calls, and tells me that I can get to where I want to be, which used to be called East Hancock Park, or Mid Wilshire, it stretched for miles – but I have to pay the Nazi SS money.  This goes against every fiber of my living self.

“You can give us the car, if you have no money, he says, trying to be helpful, but it is clear that he has joined “the Party”, and is unwilling to give up his beginners status to help a friend.

I need to get down to Venice Boulevard, Tomas is waiting there, and somehow when we hookup, we will be out of this forever hot dry dusk nightmare.

I hang up on Chris, refusing to give up my car.  A man approaches, a man I do not recognize either in awake, dream, or television state.

He has his own face.

“The only way you can get to Pico Boulevard, then to Venice Boulevard, is to wear this,” – he holds the suit out, his voice compassionate but neutral.

It is a Nazi SS suit with no insignia,and it is tailored perfectly.  A bathroom is available, I try it on.  It fits.  I go between bouts of vomiting and admiring myself.

I wake up to the fading sound of my heels clicking crisply toward someone’s destination.

© 2009 Kelly Mahan Jaramillo