Well, howdy again, campers.
I was sitting here, minding my own business (i.e., reading HolySmoke), when across the airwaves came the haunting ballad of the Midwest, Great Lakes, huge boats and iron men.
Since I was reading this forum, I immediately phase-shifted this to a more Smokian mileau; one consisting of the Far West, Great Fakes, huge boats and con men.
The Wreck of Moore, John and Slusher, Harold. (With all due apologies to Gordon Lightfoot.)
The bullshit drips down from the ICR in El Cajon, Of the big fib they call "Special Creation". The lie, it is said, never gives up the Godhead, Even when the tides of creationism turn gloomy. With a load of bull roar, 26,000 times more, Than creationist's crania are empty. Their bullshit's untrue, without a verifiable clue, Which cause fundies to get so damned surly. This shit was the pride of those of the Dark Side, They've obviously never been to school in Wisconsin. As big liars go, they were bigger than most, With ignorance and their lack of reason. Science's concluded: "Their terms lack anything firm, Especially in logic, facts, evidence and el…n". And later that night, evolution was poised for a fight, To deliver the onslaught from which they'd be reeling. The whine from these liars made a tattletale sound, As debunkings exposed all their failings. And everyone knew, and Gish and Morris did, too, T'was the bitch of a payback for their stealing. The expose's didn't abate as they'd quiver and hate, The logic, to shreds, their claims they were slashing. When Noah's Ark turn came, it was it was easily disclaimed, In the face of the fury of real geoscience. When other's time came they said: "Look at this drek", Saying: "You really expect us to believe ya?" Time and again, their main contentions caved in, We said: "Fellas, you still expect us to buy this?" The Creationists tripped again, screaming about evil and sin, And how secular man is in peril. And during the din, as "Scientific Creationism" augered in, Came the wreck of Moore, John & Slusher, Harold. Does anyone care that when one clears the air, When you strip off their sanctimony and glower. The Creationists today, have less than nothing to say, Now if they'd just shut up and go the fuck away. The started from schisms from their very own side, Their demands, they grew bolder and haughtier. Now all that remains is their Biblical claims, Like of Lot's wife and Noah's daughters. Yet on LaHaye rolls, Gish's bullfrogs still sing, In the ruins of their flood-water'd imagination. Ol' Morris he steams like a fevered man's dreams, The ICR's a bastion of conmen. It's not known just how low this bunch will go, To support their fake specious petitions. But the scientists do know when they entered this row, That there's no known limit to their fabrications. In a musty old hall called the "Evidences Museum", In that twee little burg in south California. Is the book they all claim as the source of infame, Titled "Scientific Creationism" by Moore and Slusher. The bullshit drips down from the ICR in El Cajon, Of the big fib they call "Special Creation". The lie, it is said, never gives up the Godhead, Even when the tides of creationism turn gloomy...