By now, we've all heard about Pat Robertson's 21-day prayer vigil to make three supreme court justices leave the highest of benches in the land.

Their initial letter did state, "One justice is 83-years-old, another has cancer and another has a heart condition. Would it not be possible for God to put it in the minds of these three judges that the time has come to retire?" Or, perhaps, die? After all, why point out medical problems if you aren't considering them taking more lethal effect?

I grew up in a Christian household. My parents were members of the 700 Club. In fact, I was raised in Virginia Beach, VA, home of CBN. Maybe that's why I hate them so much. (EDIT: That last sentence refers to CBN, not my parents. Sorry for the confusion.)

But psychological scars aside, perhaps that's why I was so happy to see Larry Flint respond. Personally, I don't like Larry Flint, if only because I don't find it attractive when a woman can stretch her labia out to her kneecaps. But the man knows how to push the first amendment to its limit, and when one extreme issues a fatwa against appointed government officials, the only way to find balance is a demonstration by the other extreme.

Instead of turning the tables on Pat Robertson, though (and why not, Larry, considering your own experience with molesting Jerry Falwell's image?) he goes after Bill O'Reilly. Yesterday was National Prayer Day for the death of Bill O'Reilly. Favorite quote: "O, Lord, may he lose control of his bowels in those final moments so that the last and only warm feeling he ever experiences is his own shit." I only found out about this today, unfortunately. Not that I actually would have prayed, but I could have reported this in a more timely fashion.

Thanks for the laugh and the skewering satire, Mr. Flynt. Good luck with your gubernatorial campaign, and don't forget to empty the dishwasher. (Tangentially, working for Hustler and then complaining about sexual harrassment is like acting in a low-budget theatre company and complaining about having to wear your own black pants -- DUH.)