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I wish I was still an atheist. Believing I was born into a harsh, uncaring cosmos—in which my existence was a random roll of the dice and I was destined to die and rot and then be gone forever—was infinitely more comforting than the truth.
Because the truth is that my God is coming back. When he arrives I’ll be waiting for him with a shotgun. And I’m keeping the last shell for myself.
Life would be so much simpler if our adversaries could be dealt with by supersonic death on the wing—but alas, Human Resources aren’t so easily defeated.
“Fatal accidents never have just a single cause,” she tells me, “they happen at the end of a whole series of errors. What the enquiry is going to ask is, how far back did the chain start?
The trouble is, you can ignore history—but history won’t necessarily ignore you.
On the other hand, unreliability never stopped anyone from using a given technology—just look at Microsoft if you don’t believe me.
It’s not terrorism in America this decade if they shoot doctors or firebomb family planning clinics, you know?”
To my way of thinking, an omnipotent being who sets up a universe in which thinking beings proliferate, grow old, and die (usually in agony, alone, and in fear) is a cosmic sadist. Consequently,
I live free in an uncaring cosmos, rather than trapped in a clockwork orrery constructed by a cosmic sadist.
life is a shit sandwich, but the more bread you’ve got, the less shit you have to eat.
