Christopher Hitchens is 98% dead-on*

          Occasionally still—albeit less and less—strangers and friends of family members ask me to explain my hatred of religion.  I've never been able to be verbally succinct (I'm prone to verbose rants and tangents).  And especially so when the topic is morality, religious thuggery, and the discussion turns to:  there is no creator, is nothingness upon death, and (most importantly) why those facts are more comforting than any of the superstitions others claim to believe in.

          Rather than debate, I'd prefer everyone watch this 90 minutes as Christopher Hitchens explains.

          My largest regret:  the few people I love and care for who aren't aware or self-actualized enough to grasp this simple logic and who not-only prefer their fantasies, but who say they'd be more full of bliss if only I were as deluded as they.

          [I don't think further explanation is necessary...but just in case my last paragraph confuses one or more of those who it's aimed at—I don't regret any of my loved ones, nor do I regret their hatred-and-miracle-based belief systems.  I do regret sharing past, present, and future oxygen with ignoble hypocrites who only interrupt their vitriol with proselytizing and feigned empathy for my soul when I'm within hand-grenade range.]     

*Too soon?  Why?  It's waaay more than a year since he successfully committed slow suicide with alcohol and nicotine.

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