If you missed the start of our parody of the entire musical on Wednesday, September 30, 2009, please enjoy it in order!
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In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle inveighed against the inveighsion -- uh, invasion -- by Professor Turtle of her boundaries, dignity, and self-esteem, and Chucked his challenges right back at him, demanding to be an equal partner rather than the menial mentee of her tor(toise)-mentor.
When he balked, she walked.
Now, she finds solace in the sympathetic support of her many fervent fans at AmIRight, as she tells her tales of tribulation, torture-lation, and Turtulation.
FG:
TT’s pedantics are quite boring
Close-ly dissecting, ev’ry time
I’ve come a-cropper
He’s found a whopper
Just let me do my own darn rhyme!
Luck-y he cannot see me snoring
Too long, his comments re: my “crimes”
But too polite, me,
To tell him “Bite me!”
Just let me do my own darn rhyme!
Errors of scansion
He will deplore
If no elisions,
Pacing is a chore
Four, five, long treatises each morning
Take ev'ry minute of spare time
“Rex Lex Triumphus”
But no social compass
Just let me do my own…
AIR-ers:
Let her do her own!
FG:
For Pete’s sake, let me do my own darn rhyme!
While rest of country is “Bon Jour”-ning
I’m searching shelves for iodine
Latest e-dissing—
Who needs his p***ing?
Just let me write my own darn rhyme!
I’m really tryin’
Just shoots me down
Butt always chewin’
Dogs me like a hound!
No fine line of mine escapes his scorning
Ding-Dong! (Could call him worse, but I’m—
-- Too much a lady...
No language shady!)
But let me do my own...
Can’t I do my own?
Please, Tom-my, let me do my own darn rhyme!
AIR:
Fault-finding, each mistake, recording
No song is safe from Turtle’s slime
FG:
(Moron!) Flaming invective
Pompous directive
Just let me do my own darn rhyme!
AIR:
He doesn’t know that ev’ry morning,
She’s steamed and lookin’ for a fight!
FG:
Com-ments derisive
Drip from each missive
Just let me do my own darn write!
“Your pacing’s rancid”
“Your jokes are poor”
“Hey, Fid, you list'nin’?”
Rotten to the core!
AIR:
Our sweet Fiddlegirl… he’s past reforming
Sad story seen a dozen times
FG:
Need drugs or whiskey
Op-pose him? Risky…
Might leave me in the lurch-
AIR:
Her good rep, besmirch
FG:
But I still need to work my own darn rhymes!
[musical interlude]
AIR:
Gone: we'd not miss him
We'd like to bris him
Just leave alone this lass, sublime
[musical interlude]
AIR:
If he resists us
We’ll tell him “Kiss us…
… Well, let’s say, ‘where the Sun don’t shine’!”
She's always cryin':
He puts her down
Hiss! Hiss! We're boo-in'
Get rid of this clown!
Still, he’s a male, two heads adjoining
Play “gender” card, might change his mind!
FG:
Got Parton’s “table”?
Legs like B. Grable?
Or Palin’s features, lines "just fine"?
[musical interlude]
AIR:
[much more slowly]
Let’s get him smashed, and off to bed, now
Help Fiddlegirl play trick so sly
Shots, whoopee-makin’
No pris’ners taken
With sun, Tom "hung" [1]
Songs free ... to fly!
FG:
With shell mosaics, walls adorning
So long to Tommy—Fiddle’s primed!
AIR:
[gradually resuming original tempo]
T.-Teevil, purging,
From chrys’lis emerging,
Because you let her write
FG:
Fin'lly got to write!
AIR:
From now on, Fid will do her own ... darn ... rhymes!
Uh-oh. There's trouble. Right here in Writer City. Turtle -- with a capital T, and that rhymes with P, and that stands for -- Professor. How will the Professor react to *this*? Tune in to our next exciting episode, and find out!
[1] "hung"(-over), of course. But... (cough)...