The Guardian has a feature about CHRISTOPHER HITCHENS that attempts on him the kind of hatchet job he's done at the expense of others (often though certainly not always deserving) for thirty-five years, and does so quite unsuccessfully. From this article we learn that Christopher Hitchens is (gasp!) a slimy drunk with an inflated sense of self-worth and enormous family baggage. Hitch could write a much better self-demolishment. But really, this article is worth reading just for this one mental image:
'The march of time certainly hasn't altered one thing about Hitchens, which is, alas, his unaccountable pleasure in word games of the most puerile variety. Page after page [of his memoir] is devoted to the infinite hilarity derived by [Martin] Amis, [Salman] Rushdie, [Ian] McEwan and Hitchens from substituting in the titles of well-known books, films and songs the word "dick" for "heart", or "fuck" for "love", or "cunt" for "man"'
The fact that the writer is not amused by this tells me all I need to know.
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