Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Bobby Frank Cherry, Meet the Devil

When I got back from my mini-vacation, I noticed not a much happened, news-wise. By far, the best news I saw was that Bobby Frank Cherry died in his prison cell over the weekend.

Cherry was one of three Klansmen (MEN?!? That's a complete misuse of the term... maybe 'klanslimypunks' would be more appropriate...) convicted in the 1963 Birmingham church bombing that killed four little girls. Gosh, and it only took our government FORTY FUCKING YEARS to convict that worthless sack of shit but there's some consolation in knowing that Cherry's grandchildren got to hear, "Yeah, your granddaddy died in prison for killing four little girls." Good for them, I hope the white trash Cherry spawned learns a little something from the shame of gramps going stiff in the stir.

As a father, if my children had been killed by that pointy-headed little fuck, he'd have been lucky to make it to prison. He sure as shit wouldn't have been walking around free for almost forty years because I would have ripped open his throat, grabbed his small intenstines, and shoved them in his pestillent mouth. Back in my anarcho-punk days (and when I was playing in an anarcho-punk band), I used to maintain that the only way to fight racism was to pound sense into the racist's empty skull. Cherry deserved that and a lot more.

Every black prisoner in the correctional facility Cherry was incarcerated had to have grown up with the story of the Birmingham church bombing. Although the same government that took almost four decades to convict Cherry was probably the same government that provided Cherry with "protective custody", I'm sure more than a few gobs of saliva (among other items) made it into Cherry's dinner plate.

Bobby Frank Cherry, "In nomine Domini Sabaoth sui filique ite ad infernos." And your mama, too.


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