genomeboy.com

The book-trailer equivalent of The Player:

ALBUQUERQUE, NM—The process of evolution, through which single-celled organisms slowly developed over billions of years into exponentially more sophisticated forms of life, has inexplicably culminated in local Albuquerque resident Mitch Szabo, leading evolutionary biologists reported Monday.

***

“I know this is controversial, but we have to consider the possibility that Darwin was wrong, ” said Victor Siles, a geneticist at the University of California–Berkeley. “Nothing we currently know about DNA, no fully mapped genome, can account for the presence of someone whose apartment smells that much like Chef Boyardee.”

This is intelligent design?

Of all the options, a company called DNA 11 offers perhaps the most personalized gift of all. It sends people a DNA collection kit to swab the inside of their cheek. For $200 to $1,000, DNA 11 analyzes the sample, takes a photo and blows it up to create a big piece of artwork that looks like colorful skyscrapers against the night sky. People can also make portraits from their fingerprints or lips.

Adrian Salamunovic, who co-founded DNA 11, has a wall-size red DNA portrait of his pet beagle in his living room. As he put it, “The trend of personalization is huge, and what’s more personal than DNA?”

NEW YORK—Researchers at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine were hardly able to stifle their laughter Tuesday while administering a placebo to 25 patients participating in a single-blind trial of an experimental new emphysema drug. “Did you see Participant No. 425? He was like, ‘I think it’s really working, Doc,’” Dr. Lewis Rodriguez said to a team of snickering pulmonary specialists. “How gullible can you get? I can’t believe those guys think they’re actually getting CDDO-Im.” Although the trial is expected to run for two more months, Rodriguez told reporters that he almost could not wait to analyze the data, compile the results, publish the findings, and see the looks on their stupid faces.

“Cancer’s A Funny Thing”

I wish I had the voice of Homer
To sing of rectal carcinoma,
Which kills a lot more chaps, in fact,
Than were bumped off when Troy was sacked.
Yet, thanks to modern surgeons’ skills,
It can be killed before it kills
Upon a scientific basis
In nineteen out of twenty cases.
I noticed I was passing blood
(Only a few drops, not a flood).
So pausing on my homeward way
  From Tallahassee to Bombay
I asked a doctor, now my friend,
To peer into my hinder end,
To prove or disprove the rumour
That I had a malignant tumour.
They pumped in BaSO4
Till I could really stand no more,
And, when sufficient had been pressed in,
They photographed my large intestine.
In order to decide the issue
They next scraped out some bits of tissue.
(Before they did so, some good pal
Had knocked me out with pentothal,
Whose action is extremely quick,
And does not leave me feeling sick.)
The microscope returned the answer
That I had certainly got cancer.
So I was wheeled into the theatre
Where holes were made to make me better.
One set is in my perineum
Where I can feel, but can’t yet see ‘em.
Another made me like a kipper
Or female prey of Jack the Ripper.
Through this incision, I don’t doubt,
The neoplasm was taken out,
Along with colon, and lymph nodes
Where cancer cells might find abodes.
A third much smaller hole is meant
To function as a ventral vent:
So now I am like two-faced Janus
The only* god who sees his anus.
(*In India there are several more
  With extra faces, up to four,
  But both in Brahma and in Shiva
  I own myself an unbeliever.)
I’ll swear, without the risk of perjury,
It was a snappy bit of surgery.
My rectum is a serious loss to me,
But I’ve a very neat colostomy,
And hope, as soon as I am able,
To make it keep a fixed time-table.
So do not wait for aches and pains
To have a surgeon mend your drains;
If he says ‘cancer’ you’re a dunce
Unless you have it out at once,
For if you wait it’s sure to swell,
And may have progeny as well.
My final word, before I’m done,
Is ‘Cancer can be rather fun.’
Thanks to the nurses and Nye Bevan
The NHS is quite like heaven
Provided one confronts the tumour
With a sufficient sense of humour.
I know that cancer often kills,
But so do cars and sleeping pills;
And it can hurt one till one sweats,
So can bad teeth and unpaid debts.
A spot of laughter, I am sure,
Often accelerates one’s cure;
So let us patients do our bit
To help the surgeons make us fit.
                        - J.B.S. Haldane

Emmanuel Chereskin, a biologist at the University of Rochester, said the genetic marker also produces some unique secondary phenotypes among those who carry it. These include long, flowing hair; superior whistling skills; and especially muscular arms and shoulders that may facilitate long bouts of casually leaning against walls. Gwilym’s descendants have also been shown to produce a strong and intoxicating natural musk.

“These individuals are extremely adept at feigning interest in even the most tedious topics,” said Chereskin, referring to an experiment in which men who carry the marker were asked to listen to an attractive woman talk at length about plans for her sister’s upcoming wedding. “Additionally, when properly cued, they will reflexively spin subtle innuendo from even the most banal phraseology.”

Genius.