Skepticism

Pharyngula: Evidence that religion rots your brain

Our international news today
Rests on a strong foundation.
It's built on rock, not shifting sand,
And dressed in words you'll understand
Whatever your social station.

Sylvester's stone, a monument,
Can tell when popes are dying;
When a pontiff's life is under threat
The stone breaks out in a cold, cold sweat,
All natural cause defying.

It's written down in documents—
This rock's prophetic power.
Confirmed by nuns in habits gray,
When a pope's approaching judgement day
This monument needs a shower.

"The stone cries too," say nuns, "it's true!
There's people who have seen it."
That leaves no room for doubt, although
When asked, "Who saw?", they did not know.
Newsworthy? No. Latrine it.

When hardly-hard-nosed Hardach writes,
You might expect sensation.
She'll find a curse in mummy's ice,
And words from unnamed nuns suffice
To spice up her narration.

The battle for your brain today's
Been thoroughly reconnoitered,
So be a skeptic, check the source,
Ignore the rubes or else, of course,
You'll find that you've been Reuter'd.