Saturday, April 26, 2008

Pharyngula + Poetry

If you're finding the poetry sparse
And you're lacking for whimsical farce,
Go visit the Cuttle-
Fish, witty and subtle;
That blogger is kicking some arse.

The Digital Cuttlefish seems to have taken up the mantle of Pharyngulan Poet and is doing it with panache.

Saturday, February 23, 2008


Pharyngula: Is this going to be the major creationist strategy?

Martin Luther, Christian hero,
Rated all the Jews as zero:
Work them! Out them! Purge the stain!
We're at fault for Jews not slain.

Charlie Darwin fancied finches,
Measured up their beaks in inches,
Gathered gobs of evidence...
OMG! This all makes sense!

Martin Luther gave the stinking
Nazis all his Christian thinking:
When you meet an evil Jew,
Ask: What Would Jehovah Do?

Charlie Darwin, keen observer,
Used his brain, not Christian fervor,
Found that Mother Nature works
By keeping beneficial quirks.

Adolph Hitler used his Bible,
Buoyed by Luther's lurid libel,
To support his sick solution--
Roundup, rail truck, execution.

Christian anti-science kooks
Seem ill at ease with history books.
Rather than accept the shame,
Guess which hero gets the blame?

Monday, April 30, 2007

Bye George. (He's lost it)

Pharyngula: George Gilder, Lord of the Adguacyth

There once was a Gilder of words
Who had crashed by investing in nerds,
Then while trawling through tripe
Found a rich vein of hype
With a gilt edge for fleecing the herds.

He had tried giving alms to the rich
And he'd scratched the male chauvinist itch,
But he boosted his stocks
Feeding faith to the flocks
With his bozo-biology pitch.

In building on Bill Dembski's myth
It's clear he's not taking the pith
Of the math that he's mauled
Or the science he's stalled
With Revenge of the Adguacyth.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

A Lifelong Faith

Pharyngula: A brief history of disbelief

I've never even seen him, but I know
I trusted him back then (in my own way).
I'd lay me down to sleep, but first I'd pray
That blessings in the night he might bestow.
'Twas always after pain that he would show
His riches at the dawning of the day.
The parts of me he made me give away
Were parts I had to shed to let me grow.
Throughout my teenage years he left me be,
In order that my faith could be made strong.
His many interventions in my youth
Sustained my trust, although it's been so long.
He will return! My heart and head agree,
And still beneath my pillow stays one tooth.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Tripplehorn Doublespeak

Pharyngula: Pompous git solves the problem of induction … with Jesus!

Dear YouTube, to whom it concerns,
The stoopid! Please stop it! It burns!
We'd rather not hear
From this kid cavalier
Till he listens to grownups and learns.

In David Hume's writing there lurks
An epiphany for the young turks:
Ooh, induction is flawed!
But it beats Praise The Lord
'Cause it works... bitches, it works.

Could we base all our science on cults?
Not for long if we're thinking adults,
Because each time you try
To detect the sky guy
The Ineffable f's your results.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Ev'ry time we say D.I.

Pharyngula: Department of Foot-Shooting, Intelligent Design Division
(With apologies to Cole Porter)

Ev'ry time we say D.I.
I sigh a little
Ev'ry time they tell a lie
I wonder why a little
Why some Urge above me
Who must be in the know
Should design parts of me
But leave others to grow...

When they sneer
There's such an air
Of spin about it
See the smear of fundie fare
With science skin about it
Well stocked with one-liners
But how strange (deranged?)
These major quote-miners
Ev'ry time we say D.I.

[Instrumental break]

With no need for designers
Is it strange the change
From wishers to whiners?
Ev'ry time we say D.I.

Monday, December 11, 2006


Pharyngula: Music for Cephalopodmas

Long time ago in elder days,
So the traveling cultist raves,
A great stone city, tombs and all,
Had sunk beneath the waves.

Hark, you fools: That is not dead
Which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death,
Yes, even death may die.

In his house the Dread One dreams;
Wait upon that day
When Old Ones rise to rule the earth
And mankind burns to play.

When psychics tell of dreams at night
They speak of cities strange and vast
With Titan blocks and monoliths
Imbued with horror's cast,
All clad in ooze and hieroglyphs;
And from some point below
There comes a voice, that's not a voice,
Of chaos none should know.

Hark, you fools: That is not dead
Which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death,
Yes, even death may die.

In his house the Dread One dreams;
Wait upon that day
When Old Ones rise to rule the earth
And mankind burns to play.

The great priest, in his chasm of stone
Since when the sun was young,
Inspires his own to prance and slay
And yell with alien tongue.
In time this utter loathsomeness
Shall greet our human eyes;
For what has risen yet may sink,
And what has sunk may rise.

Hark, you fools: That is not dead
Which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death,
Yes, even death may die.

In his house the Dread One dreams;
Wait upon that day
When Old Ones rise to rule the earth
And mankind burns to play.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Due Respect

Pharyngula: If we're choosing teams now, I want to be with the shamelessly godless

In our battle against butchers
(who survive on lies and lectures to the vulnerable--
vultures who misquote to float conjectures)
we should criticize the creatures
who with nonsense-tolerant natures
blame the blokes who pull no punches.

In the fight for fairer futures
don't let tepid types be teachers.
Never privilege the preachers
who hold fantasies as fixtures,
who make syncretistic mixtures
of reality and raptures
(splicing science with their scriptures),
who erect synthetic structures
to protect their credulous cultures,
then impose obstructive strictures
on the voice of one who ventures
to oppose their pious postures.

If some counterfactual features
in their faith-defensive speeches,
simply boot them in the breeches.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Sacred Scam?

Pharyngula: There is no separation of church and state

"It's time to end the sacred scam."
That's what the Godless liberal says
But he can't know how hard it is
To humbly serve the Great I Am.

How hard in this God-given land,
By evil constantly beset,
To find those untaxed millions that
We need to meet the Lord's command.

How could that anti-Christian curse
Know what it's like to plant the seeds
Of Gospel Truth in daycare kids
On payments from the public purse.

And why should we be made to raise
The funds to make our crèches safe,
As if our prayers were not enough,
As if to doubt the Savior's ways?

So what's so bad if we've ignored
Financial statements? Don't suggest
We have employees we can't trust:
They've told us that they love the Lord!

And why this cry for civil rights?
While godly men are at the helm
To lead with love, discreet and firm,
You'll see no ugly workplace fights.

So quell your atheistic slurs;
Our nation needs God free to act
Beyond the rules that you respect,
Through us,
Ecclesiastical Entrepreneurs.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Looking back

Pharyngula: Will this work?

Remember early info-age
Before 2K & 10,
When genome seqs were run by geeks
On hardware humming hot for weeks;
All brains were simple then.

Recall the days of Hollywood
When starlets ruled the screen,
When flesh-life still had roles to fill
In 2-D movies shot to thrill--
So quaintly pre-machine.

Remember when the snake oil flowed
In PowerPoint plus poise--
The next big thing with QA lingo
Boomed your biz with buzzword bingo
Meaning lost in noise.

Remember when the minds of men
Spent weekends watching jocks,
When freaks of meat with agile feet
Were lionized for sheer conceit
And pimped by idiot box.

Remember when the brightest minds
Were valued overseas,
But strapped for cash, their budgets slashed,
Were treated here like neuro-trash,
Divided by degrees.

Remember how teh stoopid spread
Infecting unsafe heads,
When fundie fools could castrate schools
And stifle thought with prudish rules
Enforced by covert feds.

The world was hateful-crazy then
Before the New Cognition
With every child from birth beguiled
By ancient myths contrived and styled
On gods and superstition.

It's hard to think of how they coped
With fear-memes running mad;
So few could see how life could be--
That all they had to do was free
The simple brains they had.