Have you ever made Richard Dawkins cry?
He came into my room late at night when I was a little kid – and this was in rural South Dakota, so that was particularly strange, and I don’t think he had a teaching fellowship nearby or anything. Anyway. He’d whisper in my ear that G-d was a delusion and that all we had was the glorious world of the mind. I smashed a piece of rose-quartz (the South Dakota state mineral) onto his slipper-shod foot and screamed “I REFUTE IT THUS!”
Dawkins’ eyes welled up, and I swear I heard a stifled sob as he limped out of the room, never to haunt me again.
The next morning I got blamed for the bloody track in the hall, of course.