In Which 2012 Hoaxers Have More To Answer For And A Clarion Call To Party Is Made

OR, I'm Not Crazy, I Just Want To Be Famous Before The Lizard People Get Me

I should not be surprised that Richard Heene
Believes 2012 will be the end
Of everything, and wanted some more screen
Time ere it all went down. But as my friend
The Astroengine says, be grateful for
Such nutters and the fodder they provide
For bloggers and for skeptics. I want more!
We've two years ere the epic and worldwide
And non-event takes place. Meanwhile we must
Put on our party-planning hats: 12/22
Of that fine year: Chichen Itza or bust!
When ev'ry skeptic who has any clue
Must gather, drink and dance and launch balloons.
I'll bring the sake. Ian, do the tunes?

In Which I Muse On A Boy And A Balloon

So really, who's surprised there was no boy

Aloft in that great mylar sausage which

Went drifting just today? A mere decoy

Some cried, just to seduce us, just to switch

Attention from the issues of the day.

So Falcon Heene, son of a wife-swap team

Who also chases storms, betook to play

A joke of which a Cliff Irving might dream.

So what? We take diversion where we can

Amidst this vale of foolishness, don't we?

Now I, for one, felt envy; I'm a fan

Of soundless balloon flight. Had I been he

I would have been aboard, and prob'ly dead

From crashing down and landing on my head.

In Which I Am Delighted By A Faux History

A quite unseemly love of fakery,
Of hoaxers and imposters of all sorts
Is mine. I am less fond of drapery,
But still, I like it better than, say, sports,
As topics for close study and talk go.
So when Forgotten Fashion caught my eye
I knew I had to have it. It's a "faux"
Account of fashion trends that had to die.
Outrageous, playful, strange and funny, each
Sly entry, so convincingly is phrased
That I'm sure that some, quite fooled, soon will preach
From it about that industry, so crazed
It is for all that's new and different.
Kate Hahn, your book is wonderfully bent!

In Which Pretty Pictures Panic The Pea-Brained

Crop circles make me smile, yes, and admire
The ingenuity of the artistes
Who make them. I have tried, but quickly tire;
To push down crops is hard work, and I cease
Long ere my handiwork takes on the scope
Of such as these, whose dire significance
Would seem all doomsday sayers' greatest hope.
Upon these wacky claims I look askance.
Ultraterrestrials (to use the late
John Keel's term), if they really did care
Enough to warn us of a baneful date
Would, I feel sure, find a clear way to share.
And yeah, the hole in our magnetosphere
And CME threat are explained right here.