Christopher Hitchens is dead. Many Christians will crow, using his death from esophageal cancer and his sufferings with the treatment as proof that god was not amused with his strident atheism and fucked him over, real good. The problem with that – for which they show a remarkable disconnect – is that millions of people suffer horribly on any given day, and we all die, most often in unpleasant ways. God no more exacted revenge on Christopher Hitchens than he exacted revenge on my mother, who died from lung cancer, or on my cat Wendy, who has lymphoma.

There are many reasons I’ve abandoned nearly all religious explanations for anything. Among them are the vicious, vain and insecure manifestations of god so many religious people delight in (kill ALL those Egyptian babies, we’ll just call it “Passover”, and be sure to praise me constantly because otherwise I’ll forget I’m god), and their self-indulgent insistence on thinking humans have the oppotunity to live forever, to be “saved”, while not extending that unique grace to any other living thing. Vanity in extremis, in perfect reflection of the god they imagine. I’d rather drop some tithing into the collection box for Isis or Thor or one of the really cool gods, a belief in whom these otherwise rational Christians would find absurd. Think about it.

Anyway, Hitchens is gone. Expect comments and victory speeches about as hateful as those they’ve drafted for George Michael.

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