 Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening, whatever the case may be. I'm James Randi. This is the third in our present series of video tirades, and I'll spend a couple of minutes discussing the reaction that we had to number one. We had over 11,000 views and 250-plus responses on that one, with some viewers expressing their unadulterated admiration of me as we might expect. Many who are willing to accept the first effort and quite a percentage who just didn't like it at all. In any case, I found the reaction very interesting and encouraging. One thing that flattered me was that I was likened to a minor version of Andy Rooney. Now I only met Mr. Rooney once, 17 years ago, in Rensselaerville, New York, following a stint at the annual Isaac Asimov conference there. Andy invited me over to the Pentagon for a long chat. Oh, but I must explain, Andy makes his home in Rensselaerville and at the back of his property sits his Sanctum Sanctorum, a separate building, five-sided, which he and his wife referred to as the Pentagon. Now just think of the advantages when receiving an unwanted phone call, for example. The answering party can quite honestly report that Andy is at the Pentagon and not immediately reachable. I think that this might add considerably to his overall media profile as well. You know, Mr. Rooney will be all day at the Pentagon or Andy rushed out to the Pentagon again to work on a story. Andy and I got along famously. We exchanged opinions on bushy eyebrows and I found him to be, as expected, entertaining, full of enthusiasm and curmudgeonly. I'm proud to share that characteristic with him and I must say that I'm similarly flattered by the comparisons made of me to George Carlin, who I greatly miss and remember fondly. Your comments were useful and we've made note of them. As we go along, we'll be adding features that I think you'll like and approve of, but as always, we'll listen. That matter taken care of, I'll now once more make efforts to ruffle the feathers of the religious in my usual fashion. Multiply the number of religious folks by the number of feathers to be found on such birds and you'll easily see how many feathers are about to be disturbed. Just recently, a potential tragedy in the East River adjacent to New York City was averted by the skill, dedication and bravery shown by the crew of a passenger jet that ditched when engine failure dictated that maneuver. This was a triumph of human ingenuity, a tribute to the design of the aircraft and the direct result of talent and technology. Everyone aboard survived. However, listening to interviews conducted with the survivors of this terrifying adventure, the impression was obtained that the offering of prayers was what really turned the trick. Thank God that we had that pilot on that plane and someone else, you know, someone, some higher power was looking out for us. Let's just examine that notion in a little more depth. One survivor specified the number of Hail Marys that he had entoned. Others expressed their gratification at hearing all the mumbled appeals to Jesus that they overheard. I noted incidentally that no one mentioned whether appeals to Allah were mixed in with those prayers. I wish that these thankful people would think, just for a moment, about the countless persons over the years and down through the centuries who had been similarly threatened with death, who made the same kind of appeals, who earnestly invoked divine assistance and mercy, but who went to their demise without a response. They weren't able to appear on television and recount how merciful a deity or deities was or were in their cases. Though I feel sure that their prayers were as fervent and sincere as those from the people who survived the East River accident. And those offered up in concentration camps during the Holocaust. This is highly selective and outright stupid selective thinking. But it's what we've come to expect from those who don't think very deeply about what they're saying and how they arrive at conclusions based on zero evidence. This phenomenon is similar to wrongly concluding that you have a successful system for betting on horses merely by noting your wins and ignoring your losses. A survivor gave credit to Mother Mary for the successful avoidance of loss of life in this near tragedy. I must ask, what kind of perverted game is this woman Mary playing? First, why did her son or her husband or whoever guide the wildfowl into this jet aircraft's engines so as to bring about an emergency that required a crash landing? No, that's perhaps too deep a question right now. Let's just go to the snap decision that Mary had to make in a matter of a few seconds as to whether or not these passengers would survive. Did she listen to all the appeals and make her decision based on the degree of fear, the specific attitude, or the exact beliefs, needs, and sincerity of the prayers? Regardless of the reasons, this was a capricious prank that our lady was involved in if we can accept the belief of those who made the appeals. And I'll have none of it. While I'm still in a feather ruffling mood, I'll remind you of a wimpy notion known as Pascal's wager. A French mathematician, physicist, and religious philosopher named Blaise Pascal, following some sort of mystical epiphany late in his life, decided that he'd discovered how to beat the system in regard to ensuring that he'd made the best bet. He reasoned that it would be safest to profess belief in God, go through all the bowing and scraping called for in the books, pray frequently as required. And if it turned out that there really was a Heaven and Hell, he'd be safe because he'd done it according to the rules. Yet if the Heaven and Hell scenario was just claptrap, he'd have lost nothing. Folks, this is just another bit of fluff that I'll pass by. Thank you. I'm not about to live a life of lies and pretence just in case I'm wrong. I'll take my chances. Living an honest life requires bravery and a dedication to reality. As I deliver this, I'm 80 years of age, and I might expect to survive for perhaps another 10 years. After that, nothing. Dead, nicks, nada. What I've written and said will survive me for a while, but then all of that will meld with the thoughts of far, far greater persons than I, and will be diluted, lost, or ignored. That's life and death. I accept this obvious and inescapable process easily, while hoping that some of my words might serve others down the line and taking satisfaction in that possibility. Death and dissolution have no terrors for me. I wake up each day looking forward to hurrying along with getting things done so that I may fall asleep the next night making plans for tomorrow. I'm also very much aware that I won't get the job done, no matter how much time I have. To borrow from poet Robert Browning, ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Or what's a heaven for? My philosophy? Contribute. Give back some of what was given you. Try to ease the past that others will take in the same way that your antecedents did. I'm buoyed, inspired, and supported by what Sagan, Feynman, Dawkins, and Asimov, and so many, many others, have given me. While I only marched in their shadows, I drank in their thoughts and words, celebrated their wisdom and their generosity, and recognized how fortunate I was to have touched minds with them. I'm James Randy, and I'm happy to have spent this few minutes with you.