By Penn Jillette
The New York Times bestselling reinterpretation of the 10 Commandments from the bigger, louder half the world-famous magic duo Penn & Teller.
A scathingly humorous reinterpretation of the 10 Commandments from the bigger, louder 1/2 world-famous magic duo Penn and Teller finds an atheist's event on the planet: from acting on the Vegas strip with Siegfried and Roy to kids and fatherhood to his ongoing discussion with proselytizers of the Christian correct and the thrill of intercourse whereas scuba-diving, Penn has an outrageous humorousness and a brilliantly interesting opinion on, good, whatever you care to think about.
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Extra info for God, No!: Signs You May Already Be an Atheist and Other Magical Tales
He used to be the cohost on my radio express for a number of years, and he’s been my shut good friend ceaselessly. We agree on virtually every thing other than activities (he likes them), his shitty musical flavor (he has it), and Santa Claus (he lies approximately him). i do know loads of nice dads and Goudeau is one in every of them. each yule time, Goudeau argues with my spouse approximately Santa. i feel the Goudeaus do the complete production—coming down the chimney, milk and cookies, reindeer, you identify a few iciness seasonal bullshit and the Goudeaus do it. The Jillettes don’t do any of it. not likely. This yr my spouse bent a bit and we had a “The Jillettes Don’t have fun yuletide Tree. ” It wasn’t even a pine tree, and no angels. and never one piece of reindeer shit. I’m unsure I’m that opposed to Santa Claus myself (it appears like a section much less of a lie than the yogurt thing), yet, guy, my spouse definite has a hard-on for that jolly little elf. In interviews, whilst I’m requested “How do you atheists have a good time yule? ” I solution that the Jillette atheists don’t do something. The interviewer assumes that I’m the goofy Scrooge and I’m denying our kids the enjoyment of yuletide. i'm denying our youngsters the enjoyment of yule, yet I’m certain doing it with my wife’s blessing, as a way to communicate. It used to be her thought, yet I’ll take accountability. I trust her. I consider her simply because she’s correct. i like Goudeau, yet I don’t sleep with him each evening. one other buddy of mine, a cynical socialist (isn’t that redundant? ), insisted that his daughter be force-fed Santa, so while the disillusionment hit her demanding, she’d crash and throw out the infant Jesus with the Santa bathwater. this can be a similar man who desired to ship his daughter to Catholic tuition to make certain she’d be a hard-core atheist her entire lifestyles. Socialists love that manipulation shit. It’s sturdy that he couldn’t persuade his spouse to move besides him. i like culture and that i love ritual. My mother and dad’s Jillette loved ones celebrated yule with all of the trimmings. We had a tree with these effervescent lighting that by no means relatively labored, and we strung coloured popcorn. We had a crèche on best of the television with actual straw and a wax candle Santa status within the nativity, a section misplaced at 3 times the scale of the clever males, donning arctic garments and with a waxy wick protruding of his pink hat. Monster colossal Santa stood giggling on the child Jesus status subsequent to an out-of-scale mammoth Styrofoam Frosty the Snowman, who seemed larger than Keith Richards within the basement at Nellcôte. as soon as you’re deciding to buy virgin start and loss of life for different people’s sins, a speaking snowman and a fats elf in a flying sleigh is simple. I’ve had a bone to choose with Frosty in view that i used to be a toddler. I start ranting approximately Frosty frequently from the 1st time yule song pops up at the radio until eventually approximately Valentine’s Day, while Sam Cooke’s “Cupid” takes over my head. The track “Frosty the Snowman” makes me loopy: “There should have been a few magic in that outdated silk hat they discovered, for once they put it on his head, he started to dance round. ” Correlation isn't really causation, you silly Gene Autry and the Cass County Boys song–composing motherfucker!