Wednesday, March 30, 2005

I'm Going to Hell for This One!

Pharyngula: Jerry Falwell Is Critically Ill

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more breathless, and more desert-dried
Still winds do stagnate; I can only pray
That summer's lease shall not be nullified.
Sometime too hot thy burning forehead shines,
And fever finds thy bold invective dimm'd,
And swift the sway of medicine declines,
By mortal fallibility unpinn'd.
But thy bombastic discourse shall not fade,
Nor shall my redden'd skin give up thy ghost,
Nor shall I find allayment in the shade,
When melanoma claims me as its host:
So long as breath imbues my roasted rind,
So long thy scorching screeds shall scar my mind.

(With apologies to Shakespeare, of course.)

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