Last night's Cardiff Skeptics In The Pub event was awesome, as is usually the case. I wrote a little poem to serve as an introduction to his talk and I wanted to share it with online friends who couldn't make it to the event. Obviously humour takes priority over absolute fact, but I think it sums up my experience of Rhys pretty well. I'm not sure the content is suitable on the 21st Floor, so I'll play it safe and post it here. Enjoy!
I arrived early at the Promised Land,and greeted Alice and Dean with glee,I think they thought me sexually deviant,Alice excused herself for a hasty wee.I then met all of the regulars,and in the corner, Jimmy Crankie himself,I thought he was the local eunuch,but it turns out he was a skeptical elf.No, he wasn't really an elf,or a halfling, hobbit or some other un-PC reference to a dwarf,it was the one and only Rhys Morgan,the purveyor of suits that are morph.Now Rhys had been a bit poorly,and he asked some people on the 'net what to do,but when they recommended drinking bleach,he knew they were talking out the wazoo.He told them they were crazy,and there were no studies to support their claims,but when people got mad and feelings hurt,it was him who got the blames.So, he phoned the Trading Standards,the BBC got involved, that was a shock!before he knew it he was famous,and all the girls wanted his – autograph.Then our teenage hero was a critic,of a bogus treatment, as most would agree,some muppets in Houston have spent decades on it,and the trial has only got to stage three.His comments risked a libel suit,when he took on the infamous Doctor Burzynski,who sells terminal patients piss in a bottle,and who's therapy can best be described as risky.Rhys has also got into trouble,with peers and school authorities,for publishing a picture a Jesus and Mo,that offended some religious minorities.But, I don't want to paint a bad picture,of Rhys as hell-raiser skeptic in a pub,he's also founder, and talented writer,of a blog called the Heresy Club.Now, I don't want tell his story for him,even though it may employ razor-sharp wit,I'll let him do that himself,and stop making myself look like a tit.