I had completely forgotten about this little verse, a comment on PZed's review of Ken Ham's book on Darwin's alleged racism. But over at Quintessence of Dust, where I am quite flattered and honored to be mentioned in this week's Weekly Sampler, I find to my surprise that people actually read and remember the stuff I forget. So I am overjoyed to repost it here, just in case Pharyngula ever burns down, or gets popular enough that comments get lost among hundreds of others (yeah, right, like that could happen).
The rhyme scheme on this one was a lot of fun, now that I think back on it a bit. So thanks, Q of D, for the jab in the ribs.
Although to verse I'm not averse
(Oh, no, perverse is what I am)
With phrases terse, I could do worse
Than share the curse of tainted Ham.
In rhyme or prose, well, goodness knows,
I could compose this tale of mine;
And thus expose the growing nose
And lying pose of Kenneth Swine.
We're all aware he does not care
If truth is rare in what he's writ;
He says a prayer for public glare--
He's happy there, as pigs in shit.
Although he'll write that Black and White,
If Darwin's right, are different species
He takes delight, producing quite
(To be polite) a load of feces.
He knows he's wrong, but bobs along
Among the throngs of simple minds
There must be strong stuff in his bong
That makes him long for deep-fried rinds
It's no surprise his book of lies
Sees truth's demise in every word
If facts arise, they're in disguise--
Complete with flies, this one's a turd.