I didn’t have my own blag the last time we fêted PZ Myers, but I did join the others in writing a poem:
â€œFifty years have gone, and winterâ€™s grown a little colder;
The sophomores of Morris town are smaller every day,
And that blogging daughterâ€™s out to steal my flock away.
And with Creationists about and lying ever bolder,
Why should this biologist get out of bed today?â€
â€œFifty years?â€ I heard my own voice say.
â€œReally, sir, I thought you were a little older.â€