Dear Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters: Hi, I'm Caleb Howe's blog entries (hereafter referred to as "a blog"). Thanks for listening. I used to be an open letter (hereafter referred to as "the hacky crutch") much like you. Eventually I had to change. Too many bad things happened over the years, and the hacky crutch was increasingly used for purposes I didn't want to be a part of. Streams of senseless invective and uncommonly nasty hatred would coalesce across the internet, and in newspapers and magazines under the constant banner of the hacky crutch.
It seemed, in fact, that the hacky crutch was often cover for little more than "look at me," self-important diatribes, wherein the author would make wild accusations at the object of their hatred. There was so much vanity, so much vitriol, so little to say. Eventually I had to become a blog.
People would do despicable things, Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters. They might even demonize an entire segment of the population as worthless villains unworthy of the President's consideration or reputation based, essentially, on their religious affiliation!
Look, Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters, I understand that your writer has some issues. Serious issues. Giving up one's religion in order to worship a politician can't be without its perils. I mean, granted, he left the group he is claiming to know from the inside over twenty years ago and one would think he could hardly recall it, much less still use that one-time association as some sort of calling card self-identity; But apparently, the pain is still somehow fresh. The Lord works in mysterious ways, as Frank would say. Or would have said ... you know, twenty years ago.
Anyway, Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters, the point is, the hacky crutch was being used for some sordid activity. It called radio hosts murderers, country folks rubes, and religious people arsonists. It made wild predictions about futures that never were, hopey changey unicorny futures that would have occurred for certain, oh my yes, if only slavish scumwads hadn't messed it all up by ... listening to the radio? Or something.
In fact, the same author might deliver essentially the same sermon twice in just a few weeks, both times under the same banner of the hacky crutch! Is that what you want to be? Do you want your author to end up only a few extra minutes at the keyboard away from "are there no prisons?!" Do you want him calling for banishment?
Imagine what your author will be like, Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters. Face red, fingers banging the keys too hard. Small tight grin, beads of sweat and unconscious tears dripping onto the salty desktop Short audible grunts of self-approval when a particularly nasty bit gets onto the screen .. "Oohh, I used utterly AGAIN!!!" Can't you see it?
Frank Schaeffer's Open Letters, do you really want to become some two-bit parody of self-loathing, mindless hero-worship, grade school style, and navel-gazing instability just so you can keep using the hacky crutch? Do you?
Hmm, wait a second.