Friday, May 12, 2006

Breaking News: Christians Love Fresh Canadian Produce

Pharyngula: Scary, Evil Christians

"It's Dominion* we're after," the preacher did say:
"'Midst the beans and the leeks and the summer-squash gay,

"We'll sample the fruits of the fields and the seas;
The gifts of the earth, and the vines, and the trees;
The honey prepared by industrious bees;
The preserves you can and the meats that you freeze;
The fennel that's fresh as a cool autumn breeze;
The wine that's delicious, right down to the lees!
So, come to Dominion--get down on your knees,
And thank the Creator for carrots and peas!

"It's Dominion we're after--Dominion's the place
A Christian can count on for stuffing his face!"

* Dominion is (was?) a chain of grocery shops. I haven't seen one in a while, but they used to be all over Canada.

(And, in other news, yikes!)

Thursday, May 11, 2006

PhaWRONGula's Scairt of Horowitz

Pharyngula: Horowitz Can't Count

The august Mr. Horowitz
Has graced us with a peek
At bogeys one-oh-one, but look:
His list has sprung a leak.

Did good old Horrie hoist his book
Half-writ upon the shelf?
The answer's no--the final page
Was clearly for himself!

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Torture is Bad

Pharyngula: Chew on This for the Afternoon

There once was a teacher, a scatty old creature,
Whose spectacles lived on his head.
From morning to night, he looked quite a fright,
As if he'd just risen from bed.

His trousers were tatty; his notebooks were ratty;
His pens were all certain to leak.
He bathed every Sunday, but most times, by Monday,
He smelt like the end of the week.

I've heard people say that back in his day
He kept himself tidy and neat:
Impeccably dressed, in shirts starched and pressed,
With shiny black shoes on his feet.

What made him this way, I can't rightly say,
Except it had something to do
With torture so dreadful it left him a headful
Of claptrap and bally-go-hoo.

Just what was so ghoulish? A question so foolish
It frightened him out of his wits?
A scatterbrained theory? A dunderhead query
That blew his composure to bits?
Whatever went wrong in classes bygone,
Whatever disaster, the torture goes on:
His lectures are really the pits.