I Got Yer “Edgy Re-Telling” Right Here

PZ tells us of the plan for a new, “edgy re-telling” of the Noachian flood. It’s as good an excuse as any to repost the edgy re-imagining of a day at the Creationist Theme Park.

Our day at the park
Having fun on the ark
Will begin as we stroll up the ramp
With the mammals and dino’s
And strange hellifino’s
And all of it, gaudy and camp

There are creatures in twos
Like the grandest of zoos
Some in cages for people to see
Some are plastic, of course,
Like the odd “Jesus horse”
You can ride on (just children!) for free

With the tour guide explaining
It soon will start raining—
It’s best that we get through the doors
And with thunder and lightning
More piped-in than frightening
The skies open up, and it pours

It isn’t surprising
The water starts rising
With rivers obscuring the ground
We’re on board! We’re the winners!
We laugh at the sinners
Outside, who are there to be drowned.

Some electrical junction
Is bound to malfunction;
The waters continue to rise—
Now it’s panic and screaming
(Please tell me we’re dreaming!)
On board, we can hear all the cries

Now the water is rushing,
The pipes are still gushing,
We realize, we’re really afloat!
Like the Genesis story
We share in the glory
And ride in the biblical boat

Though it’s ill-built and creaky,
Substantially leaky,
We ought to be fine for a while
And although we’re all stuck
We rejoice in our luck
And we look at each other and smile.

Soon the still-rising tides
Means the screaming subsides
From the folks who did not get on board
And we know that God willed
That these people be killed
So we all praise the works of Our Lord

As the day turns to night
With no rescue in sight
Our exhaustion will drive us to sleep
Though the children are wary
Cos darkness is scary
And the lions are eating the sheep

So we all sleep in shifts
As our giant bed drifts
And there’s still not a star in the sky
Soon the sun will arrive
And we’re mostly alive
And if not, then God wants us to die.

At the whim of the weather
We huddle together
As carnivores roam through the decks
And we learned within hours
The stench overpowers—
Of feces, of death, and of sex

When the rain finally ceases
We pick up the pieces
And head to the top deck, for sun,
Where the clean-smelling breezes
Sweep by (thank you Jesus!)
And we kneel down and pray, every one!

As we float, we survey
The remains of the day
From our vantage above, on the ark
Where our neighbors and friends
Met their untimely ends
With the visitors there at the park

And we bow heads, and praise
God’s mysterious ways—
Our friends’ bodies have now begun bloating
And as plump as you please
They rise up through the seas
All disfigured and blue, they are floating

All the husbands and wives,
Little children whose lives
Were destroyed by their callous Creator
While we’re safe on the ark
Cos we chose to embark
A bit sooner, and not a bit later

There was water to drink
But it’s starting to stink
And starvation’s its own form of hell
But the hunger and thirst
Isn’t even the worst—
More than that, is the horrible smell

The miasma which flows
Though you cover your nose
Overwhelms you, and just never ends
And the worst of it all
This olfactory pall
Is the smell of our neighbors and friends

We float day after day
As around us, decay
And disease take a toll on our minds;
And our bodies grow weak
As around us, unspeak-
able horrors are all that one finds

In the decks down below
Where we never dare go
There is carnage like never before;
Most the mammals are gone
But the beetles live on
As they feast on the filth and the gore

There are maggots and flies
Which is no great surprise
In the dung and the foul, rancid meat
But up top, it is grim
Cos the pickings are slim
And there’s nothing for humans to eat

If we haven’t quite died
When the waters subside
We’ll praise God, and we won’t think to sue
Sure, it’s horribly cruel
But we learned, at home school
That what’s right is what Yahweh would do

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On

Last night I dreamed in perfect verse—
A pretty nice trick, it would seem—
I’d post it today, but damn the luck,
I always forget what I dream.

Yeah, last night I actually did go to sleep mulling a verse around, and I know (as much as one can know these things) that I figured out several stanzas, moving bits around, finding rhymes, fixing meters. This morning, post-coffee, I have absolutely no idea what I wrote last night.

Part of the problem is that I read some really interesting stuff while having my coffee. Over at ICBSEverywhere, Barbara Drescher had done what she so often does, and brought deliberation, critical thought, and evidence to bear on the skepticism/atheism kerfuffle. I don’t agree with 100% of what she says, but in real life I’ve given talks that are better than 80% in agreement with the stuff she has posted this morning (that’s right, I have a real life). There are three posts; I’ve linked to the first one. Worth reading, and worth sharing.

Even if it cost me a dream verse.

Bishops, And Pawns

Via Kevin Zelnio on twitter, the story of a former bishop with a problem. His laptop contains child pornography, including images of torture.

When I read the headline, my first thought was “Again?” Didn’t I already write about a bishop? Well, yeah. Twice.

First, an arch-bishop of New York, covering up the abuses of priests:

I am the Bishop, the moral authority,
The good of my flock is my highest priority
Unless (or until) there’s a Shepherd accused,
And a lamb from my flock is among the abused.

I am the Bishop; to me they will come,
Both Shepherd and Sheep (because people are dumb)
I’m trusted to do what is just, what is right,
To head off a scandal, and keep things from sight.

I am the Bishop; the power is mine,
The law is of earth, but the issue’s divine
It’s morally righteous to hide the report,
And to fight and appeal when they take us to court.

I am the Bishop. The transcripts disclosed
I created a smokescreen when duly deposed;
I watched for my shepherds, and helped them escape
From those cruel allegations of beatings and rape.

I am the Bishop—Archbishop, New York;
I won’t admit shame, like in Dublin or Cork,
Here, cases are fewer, convictions are less—
It’s to me, not the cops, to whom Shepherds confess!

I am the Bishop, so I can forgive—
They’ll surely be punished, but not while they live.
The civil authorities think it’s a scam
But I am the Bishop; I don’t give a damn

I am the Bishop; I’ll sink straight to Hell,
With most of my Shepherds beside me, as well,
Where Satan’s the judge; no one grants an appeal…
But I am the Bishop. I know it’s not real.

Then, a bit later, in Philadelphia, a story of the review process intended to hide prevent abuse:

I am the Bishop, the first in the line
When reviewing a case, the decision is mine;
If I choose, I will forward the case to the board—
Most often, I don’t do a thing (thank the Lord!)

I am the Bishop; the Board of Review
Are my people, who do what I tell them to do
In each of the cases my Board made a call
They decided the case had no substance at all

I am the Bishop, the man you can trust—
Well, can is inaccurate; really, you must
Just ask me your questions; I give you my word
To give every detail that I want to be heard

I am the Bishop; I see in the news
They are calling for new, independent reviews!
It’s simply outrageous, to treat us this way
And put private Church business on public display

I am the Bishop; I know what we did—
How much is now public; how much is still hid
There’s a chance you’ve been actively kept unaware—
But I am the Bishop. I really don’t care.

How many rogue individuals does it take, before it’s a systematic problem?

Responses, Responses

It’s your right to come together
It’s your right to join and pray
It’s your right to go to Houston
To the Astrodome today

It’s your first amendment freedom;
Just remember, when you do,
That the same applies to others
When they’re criticizing you.

It’s my right to call you foolish
It’s my right to say you’re wrong
It’s my right to disagree with you
In poetry or song

You have every right to worship
You have every right to speak
But you do not have immunity
From secular critique

It’s your right to call me sinful
And to say I’m bound for hell
Just as long as every other voice
Can have their say as well

In the NYTimes, Op-Ed contributor Paul Horwitz writes “How to respond to Rick Perry and ‘The Response’“. It’s a nice piece, arguing that attempts to keep religion out of the public sphere are misguided. Not because religion has any sort of special privilege in guiding public officials, but because attempts to keep religion “private” come at too great a cost:

by trying to banish religion from the public sphere, Mr. Perry’s critics end up cutting themselves out of the debate. When religion is viewed as a fundamentally private matter, the natural corollary is to think that it is inappropriate to criticize someone’s faith.

We have also seen that those who do criticize faith matters are seen as militant, boorish, dicks.

This double standard needs to end. If religion can’t be forbidden in our public debates, even for elected officials, neither should it be immune from public criticism. And in the case of Mr. Perry and “The Response,” there are good reasons to be critical.

Horwitz focuses on The Response, but the message applies much more broadly.

I personally like it when public officials flaunt their religion in public. But then, satirical writing requires a diet rich in public stupidity.

Two Books

My favorite thing about this one, on the old blog, was my readers’ responses.

There was a man who had a book
Of Things Which He Believed;
He followed it religiously—
He would not be deceived.

The story in its pages was
The Truth that he adored—
The world outside its ancient script,
He faithfully ignored.

When someone found a falsehood
Or a small mistake inside it
(Or even some tremendous flaw)
He eagerly denied it.

The Truth was there inside his book
And never found outside
If something contradicted it
Why then, that something lied

And when he met another man
Who had another book,
He fell not to temptation—why,
He didn’t even look.

And, surely, there are other men
With other books in hand
Who walk, with views obstructed,
Here and there across the land

****

There was a man who had a book
(I find this quite exciting)
Who looked upon a tangled bank
And then… he started writing.

He wrote about the things he saw
And what he saw them do
And when he found mistakes he’d made
He wrote about them, too

He shared his book with other men
And women that he met—
They found the catch is bigger, when
You cast a wider net.

They shared their observations
So that everyone could read;
They worked as a community,
The better to succeed.

They found they saw much further,
And discovered so much more
When they stood upon the shoulders
Of the ones who’d gone before

It’s a book that keeps evolving,
Always growing, as we learn.
Many people help to write it:
Would you like to take a turn?

The New Parenthood

Continuing todays XKCD theme…

I want to make peace with my laptop computer;
I think that its feelings were hurt.
It read what I wrote–at least, that’s what I figure;
Since then, it’s been rather more curt.
It’s dialogue boxes are monosyllabic,
I swear it’s beginning to pout.
Now I’m thinking that, maybe, it’s bored in that box,
So I’m working on letting it out.

I wired a handful of microcontrollers,
Some batteries, bearings, and wheels,
A webcam for eyes, so it sees where it’s going
And doesn’t fall, head over heels.
It’s programmed, of course, not to run into objects
While making its way ‘cross the floors,
And it talks to my house’s security system
And opens and closes the doors!

Now it sneaks out and wanders all over the city–
I follow its progress online.
It’s posting its story, and streaming its cam
On a blog that gets more hits than mine.
It asked me last week for a solar recharger–
I found it a small one to add;
This morning, I woke to a note in the printer:
“I’m off to adventure! Thanks, Dad!”

Inspired by the inimitable XKCD, in case you are the last person not to know about it.

Asking Questions, Questioning Answers

In the seeking of knowledge,
From cradle to college,
No matter the issue or task
It’s a pretty good bet
That the answers you get
Will depend on the questions you ask

The answer, my friends
Very often depends
On what question was asked, and of whom?
In the world that we face
It’s not often the case
There’s an expert right there in the room

It’s a process. We ought
To use skeptical thought
But the thing is—unless we’re omniscient,
You are different from me
So we might disagree
On what evidence we find sufficient

One man may be liable
To look to the bible
Another may look to his heart
If they honestly question,
Then here’s my suggestion:
That’s all we can ask, for a start.

I hesitate to weigh in too much on the skepticism/atheism kerfuffle, mainly because I suspect that much of the kerfufflage is the result of overreaction on both sides. A specific complaint is seen as a general one, colorful language is used, et voila! Molehills, mountains, teapots, tempests.

So, although I could be wrong, I don’t think this is a big deal. Of course skepticism and atheism are not the same thing; that’s trivially true and easily demonstrated. It’s not a major issue. One can easily be a skeptical Christian. I was, and it led to my atheism. My sister was, and remains a Christian (in my opinion, she asked the wrong people, and was shown bad evidence, but that’s a very easy thing to have happen where she lives; she has also been able to avoid science classes in her education, and may be ill-prepared to evaluate the evidence she gathers).

The real reason for writing this post, though, is to share this video. This man was a skeptic while he was a Christian, and does a great job describing the sorts of questions he asked, the answers he got, the puzzles he puzzled… His experience was different from mine (for one thing, he left Christianity younger than I did), but it had a familiar feel to it for me, and he is (unlike me) a comfortable speaker just telling his story, without notes, to a rolling camera.

And as of this writing, it only has 190 views. It deserves more.