Inkpotamus

This is a tale that’s grim but funny
Of a big bad wolf and his big bad tummy.
It’s also about a trio of brothers,
The three little pigs, who live at their mother’s

This is the tale of a lazy lad,
Who started out idle, but ended up bad.

If something varies normally between two far extremes,
It usually swings back naturally to values in between.
From sport to crime and illnesses, we see this common theme,
An effect we call, statistically, ‘regression to the mean’.

Folk who lived in ancient Egypt,
Who were rich and who were dead,
Would have a hook shoved up their nose,
And their brain pulled out their head.

For a force that juggles stars around,
Gravity is awfully weak.
It stops the Moon from flying off,
But can’t hold down my feet.

If something varies normally between two far extremes,
It usually swings back naturally to values in between.
From sport to crime and illnesses, we see this common theme,
An effect we call, statistically, ‘regression to the mean’.

Old Sir Arthur Evans, on clay tablets, found some writing,
In the ruins of Knossos, which archaeologists thought exciting.
Linear B is what we call that script which Cretans scratched in clay,
Many thousand years ago, recording what they’d say.

“There's no such thing as suction,”
The science teacher said,
Then she heard an interruption:
“You must be off your head!”

I’m Nostradamus,
I’m the cat’s pyjamas,
At foretelling things I really am the best,
(I’m the tiger’s vest!)

Let me live an old man’s youth,
Short of breath and long in tooth,
Not unruly nor uncouth,
A dressed in tweeds, hair recedes,
No misdeeds, time-honoured truth youth.