Yeah, I know, I know, it has been a few weeks since the last Friday Limericks thread. It’s been a busy time. Still is, actually, come to think of it. So I thought I’d take a few moments to hide from all that, and ask you how you are doing. Better than your pal Cuttlefish, I hope.

If our health is more precious than gold,
Mine’s a stock that I wish I had sold;
I have tried to be tough,
But enough is enough!
It’s two weeks now, that I’ve had this cold!

I’m either too warm, or I’m freezing,
And I’m coughing and sniffling and sneezing;
My voice has gone hoarse,
And my family, of course,
Wants to make me feel better… by teasing!

The TV commercials inspire us
To buy stuff to fight off the virus–
But it seems it’s not health
They are after, but wealth–
It’s my money of which they’re desirous!

Now I’m huddled up, drinking my tea*,
Wishing only to be symptom-free.
So, from your point of view
What’s it like to be you?
Cos I tell you, it sucks to be me.

*oh, yeah, I forgot to mention above… the Cuttlespouse used the very last of our coffee. Nothing left for yours truly.

The voting is over, but not the debate;
Many say that the voters were wrong–
California, of course, was the scene of Prop 8:
Here’s the story, as told in a song…

… especially when he’s right.

I watched the nightly business news
(it helped to chase away my blues)
Ben Stein and others helped me choose
When I was buying stocks

The terms I did not know what meant
Did not disturb me, as I spent
On stocks with values in ascent
Or so they said on Fox

The fundamentals still are sound,
Economy’s on solid ground
(And look, our jobs are still around!)
We’re solid as Fort Knox

There was one voice that cast a doubt,
Who said it’s time for getting out
But he was just one single lout
Whom everybody mocks

With grandiose and pompous boasts,
With caviar and champagne toasts
I took the word of game-show hosts
And washed-up former jocks.

The weeks and months, they crept along
I wondered if I’d chosen wrong—
But no, they said—the market’s strong
Enough to brave some shocks

And now my stocks are so damned cheap
I use them now to help me keep
The holes plugged, as I try to sleep
Here in my cardboard box

Yesterday morning, I picked up the newspaper, and it had the familiar red envelope we have come to expect this time of year, the mass-produced, signature-stamped, highly religious Christmas card from the guy who delivers our papers. We will likely get another from the other paper, and one or more from the postal carriers. Sometimes they are secular, but this one was very very religious.

So, being me, I wondered if I could write something equally treacly, but without citing bible verses. Just for fun.

As luck would have it, later yesterday PZ posted a couple of alternative seasonal cards–for Newtonmas and for Squidmas. They are quite good, actually. I took the opportunity to post the treacly thing I had written earlier that day.

To make a long story short (too late), this post you are reading now is the beginning of an experiment. At least one person (ggab) is planning on doing artwork and making holiday cards from some of my verses, and I thought I might open up the fun for anyone else who might want to join in. So here, and perhaps in some future posts, I will post a few card ideas and verses, and they are yours to work with. If you use them for your own cards, take them as my cephalopodmas gift to you. If you make and use enough to feel guilty about it, there is my tip jar over there to the right. If you go into business and make a bundle, I want a cut.

Anyway, I know that some cards have short verses, some have long, so I just started tooling around with some…

Shorter:

From our house to yours, in this holiday season,
We send out a message of warmth and good cheer—
There’s no greater meaning than love, as the reason
To say Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.

Longer and really sappy:

The reason for Christmas is bigger than Jesus;
It’s bigger than even a God up above.
The reason we gather together this season
With friends and with family, simply, is love.

The stories they tell of a wonderful heaven,
The myth of a savior’s miraculous birth,
Are mere consolation for leaving behind
All the love we encounter in one life on earth.

More precious, more rare than the greatest of treasures
This life we are living—each one, we know, ends;
I wish you a love even greater than Christmas
And hope you will share it with family and friends.

Longer, with a verse for front and inside, and a bit more feisty:

[front]
As we battle our way through the line at the store
And think to ourselves “there has got to be more”
And wonder where “Christmas of long ago” went,
When the meaning of Christmas was what it first meant…

[inside]
It was stolen by Christians from heathens, of course—
From Greeks and from Romans, from Celtics and Norse—
Why, Christmas is pagan, from yule-log to tree
To mistletoe waiting for you and for me

The meaning of Christmas—the good stuff, at least—
The ornaments, stockings, and “rare Who roast beast”
Has nothing to do with a Son of God’s birth
But rather the changing of seasons on Earth

The nights now grow shorter, the days will grow longer,
The rays of the sun (and our spirits) grow stronger!
So celebrate Solstice, rejoice in the season,
And love one another whatever the reason!

And a very ambitious one for a patient artist:
(front—very dark, with bathysphere, tethered, way down near the bottom, perhaps with lights illuminating a very small area around it)

We can’t trim a tree, there’s no room to hang holly
And a bathysphere doesn’t have halls we can deck
To celebrate Christmas down here seems pure folly
But we had an idea, and thought “what the heck?”

(inside, first)
Much better than ornaments, histioteuthis
Make beautiful tinsel, so that’s what we did
You’d think we hung lights, but the simpler truth is
You’re seeing the flash of the Firefly Squid.

With photophores flashing, they gather together
To send you our greetings from under the sea
It’s beautiful—but—I am wondering whether
The message is really from them or from me!

(Inside, folded—hundreds of histioteuthis [beautiful Jeweled Squid] and firefly squid, perhaps only a few actually in detail, most as not much more than dots, creating a giant “Merry Squidmas!” banner which dwarfs the bathysphere.) (if I had any Flash skills at all, this would work as an online card… if you have the interest, feel free!)

That’s all for now–oh, but there is this one from last year… and 2008 is the last year this one will work!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the dog wants to go out…

Thanks to reader Ron Sullivan, I have my first review up on Lulu! So, since I am much too modest to adequately promote my own book, I will quote his review, and smile broadly to myself.

I got my copy of The Digital Cuttlefish, Vol.1 via snailmail on Monday, and I’m thrilled to have it. Delivery was a lot faster than the boilerplate on the order form would suggest, and the book itself looks great: sturdy binding, clean readable fonts and layout, striking simply-designed cover with the signature cuttlefish blog banner.

Good thing Lulu did such a good job, because the Cuttlefish’s verse deserves the best. This stuff is more fun than beer and pretzels. Joe and I have been reading it over-the-shoulder whenever it pops up on Pharyngula, and now we’re picking up the book at odd times and reading random bits aloud to each other when the mood strikes us.

Electronic copies and Cuttlefish’s blog are great, but having the actual book to wave at holy-rollers and random passers-by is priceless. Now we’re trying to decide who else we know deserves a copy.

I’m happy as a very happy Cuttlefish with a very good reason to be happy…

Last night, as I slept, very unlike a log,
Our garbage-can served as a feast for the dog.
I awoke to a smell which I sadly knew meant
That she’d taken a dump on my room’s heating vent
(She’s a very old dog, very grey in the jowls,
And losing all conscious control of her bowels)
As the temperature dropped, and the furnace went “voom”
The aroma of dog shit enveloped the room,
And I realized, while cleaning up after the beast,
This was likely the work of her Thanksgiving feast.

In a month, the old girl will be fifteen years old;
She can no longer run; she is too often cold;
She is nearly stone deaf, growing gradually blind,
And her stiffening joints have been… other than kind.
For so many years, she’s been such a good friend
But on mornings like this, yes, we’re nearing the end,
And to thank her for all of the years that have passed
I just clean up her mess (and I clean it up fast).
It’s a strange little rite that I go through each dawn,
But too soon both the smell and the dog will be gone.

I have so many people to thank this Thanksgiving–including you, if you are reading this (which you are). If you recognize yourself in the following verses, you are quite right. That’s you. If you don’t recognize yourself, don’t worry–none of it is made up; that verse just happens to be about someone else. One verse actually fits two different sets of people at two different times (once in Sofia, once in NYC); so it is, clearly, about both. The “building which once housed petroleum tanks” is not just there for the rhyme–it was in the Gazi district of Athens, where old industrial buildings have been reclaimed into galleries, nightclubs, and fashionable places to meet.

It is quite heavy on thanking the people who helped me to go, and helped me while I went, on my trip this past summer. I have said it before, but I literally could not have gone without the readers of this blog who pitched in and tucked money in my tip jar. This was the biggest thing that has happened in my life in some time, so yeah, this year’s verse is weighted a bit toward that wonderful adventure. It also lacks a proper final verse. I could make up something about how that is supposed to indicate that there are hundreds more to thank, but the truth is I couldn’t think of one.

The whole family is under one roof right now, for the first time since the end of Summer. Time is simultaneously so fast and so slow these days; I think I will sign off now, and go enjoy some of it. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate it, and to those who don’t, thanks… just because.

I will gather today with some people I love
I’ll thank them instead of some something above
The place where we gather will not have a steeple
And though some of the people might think that it’s odd
I won’t thank some invisible god
Some invisible fictional god

To J____ in Bulgaria, and to D____ in Greece
And to many more—always the numbers increase—
After this, I know travel’s exciting, not scary
So Greeks and Bulgarians, Aussies and Yanks
Are the people to whom I give thanks
And I will, to my dying day, thanks…

I give thanks to my colleagues—there’s so much I owe,
I couldn’t have done it without them, I know
And my travel companions I’ve come to adore
And I know there are more, but I’m drawing a blank
There’s so many more people to thank.
I have hundreds of people to thank

I give thanks to the people who came to my aid
I am still overwhelmed by the difference you made
To G____, who help me to navigate dangers
And generous strangers who reached to their banks
Now they’re friends, and they’re whom I give thanks
With tears in my eyes, I give thanks

I give thanks to my readers, the near and the far,
The new ones and old ones—you know who you are—
There are only a few whom I’ve met face to face
Though I’m still in the basement of internet ranks
It’s my readers to whom I give thanks
Yes, you get your personal thanks

I give thanks to my good friends like K___ and like M____
And the wonderful night that I shared just with them
Though we all knew the sunrise would come without warning
Till three in the morning we talked and we drank
You are two of the people I thank
Two wonderful people I thank

To V___ who’s the reason I went on my trip
And who almost, so tragically, slipped through my grip
We went out for a drink, where I stared like a dunce,
In a building which once housed petroleum tanks
She’s the woman to whom I give thanks
More than anyone else, she gets thanks

Nothing from me right now–getting ready for classes one last time before Thanksgiving. I have so many people to give thanks to, too. With any luck, I will have time to properly do so. For now, though, a little more evidence that the Bill O’Reilly’s of the world, with their images of an atheist war on christmas, are living in a fantasy world, a nightmare of their own creation. This beautiful song is written and performed by Tim Minchin, a skeptic, an atheist, an Australian, a musician, a comic, a genius, a husband, a father, an all-around wonderful person… not necessarily in that order. I suspect it captures the feeling of Christmas for a lot of people.

Enjoy.

Oh, yeah, Tim’s website. His merchandise might make a wonderful christmas gift for someone… Come to think of it, so might my book….

From the Cape of Good Hope to the Newfoundland islands,
The sands of Iran to the Panama isthmus;
From Outback Australia to Inverness Highlands
It’s time to take arms in the War Against Christmas!

My weapons are mistletoe, Christmas trees, holly,
A yule-log, and caroling out in the snow;
Sleigh-rides and snowball-fights, eggnog and Jolly
Old Santa Claus, laughing his loud “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

We’ll make them forget all the Truth of the season—
The sacrifice planned by a god up above—
And have them believing some bastardized reason
Like giving, or kindness, or caring or love!

I’ll cruelly and callously help out a stranger
Who’s down on his luck or has suffered some loss,
I won’t even speak of the babe in the manger
Whom God sent to Earth to get nailed to a cross;

When the winds of December conspire to freeze us
I’ll help collect sweaters and coats for the poor,
Neglecting to make any mention of Jesus,
Whose torture is really what Christmas is for.

My hatred of Christmas will focus my labors
On weaving an atheist fabric of lies—
For instance, I’m giving to all of my neighbors
Gift baskets, cookies, and fruitcakes and pies!

I’ll say “Merry Christmas!” I’ll say “Season’s Greetings!”
I’ll say “Happy Holidays—Joyous Noel!”
Intending of course, that with each of these meetings
The Truth About Christmas can just go to hell.

The truth is that Christmas is not about presents
It’s no time for songs, It’s not time to be nice
It’s not time for feasting on turkeys or pheasants—
It’s sin, and redemption by blood sacrifice.

No time to be jolly; no time to be merry
It’s time to be solemn, and grim, and devout!
The heathens might find it depressing or scary
But that is what Christmas is truly about.

Yes, Jesus is really the ultimate reason
And Christmas is really redemption and sin;
The war against Christmas is early this season—
For God’s sake, let’s hope that the atheists win!

Leviticus 16 instructs us on how to properly atone for our sins… it involves two goats and a bull, and specific rituals for sprinkling blood. Trust me. It also describes the role of one of those two goats, known as the scapegoat; this goat basically gets all of our sins cast upon it, then is chased out of town into the wilderness. Et Voila! Sin-free town, God’s happy, the people are happy, everything is good again… kinda sucks to be either the goat or the bull, but someone has to pay.

Today, the scapegoat serves a similar function–we blame all our mess on the scapegoat, and vilify it and hope to run it out of town. We are much more civilized now, though; we no longer use a real goat. Now, we blame the atheists.

Seriously. The Wall Street Journal’s Daniel Henninger blames the atheists for the economic situation.

It has been my view that the steady secularizing and insistent effort at dereligioning America has been dangerous. That danger flashed red in the fall into subprime personal behavior by borrowers and bankers, who after all are just people. Northerners and atheists who vilify Southern evangelicals are throwing out nurturers of useful virtue with the bathwater of obnoxious political opinions.

Can’t blame him, really. Actually analyzing the situation would be difficult. Blaming people like me is so much easier.

Financial instability
On this year’s global scale
Can’t possibly be understood
In every last detail
By educated modern types
From Harvard Business School
With economic data points
And science as their tool.

The modern world’s a scary place
With bankruptcies and such;
The thoughtful man suggests it needs
A bronze-age mystic’s touch.
The Wall Street Journal’s Henninger
Just makes me want to laugh:
Let’s fix the economic mess–
Just sacrifice a calf!

The atheist—a bogeyman
And whipping-boy du jour,
The one who dares to say that work,
Not prayer, must be the cure—
The atheist must take the blame
So take them by the throat,
Lay all our sins upon their heads
Then sacrifice that goat!

As always… Buy my book! Buy my book! Buy my book!

H/T PZ