I'm at the Cheltenham Science Festival, I have been given a press pass, and I intend to use it fiercely to be entertained for a few days. I think I'll go listen to Alan Moore rumble about snake goddesses in a bit, and I know that tomorrow I intend to be fawning fanboi to Brian Cox, and whatever else I do will be on a whimsy.
Oh, wait…whimsey. I'm staying at a hotel called The Big Sleep, which is pretty darned ominous. Don't the British read Raymond Chandler? I feel like I've got to go all noirish now.
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John Holbo has uncovered an old argument against atheists, one that might have oozed languidly from the fermenting brain of Ray Comfort. But no! This is from a 19th century book of poetry! I wouldn't be at all surprised if Ray steals it soon, though.