“I hope all the citizens of Alabama will be in prayer that the right thing will be done.”–Twinkle Andress Cavanaugh, president of the Alabama Coal Association, asking God to stop new EPA regulations on power plants.


About six thousand years ago

God made dark and light,

Water, land, and down below

A load of anthracite.


And God, whose wisdom knows no bound,

To foil Barack Obama

Covered it with sacred ground

And called it Alabama.


It’s in God’s plan that you can’t find

Coal in Greenwich Village.

He put it where it would be mined

We worship him in pillage.


So sing his praises, as we dig

Our way to Heaven. Churn up

The Earth. God made it very big

So there’d be lots to burn up.

I do believe there can’t be other intelligent beings in outer space because of the meaning of the gospel. You see, the Bible makes it clear that Adam’s sin affected the whole universe. This means that any aliens would also be affected by Adam’s sin, but because they are not Adam’s descendants, they can’t have salvation.–Fundamentalist preacher Ken Ham of Answers in Genesis, on  NASA’s Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.

All things weird and beautiful

All creatures gray or blueish

Saturnine or Plutoful–

You might as well be Jewish.


Scaley or encased in shell,

With tentacles prehensile,

You are going straight to Hell

God knows you’re not a Gentile.


Ask not for whom the church bell tolls

On your moon or asteroid

Jesus doesn’t save no souls

In Outer Space’s airless void.


God made you out of cosmic dust

You chlorine-breathing pagan

So go and pray and put your trust

In Dawkins or Carl Sagan.

Only 11 miles from the White House, officials reported last week, six glass vials of variola, the smallpox virus, had been squirreled away for decades in an unguarded cardboard box in a storage room on the National Institutes of Health campus in Bethesda, Md….The discovery marked the third major safety breach in recent weeks at government health and research laboratories.—The New York Times

Did someone see my variola?

I put it with the Coca-cola

With the box that’s marked “Ebola.”

Can someone look behind it?

The anthrax in the mayo jar–

I might have left it at a bar–

Or in the backseat of the car.

I hope the kids don’t find it.

Actually I’ve got a hunch

I might have had it with my lunch.

Mixed it with my tunafish.

Ate it off a petri dish.

The test-tube with the yellow sticky

Has a bug that’s kind of tricky

It’s either flu or HIV.

I wrote it down someplace, but gee–

Why’d you have to go and drop it?

Now we need someone to mop it.

Let’s not make too big an issue

Anybody got a tissue?

So you have to blame Bush, you have to blame Obama, you have to blame Maliki, there’s plenty of blame to go around.--David Brooks on NPR

When the airplane hits the ground

And when the ship is sinking

Time to spread the guilt around

It saves a lot of thinking.


Now David Brooks has spoken.

He holds forth to proclaim:

The rule–if something’s broken,

We all must share the blame.


If the path ahead dead-ends

He never would admit

It was paved by his old friends

Ankle-deep in shit.


David Brooks’s commentary

Is nothing if not fair

(Although perhaps he isn’t very–

Shall we say, self-aware?)


If all those little Cheniacs

So arrogant and shameless

Were criminals and maniacs,

Obama can’t be blameless.


Point no fingers, but instead

Accept we’ve had a few bad breaks

If you’re wounded, if you’re dead

Everybody makes mistakes.

The revolution eats its young.

It’s been this constant meme,

Since Robespierre, who wound up hung

By someone more extreme.


Inherit, all you right-wing shmucks

The whirlwind, a thing which

Turns you into lame-ass ducks.

As happened to Newt Gingrich.


Score one for the right-wing ranters

The beasts who must be fed

With the blood of Eric Cantors

Or John Boehner’s head.


Do I see you cringe or squirm 

Or writhe and quake with fear?

To think you’ll have to join a law firm

For five million bucks a year?

Now comes the day your Newsverse bard

Grizzled by maturity

Gets his half-price Metrocard

And Social Insecurity.


See him step by step descend

Life’s staircase wreathed in gloom

At the bottom, journey’s end,

He reaches the men’s room.


His day’s work is to contemplate

Creeping in its petty pace

The daily progress of the date

Marking where Earth is in space.


And if he finds the nights are glum

They’re not as bad as mornings.

Too bad that the days don’t come

Tagged with trigger warnings. 


So check things off your bucket list

Skydive, surf and scuba! 

See the Taj Mahal in mist

Learn to play the tuba.


And you can climb on Machu Picchu

Have yourself a good long look.

All that life can show or teach you

He’ll read about it in a book.


Twisted, shriveled, gnarled and wizened

Gloomier than Jean-Paul Sartre

His life is bounded and horizoned

By his broken heart.

There is a sociology of science. Scientists are not saints in white laboratory smocks. They have got interests like everybody else. If you want a tenure-track position in academia, don’t question the reigning orthodoxy on climate change.–George F. Will, dismissing the consensus view of global warming. 

The West Antarctic ice sheet has begun its fateful slide

With a push from Exxon, it’s starting to subside

Into the warming ocean, while California’s fried.

But George F. Will has spoken: Climate change, denied.

Humanity burns carbon like it’s going out of style

Rising waters lap against each continent and isle

But George F. Will defends us with the power of denial

And with his sneer turns back the rising tide.

Scientists in thrall to superstition

Fall in line to further their ambition

But George F. Will is armed with intuition.

He’s also got the Bible on his side.

So let each scientific sage and genius

Believe the Earth is turning into Venus

George Will with his tiny little penis

Will water all the deserts that have dried.


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