My home page.

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

Math biology has been the poorer since Lee died.

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

Joel enjoyed this one, I have to say.
How better to remember him? He is greatly missed.

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'

And yes, this is the famous George Oster, in a real-life situation. Trust me. I was there.

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

All right, all right. I know. Not rude at all.
How embarrassing.

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.


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.

Observations at a Gordon Conference

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

Anon and Johnny Payphone

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.

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


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

Fill in the blank with the person of your choice
I shall remain circumspect and tactful. Ahem.

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.

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.

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!


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

Trust me. You had to be there.

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

Put down the axe, Howard. You know I just couldn't resist.
Some limericks just beg to be written.

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?

You all know that feeling.
And I know this isn't a limerick. So sue me.

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

Don't worry, Bard, you know I don't mean it.
Oh no, wait..... never mind.

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."

For David and Trevor. With malice aforethought.

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


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.

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.

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


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


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!


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.

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.

Oh relax, Andre. You know I don't mean it.

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.


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

Observations at a Gordon Conference

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

Yet more observations at a Gordon Conference

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.

Gentle observations about a Bioengineering Institute.
I won't tell you which one.

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

Observations at a Bioengineering Conference

If your model of heart deformation
Contains almost no information
     Don't trouble your head,
     Use colour instead,
And add twenty more big equations.

More observations at a Bioengineering Conference

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.

Observations at an ECMTB Conference

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?"

Observations at a Neuroendocrine Conference

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

This was a challenge. Bristol is not an easy word.

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.


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.

If you're confused, consult Science, (1998) 279:396-9

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.


A guru of Math Education,
Bill Barton caused great consternation,
     When he claimed (with some truth)
     That rigorous proof
Is simply genteel Mathturbation


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


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!


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.

For Judy Paterson, a greatly admired colleague who died far, far too soon.

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

Another display of appalling insensitivity on the occasion of England's World Cup loss to Croatia