Christopher Hitchens, the Clinton-loathing, religion-mocking, Kurd-loving, war-mongering, ball-waxing British drunk who contained multitudes and seemed to be insulting you somehow even when you agreed with him, which was precisely 59% of the time, has died of complications from esophageal cancer at the age of 62.
He left his language in far better shape than when he found it, and the world is in worse shape at his passing. Pedants and sophists rest easy tonight, and heartless manipulative frauds like Mother Theresa will flourish in his absence. Whoever wrote this is a monster.
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