No wonder George W Bush is such a screw-up. He’s actually handled by Johannes Schlüter, a very tiny German with poor English skills.
Pharyngula
Evolution, development, and random biological ejaculations from a godless liberal
No wonder George W Bush is such a screw-up. He’s actually handled by Johannes Schlüter, a very tiny German with poor English skills.
Unbelievable. Whenever I read about these End Times kooks, I wonder what is wrong with people.
For some Christians this means laying the groundwork for Armageddon.
With that goal in mind, mega-church pastors recently met in Inglewood to polish strategies for using global communications and aircraft to transport missionaries to fulfill the Great Commission: to make every person on Earth aware of Jesus’ message. Doing so, they believe, will bring about the end, perhaps within two decades.
Syd Barrett is dead.
Trip to heave and ho, up down, to and fro’
you have no word
trip, trip to a dream dragon
hide your wings in a ghost tower
sails cackling at every plate we break
cracked by scattered needles
the little minute gong
coughs and clears his throat
madam you see before you stand
hey ho, never be still
the old original favorite grand
grasshoppers green Herbarian band
and the tune they play is “In Us Confide”
so trip to heave and ho, up down, to and fro’
you have no word
Please leave us here
close our eyes to the octopus ride!
Isn’t it good to be lost in the wood
isn’t it bad so quiet there, in the wood
meant even less to me than I thought
with a honey plough of yellow prickly seeds
clover honey pots and mystic shining feed…
well, the madcap laughed at the man on the border
hey ho, huff the Talbot
“Cheat” he cried shouting kangaroo
it’s true in their tree they cried
Please leave us here
close our eyes to the octopus ride!
The madcap laughed at the man on the border
hey ho, huff the Talbot
the winds they blew and the leaves did wag
they’ll never put me in their bag
the seas will reach and always seep
so high you go, so low you creep
the wind it blows in tropical heat
the drones they throng on mossy seats
the squeaking door will always squeak
two up, two down we’ll never meet
so merrily trip forgo my side
Please leave us here
close our eyes to the octopus ride!
He was…unique.
It’s July in Minnesota, and you know what that means: bugs. Clouds of bugs. Some people complain, but I generally rationalize a large population of fecund invertebrates as simply a sign of a healthy ecosystem, so yeah, we’ve got bugs, but it’s good for us.
Except for those mosquitoes. It’s hard to think charitably of some invertebrates when you’re lying in bed at night and you hear…that…high-pitched whine rising as the nearly invisible little blood-sucker buzzes by your exposed flesh. Now, in a discovery calculated to increase my irritation, I learn that the little bastards are singing a love song as they hover about, looking for an opportunity to stab me and suck my blood. “Come to me, come to me, mon chéri,” they sing, “after I gorge myself on ze fat, torpid hu-man (and daintily spit up a little backwash into his capillaries), we shall make sweet, sweet love in the moonlight and zen I shall lay a thousand eggs, and our progeny shall feast on his children!” (Sorry, but now whenever I hear them they’ve also got a silly Pepe LePew French accent.)
Jeffrey Shallit scorches poor Pamela Winnick, an anti-science, pro-creationism writer who came out with a book titled A Jealous God: Science’s Crusade Against Religion. Would you be surprised to learn she’s guilty of sloppy scholarship, misleading quote-mining, and outright lies? Just like the rest of ’em.
Eh. It’s a mannered debate about the plural of “octopus”. Honestly, I think fretting about whether the root is Latin or Greek and the ending of the plural form matches is a waste of time—we’re speaking English. What matters is that it is understood, and what the convention is. So let’s ask the scientists who study octo-whatsises!
Searching PubMed for the various forms of “octopus” gives the following numbers of references:
| Octopus: | 1,608 |
| Octopuses: | 592 |
| Octopods: | 16 |
| Octopi: | 6 |
| Octopodes: | 0 |
| Octopedes: | 0 |
I’m sticking with octopuses, the form hallowed by informed usage. I won’t spit in your eye if you call them octopi. I suspect the only people who would call them octopedes are skulking about on the humanities side of campus.
George W Bush hasn’t vetoed a single bill in all these long, long years of his presidency. Guess what issue might finally convince him to move?
He’s willing to veto any expansion of stem cell research.
That’s our George. Science isn’t part of his base, so he’ll willingly throw that away to make the church-based ignoramuses happy. Zygotes must be spared! It’s the ones that have been born that can be used as cannon fodder.
Hard to believe, but check out the source this anti-choicer uses to back up his essay on the callous horror of abortion.
Satire and irony are now officially dead.
The author has a new post up—he still doesn’t get it. He’s still babbling about the fictional author of the Onion piece getting all those abortions.
It’s a marvel. There really are people that stupid out there.
(via Curly Tales of War Pigs)
Mark Isaak has opened a discussion on The Panda’s Thumb about The Larger Issue of Bad Religion. It’s good to discuss the problem of religion, but my main complaint is the attempt to separate ‘good religion’ from ‘bad religion’, and suggesting that we should be lauding those ‘good religionists’ to win them over to our side. Unfortunately, we don’t have a criterion to distinguish the two, and I fear that if we did define them, those practitioners of ‘good religion’ would be vanishingly small, and not particularly strongly associated with any particular sect.
I’d suggest that ‘good religion’ is merely something called a religion, which has stripped away everything relating to superstition and any concrete concept of a deity, but then everyone would call them godless atheists anyway and we’d be right back where we started.
