There’s a rumor* that, when he’s in his cups, PZ Myers sounds like an overeducated — some might say Shakespearian — pirate.
Therefore, in honor of his birthday, I offer this sonnet:
Paul Myers’ squids are nothing if not fun,
Eviscerating with their beaks aglow.
They squirt their ink upon each Myers son
And Davy Jones, whose locker lies below.
Once naught but a developmental stage,
“Pharyngula” a mighty blog now names
Where readers may delight or burn with rage:
For PZ pulls no punches, plays no games.
This sage whose bearded visage is resolved
With zebrafish in nearby tanks arrayed:
How could such wit as this have been evolved,
Or by some airborne pasta monster made?
A rousing chantey doth proclaim him nifty,
And hails the news: PZ is turning fifty!
_______
*Full disclosure: I started that rumor.
UPDATE:Thanks to the heads up from clerambault, the title of this post now reflects the correct number of lines. Who knew counting lines correctly would be harder than actually writing the sonnet?
Excellent, but (as it should be) only fourteen lines.
You had me at “Eviscerating with their beaks aglow.”
Nicely done.
Excellent poem!