'Landen lay ybounden'
Landen lay ybounden,
Bounden out of time,
In Thursday's memories,
Must he now reside.
And all was for Goliath,
Goliath's man Jack Schitt,
As readers finden,
After Mr Fforde wrote it.
Ney had Jack Schitt taken been,
Shoved in the Raven,
Ney had never our Landen,
Eradicated been.
Cursed be the time,
That Landen taken was.
Therefore we moun singen,
Bring on 'Well of Lost Plots'.
It really should be pointed out that the evil pop genius that is Pete
Waterman recently claimed that the pop songs that made him oodles of cash
were in fact nicked from Dickens and Wagner. In this spirit, I present
'Great Expectations' - the original draft of 'I should be so lucky'....
In my Great Expectations,
There is no celebration,
But I might find a song or two.
Mrs Lirriper's Lodgings,
Feature financial dodgings,
Could I make Siegfried's Idyll fit?
Then there's a Tale of Two Cities,
Which as fiction is shitty,
And as a pop song may be worse ,
I'm dreaming - that I can make some cash,
By simply rehashing
Dickens to Wagner's tunes,
I just hope no-one sues.
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
I should fuse a Christmas Carol,
With Der Ring des Nibelungen,
But cut it down to three minutes.
If I nick Chuzzlewit,
Then we might have a hit,
But some git's nicked Quaverly.
It's not clever, it's not subtle,
But you know that sex sells,
Miss Minogue's arse shows on
the cover - I'm making so much cash,
By simply rehashing,
Dickens to Wagner's tunes,
I just hope that no-one sues.
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
The Uncommercial Traveller,
Just needed a sampler,
Before he could have stormed the charts.
When it comes to Little Dorrit,
I pity the poor tit,
Who had to wirte such banal crap.
There's nothing in Nickleby,
That can't be improved with Valkyries,
Can Astley fit the costume
I'm wondering - how I made so much cash,
By selling all this trash,
Dickens to Wagner tunes,
I wonder is it true...
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
This is just so trashy, trashy, trashy, trashy. ;
I just want is children's cash.
Can I please make it clear that I hate and refuse to listen to the Geri
version of this fine track? Furthermore, I only know this song off by heart
as it was the team song of the St Cuthbert's Society Women's First Eight, of
which I was a bewildered and conspicuously male member. Finally, for those
who haven't twigged, this is a rip of 'It's Raining Men' by the
Weathergirls....
The plots surprising,
Metaphors are getting low.
According to all bookstores,
The page is the place to go.
'Cause tonight for the first time,
Around about half past ten,
For the first time in history,
I'm joining jurisfiction.
Jurisfiction! Hallelujah!
Jurisfiction! Amen!
Going to jump into a page, Gonna get myself script'd,
Those textrunners are going to get whipped!
Jurisfiction! Hallelujah!
Jurisfiction! Every plot's a gem,
Romances, histories,
Plays and poems, biographies!
God bless all the authors,
For giving us all our work to do!
They give us our pages,
And leave us all the bloopholes too.
We'll fight Bowdlerizers,
And the Baconian curse,
Though we hate reading Farquitt,
You've got admit that Tom Holt's worse...
There's a song been doing the rounds over in Swindon's traffic cops. I
wonder why?
Bitch is Back
She was first pulled over in a Renault Five,
Doing 130 on the M25,
You might think she's fiction, but it's a fact -
You'd better avoid the roads when the bitch comes back (oh-whoa-whaa)
She's never been clamped as she's never stayed still,
To watch her drive leaves me feeling ill,
She can corner tighter than a racing snail,
And woe betide the cops chasing on her tail...
She's a bitch, she's a bitch,
Oh the bitch is back,
Don't ask her 'bout her husband as a matter of tact,
She's a bitch, she's a bitch
And she's better than us,
It's the way that she drives,
With her four smoking tyres...
Her method of driving is digital,
She's not touching the pedal or it's pressed to the floor,
You'll be cruising at 90 in the middle lane,
When Havisham speeds by flashing v-signs again...
She's a bitch, she's a bitch,
Oh the bitch is back,
Don't ask her 'bout her husband as a matter of tact,
She's a bitch, she's a bitch
And she's better than us,
It's the way that she drives,
With four smoking tyres...
For those not recognising it, the wheels for this song were stolen off Sir
Elton of John, leaving the lyrics propped up on bricks outside his stately
home.
I will survive. Just....
Firstly, I must apologise for what follows. It's cheap, shoddy, ill-advised
and entirely representative of its author. I have been suffering from a
recurring nightmare that a certain song will be parodied. Every time I log
onto the Fforum I break into a cold sweat in case it came true. However, I
have realised I can avoid all this by writing it myself so that I know which
thread to avoid.
Readers of a sensitive nature should shut their eyes at this point. In fact,
readers of a sensitive naturemay wish to leave the country. For the truly
stupid (brave) this should not be read by man, but by a horde of drunken
women.
So, if the ladies would like to arrange their handbags neatly, we'll begin.
First I was afraid, I was petrified.
Thinking about all the books I could get trapped inside.
And I spent so many nights reading books till half past three,
And now I think that Thursday Next has gone and got the best of me....
Jack Schitt is back! And Landen's gone.
Hades has got a sister and Goliath are still strong,
And the world may soon turn pink, Dream Topping is bad for teeth,
It seems that my school dinners will come back to bother me.
I'm losing time, I'm still confused.
People look at me funny when I'm reading on the tube,
I try to explain it's not my fault, that Jasper Fforde is God,
But it's hard to convice them when I'm laughing like a goat...
Still I will read! I will survive!
As long as there are paragraphs I know I'll stay alive,
I've got sentences to serve,
And there are quotes I want to learn,
I'll survive! I will survive!
Hey hey hey...
It takes all the strength I have, not to fall apart.
My sides have finally split and my head will soon depart,
I've spent so many nights worrying about my mental health,
But at least it's not Tolkien's bloody gnomes and elfs.
Jurisfiction! And Kafka's trial,
Mammoths and dodos, cameo's, and bad puns all the while,
Miss Havisham's a nightmare when she steps in to a car,
And Granny Next is painting stuff that's understood by 'Thals.
I'm losing time, I'm still confused.
People look at me funny when I'm reading on the tube,
I need the services of Spec-Ops 15 please,
But thank God that Gordon Brown's not taxing us for cheese...
So I will read! I will survive!
As long as Spec-Ops 27 help me stay alive,
I've got sentences to serve,
And there are quotes I want to learn,
I'll survive! I will survive!
I think I'll leave the country before Spec-Ops 31 come and find me...
(I think Jon's comment really has to be added here as a mini-review: In
order to parody a song effectively, one has to know the words and the tune.
How one comes by such arcane knowledge as to produce the above is not my
province to speculate on. Let other pens than mine dwell on unhappiness and
misery.)
More tunage from Swindon's popular foursome - the Alexander Beetles (random
Pooh reference) from their Northanger Abbey Road LP....
Bertha's Silver Scissors...
Hades was evil, studied diabolical antics back in school,
Late nights all alone with his plotting, oh-oh-oh-oh
Then came Thursday Next, Swindon's premiere litra-tec, trapped him in 'Jane
Eyre'.
Where he met a novel ending, oh-oh-oh-oh
'Cause as a fire was destorying the house, a blow came from behind...
Stab stab Bertha's silver scissors came down into his arm,
Stab stab Bertha's silver scissors finally did Hades harm.
Hades was a @!#$, hated Martin Chuzzlewit, had Quaverly taken out,
But Mycroft saved us all the o-other scenes.
Burnt the manuscript, kept the meddlers out of it, Hades was annoyed,
So he turned his plan to something i-in-teresting
But as Thursday was wrecking his plan, a blow came from behind...
Stab stab etc...
Swindon's litra-tecs, listening out for Thursday Next, assumed it had gone
wrong,
Suddenly the ending was changing, oh-oh-oh-no
Rochester was blind and lame, Jane Eyre was gone away, and Thursday must be
trapped,
With no-one to say the words to spirit her a-a-way,
but as the book was nearing it's end, 'Sweet Madness' was said...
All 'cause Bertha's silver scissors came down into his arm etc
Ben Tymens |
