I was extremely irritated this week when the office catholic, who is quite happy to lie, cheat and steal, told me I'm going to hell unless I accept his god.
When my wife says that, she wants to show me that her cat pissed on something in the house. HER cat. Chosen by HER.
Let me save you a click: this article answers nothing and describes the factors involved in vague terms.
The same way I live knowing that free will is probably an illusion. Beer still tastes good, my friends still make me laugh, I've still got to work to keep a roof over my head.
Not exactly in the spirit of the trolley problem, but I feel like my time would be better spent frantically tugging at the ropes holding those people in place. Probably won't help much, but at least I could live with myself.
I used to enjoy puffed corn snacks called Monster Munch. Apparently they're British-produced and still available over there. An expat friend who goes to Gencon* every year likes to take a few packs of gherkin flavour Monster Munch to horrify his American friends.
*Maybe not this year... or ever again.
Nothing better than clean sheet night and a new spatula.
Fame seems like a burden. Given a choice, I'll take the money.
Can you think of a useful purpose it serves?
-
Move to Australia.
-
Miss.
loose
Irony?
spittingimage
0 post score0 comment score
You look real happy about it, too.