I tire now, my loyal fans, of making asinine fools
Of the accursed, brain dead and idiotic Mary-Sues.
What am I saying? Do they not need every chance they get
To realise that to place themselves in stories on the Net
With somebody with whom their vast obsession is obscene
Makes readers recoil with vast disgust and go scrub themselves clean?
I have, out of the kindness of my disgusted heart,
Upon a huge campaign to stop these maniacs embarked.
They are a looming danger to the sane, freaks and perverts alike
And it would do them justice if their clothes were set alight
(Ignore that)- but I, being the kind and gentle girl I am,
Have devised a kindly method to create from brains of Spam
Something which does not need dreams of Legolas to keep alive
And which will, if accordingly 'placated', undoubtedly thrive.
The process starts with offenders being hauled up before a Judge
Who thinks, as judges do, of criminals as muddy sludge,
And sentenced. Guilt is measured by frequency of crime
And by the degree of soppiness in their Mary Suer grime.
After they have been lectured and sentenced (without parole)
Here is where I take on my therapeutic role.
These poor young brainwashed creatures are taken to a small retreat
Where LOTR is strictly banned (and so are hairy feet).
And so they ride their way through years, perhaps, of therapy
With Legolas being washed out of their veins. And so we see,
Perhaps, in this vast dream of mine, one happy class discussing
Why exactly rappers need to express their emotions by cussing,
Why people bother learning languages that don't exist
(All Latin scholars, listen up- you've all gone round the twist),
And how exactly humans survived when their only thoughts at night
Involve a certain Elf with long blonde hair and methril tights.
Another class is painting, and anything resembling runes
Is trashed by a troll-like bouncer standing right outside the room.
Clothing is short and purple, most un-Elf or Hobbit-like,
And everyone must wear shoes- albeit, none can wear Nike.*
If there's suspected contraband of LOTR DVDs
Or that confounded 'Mary Suers Melodies' CD,
The Mary-Suers are locked in a room and subjected to Dolly Parton
For hours on end until they beg and grovel for their pardon.
All in all, this therapy could make the sinners rethink
The words as germ-infested as public toilet sinks,
And perhaps they would depart one day, cleansed from head to toe
And ready to give writing REAL LITERATURE a go.
I believe that this idea has merit- save that it does not include
Any mention of the boiling oil, as that would just be rude-
The punishment of uttering Legolas's name is forgone,
Save that it involves having one's long blond wig-head shorn,
And as for the archery classes, the imagination can stretch
To where this poet will not, for good taste's sake, even touch.
Mary Suers, in case you haven't quite got the message yet,
Stop before it's far too late, and then we'll forgive and forget. * Those slave workers in the Nike factories look strangely like Hobbits......
Of the accursed, brain dead and idiotic Mary-Sues.
What am I saying? Do they not need every chance they get
To realise that to place themselves in stories on the Net
With somebody with whom their vast obsession is obscene
Makes readers recoil with vast disgust and go scrub themselves clean?
I have, out of the kindness of my disgusted heart,
Upon a huge campaign to stop these maniacs embarked.
They are a looming danger to the sane, freaks and perverts alike
And it would do them justice if their clothes were set alight
(Ignore that)- but I, being the kind and gentle girl I am,
Have devised a kindly method to create from brains of Spam
Something which does not need dreams of Legolas to keep alive
And which will, if accordingly 'placated', undoubtedly thrive.
The process starts with offenders being hauled up before a Judge
Who thinks, as judges do, of criminals as muddy sludge,
And sentenced. Guilt is measured by frequency of crime
And by the degree of soppiness in their Mary Suer grime.
After they have been lectured and sentenced (without parole)
Here is where I take on my therapeutic role.
These poor young brainwashed creatures are taken to a small retreat
Where LOTR is strictly banned (and so are hairy feet).
And so they ride their way through years, perhaps, of therapy
With Legolas being washed out of their veins. And so we see,
Perhaps, in this vast dream of mine, one happy class discussing
Why exactly rappers need to express their emotions by cussing,
Why people bother learning languages that don't exist
(All Latin scholars, listen up- you've all gone round the twist),
And how exactly humans survived when their only thoughts at night
Involve a certain Elf with long blonde hair and methril tights.
Another class is painting, and anything resembling runes
Is trashed by a troll-like bouncer standing right outside the room.
Clothing is short and purple, most un-Elf or Hobbit-like,
And everyone must wear shoes- albeit, none can wear Nike.*
If there's suspected contraband of LOTR DVDs
Or that confounded 'Mary Suers Melodies' CD,
The Mary-Suers are locked in a room and subjected to Dolly Parton
For hours on end until they beg and grovel for their pardon.
All in all, this therapy could make the sinners rethink
The words as germ-infested as public toilet sinks,
And perhaps they would depart one day, cleansed from head to toe
And ready to give writing REAL LITERATURE a go.
I believe that this idea has merit- save that it does not include
Any mention of the boiling oil, as that would just be rude-
The punishment of uttering Legolas's name is forgone,
Save that it involves having one's long blond wig-head shorn,
And as for the archery classes, the imagination can stretch
To where this poet will not, for good taste's sake, even touch.
Mary Suers, in case you haven't quite got the message yet,
Stop before it's far too late, and then we'll forgive and forget. * Those slave workers in the Nike factories look strangely like Hobbits......