PhaWRONGula

Pharyngula + Poetry

2008-04-26T17:36:00.000-07:00

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.

GOTT MIT UNS

2008-02-23T18:19:00.000-08:00

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?

Bye George. (He's lost it)

2007-04-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

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.

A Lifelong Faith

2007-04-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Tripplehorn Doublespeak

2007-04-22T03:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Ev'ry time we say D.I.

2007-04-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Cephalopodmas

2006-12-11T16:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Due Respect

2006-11-24T07:27:00.000-08:00

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.

Sacred Scam?

2006-10-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Looking back

2006-10-06T04:36:00.000-07:00

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.

What separation?

2006-10-01T23:56:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: The Special Favors for Fundamentalists Act of 2005

In a land headed backward in time
Where dissent is construed as a crime,
Any person who cites
Constitutional rights
Is ungodly and not worth a dime.

Here's a thought: just reverse the directions;
There'd be outrage and violent objections;
Free speech would be stricken
If the words of a Wiccan
Were quoted on government erections.

The religion of those in authority
Is presumed to be granted priority:
Each monitored minion
May voice the opinion
Of the self-proclaimed "moral" majority.

But the folk who hold other beliefs
(Out of sync with th' commander in chief's)
Faced with fundie crusade
Are denied legal aid
And are told where to lodge all their briefs.

So for justice, remember to clench
More than teeth when approaching the bench.
If you're not Christian sheep
Basic rights don't come cheap
From the mob that thinks "freedom" means "French".

The Pied Poper

2006-08-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Vatican watch

The rat singer sang
"Just say no to big bang"
And he wished all their condoms away.
God provided him aids
To promote his crusades
On the willful, the poor and the gay.

But the offerings decreased
(Blame the profligate priests)
And he found himself lacking for coyne,
So, to halt the decline
Of his business divine,
Found a cultural war he could join.

"By reviving debates
For the United States
To stop science relying on fact
I've a chance to rewind
My infallible mind:
Here's some history my church can redact."

See the Poper had tried
To see birth control pied
But the masses won't play by his rules.
Now he's bucking the slide
To enlightenment's side
By defiance of science in schools.

Wells' Farrago

2006-08-27T01:31:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Fresh PIGDID
On: The Politically Incorrect Guide to Darwinism and Intelligent Design

They're drinking from the Wells of deep delusion.
That mine of quotes he delves is rich indeed
From which he poaches diamonds in profusion
To fill the sandbag levees of his creed.

The flood he fights is only just a theory;
By light of Moon he toils against the tides;
With every shovelful he grows less weary;
His great commission succors and provides.

I looked into the John as one who tries
To find a catchy phrase for him, a hook:
"Here lies a saint. In steadfast faith he lies."
(Not for his grave. A warning on his book.)

The Dustmen of Academia

2006-06-14T19:35:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: No quarter. Don't ask.

Mr. Myers exhorts us to "stand against the tide of garbage and fight it," and stand we shall:

The Ivy League Dustmen are we:
Where oceans of offal there be,
Our gowns in the tide
We'll stand side by side
(Whatever might happen,
At least we'll have tried,)
Though rubbish should rise like the sea.

Faith to faith

2006-06-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Francis, I'm very disappointed in you

Francis Collins:

...if God made himself so obvious, so known, so easily interpretable in daily events, then the whole concept of faith and of making a personal decision about where you stand would be pretty meaningless.

If my faith in ineffable God
Weren't baseless, unreal and odd,
Then my faith would lack meaning;
My standing--mere leaning
On mythical crutches. Oh sod!

Worms

2006-06-05T05:24:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: The god worm

It was early eighteen forty three
When Edgar gave praise to the Grub--
The hero who conquered Hamlet's "to be"
(And comes to us all: there's the rub).
Though Poe's devourer still rules today,
Protagonist in every cast;
Its mother's cruel role in brain decay
Is unsurpassed.

Watch now as her pundits opine
On fragmented frettings from god
Reframed for the public party line
As a moral measuring rod.
Watch how their worm-tongued wringing of words,
Unmoved by zeitgeist flux,
Finds merit in mute god-goaded herds.
(Their deus ex machina sucks.)

And dare to describe her circular track
That returns to the self-same spot,
A sophist's path of there and back
To prove what reason cannot;
Yes, dare to trace her riddled way
Of rot beneath the pate;
Deplore the digested, festering grey...
You'll stand accused of hate!

She's a maggot, painless, but pretty
To those with lobotomized taste;
And her victims deserve only pity
For the wit that she's turned into waste.
Deworm if you possibly can,
And courageously, coolly, confirm
That the play is the pantomime, "Man,"
And its stage fright the Credulous Worm.

No Monkeys Where?

2006-05-26T18:45:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Here in the North, there is no such thing as monkeys.

Says Molly T, from Cana-duh, the North is monkey-free:
We've human been since God decreed, and thus will always be.
And every faithful Northerner should proudly venture forth,
And preach it to the heathens: there's no monkeys in the Noarth.

There's monkeys in the jungle wild, and monkeys in the sea;
There's monkeys in Connecticut, although there shouldn't be.
But monkeys here, in Canada? I'll offer this retort:
We're monkey-free, and no, siree--no monkeys in the Nort'.

We're monkeyless in Montreal, and yeti-free in York;
And anyone says otherwise is asking for a fork
Entrenched in his behind--so let us shout for all we're worth:
There's absolutely, guaranteed, no monkeys in the Nurth.

There might be monkey mountaineers on Himalayan treks,
And monkeys in the Amazon, enjoying monkey sex--
But we, as proud Canadians, will give no hold or berth
To foolish foreign fantasies, like monkeys in the Nerth.

(NB: As a long-time resident of Canada, I should like to offer my sincere...er, mockery. What a twit!)

Living on Poetry

2006-05-25T05:38:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: I think I shall never click...

The lyrical alchemist knows
That transmuting his words to cash flows
Is a pie in the sky.
Most poets don't die,
But pragmatically lapse into pros in another discipline that, although pedestrian, will keep bread on the table.

Kryonic Profit

2006-05-22T22:33:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Kryon of Magnetic Service has all the answers

How sweet to play the prophet of the age!
To preach the music sung by DNA
And lift our flat depictions off the page
To planes unknown by scientists today.
In four-dimensional paradigms we're bound
To muddle time, magnetics, gravity
And matter placement. Suddenly profound
New science thrives in dodecality.
And sweeter still this grand loquacious dance
Of loaded words, that hint at hidden lore,
At harmony, at healing, at romance,
Attracts the wishers' wallets by the score.
Rely on this in future's land uncharted:
There're always fools and money to be parted.

God's Other Chosen People

2006-05-17T19:30:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: America, Return to God! and Don't blame me

America, Return to God!
Burn the witches, stone the gays,
Unsparingly apply the rod
Of discipline to wayward ways.

Ban the breast, the buttocks too,
And other shameful parts from view
For fear some poor defenseless child
Behold foul flesh and be defiled.

Sing prayers in school and make it plain
That Jesus is the one to trust
For strength when sinful drives of lust
Turn teens to moms. Abstain! Abstain!

Cast out the tinkerers of the gene
Who truck with what they oughtn't wot.
Allow the Lord to intervene,
To cure disease at whim (or not).

Why strive for peace in foreign lands
When Revelation's book demands
That Armageddon get the nod?
America, Return to God!

PhaWRONGula's Question for Science Bloggers

2006-05-16T18:07:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Great Science Questions

The floor has been opened, and so
It's time we got on with the show:
Which is more sorry--
Behe, or Horrie?
The peanut crowd's dying to know.

(NB: I was going to do something incredibly clever involving a game of telephone--something that would start, perhaps, with the difference between Pfiesteria and amoeba, and end with Behe's knees--but wit failed and limericks prevailed. Or something to that effect. Sorry!)

Vector Day

2006-05-15T21:05:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Immigration solved, the Christian Libertarian way

There's a VD disguised as Vox Day;
Libertarian? Christian? No way!
He's had empathy loss
Since he fired up his cross
With the Knights of the New KKK.

Breaking News: Christians Love Fresh Canadian Produce

2006-05-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

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!)

PhaWRONGula's Scairt of Horowitz

2006-05-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

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!

Torture is Bad

2006-05-09T15:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Dwarfs of Mystic Design

2006-05-04T09:33:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Needs pygmies

We three Dwarfs of Mystic Design,
Deeply delve, quotations to mine,
Fortune telling, query quelling,
Vacuously divine.

O, Dwarfs with faith and Dwarfs with fight,
Dwarfs who'll make all learning rite,
Darkness dwelling, books bestselling,
We don't need no steenkin' light.

When we coached a Philippine judge,
Gave his thoughts a prescient nudge,
Why attack him? Why'd they sack him?
Obvious godless grudge.

O, Dwarfs with faith and Dwarfs with fight,
Dwarfs who'll make all learning rite,
Darkness dwelling, profit swelling,
We don't need no steenkin' light.

Long we fought to sweeten the schools
Soured by bitter Lemon-y rules;
Tasty panda propaganda
Couldn't persuade the fools.

O, Dwarfs with faith and Dwarfs with fight,
Dwarfs who'll make all learning rite,
Darkness dwelling, bullshit smelling,
We don't need no steenkin' light.

Gardy-ewwww!

2006-05-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: A Query from New Mexico

When Behe appears, best cover your ears,
and that goes for Dembski, too--
Lest sewage rain down and splatter your crown,
with nary a "Gardy-loo*!"

No need to eat mice to know they're not nice;
no need for a mud buffet--
When madmen come out to bellow and shout,
It's prudent to run away.

* Gardy-loo: Warning commonly shouted before emptying slops (the contents of a chamberpot, for instance) from a high window, derived from the French garde l'eau.

Above Criticism

2006-05-02T18:10:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Hi, Daryl!

Hey Daryl, what's free speech to you?
Does it mean any fool with a view
Gets religion's free pass
To speak out of his ass,
While to counter his lies is taboo?

[Update: I should have looked before I blogged--both of us hitting Daryl and both in limerick style.]

Share Snacks, Not Complaints

2006-05-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Hi, Daryl!

Since Daryl's so willing to share
We've all felt the blast of hot air:
"According to me,
all speech should be free
(though maybe not public,
if I don't agree)"--
Says Daryl: "It's simply not fair!"

(Virge (Phunicular) once referred to this sort of thing as a "stretch limerick." Me, I call it "lazy"--I may still fit into my prom dress, but I can't confine my invective to five lines. Shame on me.)

Coulter's Only Faithful Fan

2006-04-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Are you ready for Coulter?

O Ann, I am your only faithful fan.
Conservatives may buy your books, but they
Don't see your ploy, your pocket-lining plan

To market pseudoscience to your prey
By tugging on their xenophobic fears.
I love the way you gather what they say,

Then sell it, packaged—all they want to hear.
But Ann, my love, the thing that stokes my lust
Is seeing you, so confident, sincere,

Presenting crap, but getting them to trust
Like babies. Through your ballsy lies I can
Adore the noxious dreck that should disgust.

Naively, they respect you as a man;
O Ann, I am your only faithful fan.

Back to the Garden

2006-04-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Najash rionegrina, a snake with legs

Now the Myers was more subtil than any other beast
that abideth in the garden, from the greatest to the least.
And he said unto the woman, "Hath the LORD 'creator' said
that ye shall not eat of every tree lest ye should end up dead?"

And the woman spake to Myers, "We may eat of all the fruit
of the trees here in the garden that have ever taken root,
but the fruit that giveth knowledge, good and evil, truth and lie:
God hath said, 'Ye shall not eat it, neither touch it, lest ye die.'"

Then saith Myers to the woman, "That old fable! Save thy breath!
'Tis the essence of your being: reproduction—birth and death.
Let not fear of ancient stories cause you from the facts to flee."
And the woman's eyes were opened to the wonders of the tree.

He Lives!

2006-04-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Easter mourning

Hallelujah! He's living today!
And His song's in my heart as I pray.
Mere death had no sting
When applied to The King.
No, not Jesus: it's Elvis! Okay?

Return to the Planet of the Hats

2006-04-11T18:59:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Godless physiology?

Gaussily-nousily,
Dr. M. Persinger
Bolts to his chimney a
Fresh copper rod,

Plugs in the Helmet of
Neurotheology,
Asks Richard Dawkins, "You
Want to meet God?"

Lucky Kentucky

2006-04-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Flibbertigibbet Dembski

A flibbertigibbet named Bill
Screeches science as tamed by God's will.
Philosophical schlock
That he sells to the flock
Sung in Texas will sound just as shrill.

Tiktaalik

2006-04-05T20:49:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Tiktaalik makes another gap

Winningly-finningly,
Canada's missing link
(Found by a paleon-
tology sleuth

Fishing for fossils of
Icthyotetrapods)
Fills one more gap with the
Littoral truth.

How do you like your embryos?

2006-04-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Taphonomy of fossilized embryos

Breathlessly-deathlessly
Fossilized embryos,
Five hundred seventy
Mega-years late,

Catch the attention of
Über-taphonomist
Nerds who think close-ups of
Cleavage are great.

A Traditional Spiritual

2006-03-24T03:13:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: The unspoken part of the discussion
re: A Civil Discussion

Well it may seem like God upstairs
Ain't been listening to my prayers
And the things I see ahappenin' make me cry,
But all those tears turn into glee
When His Word's remindin' me
Of my home in highest heaven, by and by.

It's gonna be grand
Gonna be grand
Yeah it's gonna be grand
Gonna be grand
It's gonna be grand when I see my Lord
And shake his hand
Holy hand
So many people I used to know
Will be wracked with pain below
Sufferin pain I could not stand
Ain't it gonna be grand.

Well those people across the street
Kindest folks you'll ever meet
And they'll share whate'er they can to help you by.
Since they don't believe God's there,
After death they'll learn despair
And their filthiness won't taint my home on high.

It's gonna be grand
Gonna be grand
Yeah it's gonna be grand
Gonna be grand
It's gonna be grand when they burn in Hell
Like Jesus planned
Jesus planned
So many people much kinder than me
Writhin' in endless agony
While I'm smug in the promised land
Ain't it gonna be grand.

Bloody Flexegesis

2006-03-22T18:43:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: God hates squid

Lexegete-flexegete,
Answers in Genesis
Claims that an octopus
Is not alive;

This is great news, 'cause their
Masturbiblationry
Lore will allow undead
Squid-men to thrive.

Compound Eye Candy

2006-03-20T19:31:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Chance and regularity in the development of the fly eye

Observing nature
In her unclothed pulchritude
Brings light to the eye.

One radical rule
Weaves all intricate wonders:
Life is for more life.

Blind components knit
To form a perplexing whole;
Admire religion?

Painter of Lite

2006-03-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: I don't think anybody here fits this description

A Christian painter's brush and life were both
directed by the Lord to light and fame
(and market savvy spiritual growth
with Bible quotes and catchy trademarked name).
His artless fans have never seen the Kink-
ade known by gallery owners in the courts.
(A man for transubstantiating drink
to territorial marker--in his shorts.)
"I am the idol to these women who
are there," he says, "They sell my work... you know."
"...what kind of flirting they were trying to do
with me" (thus Thom felt fondling apropos).
When will this great man reap his just rewards--
this radiant King of Kitsch and Lord of Hoards?

Furry Fossil

2006-02-24T00:56:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Jurassic beaver

One-sixty million years ago,
We see from prints, and tooth and bone,
The oldest furry mammal known
Would dive for piscine treats below.
Castoro: beaver; cauda: tail;
Lutra: otter; similis: like.
Guard hairs, fur, an ankle spike,
Bones a creature's traits unveil.
Scales on tail, an otter's spine,
Seal-like teeth and swimmer's limbs;
Another one of nature's whims
That filled a niche before decline.
Hints and traces, clues that thrill us:
Castorocauda lutrasimilis.

Recasting the Wieseltier Spell

2006-02-19T23:50:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Give me creaturely over preacherly any day

If you would shield young minds from men of wit
Who wield the pow'r of nature's subtle lore,
Enact this sacred ritual before
All those who love the blessed Holy Writ.
Take first a cruel likeness made of straw
Fast bound and spiked upon a crucifix;
From halls of glass then cast your stones and sticks
With vigor at the figure's every flaw.
Now raise a song of triumph, non-germane,
To drown the unrelenting drone of fact;
Use passion's blaze to bluster and distract
From logic's grasp, where only beasts remain.
Through this pure act your fundamental fears
Are washed away with Leon's weasel tears.

WWTLD

2006-02-13T15:09:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: These guys at the top are despicable characters, aren't they?

WWTLD: What would Tom Lehrer do?

Men grow old but manly men stay bold
When they have a huge haft to hold.
What makes us better than beasts, so I'm told, is our tools
(...and brains, but it's plain what reigns).
For animal rights I won't give a cent;
It's munitions that make men magnificent.

We'll have old fashioned fun at the rise of the sun
When we're fragging fat pheasants on the farm.
When our weekends are free all my buddies and me
Will be fragging fat pheasants on the farm.
If one of our pals should be down on his luck a bit,
Instead of just quailing we'll teach him to duck... oh shit!
We're birds of a feather when we get together
To frag the fat pheasants on the farm.

We've grown our great nation
Through each generation
Releasing frustration
With a gun.
No quiet desperation,
No calm contemplation,
We've sought our salvation
Through God's red-neck son.
To convert to our form of religion
Just blast the poop out of a pigeon.

Our American dream: easy targets to cream
As we're fragging fat pheasants on the farm.
And maybe we'll nail a few terrorist quail
While we're fragging fat pheasants on the farm.
These ducks were pre-destined, designed to be dinners, hence
It helps put perspective on slaughter of innocents.
Sing hip hip hooray as we blow them away;
Yes, we're freeing the pheasants
(Maintaining our presence)
By fragging fat pheasants on the farm.

Constitutional Christening

2006-02-07T20:44:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Link to me, or the Bible gets it!

Few people realize that PZ Myer's "Link to me, or the Bible gets it!" post drew heavily on material rapped by a certain (unspecified) U.S. president.

Alright, people, now I'm gonna get tough.
I'm sick of your treason--enough's enough.
Y'all know what I want; any fool can see.
It's your full support, better give it to me.

Got a constitution here, and a Diet Coke.
Gonna drink it all down, give my kidneys a poke.
When my bladder's full tight, feelin' near to snappin',
What may come to pass? Who knows what'll happen?

I don't want your information;
Don't need more remuneration;
I'm the guy who leads your nation;
Just give me your dedication.

Gimme loyalty 'n' love. Fork 'em over right now
Or I take the constitution down the hall. I vow
I'm gonna do it. Believe me, things are gonna get wet
By me, God's Anointed. You intimidated yet?

Got some razors here, pr'haps I'll have some fun,
Slowly slicing pieces off of it, one by one.
Don't like the First Amendment and the Fourth's plain wrong;
Maybe start with them, then look for more that don't belong.

But will you traitors listen
If amendments go a missin'?
Maybe best I stick to pissin'--
Constitutionally christening
The Articles, dismissin'
Numbers Two and Three, glistening
In holy gold emission?
Decisions, decisions.

Come to think of it, now I'm really feelin' the need.
Should I take this copy with me to the bathroom to read?
Yeah, that's it, reading and relieving, "with care."
Let's hope I don't have a nasty "accident" in there

My numbers men are checkin' on you as we speak
And my personal approval better not be lookin' bleak,
Or my aim might be affected by a sudden messy slip,
And the Eighth Amendment may be sof'nin',
Drip, drip, drip.

Bright young things

2006-01-12T19:51:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Firefly squid

Skin-deep creatures, rage the night,
Flaunt your brightness to excess;
Flashing features, star-like, proud,
Show the crowd your nightclub dress.

Cyclops-Kitty? Qu'est-ce que c'est?

2006-01-11T18:58:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Cyclopia

Well I saw the thing, and it made me sigh
With its noseless snout and one big eye.
It was no surprise to hear it from PZ
'Cause it looked like a case for evo-devo to me.

It was a one-eyed, soon died, google-pimpin' puddy-picture,
One-eyed, bona fide! blog-bloatin' puddy-picture,
One-eyed, worldwide web-invadin' puddy-picture;
Sure looks strange to me.

The professor just yawns, "common sight around here.
See how cyclops fish, sheep and rabbits appear.
I've instructions for cooking up a one-eyed fish.
We can watch the whole process in a petri dish!"

'Cause he's an evo-devo fish fetus facial fiddler,
Yo-ho! Thar she blows! tank-doping danio diddler,
Blood slowed: hearts explode! synophthalmic spawn unriddler;
Just ask Prof PZ.

The Dissent of Ham

2005-11-26T19:17:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Even Ken Ham sees through these guys

The Hamster (Kenneth) treadmills tracts
That treat beyond his ken;
He grasps the rungs of fossil facts
And foists them round again.
The stairway up to heaven's heights
Is hastening neath his feet
With every wrongous screed he writes--
Each wrung with self deceit.
He's in creation's wonder wheel
So watch how high he climbs.
Yet even spokesman Hammy's spiel
Can spin some truth sometimes:
Intelligent Design's designed
To slyly guide the naive mind.

The Mad Scientist

2005-11-22T22:11:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: It's out already

Biology's bellicose blogger;
Indefatigable designerist dogger;
A rep for reality
Voiced with vitality.
(To us, he's the cephalopod snogger.)

An Accident?

2005-11-20T17:35:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Thump

He scoffs at the spins you concoct.
Little "accidents" happen. You're shocked?
If you sow evilution
You'll reap retribution.
The "God-Father" will not be mocked.

Fishious

2005-11-16T19:00:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: Evolution of the cichlid mandible

Sidney the cichlid's permanent pout
left all of his siblings in awe;
A chip off the block, beyond any doubt.
Young Sid had his father's strong jaw,
and his daddy's fine dorsal, pelvics and pecs,
plus a sizeable section of gill
before he lost interest. He'd paid his respects
and received his fair share of the will.

Cancer's little helper

2005-11-01T18:35:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: I thought we drew the line at human sacrifice in this country

A chancrous plague in society
With a pustulant sense of propriety
Has a pro-cancer ploy
To subject girl and boy
To its sex-hating chronic anxiety.

The Gas Beneath My Gills

2005-10-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Flap those gills and fly!

"Let's examine exaptation,"
Said the lobster to the fly,
"'Cause we share a common background
And I've always wondered why
I should slouch around the seabed
While you soar the summer sky
On those wings. Where did they come from:
Claw or mandible or thigh?"

"From the gills, my crusty cousin,"
Said the educated fly
(Who was on the wall a-watching
When that Minnesota guy
Wrote a note on evolution
That should make the DI shy,
Since it bids their Irreducible
Complexity goodbye).

Said the lobster, "Let's consider...
Exaptation might apply
To creationists in tuxes
With their reason all awry.
We can understand poor Behe,
That design-fixated guy,
He's co-opted science language
To allow his faith to fly."

Duck's Dinner

2005-10-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Plesiosaur poop!

A plesiosaur, an ancient duck,
With guts preserved—surprising luck
To find much more than fossil bones—
Had gastroliths (that's gizzard stones).
This "duck" had traveled far and wide.
We know, because the rocks inside
Were from a site three-hundred k
Or more away from where it lay.
And this poor beastie, snuffed before
It stopped to void its bowels once more,
Had bromalites (colonic stew
That's fossilized before it's poo).
We see this "duck" was want to suck
The benthic mud for clams in crud.

Tie-challenged twosome

2005-10-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Chris Mooney in the flesh

Mooney and Myers
Are liberal highfliers,
Exposing the liars
And snake-oil suppliers.

Mooney aspires
To sign for the buyers,
While Myers conspires
To feed all the fires
Of blog-fan desires
(before he retires).

And, as it transpires,
They're hopeless tie tiers.

Meeces to Pieces

2005-10-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Tales of the X-Mice: how to regenerate

I'm called The "Contract" Cleaner—a master of my trade,
But in Heber-Katz's lab last night my limits were displayed.
A broken cage, the signs of raging rodents round the room:
Just mice, mere silly mice, but still, I'd need more than my broom.

A man can make a mundane job rewarding if he's smart—
See simple tasks as challenges to solve by works of art.
My finely balanced pressure plate with cheese as murid lure
Was coupled to supports to hold a deadweight insecure.
(I must disclose the weights I chose to pin the pesky species
were stacks of Darwin's unknown work, The Origin of Squeeshies.)

At twelve o'clock I heard the knock as trap slapped on its prey.
At twelve-o-one the mouse had won. He'd shrugged and slipped away!
The mouse had thumbed his nose, but I suppose I mustn't grouse;
I'd built a better mousetrap but this beast's a better mouse.

I worried that this furried monster mouse may beat the rap,
So listen while I hasten to describe a better trap:

The opto-sensor trigger tips the Dewar flask, and then
It empties out its contents—dousing mouse in liquid N.
The icepick spring releases, shatters mousicle to bits
(And the pieces of the meeces can be added to your grits).

I baited then I waited, sitting down to read a book.
—Scurry, munch-munch, Slop! Crash! Tinkle!—so I stood and took a look.
As I watched, the mouse-frits melted, drew together in a pool,
To a mousey bloody puddle—while I waited like a fool.
The puddle writhed and wriggled; it was then my jaw fell slack.
It scampered off on regrown legs and giggled, "I'll be back."

So now I'm just The Cleaner—I'm limiting my claim.
I won't be cleaning science labs; I cannot bear the shame.
Those boffins in their labcoats mate a mouse with mousey spouse.
I'd build a better mousetrap, but they'd breed a better mouse.

Deep Thinker

2005-09-26T22:52:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Great pelagic orgies!

He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt;
the girls all think he's weird.
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
and sports a scraggly beard.
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
It cost him fifteen quid.
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
'cause he's
hung like a squid.

He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
and tries to pull the geeks.
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
unwashed for forty weeks.
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
for fashion? Gods forbid!
He wears his Lovecraft T-shirt
'cause he's
hung like a squid.

The HP Lustcraft email told him all he'd need to know:
"The symbol on your shirt is sexy—squid are Big Below.
Ten tentacles will tell your temptress of your special size!"
Our luckless loser finally figured—
spam's full of lies.

So now...

He wears his Melville T-shirt,
but only once a week.
His nights are filled with nymphets
all drawn to his physique.
He learned to lure the ladies,
So let's not call him thick.
He wears his Melville T-shirt
'cause his
brain's in his Dick.

Wise Kraken

2005-09-25T20:20:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: "los diablos rojos"?

Rudyly-skewdily
Tabloid Canadian
Libels the Humboldt with
Fishermen's tales,

Marking himself as a
Cephalopodophobe—
First to be food when the
Old one prevails.

Captain Beaky

2005-09-25T19:04:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Cephalopod gnashers

Buccally-luckily
Two-spot the octopus
Suckers his snacks with his
Tangly physique,

Munching his meals with a
Macho-mandibular
Chitinous crab-opening
Muscle-bound beak.

23/5 Blog Meme

2005-09-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: A quickie

Go into your archive and read
From your twenty-third blog-posted screed;
The fifth sentence you view
(Or the closest thereto)
You shall quote with this ~~meme~~ cyberspace weed.

From the 23rd PhaWRONGula post, the closest sentence is:

Instead of the sea,
chondrocytes, Alcian blue,
here, on a postcard.

Who put the blast in the blastoderm?

2005-09-16T08:39:00.001-07:00

Will Darwin's nog on that blog do it
Like the embryos in grog do it?
Let's do it;
Let's all explode!

The batteries stocked in your pocket do it;
Irony-levels on Hindrocket do it;
Let's do it;
Let's all explode!

They say that thousands of toads do it,
But they're blaming the crows.
Folks on the road do it,
Leaving only their clothes.

The warm entrails of some whales do it;
And squids in dinnertime details do it;
Let's do it;
Let's all explode!

Making Sense of Senses

2005-09-07T00:55:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Evolution of sensory signaling

Here lies essential unity,
A carnal kin community,
A bond of awed respect
Wherein the feckless take offense.

I talk of evolution
And the lovely Lilliputian
Scale where humans, apes and clams all find
Their family trees condense.

Sense receptors and effectors
Work with protein-based connectors
That are common to our cousins
Small and fuzzy or immense.

Inside our eyes and noses these
G-protein-linked chem-processes
Make signals out of molecules
That enzymes can dispense.

But hearing, touch, vibrations
(All mechanical stimulations)
Govern currents via swelling
When our cell wall membranes tense.

This is just like when E. coli
Grows and stretches to control high
Concentrations, spewing juices
Through pore sluices in suspense.

So heed an active scholar; see,
It's only through biology
We see the clear commencement
Of our senses making sense.

Lehigh, Lelow

2005-08-30T18:28:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Ooo, that has gotta sting

There was an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
Thought that blood worked magic'ly-hee-hee
Wrote a book to sell ID-hee-hee
Poor old Michael Be-hee-hee; Tee-hee-hee.

There was an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
Chose with science to disagree-hee-hee
Sold theo-biology-hee-hee
Poor old Michael Be-hee-hee; Tee-hee-hee.

There was an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
Thought himself a VIP-hee-hee
ID's Nobel nominee-hee-hee
Poor old Michael Be-hee-hee; Tee-hee-hee.

There was an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
He had tenure guarantee-hee-hee
Gave Lehigh a quandary-hee-hee
Poor old Michael Be-hee-hee; Tee-hee-hee.

There was an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
All his colleagues publicly-hee-hee
Shunned him irreducibly-hee-hee
Poor old Michael Be-hee-hee; Tee-hee-hee.

There's still an old man named Michael Be-hee-hee
Thriving on publicity-hee-hee
Suckering Christianity-hee-hee
~~Poor~~ Rich old Michael Be-hee-hee!

It's just a jump to the left

2005-08-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Generating right-left asymmetries

At your time of gastrulation,
Feeling flattish, so to speak,
You've a groovy indentation:
Dare I say, "your primitive streak"?
And a darling dainty dimple
All would call your Henson's node;
Still your symmetry is simple
Till your epiblast implodes.
On your surface cells are skating,
Drifting, diving down your streak
While your cilia jut, gyrating,
Bending backwardly oblique.

Here an asymmetric shock lies
On biology's vast frontier:
Since these cilia circle clockwise
As they're reaching to the rear,
Right and left force they administer,
Yet the net result is
Sinister.

To Curse a Creationist

2005-08-12T03:52:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: The most evil curse ever

May your Luddite defiance and techno-anxiety,
Your morals from myth and pretensions of piety,
Irrelevance to an enlightened society
Let everyone know you're a freak.

May your lifetime's disdain for your own education
One day be the source of your mortification--
A breathtaking, gut-wrenching realization
Of your ignorant arrogant pique.

May your paranoid claims and continued insistence
That science suppresses your piece de resistance
Become such a part of your blighted existence
You feel that it's pointless to speak.

Quel Vecchio Maledivami

2005-08-12T02:57:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: The Most Evil Curse Ever
The Klass Files

My ears are sharp: what lesser men might miss
(A locust's sneeze; a gerbil's pattered piss;
The wind of vapid discourse being broke;
The thrum of thoughts that no-one ever spoke)--

My ears are sharp: each stir is magnified
A thousand times--a hummingbird outside,
A fizzing drink, the pit-a-pat of rain
Might flood my head with rivulets of pain--

My ears are sharp: should any scoundrel dare
Malign my name, my work, my thinning hair,
The echo of his slur will reach my ears,
And line my face with riverbeds for tears--

My ears are sharp: I hear the creak of Death
Upon the stairs--alas, my final breath
Will rattle all too soon! I leave this purse
To Mrs. Hall, and to my foes, a curse:

My ears are sharp: what lesser men might miss
I've come to know, and now, remember this:
There is no wisdom scrawled across the sky,
And he who foolish lives shall foolish die!

Also, a limerick, of which I am vaguely ashamed. I wrote it first, then, finding it unfit, penned the above.

A scientist, with his last sigh
Confides to the star-speckled sky:
"A curse on these wallies,
These fathers of follies--
As daft as they lived, may they die!"

The Minnesotan Prometheus

2005-08-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Drunken flies and fish

Lightningly-fright'ningly,
PZ "von Frankenstein"
Myers exposes his
Ultimate wish:

Tentacles rule after
Teratogenesis;
"Die mortals! So long and
Thanks for the fish."

Screw the chirality

2005-08-09T19:31:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Chirality in Euhadra

When old Lefty began to reflect
On his kids, he announced, "I suspect,
Since they're right, you've been screwed
By some dextrous young dude!"
"No it's just my maternal effect."

No crank left behind

2005-08-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Bush endorses Intelligent Design creationism

Big Bush recommends imposition
Of "designers" on science tuition.
Though clearly much wiser
His science advisor
Can't stem the foul shrubbish emission.

Bat Begins

2005-08-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Bat development

I wanted to ask Chris Cretekos about his bat development paper, but I must have selected the wrong number in my phone book. I got Chris Nolan's response instead.

...to explore the embryonic
development of the iconic
ubiquitous nocturnal beast that is the bat;
to draw it from obscurity,
from conception to maturity,
to show this nightmare creature
emerging feature by feature;
to complete the essential series of the bat.

Rhymes for the ID Nursery

2005-07-28T17:07:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Dembski vs. Evo Devo, Wells and Dembski: two phonies, Opinion on the Wedge, Michael Behe: malignant metastasizing metaphors!

Phillip filed fallacious fancies
First to fund a fight,
A tall transparent Trojan trick,
Untruthful tale but tight;
With wedging willful wily words
He weaseled, waxed and wanked
And buoyed by blessed bloated berks
He billed his book and banked.

Little Doc Michael,
A clot on a cycle,
Chewed on a complex pie;
He stuck in his tongue,
The mousetrap was sprung,
And science can never know why.

Hey diddle diddle
The Sun sets a riddle:
A Wells transfixed by the Moon
Who fiddled his fancies
To feed the faith
Of each uni-fixation buffoon.

Old Mother William
Wrote many a "trillion"
To fetch her dogma a meal;
Worked on a hunch
And stole a free lunch--
A books-for-the-credulous deal.

Old Pirate's Book of Practical Genes

2005-07-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Cats, candy, and evolution

Taswunartoo's a tasty gene: receptor of the sweet--
Yes, he's the one who tells our brains that sugars are a treat.
For us he triggers pure delight in times of dark despair,
Yet when a cat is eating sweets--Taswunartoo's not there!

Taswunartoo, Taswunartoo, there's more genes like Taswunartoo.
He's flawed in all our felid crew (including tigers at the zoo),
And in our human chemistry are broken genes for vitamin C.
They all confirm the evo view, revealing common ancestry.
You'll find them in the literature, these genes are everywhere,
But when creationists spin their tales, Taswunartoo's not there!

Voluptuously Veiled

2005-07-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Cirrate octopus

They're luminous, leggy and lissome,
In diaphanous drag. Don't dismiss 'em.
You see, I'm a sucker
For 'podes when they pucker,
But I can't find the courage to kiss 'em.

It Writhes!

2005-07-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Worms and death

Though from nearly identical germ
Still they vary in natural term;
Mortal pangs so elastic,
Revealed as stochastic,
Are driving the Conqueror Worm.

Paired Participants Needed for High Flux Fling

2005-07-21T00:41:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Sex in the MRI

"We plan to record the position
Of genitals during coition.
Please come if you're keen
And are over eighteen
(Or else get parental permission)."

Bird-breath

2005-07-16T08:25:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Dinosaur Lungs

Somewhere
Over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow;
Why then, oh why can't I?
Somewhere
Inside the ribcage
Birds are weird;
They have lungs fed by air sacs
Through which each breath is steered.

Each time I breathe my lungs inflate
Then sigh back to their empty state,
Et cetera,
But birdies' lungs are really neat:
The air goes down a one-way street
To work more betterer!

Somehow
Slick respiration
Helps birds fly;
All my beeswax and feathers
May never touch the sky.

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow,
Why, oh why can't I?

Wasmannia auropunctata

2005-07-03T19:52:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Clone war of the sexes

Ploidity-droidity
Diploid queen fire ants
Clone themselves daughters to
Be the next queens,

Giving them life via
Parthenogenesis—
No need for males to get
Into their genes.

Clonally-dronally
Haploid male fire ants
Stoically cope with a
Karma to spurn,

Living their history of
Amatrilineal
Roots—a glass ceiling but
One that won't burn.

Misquoting Maslow

2005-07-01T23:42:00.000-07:00

Chris Clarke, in the Pharyngula comments can be paraphrased:

"With tools," Maslow said, "it is true
That if hammers were all that you knew,
Then inevitably
Any problems you see
Would appear as messiahs to you."

Tentacle Tango

2005-06-29T00:28:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: More cephalopod art

Dim the lights for a tantric temptation;
Feel this rhythm of writhing elation;
Great Ones watch us askance as the night bids us dance
And the music demands the tentacle tango.

All alone in your tank, are you sighing?
Let me taste every tear that you're dyeing;
Feel the lure of my charms; leave your marks on my arms;
Come to me, and we'll trip the tentacle tango.

As I fondle each sensuous sucker
Is it out of the question to pucker?
Your rapturous grip makes each dance step a trip
When we dance, beak to cheek, the tentacle tango.

Though my friends say I'm wasting my life on
A wet bag with eight legs and a siphon,
Still I'm lost without trace in your tactile embrace
Every time we attempt the tentacle tango.

The Tricoplax

2005-06-26T22:17:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Trichoplax adhaerans
Pharyngula: Urmetazoa rising

'Twas saltish and the Tricoplax
Did slick and suckenge on the glass
For algea-nums, as tasty snacks
Digested through its ass.

The placozoan backwardly
Could not its urgenome compute,
So pondered he the Linnean tree
And whimsied at its root.

Now, while the blob was thus entranced
And whitecoats geeked the beastie's kin
To ply analyses advanced,
Front-loaders came to spin.

"Regress! Regress! Past lives confess!"
The new age destinist besought;
"You can't resist my telic twist
For nothing comes from naught.

Hast thou not grokked the maker's sig
Encrypted deep in every whit,
As hints the Behemothic FIG-
JAM's a cappella hit?"

But like the Tricoplax's sperm
The loader's preconceptual clue
Could ne'er an observation germ,
So nothing from it grew.

'Twas saltish and the Tricoplax
Did slick and suckenge on the glass
For algea-nums, as tasty snacks
Digested through its ass.

Take a Bath, Mr. Myers!

2005-06-23T02:49:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Swatting Creationists Since the Late Triassic Period!

One scorching night in summertime, the hottest of the year--
(I kid you not; it got so hot that every sweetcorn ear
was deafened by a thunder of belligerent reports:
The detonating kernels tearing free from their supports)--

That sweaty night, the waning light crept in a window-crack
And with it crept (and buzzed, and swarmed) a living cloud of black:
A thousand flies of pinhead size, in search of sugared treats,
Of sandwich-crumbs and and jelly smears and ripening deli meats.
They crowded round a sugar-pile, beside a coffee-cup
And ate and puked and ate some more, till they had lapped it up.
They terrorized a pastry-box that once contained a pie,
And circled, Sopwith Camel style, around a chili fry.

That self-same night, and might I add, inside that self-same room
There sat, amid his papers, and amidst the gathered gloom,
A learned gent, all hunchback-bent to navigate a zone
Of footnotes so compelling they had footnotes of their own.
He blinked away contentedly, absorbed in his research,
Oblivious (and gladly so) of any airborne smirch
That dared befoul his tranquil lab, encroaching on his books,
Impinging on his crannies and infringing on his nooks.

It wasn't long before the pong of pedagogic sweat
And spice so old it qualified for senior discounts met
The nostrils of one questing midge, who soon informed the rest,
And down they swarmed upon that scent which midges love the best:
Of insoles drenched with toejam stench, enforced by years of wear;
And underarms, and groinal folds, and flat-perspirèd hair--
And, floating on the current of his steamy sandwich breath,
The midges set about the task of vexing him to death.

He swatted one, and then the next, and then a dozen more,
But midges are ubiquitous, much like the local bore.
They found his sleeves, and crawled inside to irritate his skin;
They buzzed about his nasal bores, then gaily fluttered in.
Whichever way he turned his steps, the midges turned as well
Infecting and infesting him, like Baba Yaga's spell.
The more he killed, the more arrived, attracted by the stink
Of battle joined most bloodily upon a field of pink.

He danced and slapped until he fell prostrate upon the ground,
And there he lay, a thousand flies vibrating all around.
He never rose; he's still there now, and sore proboscis-fraught:
For all his books, I'm sad to say, the poor man never thought
To lower the sash, and stanch the source, and thus enforce a ban,
Or raid their ranks to kingdom come with vengeance in a can.
Although he knew the flies enjoyed the odour of his wrath--
In spite of this, God rest his soul, he never took a bath.

(Moral: Mr. Myers, us PhaWRONGulans admire you no end. However, we feel that this Creationist-swatting of yours has gotten out of hand. Nobody can swat 'em all, PZ, not even you, and not even with the biggest flyswatter in the world. We feel that your wisdom is being lost in a sea of cheap shots. We feel that your cause might be better served by a few drops of judiciously-placed poison than by a thousand stomps with your tackety boots. Ask any exterminator: when you've got roaches, you don't stamp 'em all individually--you'd be at it forever.

Also, we want more science. Feed our curiosity, not our frustration with the world.)

Seussian Genetics

2005-06-20T00:11:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Exorcising flawed concepts of Hox function

Hox
Pax
Backs
Blocks

Pax in backs.
Hox in blocks.

Hox unlocks the rocks in ox.
Pax impacts what Hox unlocks.
Flocks of facts on Hox we lacks.

Flies with eyes come.
Flies with thighs come.
Flies with unwise thighs on eyes come.

Look, sir. Look, sir. Lots of facts, sir.
Let's do tricks with Pits and Pax, sir.
Let's do tricks with bits of BACs, sir.

First I'll coin a quick-quilled quote quip,
Then I'll try a tall-taled tongue-trip.

Evo-devo cracks that whip, sir.
Now I must relax my lips, sir.

Old Man of the Flores

2005-06-18T07:41:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Wither Homo floresiensis?
The Loom: Return to Hobbit Limbo

The grand old alpha-man exerts
His dominance. His growl asserts
That skulls don't shrink; they always grow;
There's pygmies all around, you know.
If you don't serve him as you ought
He'll break your bones without a thought.

Screw the old pretentious prig.
Let us dig! Let us Dig!
Skull and rib and thigh and knee,
Set them free! Set them free!

Learning to Fly

2005-06-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Well, maybe another catch is if getting up close and personal with flies makes you squeamish…

You want Dipteran smut? Here's the website, uncut:
Anatomical Atlas of Flies.
You'll need, for inspection, a broadband connection
Because of its gigabyte size.¹
So shrug off your shyness and feast on the flyness
Expressed in high-res for your eye.
Come hug the homology, munch the morphology;
Have to agree, "Pretty fly!"

¹ Slight exaggeration.

Nothing to See; Move Along

2005-06-10T00:37:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Pretentious Planet

The callous desert spends its day in sleep,
Then dons its threads of life, all intertwined;
The dark unfathomed features of the deep
Hide fertile tales to lighten any mind;

Antarctica makes emptiness its pride
And even then, to lichens is benign;
Yet, heaven's vacant vaults are shamed beside
The vacuous gulf: the "theory" of design.

"Living Word" Under Threat!

2005-06-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Link to me, or the Bible gets it!

You could soak it with reprocessed mead.
You could slash it (although it won't bleed),
But you won't cull as much
With your atheist's touch
As the faithful do each time they read.

Spider Sensational

2005-05-31T21:09:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: The burden of bearing a massive penis

What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's smiling so broadly, almost insane.
Some secret she's keeping is hard to contain—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?

What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's writhing and moaning, but not from a pain,
And uttering words I'd consider profane!
What is the matter with Mary Jane?

What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's seeing Pete Parker again and again,
But why does she like him? She'll never explain—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?

What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's eyeing the office-boys' goods with disdain
And vowing she'll never date normals again—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?

Give Me More, Mr. Myers!

2005-05-27T15:54:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Orgasms Aren't Explained by Intelligent Design Creationism

'Tis April in the valley down below:
A thirsty delta raises parted lips;
An eager crocus penetrates the snow,
A dangling orchid wets a stamen-tip.
A questing mouse peeps o'er a grassy mound,
And, nose a-tremble, greets the vernal shower
Ere seeking shelter in the fertile ground,
Ensconced glove-tight within his mousy bower.
And heaven smiles from 'round a thunderhead,
And rowdy rivers shake their icy coats,
And, trembling in its fresh-unkempted bed,
A burning tulip gasps with scarlet throat;
Triumphant geysers decorate the sky:
They rise and fall, but never, ever die.

Revenge of the Smith

2005-05-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula:Obligatory Sithiness

Sithilly-Smithilly
Orson Scott Card-castle
Pokes at religions the
Movies reveal,

Then as a Mormon he
Hyperironically
Notes that the Jedi Force
Cannot be real!

A Bone to Pick

2005-05-11T21:18:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Horner fudges data—and I'm sorry, but even the small things matter

Famous Jack Horner,
Privilege pawner,
Eating payola pie,
Kept banking the checks
For fudging T. rex;
"For the press, this isn't a lie!"

Mmmm, Squid!

2005-05-09T20:12:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Florid squid prose

Squiddily-diddily
Gigas (Dosidicus),
Migrating north from its
Home in the deep,

Causes reporters to
H.P.Lovecraftily
Paint purple prose while the
Old guy's asleep.

B.C. = Blind Creationist

2005-05-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Ken Cope ruins my appetite!

Now, listen to my story of the man, Charles D.
He studied with the best for a general degree
To end up a preacher, maybe in a year or two,
But differences in finches gave him better things to do!
Learn, that is. Find out. Understand!

Well, first thing you know he had written 'bout the birds,
Then gathered up more evidence and spelled it out in words.
His big book on origins left many in dismay
And still causes headaches for the mystics of today.
Fundies, that is. Dark-agers. Control freaks.

What about a fair share?

2005-04-26T00:50:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Yay! I'm in the Star Tribune!

Try proportionate representation
in the class for Design disputation:
Will ID be content
with their zero percent
based on zero experimentation?

Never Smile

2005-04-19T20:25:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Hot-blooded crocodiles?

I remember November. You met my pet, Bart.
Was it fate, that you hated him right from the start?
I said "Please don't you tease my poor cold-hearted croc.
He's descended (contended) from warm-blooded stock."
But you sneered at his tears and said "Keep him outdoors!"
I gave Bart a warm heart, yes indeed; it was yours.

Myth Match

2005-04-12T19:38:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIEEEE! Head exploding, call an ambulance!

When Jerry Jenkins, author of
Apocalyptic pulp,
Keeps pimping eschatology
For the gullible to gulp,
We plead ironic overload
When Jerry shrills it "myth"
And complains a Revelations show
Is weird (unlike his pith).

Before your brain explodes at how
The blind lampoon the blind...
There's sixty million suckers
Who have kissed his Left Behind.

Battling the Selfish Meme

2005-04-09T17:26:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: It's never going to end!

The blog-sphere's primordial soup
Brought forth memes that attack then regroup.
For a fix that will last
Just link back to the past,
Thus constructing a temporal loop.

The Entombment of Hume

2005-04-08T22:19:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Kennedy's editorial: Twilight of the Enlightenment?

On the nature of science, I'll grant
This limerick lesson is scant.
Five lines ain't enough:
Metaphysics means stuff
That you'll miss if you can't ken Kant-cant.

Awwww, Cute!

2005-04-08T00:11:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Jurassic aardvark!
Jurassic Mammal

Popeye arms and aardvark bite,
Of ancient lineage long deceased, he
Lived beneath the lizards' might,
This late Jurassic tiny beastie;

Simple tubular teeth can munch
The termites destined for his belly;
Scratching foreclaws find his lunch:
It's Fruitafossor windscheffeli!

Still No Beef?

2005-04-05T03:17:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Paul Nelson is visiting UMM

In March 2004, PZ Myers tore Paul Nelson's Ontogenetic Depth to shreds.
In May 2004, Richard B. Hoppe asked Paul Nelson to provide support for his Intelligent Design claims about Ontogenetic Depth.
Did we all miss Nelson's defence?

Here's my summary from May 2004:

Paul Nelson's "depth" tales sounded tall.
Richard Hoppe thought, "it’s past time to call
Nelson's ontogenetic-
clad apologetic."
Quoth Richard, "So where's the beef, Paul?"

I doubt that he'll find satisfaction,
nor even a lucid reaction.
Behind the smoke screen
there's an ID machine
building weapons of media distraction.

A meal of Intelligent Design
when served with the fruit of divine
is lacking in beef,
which supports my belief
that it's tripe marinating in whine.

Soul Sucking Science Seminary

2005-04-04T20:18:00.000-07:00

Pharyngula: Grumble, grumble, grumble

Lectery lackery
Myers, Paul Zachary
Ponders ecstatically
Students obsessed
By his didactery,
But dreams distract so he
Uncharismatically
Goads with a test.

Old PhaWRONGulans Never Die

2005-04-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

Pharyngula: PhaWRONGula comes to a close

I've been added to the Pharyngula blogroll, and we all know what that means:

I don't really know what to think—
A notch in the blogroll, a link!
A PZ extension,
The sort of attention
That comes with a nudge and a wink.

Steve Bates asks

It is grand to see Pharyngula PhaWRONGula befriending!
As I cheered at the beginning, now I'm sad the story's ending.
For a month a willing passenger who never knew the driver...
May I vote for the conclusion leaving PZ a survivor?

PhaWRONGula felt no compunction
To deal with the plot-line disjunction.
Choose reason or fervor,
Then you, as observer,
Collapse the Les Myers. wave function.