Lee Segel has grey, balding, hair
Jutting beard, and a dignified stare
His rabbinical looks
And many thick books
Lend him a distinguished air
But, though age brings wisdom, no doubt
There are some, I'm afraid, who miss out
That unfortunate few
Get senility too
On Segel, the jury's still out
Anon
Math biology has been the poorer since Lee died.
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A man we all know, called Joel Keizer
Spouts thoughts and ideas like a geyser
But I fear they all tend
To come out the wrong end
Leaving nobody any bit wiser
Anon
Joel enjoyed this one, I have to say.
How better to remember him? He is greatly missed.
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A certain young lady went swimmin'
Without wearing all the right linen
Poor George got depressed
When he saw her bare breast
'Cause age now prevents him from sinnin'
Anon
And yes, this is the famous George Oster, in a real-life situation. Trust me. I was there.
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You know that I never would dare
To write a rude verse on Albert
For nobody's sweeter
Than Albert Goldbeter
Le Belgique Parfait je déclare
Anon.
All right, all right. I know. Not rude at all.
How embarrassing.
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The talk by an old guy called Doering
Was totally, numbingly, boring
So I just copied James
And ogled the dames
Whilst dreaming of drinking and whoring.
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I heard some weird things, walking past
The Neuroscience session (on grass)
Good ideas? Not a bit.
They just talked loads of shit
And all got green stains on their arse.
Anon
Observations at a Gordon Conference
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A teasing young temptress named Laura
Tried to make an old math prof adore 'er
But that wily prof knew
He'd no chance of screw
'Cause he knew he'd not thrill, only bore 'er
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A senile old muso called James
Played for the old folks in Thames
Since my donger's a rope
Thought James, I just hope
I'll be able to gum all the dames
Johnny Payphone
I'll kill him.
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Peskin I think was the first
To study a boundary (immersed)
But his talk on osmosis
Caused a fatal thrombosis
When poor Micah Dembo's brain burst
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When I heard that ***** thinks he's applied
I laughed and I laughd till I cried
You just have to hear 'im
Propose a new theorem
To see his applied side has died
Anon.
Fill in the blank with the person of your choice
I shall remain circumspect and tactful. Ahem.
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Bela, I really did try
To understand how, what, and why
But I'd concentrate more
On your modelling lore
If only you'd zip up your fly
Bela Novak, gentle reader
Indiscreetly dressed.
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A mathematician called Lott,
Thinks he's a genius. He's not.
To others it's plain
That his miniscule brain
Is just filled with wind, piss and snot
This one caused offence
I have no idea why.
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Novak's dress sense makes me ill
And Tyson is uglier still
Get rid of the guys
They're too hard on the eyes
Bugger Bela and John, bring on JILL!
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As I sit here and listen to Au
I'm hoping that right about now
A bolt from the sky
Will strike down from on high
And silence the stupid old cow
Anon
Trust me. You had to be there.
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I think you all know what I mean
When I say that the talk by Levine
Showed us all how he's not
Ever done more than squat
So he can't even be a has-been
Anon
Put down the axe, Howard. You know I just couldn't resist.
Some limericks just beg to be written.
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The question that's bothering me
Is it CDK 13, or 3?
Does the 2-P-kinase
Go with S-phospatase
Or with PLM-14-X 9CB seven,
or MPK phosphatase 3 slash eleven,
or CDK-145-X-42
with the KLM kinase P dash 13 U,
or the MPF G1 promoter-8-Wee
for the cdc Delta-8-1 Cyclin B?
Anon
You all know that feeling.
And I know this isn't a limerick. So sue me.
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A mathematician called Bard
Did some wonderful things with canards
But his theorems so fancy
Were all proved by Nancy
'Cause his brain is just bullshit and lard
Anon
Don't worry, Bard, you know I don't mean it.
Oh no, wait..... never mind.
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I have to admit I'm a hater
Of wetheads who won't get me data
When they make a right cock,
They just blame the post-doc.
"Not my fault. Go away. Come back later."
Anon
For David and Trevor. With malice aforethought.
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There once was a wethead called Yule
Who claimed he was hung like a mule
But that mule's like his data
It always comes later
Leaving dames unimpressed and quite cool
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There's a rumor around that I've heard
That Sneyd claims to be quite a nerd
Though without any data
He becomes quite the satyr
And can't take one fourth from one third
David and Trevor
Don't believe them.
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Data, you see, are quite tricky
And cannot be got "splitty-lickey"
They need careful thought
And can't be just bought
It's not our fault Sneyd's such a thicky
David and Trevor
Yet more excuses.
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I know if I had a tattoo
On my arse, painted bright pink and blue
Big muscles, small brain
And a liking for pain
Then Stella and I could go screw.
But I have to admit I do not.
So the chicks never think that I'm hot.
Without a tattoo
What can a guy do?
So I just sit at home quite a lot
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Stella appears quite demure
She pretends to be virginal, pure.
But the stuff that flies south
From her pretty wee mouth
Proves her mind is a bloody great sewer.
I used to think Stella was nice
I've dreamed about kissing her, twice
But my ardour has waned
Since I've found that she's gained
Some infectious and large pubic lice
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So I looked at your website for kicks
And saw some amusing old pics
One with magnified eyes
And a jaunty black tie
You resemble that dork Andy Dick!
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Says Fredberg "We're made out of glass!"
Perhaps, Jeff, but just let me ask,
I know it won't matter,
But wouldn't I shatter
If I tripped up and fell on my arse?
Reinforcement, says Fredberg, is wise.
Homeostasis – the conceptual prize,
To your arse it must matter,
That stretch doesn’t shatter,
Instead it will just fluidize.
Jeff Fredberg. In polite response.
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Longtin and Miller and Swain
Preached to us all, yet again.
But the noisy confusion
Gives just one conclusion:
There's noise in each gentleman's brain.
Anon
Oh relax, Andre. You know I don't mean it.
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There once was a guy called Jim Keener,
Whose physique was much fitter and leaner,
Than that of James Sneyd,
Who's a bit of a weed,
And with morals much laxer and meaner.
The book by Jim K and Jim S,
Quite frankly's a bit of a mess.
The calcium's great
But that heart stuff we hate,
Causing ulcers, and colon distress.
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Enormous huge networks of genes
Are magic (or that's what it seems)
You plot a huge jumble
of bullshit, then mumble,
Pretending you know what it means
Anon
Observations at a Gordon Conference
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Stoichiometric Biota
Makes of sense not the smallest iota.
And if droop's your concern,
Then it's time you did learn
To decrease your amount of self-quota
Anon
Yet more observations at a Gordon Conference
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There was a Professor called Peter,
Whose brain was his Institute's heater.
'Cause Pullan and Poul
Shed no light at all,
While Ed's less than nought on the meter.
Anon
Gentle observations about a Bioengineering Institute.
I won't tell you which one.
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If elegant brevity's not,
What your favourite model has got,
Just call Dr. Rice,
Twill be solved in a trice,
When he whacks it with 10 Teraflops
Anon
Observations at a Bioengineering Conference
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If your model of heart deformation
Contains almost no information
Don't trouble your head,
Use colour instead,
And add twenty more big equations.
Anon
More observations at a Bioengineering Conference
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At this conference I heard a wee rumour
That Chaplain researches a tumour,
I admit to surprise,
To my ignorant eyes
His models look more like sick humour.
Anon
Observations at an ECMTB Conference
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A beautiful, young, PhD
With her probe makes a rat squeal with glee,
When I heard about this,
I said "Ooooh, Oooh, please Miss,
Won't you come here and do that to me?"
The student replied "Sir, I pass.
Your gender is just the wrong class.
You can't pull that stunt,
You ain't got a c...ervix
You want that probe shoved up your ... nose?"
Anon
Observations at a Neuroendocrine Conference
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An endocrine modeller from Bristol
Gave a talk that was clear as fine crystal
But goodness, oh dear
The thing that was clear
Is he ain't got no shot in his pistol
Anon
This was a challenge. Bristol is not an easy word.
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A mathematician from Exeter
Had a lovely young PhD, Hepzibah,
Poor Hep got no wiser,
'Cause her crap supervisor
Each meeting just tried to have sex with her.
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In my eyes, rods and cones, every one
Detect darkest night, brightest sun
But the ones in my knee
Are so I can see
All that light shining out of my bum.
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When asked to add up two plus two,
Mike Thomas knows just what to do,
His fingers fly fast
And those graphics (at last)
Show him clearly the answer is close to five but maybe not quite that much although the axes can be a little difficult to read on a small screen, so possibly more like, well, about 4.6, maybe, somewhere around that.
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A guru of Math Education,
Bill Barton caused great consternation,
When he claimed (with some truth)
That rigorous proof
Is simply genteel Mathturbation
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When you hear all the crap that he’s said,
It’s clear that Bill’s soft in the head
We were stupid to hire’im
Now we can't fire'im
So we made him retire instead
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There once was a lady called Judy
Whom everyone thought was so prudy
But they didn't know
That she'd often go
Into town... late at night... in the nudy!
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Perhaps you all think I'm too rudy
Insensitive, nasty and lewdy
But I'll wave goodbye
With a laugh, not a cry
I've been honoured to know you, dear Judy.
Anon
For Judy Paterson, a greatly admired colleague who died far, far too soon.
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In America, Europe, or Asia
None match Maini's research fantasia
But Philip (I'm feeling)
Himself needs wound healing
To cope with the loss to Croatia
Anon
Another display of appalling insensitivity on the occasion of England's World Cup loss to Croatia
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