Amazon Rankings of Children’s Books by Christopher Hitchens

Mommy’s Not Going to Heaven and Neither Are You! By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #18 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “Finally! This is the definitive atheist and antitheist polemic teaching tool for children! A must-have for any contrarian who views religion as a devastating manmade conceit with which to subjugate the masses and suppress independent thought! Beautifully illustrated!”

The Adventures of Billy the Rapist and His Zionist Henchmen By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #324 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “I’m not really sure that this is suitable for children and, regardless of pages and pages of exhaustive pontificating about the occupation of Palestine … I don’t think my kid should be reading about a bunny character who rapes his interns! (Besides, what bunny rabbit has an intern?) This book is strictly neo-con pejorative allegory and I don’t think it’s suitable for the suggested ages of 4-8 let alone anyone. Also, at 432 pages, it’s a little long for a bedtime story.”

Hiccup Harry and the Order of Leprechauns By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #457 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “Even though this is a flimsy knockoff of J. K. Rowling, Hitchens has crafted a whimsical fairytale about a teetotaler with chronic hiccups who goes off the wagon after his parents are killed, and falls in with a group of leprechauns from the mythical Kingdom of Briarlande. These Leprechauns are trying to reunite their fractured country after a group of evil separatists (lead by the nefarious Lord Galloward) launch a revolution and divide the country. The story gets a bit lost in Harry’s drinking adventures (he tells the leprechauns that he drinks to make others more tolerable) and some of the language is a bit strong for young readers; but it’s a great read and sets the tone for the series as Harry embarks on a quest to unite Briarlande.”

Dear God, How Come I’m Not Funny? By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #502 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “A series of diary entries told through the eyes of Tiffany Flustercluck, an angst-ridden Christian teenager coming of age in Scottsdale, Arizona. Tiffany struggles with peer pressure, her newfound femininity and her genetic inability to make people laugh. How will she ever get a boy to like her? Almost hilarious!”

Smokey Smoke-a-licious! By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #700 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “This amazing picture-book follows Smokey around the country around as he smokes in public places, candy stores and milk bars! His parents warn him about the dangers of smoking, but Smokey doesn’t get sick—he gets smarter! Soon he’s studying Trotsky and Jefferson and palling around with hot college girls at Georgetown! But what will he do when faced with a nationwide draconian law banning smoking in milk bars? What else? Appear on a million talk shows denouncing the archaic puritanical mollycoddling of the fascist germophobes, (or germofascists), who seek to rid the world of pollution by littering the streets with their uninformed pro-life screeds on health-care initiatives! Absolutely enchanting! My three-year-old loved it! We can’t wait for the Broadway musical! A must-read for kids and disenfranchised smokers of all ages!”

Other Entities That Are Not Great, According to an Inebriated but Still Quite Formidable Christopher Hitchens

Alexander the Great
A thieving, fanatical Albanian dwarf. Wait. That’s what I said about Mother Theresa. My usually encyclopedic memory has perhaps been muddied a bit by that third bottle of Black Label. A buggering, megalomaniacal Macedonian midget. There, that’s much better. Though one must concede that Alexander could famously imbibe gallons of the wine-skinned swill of his age and still remain standing—nay, defiant—a trait I wholeheartedly admire and endorse.

Raping and pillaging ones way across half the globe hardly qualifies one for greatness per se, though one could say that at least Alexander did something proactive, unlike the cringing, odious cowards of the Left. They seem content to acquiesce and appease, like fucking Chamberlain kowtowing to das Fuhrer, while real men of courage like George W. Bush and Dick Cheney stand and fight—nay, volunteer—for service in … er … well, regardless, I’m still right about Iraq. Fuck off.

The Great Wall of China
This supposedly impenetrable structure hardly kept those fucking unwashed Mongols from invading and subjugating their supposedly “divine” middle kingdom. Speaking of divinity, the Chinese insistence that their emperor was the “son of heaven” smacks of that most corrupt and pernicious of all evils, religion.

One could say the Chinese almost deserved to have the Mongols overwhelm them. But saying so would infer the existence of the aforementioned divinity, in its infamous guise of “retribution.” This quaint notion is of course paradoxically disproved by the success of immoral abominations as Henry Kissinger, Jerry Falwell, and that true pillar of fraud and malfeasance, Mother Theresa.

Alas, the impractical battlement is utterly porous when compared to the stalwart adamantine barriers against Islamofascism erected by the intrepid and prescient Mr. Bush, much to the chagrin of my spineless antagonists on the Left, especially the intellectually stunted sycophants at The Nation.

They’d like nothing more than to verily throw open the gates of western civilization to terrorists and jihadists—nay, invite—them in for fucking lemonade. Virgin of course, lest they offend their guests fragile religious sensibilities. As the great W.C. Fields once remarked, “Never trust a man who doesn’t drink”; the obvious corollary to this is always trust one who does, especially one who can drink enough for three stout men, yet still remain lucid—nay, triumphant—scattering his bleating rivals before him.

Wayne Gretsky
A simpering Bambi narcissist. Wait. Damn, that’s what I called Princess Diana. Seriously, can one be considered “great” based on one’s excellence in a gross physical activity? Or in anything regarded by the unwashed masses as “sport”? True fucking sport involves the verbal evisceration and humiliation of one’s sputtering and overmatched foes, preferably in a charged public forum, before a gasping throng of cowed but fawning spectators.

Also he never had to contend with the vicious cross-checking and man-marking that Mario Lemieaux suffered through on a nightly basis. One is reminded of the constant barrage from the caterwauling liberal press on the indefatigable Mr. Bush.

Alas, the peace-mongering Canadians’ insistence on deifying “the Great One” is simply replacing one false god with another, though at least Gretsky has video evidence of his “greatness”, unlike Jesus or Mohammed, or that thieving bitch Mother Theresa.

Frosted Flakes
The rabid frothing of their pathetic anthropomorphic tiger mascot notwithstanding, these “flakes” decompose in seconds into an insipid, over-sweet slurry, not unlike the sugarcoated pap generated by the insipid dolts infesting the cubicles at The Nation.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get something solid to eat to help forestall an imminent buggering hangover. Sod off.

Amazon Rankings of Children’s Books by Christopher Hitchens

Mommy’s Not Going to Heaven and Neither Are You! By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #18 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “Finally! This is the definitive atheist and antitheist polemic teaching tool for children! A must-have for any contrarian who views religion as a devastating manmade conceit with which to subjugate the masses and suppress independent thought! Beautifully illustrated!”

The Adventures of Billy the Rapist and His Zionist Henchmen By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #324 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “I’m not really sure that this is suitable for children and, regardless of pages and pages of exhaustive pontificating about the occupation of Palestine … I don’t think my kid should be reading about a bunny character who rapes his interns! (Besides, what bunny rabbit has an intern?) This book is strictly neo-con pejorative allegory and I don’t think it’s suitable for the suggested ages of 4-8 let alone anyone. Also, at 432 pages, it’s a little long for a bedtime story.”

Hiccup Harry and the Order of Leprechauns By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #457 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “Even though this is a flimsy knockoff of J. K. Rowling, Hitchens has crafted a whimsical fairytale about a teetotaler with chronic hiccups who goes off the wagon after his parents are killed, and falls in with a group of leprechauns from the mythical Kingdom of Briarlande. These Leprechauns are trying to reunite their fractured country after a group of evil separatists (lead by the nefarious Lord Galloward) launch a revolution and divide the country. The story gets a bit lost in Harry’s drinking adventures (he tells the leprechauns that he drinks to make others more tolerable) and some of the language is a bit strong for young readers; but it’s a great read and sets the tone for the series as Harry embarks on a quest to unite Briarlande.”

Dear God, How Come I’m Not Funny? By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #502 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “A series of diary entries told through the eyes of Tiffany Flustercluck, an angst-ridden Christian teenager coming of age in Scottsdale, Arizona. Tiffany struggles with peer pressure, her newfound femininity and her genetic inability to make people laugh. How will she ever get a boy to like her? Almost hilarious!”

Smokey Smoke-a-licious! By Christopher Hitchens Amazon.com Sales Rank: #700 in Books Most Recent Customer Reviews: “This amazing picture-book follows Smokey around the country around as he smokes in public places, candy stores and milk bars! His parents warn him about the dangers of smoking, but Smokey doesn’t get sick—he gets smarter! Soon he’s studying Trotsky and Jefferson and palling around with hot college girls at Georgetown! But what will he do when faced with a nationwide draconian law banning smoking in milk bars? What else? Appear on a million talk shows denouncing the archaic puritanical mollycoddling of the fascist germophobes, (or germofascists), who seek to rid the world of pollution by littering the streets with their uninformed pro-life screeds on health-care initiatives! Absolutely enchanting! My three-year-old loved it! We can’t wait for the Broadway musical! A must-read for kids and disenfranchised smokers of all ages!”

Other Entities That Are Not Great, According to an Inebriated but Still Quite Formidable Christopher Hitchens

Alexander the Great
A thieving, fanatical Albanian dwarf. Wait. That’s what I said about Mother Theresa. My usually encyclopedic memory has perhaps been muddied a bit by that third bottle of Black Label. A buggering, megalomaniacal Macedonian midget. There, that’s much better. Though one must concede that Alexander could famously imbibe gallons of the wine-skinned swill of his age and still remain standing—nay, defiant—a trait I wholeheartedly admire and endorse.

Raping and pillaging ones way across half the globe hardly qualifies one for greatness per se, though one could say that at least Alexander did something proactive, unlike the cringing, odious cowards of the Left. They seem content to acquiesce and appease, like fucking Chamberlain kowtowing to das Fuhrer, while real men of courage like George W. Bush and Dick Cheney stand and fight—nay, volunteer—for service in … er … well, regardless, I’m still right about Iraq. Fuck off.

The Great Wall of China
This supposedly impenetrable structure hardly kept those fucking unwashed Mongols from invading and subjugating their supposedly “divine” middle kingdom. Speaking of divinity, the Chinese insistence that their emperor was the “son of heaven” smacks of that most corrupt and pernicious of all evils, religion.

One could say the Chinese almost deserved to have the Mongols overwhelm them. But saying so would infer the existence of the aforementioned divinity, in its infamous guise of “retribution.” This quaint notion is of course paradoxically disproved by the success of immoral abominations as Henry Kissinger, Jerry Falwell, and that true pillar of fraud and malfeasance, Mother Theresa.

Alas, the impractical battlement is utterly porous when compared to the stalwart adamantine barriers against Islamofascism erected by the intrepid and prescient Mr. Bush, much to the chagrin of my spineless antagonists on the Left, especially the intellectually stunted sycophants at The Nation.

They’d like nothing more than to verily throw open the gates of western civilization to terrorists and jihadists—nay, invite—them in for fucking lemonade. Virgin of course, lest they offend their guests fragile religious sensibilities. As the great W.C. Fields once remarked, “Never trust a man who doesn’t drink”; the obvious corollary to this is always trust one who does, especially one who can drink enough for three stout men, yet still remain lucid—nay, triumphant—scattering his bleating rivals before him.

Wayne Gretsky
A simpering Bambi narcissist. Wait. Damn, that’s what I called Princess Diana. Seriously, can one be considered “great” based on one’s excellence in a gross physical activity? Or in anything regarded by the unwashed masses as “sport”? True fucking sport involves the verbal evisceration and humiliation of one’s sputtering and overmatched foes, preferably in a charged public forum, before a gasping throng of cowed but fawning spectators.

Also he never had to contend with the vicious cross-checking and man-marking that Mario Lemieaux suffered through on a nightly basis. One is reminded of the constant barrage from the caterwauling liberal press on the indefatigable Mr. Bush.

Alas, the peace-mongering Canadians’ insistence on deifying “the Great One” is simply replacing one false god with another, though at least Gretsky has video evidence of his “greatness”, unlike Jesus or Mohammed, or that thieving bitch Mother Theresa.

Frosted Flakes
The rabid frothing of their pathetic anthropomorphic tiger mascot notwithstanding, these “flakes” decompose in seconds into an insipid, over-sweet slurry, not unlike the sugarcoated pap generated by the insipid dolts infesting the cubicles at The Nation.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get something solid to eat to help forestall an imminent buggering hangover. Sod off.

his e-mail will serve to inform you that your subscription to Netflix has been canceled. We found out what you did, and we think it’s disgusting.

This e-mail will also serve as notice that you are no longer a member of the Y.M.C.A. The Y is a community organization and has served families in this area for more than a hundred years, while encouraging healthy lifestyles and active citizenship for all. Naturally, we don’t want someone like you hanging around.

Additionally, the state D.O.T. is revoking your driver’s license. In the event of your death, you will not be allowed to donate your organs. No one wants them anymore.

The session of jury duty you served last year has been stricken from the record and the case on which you served will be retried. Had we known then what we know now, you would not have been called.

While your health insurance cannot be stripped from you, even under these circumstances, your provider has created a plan designed specifically for you that will not cover any expenses but will deduct a significantly higher amount from your paycheck every two weeks. It’s better than you deserve.

On second thought, you’re fired.

Not to mention: Your dry cleaning has been incinerated, the remaining value of your gift cards and gift certificates has been electronically deleted, your contributions to various charities will be returned, your electricity will be shut off in three days, no one will compliment your appearance, all your jokes will fall flat, someone will vandalize the front door of your apartment, and you will forget how to whistle.

Also, your mother has disowned you.

Finally, this e-mail will be your last e-mail. People like you should not be allowed to communicate on the Internet. You’ll just make things worse than they already are.

We just thought you should know.

Sincerely,
Everyone

Apostles: The Original Entourage

Matt Sullivan

TEASER TRAILER

[Reprinting some of Y.P.R.’s Francophilia. ]

I’ve Decided to Start Acting More French

i, honey. We need to talk.

So I’ve decided to start acting more French, and you’re going to be seeing some changes in my behavior. Exactly what this will entail is difficult to determine, particularly because I have never been to France. But it’s my decision, and I’m sticking with it. Anyway, I’ve got some general ideas on how to do so. Hence the beret.

Why have I chosen to do this, you ask? In celebration of my heritage. I’ve recently been made aware that my last name is probably French in origin. This is not certain, but fairly likely—maybe 60 percent. It’s either French or German. Anyway, I don’t really want to act more German, nor would I know how to do so even if I did. So French it is. Want some baguette?

Please don’t object to this. And don’t fight it. If you want to fight about it, I’m going to have to run away. It is widely acknowledged that French people don’t fight. We are lovers, not fighters. Perhaps I could get someone to do the quarreling for me, if you’re insistent on arguing. Anyway, I’d rather not fight about it, as it’s not in my nature. Let’s just have some wine and a long skinny cigarette.

What do you mean it’s too early for wine? Not in France, it isn’t. French people are drunk 24/7. I’m really going for full-on Frenchness here. So when I drunkenly turn my superior nose up at everything you say, please don’t be offended. It might help your situation some if you wore this Canadian flag patch on your backpack. French people dislike Canadians to a lesser degree than they do Americans. Wear this and hopefully I won’t spit on you. Thanks.

So I was thinking we could head over to the Louvre this afternoon, and then maybe go to the café for some cuisine—perhaps crêpes à la carte. Sound good? How was my pronunciation, by the way?

Are you ready to go? We’ll need to allow ourselves plenty of time for the meal. French people take exceedingly long meals—often nine or ten hours in length—because they savor every nuance and flavor of what they are eating. It is also not uncommon for two French diners to go through 27 bottles of Bordeaux at a single meal, so pace yourself, O.K.?

Sacre bleu! I suddenly find myself conflicted, because as a French person, I am also culturally obligated to enjoy and be amazingly skilled at cooking. I stand for hours on end over an old Wedgewood stove in my Parisian flat, pouring spices and wine into large pans and cauldrons, often sniffing deeply and approvingly as I do so. Usually I am making stews or escargot. Do you want me to cook for you? I guarantee you’ll sleep with me after. French people are that good when it comes to food.

At some point here, I have to stop by the dry cleaner to pick up my tight-fitting, horizontally striped shirt, so there’s that to squeeze in to our day as well. Honestly, though, time really doesn’t matter all that much to me. We can go whenever. I’m pretty nonchalant about punctuality, which it is my understanding non-French people often mistake for ennui.

In case you were wondering, I’m not going into work today. You Americans work too much. It’s ridiculous, your capitalist society. All you think about is money. Maybe you should try cutting your work week down to just two days and relaxing a little. That would leave you more time for the finer things in life, like long meals, copious amounts of wine, and long, skinny cigarettes.

That Jerry Lewis! Oh, my God, what a wonderful man! Remind me to do some research on that guy. Can’t exactly seal the old “I’m French” deal without a deep appreciation for Jerry Lewis, can I? Is he still alive? What was he, a tennis player?

Well, O.K. I’m tired now. I’m going to take a nap. Pretty much all of my days now are going to be devoted to two things: eating and sleeping. Of course there will be some drinking and smoking in there too—usually in conjunction with the eating. But you need to understand that naps are a huge part of my culture. Please be quiet while I’m napping, O.K.?

Object all you want, but it’s who I am. This is what life is going to be like from now on, dear. If you don’t like it, you can go back to Canada.