One of the most oddly defiant Brits to do that was Christopher Hitchens. A self-proclaimed atheist ready to 'struts and frets his hour upon the stage' and never considered that, as Shakespeare had aptly noted some centuries ago 'there are more things in heaven and earth...than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'.
Today, at 62, Hitchens curled up in a Houston hospital bed, far from his birth country, and pooped out his last chunk of rage - dead.
Diagnosed with esophageal cancer, Hitchens remained profane to the end likening God to a ‘celestial dictatorship’.
Hitchens is testing his hypothesis that 'God Is Not Great', a book he penned slamming the faithful, and reassuring the sinful that they have nothing to fear. As with we all, this bitter little man has blacked-out (his hope), or is answering for his mistakes (his fear); no question he has his answers now.
The man who once referred to Mother Teresa of Calcutta as a 'fanatical Albanian dwarf' was no stranger to acting like an ass. Insulting saints seemed oddly preferable in his mutant mind, than simply accepting his obvious sense of worthlessness.
Hitchens was an angry man, in fact, and unafraid to spew his anger at any turn. Like many left wingers, Hitchens was filled with arrogance, and a self-proclaimed false sense of heroism, lamenting his disease 'So far, I have decided to take whatever my disease can throw at me, and to stay combative even while taking the measure of my inevitable decline...'.
Well, death takes us all - for Hitchens it just came a little sooner. In all his shallow existence, this is a guy that chose to be pissed off, rather than being generous. Hitchens will not long be remembered, the last laugh is on him, isn't it...
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