Wednesday, August 17, 2011


by BenjaminTheDonkey

[The yeast cells realize the food in their petri dish is limited.]

The yeast cells thought that they'd be fine,
Didn’t think that they'd ever decline;
But they were just passing through,
The way life forms do,
Till conditions become less benign.

The size of the mess on their route
Made money and politics moot;
They could rearrange,
But not basically change,
Their dieoff from overshoot.

The yeast cells forsaw analytically
That growth would deplete their food critically;
They’d still be fine now
If only somehow
They'd have come to consensus politically.

The yeast cells, in their dish’s debut,
Were a few, with lots they could chew;
But they could not undo
What was true once they grew
Though they tried to use "bargaining" too.

The cells faced a grave situation
Which led straight to annihilation;
Whose fault they were screwed,
The dish, or the food,
Or their own lack of determination?

[They try to find a way out of their predicament.]

As doom started getting more mention,
It increased political tension;
To pick out a fiend,
They promptly convened
The famous Great Yeast Cell convention.

The yeast cells, they talked wrong and right,
And complex beliefs did recite;
Like about bad and good,
As if those things could
Be useful in fixing their plight.

They pushed for depletion prevention,
And technical hopes for invention;
But yeast need supplies
So to their surprise
Their end was beyond comprehension.

Politician cells, bribes they pursued,
While some, paper money accrued,
But none of this brawl
Would matter at all,
‘Cause none of it got them more food.

Those yeast cells, they sure liked to eat;
To do it, they might even cheat.
The urge was so strong,
It swept all along;
No government form could compete.

[Lack of food leads to warfare.]

They liked to find others to blame,
Although that was morally lame;
But plain overshoot
Was setting their route,
And not just some cells they could frame.

To eat less not one would commit,
Each cell wanted others to quit;
They picked on the lame
Upon whom to blame
What none was about to admit.

The yeast cells thought Dish was Earth Mother,
When hungry, fought brother v. brother;
Despite what was fate,
With that danged anger trait
They formed teams and blamed one another.

The yeast cells all looked much the same,
But when the Great Food Shortage came;
They learned to distinguish
Which ones to extinguish
By making them take all the blame.

The yeast cells proclaimed right makes might,
And, being right, they’d win each fight;
With slogans they said,
“Bad yeast should be dead!”
And, “We are the good guys, right?”

The cells pitched a terrible fight
As food shortage worsened their plight,
They chose up their teams
By “rightness” it seems,
But who can say which one was right?

They tried to decide whom to hate,
And which bogeyman to create,
It was hard to decide,
But a look from outside
Showed no one to blame, it was fate.

[They finally find acceptance.]

The yeast cells, it’s true they felt pain,
But the whole ecologic domain—
The dish-wide flat plane—
Was found to contain
Indifference when yeast cells complain.

They grew in a culture replete
With money, so they could compete;
With all of that bread,
The yeast cells grew dead
‘Cause it wasn't the kind you could eat!

From what did the yeast's problems stem?
What was "wrong" inside them to condemn?
They played a good game
Till food shortage became
The "wrong" situation for them.

So then, at their life’s conclusion
Brought on by food source occlusion,
They relearned jungle law
And the last thing they saw
Was through their consensual illusion.

The yeast cells, they knew it was late,
So they got all depressed and irate,
They took bargaining bait
But the plan which worked great
Was accepting themselves and their fate.

Would you like to know more about yeast?
Here’s more background, before we’re deceased:

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