My former plan for a prosperous retirement plan involved suddenly finding Jesus and winning a Templeton Prize, but it always left an unpleasant taste in mouth. Sure, I’d be rich, but to do it I’d have to stand up in front of the whole world and pretend to be an addled moron. It was going to take a lot of drinks-in-coconuts-with-umbrellas to wash that indignity into unawareness, you know.
But now I have a new plan that leaves my dignity mostly uncompromised! Well, somewhat compromised. Here’s the idea:
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Go to England.
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Chat up a few vicars.
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Become horribly offended that they are not atheists.
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Sue the whole delusional lot of them for rejecting my unbelief.
I’ll be following the case of the Muslim woman who had a conversation about religion with her Christian hotel hosts with some anticipation — it could set a very useful precedent for me. Oh, and if that isn’t enough, Melanie Phillips and Andrew Brown have already said some horribly unkind things about us atheists. Perhaps I can hang the whole British journalistic establishment upside down and shake them for the pennies in their pockets.
Other strategies involve hunting down Simon Cowell and singing in front of him. I’m positive that whatever he says will be actionable. People can’t go around having different opinions and even expressing them, you know!
