On God's list, or at least Fred's

It looks like God, when he's not too busy dispatching out-of-the-closet sodomites, is going to take care of me, too (see last letter to the editor in the package):

Think about it, Leo. You are far from God. You'd better get right now. Your feet will slide soon, and you will fall into an eternity of suffering and retribution in hell.

I've been threatened before, and called every name in the book. But this is the first time (that I've known of) that someone has brought in God as a hit man. I hate to invite further wrath from Mr. Simpson, but if Fred Phelps is the messenger of God, I'll take hell any day.