Friday, July 28, 2006

My Cat Drinks the Blood of the Censorious

The easiest comment to make about this would surely be the timeworn truism that some people have no sense of humour, although that's perhaps not much comfort. Instead, I suggest finding solace in the fact that idiocy is its own punishment.
She had to take her sign down, but the person who made the complaint has to live their whole life as a tedious waste of oxygen who has nothing to offer but to make the world a little greyer. Without question a fender-less eunuch, and a knobshiner to boot. Man, woman or other.
For goodness sake, when did people start to expect to live their lives without ever being offended? (I am in the uncomfortable position of being indebted to Christopher Hitchens to some extent on this one. A rather wonderful conversation between him and Stephen Fry on the theme of blasphemy is available as a podcast - I'll find a link to it at some point soon. Anyway, Hitchens makes this point.) And since when did the population, as a general trend, decide to indulge such nonentities, rather than telling them where to go, and to think about what it really means to live in a world with other people in it while they're out there? It's no good expecting me to tolerate your millenialist death cult if you won't tolerate my laughing at you.

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