It Must Be Spring

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.

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!)

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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…

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…

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.