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Ever seen those ‘God Hates Fags’ guys and wondered: why doesn’t somebody mess with those mo-fos?

Well, guess what I did at the WTC?

If you were born in the middle of the 1960s, the Manson family imprinted themselves on your brain.

The girls looked like this.

I finally saw, up close, those (registered Democrat) Fred Phelps “family” members, with their “God Hates Fags” signs, outside the WTC memorial ceremony.

We wandered over to the location, knowing it was invitation only, but got as close as we could to the loudspeakers and giant TV, outside of Brown Brothers Harriman.

So did the Phelps gang.

They are the Manson girls.

I am not joking.

Same long straight brown hair, although mostly casually “up” in ponytails that morning.

And worst: the same creepy, post-orgasmic, beatific smile of every gnostic heretic; the one that says, “I know something you don’t know: God loves me SO much more than you.”

Jane Fonda smiled and laughed like that, sitting on an anti-aircraft weapon. The Manson girls smiled like that.

And now I’ve seen the Phelps girls do it too.

We were a few yards away from the square footage they’d clearly been allotted to have their little demo, surrounded by cops.

Don’t say: Whoa, I bet they needed ‘em that day.

They didn’t. One of the weirdest things about being in New York for the 9/11 ceremonies was that I was the most upset person I “saw.”

For instance, I got into a screaming match with some 9/11 Truthers, calling them “bitches,” “pigs” and “faggots.”

And I shoulder-checked one of their littler bastards and knocked him off his feet.

But that was later…

At this point, I just gave them the Phelps gang the finger.

It was at a distance so I doubt they noticed.

Arnie took a photo of me doing that, which I didn’t realize he’d done until he showed it to me later.

Finally, I guess the Phelps family had only been given a limited time allotted to yell, “Thank God for 9/11″ and hold up their “God Hates Firefighters” signs.

The cops told them to pack up. They put their signs back into the extra large black artist portfolio cases I now know they carry them in.

And the cops herded them away. Right past me.

So I stuck out my foot and tripped one of the girls.

Yeah, it felt fabulous.

She recovered herself, put her weird “I’m in a cult” smile back on and said, “Ha! Subtle!”

(This from a chick who’d been holding a “You will eat your babies” (?) sign.)

Her friend behind her, this old hag who looked like if the school librarian who’d been trapped in a fire, got in my face and with the most twisted expression you can imagine growled:

“You’ll go to hell for all your violence!”

“See you there,” I managed to croak.

If I only had a week to live, or a billion dollars for legal fees, I’d have slugged her without hesitation.

So, yeah: we had a great time, thanks for asking.

I have a ton of work to catch up on, and will be taping Ezra’s show tonight.

For now, enjoy his speech at Pamela Geller’s anti-Ground-Zero mosque rally:


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