In the closing of yet another post about the accommodationism skirmish, PZ lays claim to a magical, mystical, supernatural (and thus beyond questioning and deserving of utmost respect) source of knowledge:

There are limits to what we can attack as bad ideas.

But, apparently, there are no limits to the absurdities that the religious can advance.

It’s an asymmetrical situation that will be maintained as long as we have people insisting that we grant religious ideas a specially protected status. I reject that — I’m going to insist that it is fair game to attack the obvious failings of religion. And it’s not because I am unaware of the limitations of my knowledge, or because I believe I’m flawlessly rational.

It’s because the invisible monkeys in my pants dart out every once in a while to whisper the truth in my ear, in the ancient language of omniscient primates. And that is a source of knowledge nobody can attack me on, by Wilkins’ rules.

Not that I am a devout invisibleflyingmonkeyist*, but I wanted to get in on the ground floor before all the good hymn-writing was already over. (*I know, PZ does not specifically mention that his invisible monkeys fly, but neither does he deny it, and what is a religion without bloody internal disagreement? Besides, “flying”, at 2 syllables, worked a lot better than “invisible” at four.)

So I wrote the first hymn:

There are limits, this I know
Flying monkeys tell me so
Darting out from in my pants
They’re the source for all my rants

Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
The monkeys tell me so

Though no light they do reflect
They deserve your full respect
None can claim that they’re absurd
You’ll just have to take my word

Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
The monkeys tell me so

Monkeys see the men obey
All the things religions say
Monkeys want to play that, too
Monkey see and monkey do

Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
Yes, flying monkeys
The monkeys tell me so

Ok, the trick is, it has been so long since the last time I heard the original that I had forgotten pretty much all of the words. So I had to look them up online. Turns out there is a metric crapload of additional verses, some adequate, some utterly atrocious. Seriously, take a look.

Now, the fun. It is so incredibly easy to write these verses, I cannot in good conscious keep all the fun for myself. Do your best, and do your worst! (Again, look at the link–apparently, both rhyme and meter are optional; you can always claim yours was a parody!)

And may the magic invisible flying monkeys be with you.

Five women burned as witches, in a western Kenya village
The authorities say nothing; it’s a common thing to do.
The reporter was a witness to the burning and the horror,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In two days, we’ve seen eight bombings, maybe nine or more are dead,
As Americans are pulling out, and fighting will renew.
And Wednesday’s count keeps climbing, from the bombing in the market,
But with Michael Jackson dying, move the story to page two.

In Connecticut, a teenaged boy who happens to be gay
Has the demon gayness exorcised, and driven from his head;
Outlandish and barbaric, yet they’re proud of what they did
But you’ll have to search to find it, now that Michael Jackson’s dead.

So on the same Pharyngula thread that spawned my last post, an interesting couple of comments appeared. “Troy”, self-identified as gay, described himself as “normal gay”, which he distinguished from “faggy, feminine gays”, whom normal gays don’t like.

Now, of course, Troy could simply be trolling. Sadly, though, it is entirely possible that he is speaking honestly about his experience. Although the original article wrote of a dance sponsored by a very inclusive group, it is certainly not unheard of for the various factions within the group to be at odds with one another. Although I am not aware of any good evidence, anecdotal tales abound–a very dear friend of mine surprised me once by stating that bisexuals irritated her, since as a lesbian she felt that they were simply gays who were to chickenshit to admit it.

Of course, there is a vast literature on ingroup/outgroup biases; even “minimal group” membership (group membership determined by, say, the flip of a coin) can result in biases that favor ingroups at the expense of outgroups. Where an outside observer might find tremendous agreement between two groups, members of those groups tend to accentuate the differences and minimize shared characteristics, and as a result see crucial, important differences (which always seem to leave their own group morally superior to the losers in the outgroup). Thus two groups of nominal Christians can kill each other in Northern Ireland, or two ethnic minorities attack one another instead of joining against the majority, and Troy, though gay, can nonetheless be a bigot, prejudiced against those “faggy feminine gays” with which he must share nothing at all in common.

Oh, well.

So the closet-living homos hate the homos who are out
And the bulls and femmes are enemies, of that there is no doubt;
Bi-curious are furious, and don’t know what to do–
Seems everyone hates everyone, and everyone hates you.

The Catholics and the Protestants, for centuries, have fought
And the Sunnis and the Shia are a little overwrought;
From the Hindu to the Mormon to the Buddhist to the Jew
Seems everyone hates everyone, and everyone hates you.

The white folks hate the black folks, and the black folks hate the white,
The brown and red and yellow folks are also apt to fight
We’ll treat you like an animal, for skin a different hue–
Seems everyone hates everyone, and everyone hates you.

I always feel bad about writing something like this–I blame Freud.

See, Freud was the one to come up with Reaction Formation as a defense mechanism, wherein an unacceptable sexual or violent urge is replaced by its opposite, exaggerated. For instance, some hellfire-and-brimstone preacher leads a crusade against immorality, because he really wants to consort with prostitutes, or someone becomes a firefighter because of pyromaniac urges, or an anti-gay activist… well, you get the picture. I have no idea how Freud came up with such a nonsensical notion, because we never see such pillars of morality crumble–never see the preacher caught with the prostitute, never see the firefighter convicted of arson, never see….

PZ reports on a World Net Daily story that protests too much about a Boston dance–a prom sponsored by the Boston Alliance of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender Youth. The reporter is utterly gobsmacked that these kids acted just like straight kids at their own proms–almost like they are human themselves!

Anyway…

I never thought I’d see the day
When kids could dance while being gay–
It’s Satan’s work; there’s Hell to pay!
God Bless the World Net Daily!

There is no way I’d take a chance
And show up at this High School Dance,
Cos if I got in someone’s pants
I’d have to do it gaily!

This sort of thing is too complex–
I’m so perplexed by same-sex sex;
With both concave or both convex,
Just who does what with whom?

I’ll stop my ears and shut my eyes
To girls with girls and guys with guys,
Ignore the tingle in my thighs
From being in this room!

Oh, no! Too late! For now, I find
I cannot (will not!) shut my mind
To thoughts of dancers intertwined
I want to join the throng!

I’ll grab my camera, point and click,
And write the story, really quick–
Pretend the whole thing makes me sick–
But first… let’s dance one song!

How wonderful.

It is fairly simple to deal with the morons who say the world is going to end because of same-sex marriage, or because the ten commandments are no longer posted in schools, or because Chrysler is owned by Fiat. It is less simple to deal with people who have predictions of the end of the world that are actually based on science. Professor Jacques Laskar, in the current edition of the journal Nature, presents evidence that Earth could be on a collision course with Mercury, Mars, or Venus.

They grabbed their big computer, and they plugged the data in;
They programmed the parameters, and told it to begin,
Then sat around and waited while scenarios unfurled,
And it told them of the last days of the world.

A wobble in the orbits of the planets Earth and Mars
Could take the Martian planet and propel it into ours;
Under some of the scenarios, it misses by a bit,
But in others, we collide—a lethal hit!

The odds are still against it, but it certainly could be,
Since the tiniest of chances is no solid guarantee
That the planet that we live on—here, where you and I reside—
Won’t be blown to smithereens, when worlds collide!

The professor wants to tell us there’s no reason for our fears,
Since there’s nothing gonna happen for at least a billion years
In my personal opinion, I’m agreeing with the prof—
Cos by then, we will have killed each other off.

And it started so promisingly, too.

One of the coolest animals on the planet has got to be the cuttlefish.

Aw, shucks.

So, yeah, PZ reports on Casey Luskin’s “News & Views” column that attempts to find God in cuttlefish. I know, I know, if there’s gonna be evidence of a supreme being anywhere, start with the cuttlefish. Can’t blame Luskin for trying.

Seems that a new technology is using reflection and refraction to bring color to TV screen, e-books, and the like. The same phenomenon that causes rainbows on oil slicks and soap bubbles can be controlled (and is controlled, in the iridophores of cuttlefish) to reflect specific colors. Very cool.

Seems also that Casey Luskin sees the intentional design of these screens as evidence that the same ability in cuttlefish must also have been designed. Of course, this overlooks … um, pretty much all the evidence in both the cuttlefish and the lab that is working on the TV screens, but it’s Luskin. Not very cool.

Oh, and Cuttlefish also have separate color mechanisms as well–the chromatophores do not work by this same method, nor do photophores. So, take the mound of data, and ignore every part of it except what fits your conclusion, et voila!

There is a sort of intellect—an odd and stunted kind—
Which casts about, and claims that what it’s seeing was designed;
It matters little what was seen, although that may seem odd,
For everything is evidence the world was made by God

From Plato on through Cicero, Aquinas, Berkeley, Paley,
(It seemed, among philosophers, the list was growing daily)
There was no watch that did not show its purpose had been planned—
To tell the time, and testify to God’s Designing Hand.

The use of probability to argue has been tried
To argue such unlikely outcomes must have had a guide—
The Strong Anthropic Principle finds overwhelming odds
Which lead naïve observers to conclude the work is God’s.

The arguments have come and gone, with little left to show;
Complexity is not enough to prove design, you know.
Since Darwin showed complexity could build up by selection
The theory of design has seen a drop-off in affection

But there are some, a faithful few, who will not let it drop;
They ply their ancient arguments; they’ll likely never stop;
Like silly Casey Luskin, who has got a simple wish—
All he wants is proof that God designed the cuttlefish.

Now engineers and scientists have made a sort of screen
That’s different from the sort of thing we’ve previously seen—
Controlling iridescence through the thickness of the layers,
A neat design (and what is more, it answers Casey’s prayers)!

But cuttlefish are different—even Luskin could deduce;
To take the first example—TV sets don’t reproduce!
While color was a problem that the laboratory solved,
Such was not the case with cuttlefish; that process just evolved

And their skin contains chromatophores (and photophores, for some)
Along with the iridophores—comparisons are dumb.
It’s a way to sell technology, a way to make it cool,
But an argument for God’s Design? Well, only for a fool.

Oh! Somewhere on the internet, stupidity is rare
And Casey Luskin’s “News & Views” are never spotted there.
He never will admit it; he’ll deny it with a pout;
But there is no joy in Dumville—flighty Casey has Struck Out.

It is great fun to scan through the comments sections of newspapers, networks, blogs, and others who are reporting on New Hampshire’s latest laws. Although there are (depending on location) sufficient thoughtful and intelligent comments to keep me from losing hope, there certainly are a handful of people whose understanding of the issues is… lacking. One writer is concerned for the poor bisexuals, who won’t know who to marry now; another is demanding the right to marry himself (I suspect the relationship has been consummated already); another knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the passage of this law will lead to cross-species marriage, and he is concerned for his dog. There are also the usual calls for torches and pitchforks, for petition drives and a vote-the-bastards-out special election.

This verse is dedicated to these people, in thanks for the many laughs they have given me.

O Noes! O Noes! They changed the laws!
Now, if you fancy fins or paws
Go on—get married! Just because
The Gays can do it too!

And anything is fair game now,
From wooly sheep to spotted sow
To octopus (I don’t see how,
But hey, it’s up to you)!

While liberals shout and cheer and praise,
I’m waiting for the second phase—
The Queer Agenda, which The Gays
Will force upon the state;

Wherein the law will now endorse
A person’s right to wed a horse—
If you’re opposed, the cops will force
The two of you to mate!

The animals will run the place—
The horses will have won the race—
These are the facts that we must face
And go on with our lives

We had our chance to take a stand
But nothing worked the way we planned;
We’re stuck with pigs for husbands, and
With bitches as our wives.

Update!!! Reader Oscar Gecko points to this site–MarryYourPet.com It is really worth a visit!