Pat Robertson was a hateful and irredeemable monster, a white supremacist and a baleful stain upon society whose name will be forever synonymous with Rudolf Höss, Idi Amin, and Vlad the Impaler.
Robertson brayed and splayed into every corner of American life that his far from limber mind could find. He used his considerable influence to turn thousands of gullible rubes, easy marks who sent in their last savings to fund this hatemonger’s theocratic media empire, into a xenophobic voting bloc so absent of head and heart that they quickly turned into red cap-wearing mouth-breathers who pushed our nation ever closer to hate and fascism. Like all demagogues of his execrable ilk, Pat Robertson had little more than enmity to bestow upon the world. He hated much in the way that the rest of us get a good night’s sleep or cook a nice meal for friends.
This professed “Christian” was a dangerous homophobe, an insufferable Islamophobe, and an incorrigible misogynist who used every waking minute of his evil and unpardonable life to shit on the most marginalized members of our nation. In hindsight, it is truly remarkable that none of his numerous victims thought to beat this bastard’s brains in with a baseball bat because of all the bile he dispensed under the guise of a sham peaceloving religion. Pat Robertson was the rare man who was so widely detested that he inspired apotheotic levels of rage and vengeful fantasies within Quakers and pacifists.
So his death, which was regrettably not painful and which came at least two decades too late, is something to pop open the bubbly over. Pat Robertson’s death at 93 also represents inarguable evidence that God does not exist. For if that fictitious deity actually did care about empathy and human values, Robertson would have been struck down in life sometime in the 1970s, possibly in an ignoble and ironic manner, shortly before his sinister fundamentalism latched on like wildfire in a post-Nixon nation looking for anyone to hate.
Robertson was the kind of evil fuck who would exploit the 1994 Rwanada genocide for his own financial gain. When 9/11 happened, he sided with Jerry Falwell, blaming “the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays, and the lesbians” for the terrorist attacks. Christian morons couldn’t stop drooling and couldn’t stop believing in this sham demagogue even when he claimed that God had told him that Mitt Romney would win the 2012 election or that an asteroid strike would destroy earth sometime after the 2020 election. Indeed, Robertson was so broad and unimaginative that he conflated anal sex with bestiality and used his lack of sexual versatility as the cornerstone for his homophobia. And it says something truly troubling about America that so many people swallowed up this stupidity without a kernel of critical thinking.
Robertson had the kind of insufferable hubris in which he could never acknowledge what a half-witted asshat he truly was. He failed the bar exam in New York and claimed, much in the manner of Pee-Wee Herman declaring that he “meant to do that,” that he had never intended to be a lawyer. And his ego was so stung by his mediocre performance that he never took the bar exam again. He tried running for President in 1988 and somehow persuaded three million people to volunteer for his campaign. And while the chowderheads in Iowa lathered their naked lily-white bodies with ample spoonfuls from this walking and talking can of creamed corn, there was very little momentum beyond this and he was forced to drop out.
The reason why Pat Robertson should be remembered and roundly denounced is to prevent more Pat Robertsons from planting their ankles into prominent snow banks. America is now far more susceptible to hate, cruelty, and bigotry than it has been in many decades. Pat Robertson is an unsettling reminder that we should never hold our tongues in condemning the real villains who use their lives to destroy human possibilities. Let Pat Robertson’s grave be riddled with streams of piss and broken glass. He deserves neither accolades nor veneration.