Grey Matter

Oh! sore besnotted though you be,
Your senses rendered dull,
With random hacking repartee
As raucous as a gull,
Your thorny-throated musings pained
By throes of refluxed gunk
(That while you slept had seeped and drained
And swilled with what you'd drunk),
Though gaseous protests punctuate
Your patois à la toad,
And sinal suckage grows so great
That swollen tracts explode,
Yet will I listen with persistence.
One condition: keep your distance.

Two betentacled double dactyls (crossposted from PhaWRONGula):

Buccally-luckily
Two-spot the octopus
Suckers his snacks with his
Tangly physique,

Munching his meals with a
Macho-mandibular
Chitinous crab-opening
Muscle-bound beak.

Rudyly-skewdily
Tabloid Canadian
Libels the Humboldt with
Fishermen's tales,

Marking himself as a
Cephalopodophobe—
First to be food when the
Old one prevails.

Help Save The Tree Octopus From Extinction!

The Pacific Northwest tree octopus (Octopus paxarbolis) can be found in the temperate rainforests of the Olympic Peninsula on the west coast of North America. Their habitat lies on the Eastern side of the Olympic mountain range, adjacent to Hood Canal. These solitary cephalopods reach an average size (measured from arm-tip to mantle-tip,) of 30-33 cm. Unlike most other cephalopods, tree octopuses are amphibious, spending only their early life and the period of their mating season in their ancestrial aquatic environment. Because of the moistness of the rainforests and specialized skin adaptations, they are able to keep from becoming desiccated for prolonged periods of time, but given the chance they would prefer resting in pooled water.

There's more to see on the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus page. These intelligent and inquisitive creatures need our help to avoid extinction. Help out if you can.

I support the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus!

From Profgrrrrl via Pharyngula

Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Or PhaWRONGulated:

Go into your archive and read
From your twenty-third blog-posted screed;
The fifth sentence you view
(Or the closest thereto)
You shall quote with this meme cyberspace weed.

Here's the paydirt (dirt-yes, pay-no):

The Women At The Well CD has been in the car player for about a week now.

Arrrr!

I been talkin' like a pirate all day (or most o' it). I be gettin' in touch wit' me inner pirate. (Or were that gettin' in touch wit' me inner parrot?) Makes me wanna play this, but it ain't even beta yet.

Fer the lubbers, today's problematical;
'Tis a day for all sea dogs fanatical.
Pirate brogue be the booty,
An' yer lyrical duty:
Share a shanty o' verses piratical.

Arrrr!

Last night I found out what it was like to have a fully grown cat suspended from one's thigh by three piercings (very recently applied). The results were not pretty, visually or aurally.

Enough said.

I thought I'd looked at idiocy from both sides now, but it seems there's always a fresh angle (via Making Light). What should we call this: the idealist's idea of the best possible disaster aid?

First, read the American Red Cross Disaster FAQ. Note where it says:

The state Homeland Security Department had requested--and continues to request--that the American Red Cross not come back into New Orleans following the hurricane. Our presence would keep people from evacuating and encourage others to come into the city.

So, Homeland Security, stretched beyond capacity, unable to cope with the demand for evacuation assistance, are preventing people stuck in N.O. from receiving medical aid and food. People will suffer and die while they wait for the best possible solution--evacuation. Let the pragmatists in!

PZ and many others have noted and ranted.

George W. Bush, September 2005:

"I don't think anybody anticipated the breach of the levees."

Scientific American, October 2001:

New Orleans is a disaster waiting to happen...

A direct hit is inevitable. Large hurricanes come close every year...

Since the late 1980s Louisiana's senators have made various pleas to Congress to fund massive remedial work...

Bush's statement would be better abbreviated to "I don't think."

The Flying Spaghetti Monster is desirous of our worship and of our efforts to educate the uninformed. Yet how shall we, the faithful, unite our voices and our spirits without music and devotional lyrics to inspire our zeal? Here are two hymns that I dedicate to our Noodly Master.

All Things
(With apologies to Cecil F. Alexander)

All things bold and booty-full,
All pirates tanned and tall,
All things new and noodle-full,
Our Monster made them all.

One hook He gave us, sharpened;
One eye clad in a patch;
We heeded not His warning:
"Be careful when ye scratch!"

Repeat Chorus

The urge to seek adventure,
The tattered treasure chart,
The lure o' bounteous baubles
That pump a pirate's heart.

Repeat Chorus

The wide blue ocean freedom,
The tang of salty air,
The rum imbued with courage,
Spaghetti placed it there.

Repeat Chorus

Each saucy buxom maiden
Each winsome comely tart
And lust with which to woo 'em
His noodle doth impart.

Repeat Chorus

The slapping of the rigging,
The endless lonely sea,
That strapping young midshipman
When weeks from port we be.

Repeat Chorus

He gave us swaggering heroes
With rapier repartee,
And moody brooding shipping:
Spaghettiness adds squee!

Organ swells for final chorus:

All things bold and booty-full,
All pirates tanned and tall,
All things new and noodle-full,
Our Monster made them all.

Sheet music & Midi file

Kansas
(With apologies to William Blake)

And did that meat in recent time
Make Kansas School Board members green?
And was the saucy source of all
Adjusting things we'd never seen?

And do our sub-atomic strings
Reveal the nature of design?
And was Spaghetti's flavorous feast
To show His Noodliness divine?

Bring me my bowl of pasta gold!
Bring me my meatballs of desire!
Bring me my sauce with herbs untold!
Bring me my bolognese of fire!

I will not cede my legal right,
Nor shall my fork sleep in my hand,
Till we have taught Spaghetti's Flight
In Kansans' backward schooling land.

Sheet music & Midi file

[Edited to add an extra verse to All Things at the request of a fellow FSM worshipper.]
[Edited to add links to sheet music and midi files.]

In a discussion on Pharyngula about the necessity of reason, I wondered what would happen if I adopted Berkeley's subjective idealism:

Bishop Berkeley's existence was crammed
in his mind. His philosophy slammed
what he couldn't perceive.
I'll refuse to believe
in these bullets, so physics be dam-UGH!

And since I was in a mood for bashing the bishop:

Bishop Berkeley's religion subverted
his morals. His head was inserted
so far up his tush
that he started to push
Christian slavery: "Come, be converted!"