I’d piss off a crayfish
I’d sneak with you, deer,
Or engage in behavior
From macho to queer
As long as it’s healthy
And no one objects;
Birds do it, bees do it
And fuck, I want sex!
We’ll do it like lions—
I’ll stop when you bite
Or peregrine falcons
Who couple in flight
Or lusty giraffes, we’ll
Entangle our necks
It’s springtime, or nearly,
And fuck, I want sex!
I’ll embrace you forever
Like anglerfish, maybe
Or else, like a seahorse,
I’ll carry the baby;
I’ll lasso you close,
Like an Argentine Duck
With its corkscrew-like penis,
But dammit, let’s fuck!
We’ll make like banana slugs,
Lusty and zealous
And do stuff to make
The bonobos all jealous;
The truth is, I’m married,
And thus, out of luck,
But the spirit is willing,
So pleeeease, can we fuck?
Context here... and especially here.
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, June 13, 2008
Friday Limericks--Greece!
This is not the only country on my trip, but I am certainly glad it is one of them! I have wanted to go to Greece since... I think my first presentation on the Parthenon in 4th grade, or maybe earlier, reading the children's versions of Greek mythology. Of course, ignorance being what it is, I have had quite a learning experience here. As someone (Between Mark Twain, Ben Franklin, and Will Rogers, there is a 99% chance of one of them having said just about anything) is alleged to have once said, "it's not what you don't know that gets you in trouble, it's what you do know, that ain't so". I have such vast quantities of both categories here that it would be tough to say which wins out.
But anyway, it is Friday the 13th and I have had a wonderful day. So the Friday Limerick topic is Greece--broadly defined.
There once was a lady from Hellas
Quite a favorite with all of the fellas
From them all, she chose one,
But was having such fun
With the rest, that she just wouldn't tellas
There once was a Byzantine Monk
In a bit of a Byzantine funk
So he took his small flock
To the top of a rock
Where he thunk, and he thunk, and he thunk
[imagine a photo of a Meteora monastery here. I will edit it in when I have bandwidth to load it.]
It's slimy, yet furry and squeaky;
I think you'll agree that it's freaky;
But beyond all dispute
Is the fact that it's cute--
And I found it in Thessaloniki!
(this one is worth clicking on--it's just so cute!)
But anyway, it is Friday the 13th and I have had a wonderful day. So the Friday Limerick topic is Greece--broadly defined.
There once was a lady from Hellas
Quite a favorite with all of the fellas
From them all, she chose one,
But was having such fun
With the rest, that she just wouldn't tellas
There once was a Byzantine Monk
In a bit of a Byzantine funk
So he took his small flock
To the top of a rock
Where he thunk, and he thunk, and he thunk
[imagine a photo of a Meteora monastery here. I will edit it in when I have bandwidth to load it.]
It's slimy, yet furry and squeaky;
I think you'll agree that it's freaky;
But beyond all dispute
Is the fact that it's cute--
And I found it in Thessaloniki!
(this one is worth clicking on--it's just so cute!)
Monday, May 05, 2008
A Blood-Curdling Cautionary Tale Of Science Run Amok
Genetically, of course, a spork
Is half a spoon, and half a fork
A laboratory in New York
Created them, then popped the cork.
Please, gentle reader, do not swoon,
But there was also, once, a foon
(That’s half a fork, and half a spoon)
Created, sadly, all too soon.
In cutlery, one tempts the Fates
When artificially, one mates
Utensils from across the plates
Regardless of recessive traits.
A careless thought: “let’s cross F-1
Again with forks, and have some fun.”
The simple plan was soon begun,
Then all too soon: “What have we done?”
With thirst for blood and killing drives
Such meddling ends in loss of lives
I only hope someone survives
To tell—the sporks have found the knives!
From xkcd, of course.
Is half a spoon, and half a fork
A laboratory in New York
Created them, then popped the cork.
Please, gentle reader, do not swoon,
But there was also, once, a foon
(That’s half a fork, and half a spoon)
Created, sadly, all too soon.
In cutlery, one tempts the Fates
When artificially, one mates
Utensils from across the plates
Regardless of recessive traits.
A careless thought: “let’s cross F-1
Again with forks, and have some fun.”
The simple plan was soon begun,
Then all too soon: “What have we done?”
With thirst for blood and killing drives
Such meddling ends in loss of lives
I only hope someone survives
To tell—the sporks have found the knives!
From xkcd, of course.
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Global Monopoly!
I can't believe it has been most of a month, and I only just found out about this! Monopoly--the board game--is going global, and is looking for your help to choose properties! Not streets this time, but cities. Just go here, and choose from 68 cities around the world, or nominate your own city if it is not already on the list. Actually, you get as many as 10 votes (and you can go back each day to vote again), so let me put my bid in, and insist that (ok, plead that) if you found out about it here, you include Athens on your list. Just because.
A splendid, magnificent, striking array—
In other words, a panoply—
Of cities you could vote to win
A place in global Monoply
(hmm… not quite right.)
Athens, Greece will get my vote,
With Plaka and Acropolis;
I want to see them in real life,
So why not in Monopolis?
(rats. still not right.)
I’d make a movie of the trip,
Directed by, say, Coppola;
The final scene, we’d sit and play
A nice game of Monoppola.
(dang. wrong.)
I’d play the game, the way we did
When we were kids, so happily;
I still recall long evenings spent
In marathon Manappily
(well…)
There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme
That ends up less than sloppily;
I guess I’ll never find a word
That really rhymes Monopoly.
(oh. yeah. that.)
A splendid, magnificent, striking array—
In other words, a panoply—
Of cities you could vote to win
A place in global Monoply
(hmm… not quite right.)
Athens, Greece will get my vote,
With Plaka and Acropolis;
I want to see them in real life,
So why not in Monopolis?
(rats. still not right.)
I’d make a movie of the trip,
Directed by, say, Coppola;
The final scene, we’d sit and play
A nice game of Monoppola.
(dang. wrong.)
I’d play the game, the way we did
When we were kids, so happily;
I still recall long evenings spent
In marathon Manappily
(well…)
There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme
That ends up less than sloppily;
I guess I’ll never find a word
That really rhymes Monopoly.
(oh. yeah. that.)
Friday, February 08, 2008
Captain Ahab... er, Myers, and the Whale
I was thinking... just reflecting on history... and it came to me, that the high seas of long ago were the routes of communication, of commerce, of social discourse--they were the internet of the past. Or, rather, the internet is the high seas of the present. The following is a sea shanty, a tale best told with a concertina and a hornpipe, and a fiddle if you are lucky. It relates a legend told here, here, here, and here.
There’s some that call him Pee Zed,
And for others he’s Pee Zee
There’s some that call him “Doctor”
But that don’t sit right with me
There’s some that call him “Evil”
And I’m here to tell the tale
Of the dreaded Captain Myers
And the hunting of the whale.
The legends tell, in whispered tones,
Of a man as dense a lead,
“Immune to any argument”
Or so the stories said;
They called him “Dr. Simmons”
And they warned against the fate:
“If you’re sensitive to ignorance,
Don’t meet him in debate.”
But dauntless Captain Myers
Is the bravest of them all;
When destiny was on the line
He boldly took the call.
Though Jesus said you should not cast
Your pearls in front of swine,
The duel was “Evolution
And Intelligent Design.”
It would not be with pistols, and
They would not simply fence;
The duel that they’d agreed upon
Relied on evidence.
Each man would list the reasons
Which support his point of view;
Then each assails the other’s list,
If parts are… less than true.
But then, before the steps were marched,
And battle was begun,
The wriggly Geoffrey Simmons
Thought he’d have a little fun:
“A change of topic, that’s the trick”
The little slime-eel oozed,
“Prepare for this; debate on that,
PZ will get confused!”
Although he’d be within his rights
Refusing to debate,
The fearless Captain Myers
Sauntered out to meet his fate.
He knew his weapon’s brutal strength;
He knew its aim was true
Against the truth, well-argued,
There is nothing one can do.
The debate began in earnest
As the wily Geoff resolved
To explain that science can’t explain
How whales have (not) evolved;
There was, of course, no evidence
Supporting this position,
But ignorance would not prevent
This claim from repetition.
(When challenged by the evidence,
He doesn’t change his view;
His claim remains, unwavering—
That’s how he knows it’s true!
But meanwhile, Charles Darwin’s were
Evolving all along—
They change to fit the evidence;
That’s how Geoff knows they’re wrong!)
But Captain Myers’ rapier wit
And knowledge of his field
Were sharper than his razor, and
Much deadlier to wield;
He listed off some fossil finds—
Cetacean missing links—
And asked the baffled medico
Just what (or if) he thinks
A weaker man than Myers
Might have piddled in his shoes,
For the Great White Whale named Simmons
Simply calcified his views:
“My ignorance is solid rock
Upon which I will stand;
To bow before the evidence
Is only sinking sand!”
But even Dr. Simmons,
With his blinders on too tight,
Could see that if he stuck to whales
He’d surely lose the fight.
It wasn’t brave or daring;
It was more or less insane
But the M.D. made a topic change
To talk about… the brain!
(Forgive me, gentle reader
If I do not tell that story—
My stomach isn’t strong enough;
The tale is rather gory.
Suffice to say, his argument
Should hope to rest in peace;
By stroke of fate, the brain is Myers’
Field of expertise!)
But even as his ears and tail
Were nailed to Myers’ wall,
The doc declared his victory
(If only brains were gall!)
To hear him speak, you’d say he won
A brave and valiant fight;
(We’ve seen this once before, with
Monty Python’s brave Black Knight!)
It’s just another story, now,
It’s just another tale,
PZ as Captain Ahab—
Dr. Simmons as The Whale.
It’s not that Geoffrey’s intellect
Is mythic in proportion,
But rather, his ability
To live with such distortion
There’s some that call him Pee Zed,
And for others he’s Pee Zee
There’s some that call him “Doctor”
But that don’t sit right with me
There’s some that call him “Evil”
And I’m here to tell the tale
Of the dreaded Captain Myers
And the hunting of the whale.
There’s some that call him Pee Zed,
And for others he’s Pee Zee
There’s some that call him “Doctor”
But that don’t sit right with me
There’s some that call him “Evil”
And I’m here to tell the tale
Of the dreaded Captain Myers
And the hunting of the whale.
The legends tell, in whispered tones,
Of a man as dense a lead,
“Immune to any argument”
Or so the stories said;
They called him “Dr. Simmons”
And they warned against the fate:
“If you’re sensitive to ignorance,
Don’t meet him in debate.”
But dauntless Captain Myers
Is the bravest of them all;
When destiny was on the line
He boldly took the call.
Though Jesus said you should not cast
Your pearls in front of swine,
The duel was “Evolution
And Intelligent Design.”
It would not be with pistols, and
They would not simply fence;
The duel that they’d agreed upon
Relied on evidence.
Each man would list the reasons
Which support his point of view;
Then each assails the other’s list,
If parts are… less than true.
But then, before the steps were marched,
And battle was begun,
The wriggly Geoffrey Simmons
Thought he’d have a little fun:
“A change of topic, that’s the trick”
The little slime-eel oozed,
“Prepare for this; debate on that,
PZ will get confused!”
Although he’d be within his rights
Refusing to debate,
The fearless Captain Myers
Sauntered out to meet his fate.
He knew his weapon’s brutal strength;
He knew its aim was true
Against the truth, well-argued,
There is nothing one can do.
The debate began in earnest
As the wily Geoff resolved
To explain that science can’t explain
How whales have (not) evolved;
There was, of course, no evidence
Supporting this position,
But ignorance would not prevent
This claim from repetition.
(When challenged by the evidence,
He doesn’t change his view;
His claim remains, unwavering—
That’s how he knows it’s true!
But meanwhile, Charles Darwin’s were
Evolving all along—
They change to fit the evidence;
That’s how Geoff knows they’re wrong!)
But Captain Myers’ rapier wit
And knowledge of his field
Were sharper than his razor, and
Much deadlier to wield;
He listed off some fossil finds—
Cetacean missing links—
And asked the baffled medico
Just what (or if) he thinks
A weaker man than Myers
Might have piddled in his shoes,
For the Great White Whale named Simmons
Simply calcified his views:
“My ignorance is solid rock
Upon which I will stand;
To bow before the evidence
Is only sinking sand!”
But even Dr. Simmons,
With his blinders on too tight,
Could see that if he stuck to whales
He’d surely lose the fight.
It wasn’t brave or daring;
It was more or less insane
But the M.D. made a topic change
To talk about… the brain!
(Forgive me, gentle reader
If I do not tell that story—
My stomach isn’t strong enough;
The tale is rather gory.
Suffice to say, his argument
Should hope to rest in peace;
By stroke of fate, the brain is Myers’
Field of expertise!)
But even as his ears and tail
Were nailed to Myers’ wall,
The doc declared his victory
(If only brains were gall!)
To hear him speak, you’d say he won
A brave and valiant fight;
(We’ve seen this once before, with
Monty Python’s brave Black Knight!)
It’s just another story, now,
It’s just another tale,
PZ as Captain Ahab—
Dr. Simmons as The Whale.
It’s not that Geoffrey’s intellect
Is mythic in proportion,
But rather, his ability
To live with such distortion
There’s some that call him Pee Zed,
And for others he’s Pee Zee
There’s some that call him “Doctor”
But that don’t sit right with me
There’s some that call him “Evil”
And I’m here to tell the tale
Of the dreaded Captain Myers
And the hunting of the whale.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Awwww....
As Disney and Pixar have so often told us,
The ultimate goal of a toy
Is to live in the sweet, unconditional love
Of a cute-as-a-bug girl or boy
But the truth is, the love of a boy or a girl,
Though I’m sure that it must have its charms,
Could never compete with the story of Louis--
Who hugs with all eight of his arms!
BBC story here.
A giant Pacific octopus living in a Cornish aquarium has formed an unlikely bond with a child's plastic toy.
Louis regularly plays with the Mr Potato Head figure which was given to him as part of an enrichment project at Newquay's Blue Reef Aquarium.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Dirty Bird! Dirty Bird!
Flags to bulls, debates to pundits, quackery to Orac... some things just elicit reflexive responses. GrrlScientist was looking for songs about birds, and a comment led to... this.
I apologize in advance. (yes, it does have a tune.)
We met on the day of the backyard bird count,
and I thought her exceedingly pleasant
With lovely long legs, like a heron’s mount,
and the breast of a succulent pheasant;
I will nevermore grouse, like a lark I will sing,
at the wonderful evening to follow—
Now she calls me her snowcock, the pretty young thing,
and I call her my sweet red-rumped swallow!
I just thought, on a lark,
We could walk in the dark
Just my raven-haired beauty and me
If my heart doesn’t quail
As we stand at the rail
This old coot has a desperate plea:
By the light of the moon
I’m a bit of a loon
And half out of the mind that I’m in--
So I’m asking, would you be
My blue-footed booby
And join me in cardinal sin…
I said “My name’s Jay”; she replied “Call me Phoebe”,
And craned, with the grace of a swan;
I saw a great tit, thought “How lucky could we be?”
And our list, once we kissed, now was on!
We ducked out the back, oh so rapid and swift—
With her pace, why, I barely could match ‘er—
Now she calls me woodpecker, which gives me a lift,
And I call her my dear oystercatcher!
I just thought, on a lark,
We could walk in the dark
Just my raven-haired beauty and me
If my heart doesn’t quail
As we stand at the rail
This old coot has a desperate plea:
By the light of the moon
I’m a bit of a loon
And half out of the mind that I’m in--
So I’m asking, would you be
My blue-footed booby
And join me in cardinal sin…
I apologize in advance. (yes, it does have a tune.)
We met on the day of the backyard bird count,
and I thought her exceedingly pleasant
With lovely long legs, like a heron’s mount,
and the breast of a succulent pheasant;
I will nevermore grouse, like a lark I will sing,
at the wonderful evening to follow—
Now she calls me her snowcock, the pretty young thing,
and I call her my sweet red-rumped swallow!
I just thought, on a lark,
We could walk in the dark
Just my raven-haired beauty and me
If my heart doesn’t quail
As we stand at the rail
This old coot has a desperate plea:
By the light of the moon
I’m a bit of a loon
And half out of the mind that I’m in--
So I’m asking, would you be
My blue-footed booby
And join me in cardinal sin…
I said “My name’s Jay”; she replied “Call me Phoebe”,
And craned, with the grace of a swan;
I saw a great tit, thought “How lucky could we be?”
And our list, once we kissed, now was on!
We ducked out the back, oh so rapid and swift—
With her pace, why, I barely could match ‘er—
Now she calls me woodpecker, which gives me a lift,
And I call her my dear oystercatcher!
I just thought, on a lark,
We could walk in the dark
Just my raven-haired beauty and me
If my heart doesn’t quail
As we stand at the rail
This old coot has a desperate plea:
By the light of the moon
I’m a bit of a loon
And half out of the mind that I’m in--
So I’m asking, would you be
My blue-footed booby
And join me in cardinal sin…
Kick off your Sunday shoes, Missouri!
Afarensis reports on life imitating art imitating life. It's Footloose, but in St. Charles, Mo. "The proposal would ban indecent, profane or obscene language, songs, entertainment and literature at bars."
So if Kenny Loggins wants to cut the soundtrack to Kevin Bacon's "Footloose 2: The Documentary", I scribbled down a few lines for him...
It's the limit! It's the end!
From now on it's "What a friend
We have in Jeeeeeeeesus!"
It's a blizzard, not a flurry,
Cos the people of Missouri
Say Hell freeeeeeezes!
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Grow a backbone, you amoeba
Or you'll nevermore hear Reba
McEntiiiiiiiiiire
Cos St. Charles is making you sick
And the Devil loves rock music
And hellfiiiiiiiire
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Hurry, scurry, time to worry, no more sinning in Missouri
Onward Christian soldiers, now advaaaaance!
Shakin', quakin', god-forsaken, send the call for Kevin Bacon
Maybe he can teach the kids to daaaance!
And what's more, the city's thinking
Let's ban table-dancing, drinking,
Yes, and sweeeeeaaaaaring
We can see throughout these verses,
And the famines, plagues, and curses
That God's caaaaaaaaaring
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Hurry, scurry, time to worry, no more sinning in Missouri
Onward Christian soldiers, now advaaaaance!
Shakin', quakin', god-forsaken, send the call for Kevin Bacon
Maybe he can teach the kids to daaaance!
Six degrees from maybe our last chaaaance...
So if Kenny Loggins wants to cut the soundtrack to Kevin Bacon's "Footloose 2: The Documentary", I scribbled down a few lines for him...
It's the limit! It's the end!
From now on it's "What a friend
We have in Jeeeeeeeesus!"
It's a blizzard, not a flurry,
Cos the people of Missouri
Say Hell freeeeeeezes!
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Grow a backbone, you amoeba
Or you'll nevermore hear Reba
McEntiiiiiiiiiire
Cos St. Charles is making you sick
And the Devil loves rock music
And hellfiiiiiiiire
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Hurry, scurry, time to worry, no more sinning in Missouri
Onward Christian soldiers, now advaaaaance!
Shakin', quakin', god-forsaken, send the call for Kevin Bacon
Maybe he can teach the kids to daaaance!
And what's more, the city's thinking
Let's ban table-dancing, drinking,
Yes, and sweeeeeaaaaaring
We can see throughout these verses,
And the famines, plagues, and curses
That God's caaaaaaaaaring
I'll take everything to God in prayer,
And hope to hell that God is there
From what to sing, to what to wear
Let God decide, cos I don't caaaaaaaare...
Hurry, scurry, time to worry, no more sinning in Missouri
Onward Christian soldiers, now advaaaaance!
Shakin', quakin', god-forsaken, send the call for Kevin Bacon
Maybe he can teach the kids to daaaance!
Six degrees from maybe our last chaaaance...
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Danger! Warning!
When bloggers write, with laptops, seated,
Bits of them get overheated—
Sitting in their rooms, retreated
To their hidden cloisters.
If I should hear “Well done! Well done!”
I hope they mean my writing’s fun
And not some cruel and heartless pun
About my mountain oysters.
The writers putting out these blogs,
Like robots built with well-oiled cogs,
Or samurai, or feral dogs,
Eviscerate their fools—
But now, it seems they face a danger,
Not from any foe or stranger,
Simply from a heat exchanger
Near their family jewels.
Though Yossi Vardi starts to warn
It’s not time, yet, to be forlorn
(Though if your kids are not yet born
You’re one unlucky putz.)
It is, however, time to plan,
And if you are a hopeful man,
To buy and use a cooling fan.
Oh, yes… and shave your nuts.
Thanks to Greg Laden.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
The giraffe song (not the unicorn song)
Over on "Living the Scientific Life (Scientist, Interrupted)", there is an unfair contest going on. Unfair, because (apparently) GrrlScientist likes graphics. "Please show us in a picture because as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words", she says. Hmph. I have only 345 words for her:
A long time ago, if you check the graphs,
There were more kinds of animals, and that’s just giraffes!
They played around with brontosaurs, and even T. rex,
And don’t you forget that they had long necks.
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
When God said to Noah “time to make me an ark”
The animals lined up for the chance to embark
The cats, and rats, and elephants, two by twos
Heard the astounding news:
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
Old Noah was puzzled—he’d planned for just two—
But now there were many; so, what should he do?
He looked at his list, to check who stays and goes
And just what do you suppose?
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than he thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
You remember the song; you remember it claims
That the unicorns were hiding, playing silly games
The truth is that God has incompetent staff,
And each one thought “a giraffe’s a giraffe”
But no, there were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or that pinhead Noah is a big disgrace.
The unicorns were there—You could hear their laughs—
But the trick is, they got there behind the giraffes!
Old Noah screwed up, and someone had to pay….
And that’s why you’ll never see a Unicorn, to this very day.
You’ll see six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there had to be space
And old man Noah is a big disgrace.
(to the tune of "the unicorn song", by the incredible Shel Silverstein. Like I had to tell you...)
A long time ago, if you check the graphs,
There were more kinds of animals, and that’s just giraffes!
They played around with brontosaurs, and even T. rex,
And don’t you forget that they had long necks.
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
When God said to Noah “time to make me an ark”
The animals lined up for the chance to embark
The cats, and rats, and elephants, two by twos
Heard the astounding news:
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
Old Noah was puzzled—he’d planned for just two—
But now there were many; so, what should he do?
He looked at his list, to check who stays and goes
And just what do you suppose?
There were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than he thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or wise old Noah is a big disgrace.
You remember the song; you remember it claims
That the unicorns were hiding, playing silly games
The truth is that God has incompetent staff,
And each one thought “a giraffe’s a giraffe”
But no, there were six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there’d better be space
Or that pinhead Noah is a big disgrace.
The unicorns were there—You could hear their laughs—
But the trick is, they got there behind the giraffes!
Old Noah screwed up, and someone had to pay….
And that’s why you’ll never see a Unicorn, to this very day.
You’ll see six giraffe species, or maybe more
A much different story than we thought before
As many as eleven, so there had to be space
And old man Noah is a big disgrace.
(to the tune of "the unicorn song", by the incredible Shel Silverstein. Like I had to tell you...)
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Teratoma--or, Knit me a sister.
Shelley serves as my muse again today... The brain was not her first post about anatomically accurate knitting; there was a previous post on a cute and cuddly teratoma. Ok, so she calls it "complicated and grotesque", but tomayto tomahto. But the knit teratoma is indeed cute and cuddly, if you ask me. So I thought I would try a slightly different spin on the whole idea of having had a twin who died and whose body, in the womb, was absorbed into yours in the form of a tumor with recognizable body parts.
I mean, that can't be all bad, can it?
"Teratoma", or "Knit me a Sister".
"I have an invisible friend", I said,
"But she doesn't hide beneath my bed,
Or in my closet--no, instead,
I keep her tucked inside."
"We do not mean to condescend,
But we all know, there's no such friend;
This fabrication now must end."
My Mom and Dad replied.
"But Mommy! Daddy! Please, I swear!
She's closer than my teddy bear!
See my tummy? She's in there!
I even feel her growing!"
My parents didn't scream or shout;
They trusted me, despite their doubt,
And had a doctor check me out
When something started showing!
My friend was real! I hadn't lied!
At first, my twin, but then she died.
The doctors cut me open wide
And shoveled out my basement.
I never knew I had a sister,
But once my friend was gone, I missed her;
So, knitting till she raised a blister
My Mom made a replacement!
By the way, the original source of the pictures also has a poem (or song) about it! And instructions!
I mean, that can't be all bad, can it?
"Teratoma", or "Knit me a Sister".
"I have an invisible friend", I said,
"But she doesn't hide beneath my bed,
Or in my closet--no, instead,
I keep her tucked inside."
"We do not mean to condescend,
But we all know, there's no such friend;
This fabrication now must end."
My Mom and Dad replied.
"But Mommy! Daddy! Please, I swear!
She's closer than my teddy bear!
See my tummy? She's in there!
I even feel her growing!"
My parents didn't scream or shout;
They trusted me, despite their doubt,
And had a doctor check me out
When something started showing!
My friend was real! I hadn't lied!
At first, my twin, but then she died.
The doctors cut me open wide
And shoveled out my basement.
I never knew I had a sister,
But once my friend was gone, I missed her;
So, knitting till she raised a blister
My Mom made a replacement!
By the way, the original source of the pictures also has a poem (or song) about it! And instructions!
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Knit me a brain!
A tip of the cuttlecap to Shelley of Retrospectacle for reporting on the Museum of Scientifically Accurate Fabric Brain Art
We’ve got sweaters to mend; we’ve got socks we can darn,
So pull up a chair, and I’ll spin you a yarn;
It’s a song with a Scarecrow-of-Oz-like refrain:
Please pick up your needles and knit me a brain!
I’ve knitted my bones, and I’ve knitted my brow,
But I’ve never seen brains knitted—up until now;
With each neural pathway a separate skein,
It’s Art and it’s Science, so knit me a brain!
Two hemispheres knit, and then reaching across ‘em
A beautiful, zippered-up corpus callosum;
Such fine application of knit, purl, and chain,
I want one myself—so please, knit me a brain!
With the brain’s convolutions appropriately gyred
This fabric creation has got me inspired!
My love for this art, I can hardly contain—
So how can I get one? Please knit me a brain!
Some people may tell you I’ve gone ‘round the bend
That the stuff ‘twixt my ears needs some decades to mend.
I could use some new grey-matter; mine’s gone insane,
It would not go to waste, if you’d knit me a brain.
You can see for yourself—why, just look at the time
I must take to obsessively put things to rhyme;
Something’s wrong, and I think that the answer is plain:
I need a replacement—so knit me a brain!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Cute, cute, cute...
The cutest of all of the cephalopods
(And thus, of all creatures on Earth)
Is the cuttlefish, cuter by staggering odds
Than a puppy or kitten at birth.
Attempting to list all the cuttlefish charms
Is a noble, though hopeless, endeavor;
From their tails, to their eyes, to their marvelous arms--
And they’re oh-so-endearingly clever!
The shifting displays their chromatophores show
Are delightful to watch, don’t you think?
And like every good poet, wherever they go
They will never forget to bring ink.
The award for “the cutest” is one they will keep;
Let me say it direct, and not subtle--
Beauty, they say, is only skin-deep
But cuteness goes clear to the cuttle.
Posted as a comment on Pharyngula
(And thus, of all creatures on Earth)
Is the cuttlefish, cuter by staggering odds
Than a puppy or kitten at birth.
Attempting to list all the cuttlefish charms
Is a noble, though hopeless, endeavor;
From their tails, to their eyes, to their marvelous arms--
And they’re oh-so-endearingly clever!
The shifting displays their chromatophores show
Are delightful to watch, don’t you think?
And like every good poet, wherever they go
They will never forget to bring ink.
The award for “the cutest” is one they will keep;
Let me say it direct, and not subtle--
Beauty, they say, is only skin-deep
But cuteness goes clear to the cuttle.
Posted as a comment on Pharyngula
Monday, October 22, 2007
Talk to the tentacle...
Pharyngula shows cephalopods some love...
...but maybe sometimes we crave a little respect and...yes...fear.
Oh, the cephalopods have their Octopus Gods,
With tentacles stronger than steel,
Who have taken down ships with their powerful grips
And made many a sailor a meal.
They win wrestling matches with submarine hatches
Like popping a tin of sardines
Then it’s horrible cries, and tears in the eyes
Of the witnessing Merchant Marines.
Survivers are few, but they swear it is true—
“The monster, it started to throttle us!”
You can vividly note, from the scar on his throat
He survived the attack on the Nautilus.
These powerful deities loves spontaneity,
Thus, are well-loved by their followers
Who all serve as one, having octopus fun
Whether tiny, or submarine-swallowers
When I tell you (no lie) that the octopus eye
Is superior even to Man’s
It’s clear that this creature’s the centerpiece feature
In a sinister deity’s plans
They’ll take down a shark, like a walk in the park—
You’ve seen it on YouTube, I know
And to get to their goal they can squeeze through a hole,
Up the drain, in your tub, to your toe!
So guzzle your Folger’s—these octopus soldiers
Are coming for you while you sleep!
These eight-legged beauties will all do their duties;
Invisible devils, they creep.
So the next time you think, “could one hide in my sink?
Or my bathtub, or even my toilet?”
As a Cuttlefish, I would be seen as a spy
If I told you (besides, that would spoil it).
If you find an appeal in an octopus meal—
Say, for sushi you’ve got a real itch—
The cephalopods have their Octopus Gods
And I’m telling you, payback’s a bitch.
...but maybe sometimes we crave a little respect and...yes...fear.
Oh, the cephalopods have their Octopus Gods,
With tentacles stronger than steel,
Who have taken down ships with their powerful grips
And made many a sailor a meal.
They win wrestling matches with submarine hatches
Like popping a tin of sardines
Then it’s horrible cries, and tears in the eyes
Of the witnessing Merchant Marines.
Survivers are few, but they swear it is true—
“The monster, it started to throttle us!”
You can vividly note, from the scar on his throat
He survived the attack on the Nautilus.
These powerful deities loves spontaneity,
Thus, are well-loved by their followers
Who all serve as one, having octopus fun
Whether tiny, or submarine-swallowers
When I tell you (no lie) that the octopus eye
Is superior even to Man’s
It’s clear that this creature’s the centerpiece feature
In a sinister deity’s plans
They’ll take down a shark, like a walk in the park—
You’ve seen it on YouTube, I know
And to get to their goal they can squeeze through a hole,
Up the drain, in your tub, to your toe!
So guzzle your Folger’s—these octopus soldiers
Are coming for you while you sleep!
These eight-legged beauties will all do their duties;
Invisible devils, they creep.
So the next time you think, “could one hide in my sink?
Or my bathtub, or even my toilet?”
As a Cuttlefish, I would be seen as a spy
If I told you (besides, that would spoil it).
If you find an appeal in an octopus meal—
Say, for sushi you’ve got a real itch—
The cephalopods have their Octopus Gods
And I’m telling you, payback’s a bitch.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
The one-eyed...nevermind...
At one time or other, each sister and brother
Has pondered the musical question
(The topic’s not easy, just take it from PZ):
How an eyeball is like an erection.
The answers may vary—be skeptically wary—
Like “Both can display your affection.”
Well, so can a rose, but that doesn’t disclose
How an eyeball is like an erection.
Perhaps evolution provides a solution
Both organs arise through selection
But so, then, do fingers; the question still lingers
How an eyeball is like an erection.
We may hope to deduce, if we try to reduce
To a chemical sort of connection
But will “similar stuff” prove an answer enough
How an eyeball is like an erection?
Nitric Oxide (you know, you can call it NO)
Causes GuMP to take up a collection
So that GuMP, for a lark, keeps your dick “in the dark”
Thus an eyeball is like an erection
Reproductive success got us into this mess
So it might get us out, on reflection—
But Viagra, we find, is not blindly designed
We distinguish both eye and erection.
With both vision and hearing, the answers are nearing
(Although we can’t hope for perfection),
And for now it’s just fine as a bad pick-up line:
How an eyeball is like an erection.*
(*answer: “It’s an empirical question—let’s experiment, and find out.)
Pharyngula asks the question...
...based on effectmeasure's post.
Has pondered the musical question
(The topic’s not easy, just take it from PZ):
How an eyeball is like an erection.
The answers may vary—be skeptically wary—
Like “Both can display your affection.”
Well, so can a rose, but that doesn’t disclose
How an eyeball is like an erection.
Perhaps evolution provides a solution
Both organs arise through selection
But so, then, do fingers; the question still lingers
How an eyeball is like an erection.
We may hope to deduce, if we try to reduce
To a chemical sort of connection
But will “similar stuff” prove an answer enough
How an eyeball is like an erection?
Nitric Oxide (you know, you can call it NO)
Causes GuMP to take up a collection
So that GuMP, for a lark, keeps your dick “in the dark”
Thus an eyeball is like an erection
Reproductive success got us into this mess
So it might get us out, on reflection—
But Viagra, we find, is not blindly designed
We distinguish both eye and erection.
With both vision and hearing, the answers are nearing
(Although we can’t hope for perfection),
And for now it’s just fine as a bad pick-up line:
How an eyeball is like an erection.*
(*answer: “It’s an empirical question—let’s experiment, and find out.)
Pharyngula asks the question...
...based on effectmeasure's post.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Version 2.7
The "cognitive daily" blog asks: Will humans marry robots in 50 years?
Linky.
She’s my little bit of heaven, even better than real life,
She’s the version 2.7 motor-actuated wife.
When I come home from the office, she’s a sympathetic ear,
With the faintest scent of silicone I catch as we draw near.
“Here, let me take your papers, Hon, and let me rub your back;
You must have had a stressful day—come on, let’s hit the sack.”
Her lips are warm and supple, with a kiss that shows desire—
A brilliant application of a bit of memory wire.
She trembles gently at my touch, as strain-gauge sensors feel,
And as she starts to moan and gasp, you’d swear that she was real.
But she’s better than a flesh-and-blood—For one thing, she has codes
Allowing me to choose from seventeen vibration modes!
She never has a headache; there’s no in-laws to avoid;
Heck, I’ve never even had the need to change a solenoid!
She’s my little bit of heaven, even better than real life,
She’s the version 2.7 motor-actuated wife.
Linky.
She’s my little bit of heaven, even better than real life,
She’s the version 2.7 motor-actuated wife.
When I come home from the office, she’s a sympathetic ear,
With the faintest scent of silicone I catch as we draw near.
“Here, let me take your papers, Hon, and let me rub your back;
You must have had a stressful day—come on, let’s hit the sack.”
Her lips are warm and supple, with a kiss that shows desire—
A brilliant application of a bit of memory wire.
She trembles gently at my touch, as strain-gauge sensors feel,
And as she starts to moan and gasp, you’d swear that she was real.
But she’s better than a flesh-and-blood—For one thing, she has codes
Allowing me to choose from seventeen vibration modes!
She never has a headache; there’s no in-laws to avoid;
Heck, I’ve never even had the need to change a solenoid!
She’s my little bit of heaven, even better than real life,
She’s the version 2.7 motor-actuated wife.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Much Ado About...The Brain?
"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."
Much Ado, IV.i.284-285
A student at Pharyngula asks "why do we still talk about the heart?"
The sound of your voice thrills my temporal lobe,
My occipital swoons at your sight;
When we walk hand in hand, my parietal and
My prefrontal are filled with delight.
My thalamus and hypothalamus know,
Without anyone having to tell ‘em,
That I’m head over heels, and it certainly feels
Like I am to my poor cerebellum.
Hippocampally organized memories tell
Of the way people look and admire us;
It’s like walking with god, but that’s really the odd
Way I feel my right angular gyrus.
My amygdala swells with desire for you,
But with rage and fear? Nope, nada.
My pulse will race, and my breath keep pace,
Thanks, medulla oblongata.
Master Shakespeare, speaking through Beatrice, might
Have nearly said it best:
“I love you with so much of my brain
That none is left to protest.”
Much Ado, IV.i.284-285
A student at Pharyngula asks "why do we still talk about the heart?"
The sound of your voice thrills my temporal lobe,
My occipital swoons at your sight;
When we walk hand in hand, my parietal and
My prefrontal are filled with delight.
My thalamus and hypothalamus know,
Without anyone having to tell ‘em,
That I’m head over heels, and it certainly feels
Like I am to my poor cerebellum.
Hippocampally organized memories tell
Of the way people look and admire us;
It’s like walking with god, but that’s really the odd
Way I feel my right angular gyrus.
My amygdala swells with desire for you,
But with rage and fear? Nope, nada.
My pulse will race, and my breath keep pace,
Thanks, medulla oblongata.
Master Shakespeare, speaking through Beatrice, might
Have nearly said it best:
“I love you with so much of my brain
That none is left to protest.”
Thursday, October 11, 2007
God's Logic
Inspired by Stranger Fruit's post here:
God's Logic
The orbits of the planets
In their paths around the Earth
Are circular--it must be true
If logic has its worth.
The circle, you must understand
Is God's Most Perfect Shape;
If orbits are elliptical,
Why, Man is but an ape.
If circles are God's favorites,
Why not in logic, too?
Assuming your conclusions
Is the Holy thing to do!
When I assume that God exists
And Logic is his tool,
An atheist who tries to use
God's methods is a fool.
When I assume that Logic is
The tool of the devout,
My argument is clear:
IF garbage in, THEN garbage out.
God's Logic
The orbits of the planets
In their paths around the Earth
Are circular--it must be true
If logic has its worth.
The circle, you must understand
Is God's Most Perfect Shape;
If orbits are elliptical,
Why, Man is but an ape.
If circles are God's favorites,
Why not in logic, too?
Assuming your conclusions
Is the Holy thing to do!
When I assume that God exists
And Logic is his tool,
An atheist who tries to use
God's methods is a fool.
When I assume that Logic is
The tool of the devout,
My argument is clear:
IF garbage in, THEN garbage out.
How do I love Thee?
Pharyngula linked to this site--http://www.godlovesyouforever.org/christian_poems.htm
It is horrid. Utterly horrid. In the way that traffic accidents are horrid, and fascinating, and you cannot look away. The following poem is inspired by one on that site, entitled (no, seriously) "Jesus and I will be very awesome and beautiful". Really.
Mine is just a little bit ... different.
How do I love Thee?
Jesus, Lord, with all my heart
I love Thee more than life
More deeply, from the very start
Than husband’s love for wife.
More deeply than a child’s love
For parent or for pet;
How deep my love, for You above,
Has not been fathomed yet.
There is no sacrifice, I know,
For which I am not willing
There is no place I would not go,
Your love is just so thrilling
It breaks my heart to see you there
Nailed up upon the cross
Those soulful eyes, that tousled hair,
Oh, what an awful loss
If I could hold Thee in my arms,
Annoint Thy wounds with balm;
I’d gladly suffer any harms
To make Your life more calm.
I’d softly stroke Your aching head
Massage Your weary back
I’d lay You gently in my bed
If energy You lack.
I’d kiss Your forehead, then Your lips,
And then Your holy chest—
With lips, and tongue, and fingertips,
I’d do what I do best.
Because I love Thee, O my Lord
I show Thee this affection
And thus, I pray, Your strength restored,
You show Your resurrection
Then fill me with Your love—for I
Am just your humble vessel
And, if you want, then we could try,
For fun, a gentle wrestle.
You know, of course, I’d let you win
You’ll always be on top;
If loving You, Lord, is a sin
I still don’t want to stop.
So Halleluiah! Praise Your Name!
I’m singing (sometimes humming)
The world was blessed when first you came,
And with your second coming.
And I, myself, am doubly blessed
That heaven’s my reward
With all my heart, deep in my breast,
You know I love You, Lord.
It is horrid. Utterly horrid. In the way that traffic accidents are horrid, and fascinating, and you cannot look away. The following poem is inspired by one on that site, entitled (no, seriously) "Jesus and I will be very awesome and beautiful". Really.
Mine is just a little bit ... different.
How do I love Thee?
Jesus, Lord, with all my heart
I love Thee more than life
More deeply, from the very start
Than husband’s love for wife.
More deeply than a child’s love
For parent or for pet;
How deep my love, for You above,
Has not been fathomed yet.
There is no sacrifice, I know,
For which I am not willing
There is no place I would not go,
Your love is just so thrilling
It breaks my heart to see you there
Nailed up upon the cross
Those soulful eyes, that tousled hair,
Oh, what an awful loss
If I could hold Thee in my arms,
Annoint Thy wounds with balm;
I’d gladly suffer any harms
To make Your life more calm.
I’d softly stroke Your aching head
Massage Your weary back
I’d lay You gently in my bed
If energy You lack.
I’d kiss Your forehead, then Your lips,
And then Your holy chest—
With lips, and tongue, and fingertips,
I’d do what I do best.
Because I love Thee, O my Lord
I show Thee this affection
And thus, I pray, Your strength restored,
You show Your resurrection
Then fill me with Your love—for I
Am just your humble vessel
And, if you want, then we could try,
For fun, a gentle wrestle.
You know, of course, I’d let you win
You’ll always be on top;
If loving You, Lord, is a sin
I still don’t want to stop.
So Halleluiah! Praise Your Name!
I’m singing (sometimes humming)
The world was blessed when first you came,
And with your second coming.
And I, myself, am doubly blessed
That heaven’s my reward
With all my heart, deep in my breast,
You know I love You, Lord.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Eulogy for Gary Aldridge
Posted on Pharyngula, 10/10/2007
We gather here to eulogize
The Pastor and the Man
Old Gary Aldridge, often wise,
Though not his latest plan.
A member of the Christian nation,
Friend of Jerry Falwell,
His last attempt at masturbation
Didn't go at all well.
For fifteen years, he'd preached the word
A Southern Baptist minister
His death--now, is it just absurd
Or something rather sinister?
How does a person come to wear
Not one wetsuit, but two?
(Although, I know, I should not care
I'm curious--aren't you?)
I tend to think that, years ago,
He spied a rubber glove,
And wondered "Should I--well, you know--
When God and I make love?"
He tried it on, and found a tube,
Half hidden on his shelf,
Of KY--smiled, and murmered "Lube
Thy neighbor as thy self."
And minutes later, hard at work,
He felt a little odd
Was this a sin, or just a quirk?
He talked it out with God.
"Is what I'm doing here a sin?
Or is my pleasure Thine?
Is this as bad as skin on skin?
Lord, please, give me a sign!"
So God produced a pamphlet: "Your
Vacation in Aruba!"
And pointed out--right there, page four--
The wetsuits used for SCUBA
See, God's not really how you think
A deity might be
He's got a wicked bondage kink
(Just ask His son, J. C.)
So Gary died, not steeped in sin
But following God's plan;
So straight to Heaven--come on in!
And bring the wetsuits, man!
A story, sure, but it may yet
Explain what happened then.
The moral is, please don't forget:
Your safeword is "Amen".
We gather here to eulogize
The Pastor and the Man
Old Gary Aldridge, often wise,
Though not his latest plan.
A member of the Christian nation,
Friend of Jerry Falwell,
His last attempt at masturbation
Didn't go at all well.
For fifteen years, he'd preached the word
A Southern Baptist minister
His death--now, is it just absurd
Or something rather sinister?
How does a person come to wear
Not one wetsuit, but two?
(Although, I know, I should not care
I'm curious--aren't you?)
I tend to think that, years ago,
He spied a rubber glove,
And wondered "Should I--well, you know--
When God and I make love?"
He tried it on, and found a tube,
Half hidden on his shelf,
Of KY--smiled, and murmered "Lube
Thy neighbor as thy self."
And minutes later, hard at work,
He felt a little odd
Was this a sin, or just a quirk?
He talked it out with God.
"Is what I'm doing here a sin?
Or is my pleasure Thine?
Is this as bad as skin on skin?
Lord, please, give me a sign!"
So God produced a pamphlet: "Your
Vacation in Aruba!"
And pointed out--right there, page four--
The wetsuits used for SCUBA
See, God's not really how you think
A deity might be
He's got a wicked bondage kink
(Just ask His son, J. C.)
So Gary died, not steeped in sin
But following God's plan;
So straight to Heaven--come on in!
And bring the wetsuits, man!
A story, sure, but it may yet
Explain what happened then.
The moral is, please don't forget:
Your safeword is "Amen".
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