Friday, December 16, 2011

Amazon Rankings of Children’s Books by Christopher Hitchens

Mommy's Not Going to HeavenMommy’s Not Going to Heaven and Neither Are You!
By Christopher Hitchens 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!”

Billy the RapistThe Adventures of Billy the Rapist and His Zionist Henchmen
By Christopher Hitchens 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 HarryHiccup Harry and the Order of Leprechauns
By Christopher Hitchens 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?Dear God, How Come I’m Not Funny?
By Christopher Hitchens 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-LiciousSmokey Smoke-a-licious!
By Christopher Hitchens 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.

Your Subscription to Netflix Has Been Canceled Your dry cleaning has been incinerated, the remaining value of your gift cards has been electronically deleted, your electricity will be shut off in three days, all your jokes will fall flat, and you will forget how to whistle.
Harry Potter and the Last Chance to Recycle These Jokes Y.P.R. recycles its Pottery one last time.



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