redneckgaijin: (respectable political)
So Tom Smith is on a filker group where there's been a writing quote: "do a Tom Lehrer song on pseudoscience."

So, here's a stab at it. (Tune: "Pollution" by Tom Lehrer)

If you're feeling wan and weary
Try this old and trusted theory
Though evidence is razor-thin
It's not plain water, it's medicine!

Oh, home-e-o-pa-thy
The hypochondriac's favorite salve
The less that you got
The more that you have!

Dissolve your cure and have no care
'Cause water remembers what was there
Add more water, and still more yet
'Cause the more you add, the stronger it gets!

Oh, home-e-o-pa-thy
You know it's true because
It has the endorsement
Of TV's Doctor Oz!

But if this theory is on the square
Of the Pacific you should beware
One part per trillion of Fukushima
Oughta be enough to boil Godzilla

So go buy your homeopathic cure-alls today
The quacks say you oughta
Buy lots of water
And throw all of your cash- away!!
redneckgaijin: (respectable political)
While out and about today I listened to a two CD set of Harry Chapin's 2000th concert I picked up off Amazon. And it triggered the following, which I held onto as much as I could until I got home and could write it down. (The bridge was better in the car, but I couldn't keep it in memory.)

I sent all my wishes to Santa Claus
But he never listened to me
I sent him my list and I tried to be nice
As good as I knew how to be
But Christmas Morning brought me sweaters and socks
And I didn't think it was fair
The bully in the mansion got the stuff that I'd asked for
And I wondered if Santa was there

CHORUS:

But I saw him on the Six O'Clock News
Smiling and a-winking at me
Standing with the rich men in their three-piece suits
Grinning as wide as can be
I want to ask, "When do we get a choice?
Where is the help for the poor girls and boys?
How long till somebody hears our voice?"
But all I get is, "Wait and see."


I sent all my prayers to God above
But He never listened to me
I prayed for His help and followed his rules
And watched his preachers on the TV
But they told us the people the Bible tells us to love
We really ought to hate and fear
Then they asked me to send them my cash when I'm broke
And I wondered, is God really here?

CHORUS

BRIDGE:

I've tried to have faith in America's promise
So all of my grievances I've aired
But what is the point of going through the motions
When the people in charge just don't care?

I send my letters to my Congressman
But he never listens to me
I ask him what he's doing to help working folks
But I keep it phrased most courteously
But he's too busy raising money for his next campaign
Taking checks from his corporate friends
His opponent is doing the exact same thing
Is this how democracy ends?

CHORUS:

And I saw them on the Six O'Clock News
Smiling and a-winking at me
Standing with the rich men in their three-piece suits
Grinning as wide as can be
I want to ask, "When do we get a choice?
Where is the help for the poor girls and boys?
How long till somebody hears our voice?"
(spoken): And the rich men say: "Never, if we can help it!"

(sung): I guess I'll wait and see
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Tune: Five Feet High and Rising by Johnny Cash

How high's the batshit, Mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the batshit, Papa?
She said, two feet high and risin'
It's eaten our shoes and ruined our socks
It gets deeper every time our Congressman knocks
And I think there'll be more if you turn it to Fox
Two feet high and risin'

How high's the batshit, Mama?
Three feet high and risin'
How high's the batshit, Papa?
She said, three feet high and risin'
It smells bad enough it could murder a goat
And it's makin' it harder to keep us afloat
But there's nobody honest for whom we can vote
Three feet high and risin'

How high's the batshit, Mama?
Four feet high and risin'
How high's the batshit, Papa?
She said, it's four feet high and risin'
It's so goddamn senseless it'll boggle your brain
But the pundits and the PACs have got it fallin' like rain
One-half of our government's completely insane
Four feet high and risin'

How high's the batshit, Mama?
Five feet high and risin'
How high's the batshit, Papa?
She said, it's five feet high and risin'
They'll push this country on over the brink
Just so they can tell us all what we should think
And the Dems won't do nothin' to get rid of the stink
Five feet high and risin'

The batshit's five feet high and risin'...


(... but don't ask how DEEP it is...)
redneckgaijin: (Default)
It just appeared in my hall
A blue phone box, very small
"Come on in," the Doctor said
Don't know why I'm not dead

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

First we stopped on Rigel Four
Ran from monsters by the score
Next stop eighteen sixty-three
Doctor, please explain to me

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

Wibbly wibbly
Wobbly wobbly
Timey wimey timey wimey
Timey wimey timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey

There we are back in my hall
Doesn't seem to change at all
At last I'm home, that sure feels great
Who just said, "EXTERMINATE?"

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

Wibbly wibbly
Wobbly wobbly
Timey wimey timey wimey
Timey wimey timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey

Will this journey never end
I think it's sent me 'round the bend
Following the Doc around
But it's safer than the ground

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor
redneckgaijin: (Default)
It just appeared in my hall
A blue phone box, very small
"Come on in," the Doctor said
Don't know why I'm not dead

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

First we stopped on Rigel Four
Ran from monsters by the score
Next stop eighteen sixty-three
Doctor, please explain to me

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

Wibbly wibbly
Wobbly wobbly
Timey wimey timey wimey
Timey wimey timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey

There we are back in my hall
Doesn't seem to change at all
At last I'm home, that sure feels great
Who just said, "EXTERMINATE?"

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor

Wibbly wibbly
Wobbly wobbly
Timey wimey timey wimey
Timey wimey timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey
Wibbly wobbly timey wimey

Will this journey never end
I think it's sent me 'round the bend
Following the Doc around
But it's safer than the ground

Tardis survivor
Tardis survivor
redneckgaijin: (Default)
(tune: "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" by John Rox)

(SPOKEN)

AL: Good evening, I'm Albert Gonzales, leader of the Republican Glee Club. With me today are Rush Limbaugh...

RUSH: Hello there!

AL: ... Dick Cheney...

DICK: Be afraid.

AL: ... and John Yoo.

JOHN: Hiya.

AL: And tonight we're going to sing about something very important to all of us...

RUSH: Vicodin?

DICK: Gaining absolute global power?

JOHN: Evading prosecution for our past deeds?

AL: No, no, NO. I refer to enhanced interrogation techniques.

THE OTHERS: Ooooooooooh.

AL: You see, without enhanced interrogation techniques, the terrorists who threaten at every moment to blow up your house, rape your daughters, and take the last slice of pizza from your fridge won't tell us what they're planning.

DICK: That's right. Because, as we all know, Osama bin Laden never brags about his deeds or tells us he's going to attack us in advance.

JOHN: Yes, and suicide bombers never tell their families goodbye or leave incriminating farewell recordings on Facebook, YouTube or MySpace.

RUSH: And sometimes these sleezeballs even claim they're not terrorists at all! When it's obvious! I mean, if you're wearing a turban and speaking Arabic, then it's pretty obvious that-

AL (interrupting VERY quickly): Ah ah ah ah... perhaps we'd better just let the song speak for itself. Key of G, gentlemen...

(music begins playing, then singing:)

ALL:
I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
Torture is the American thing to do

RUSH: Make him confess, written or oral
I'm gonna make him suffer and who cares if it's immoral

JOHN: I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
I don't think Scalia will mind, do you?
We don't have to seek a legal precedent
Because we know they're all guilty til proven innocent

DICK: I can see them now some Sunday morning, once we've stripped them bare
Oh what fear and what surprise when we poke them in the eyes
And waterboard them in an easy chair

ALL: I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
Torture is the American thing to do

AL: No Eighth Amendment, no Geneva Accords
I only want Muslim men to torture
But really any foreigner will do

(SPOKEN during instrumental)

RUSH: Al, that was my line there at the end.

AL: Sorry, I did not recall.

(SUNG)

AL: Using the power of the executive
We'll see what we can do to them so long as they still live

DICK: There's lots of room in Bagram and in Guantanamo
We'll take pleasure in his pain and nobody will know

RUSH: I can it now some Sunday morning in Afghanistan
Oh what glee and what guffaws when we slam him into walls

JOHN: And tell him he won't be seen again

ALL: We're gonna save America through torture
Nothing else but torturing will do
We'll make them talk, after we've had him butchered
We won't stop till all of them are tortured...

DICK: And then someday we'll come and torture you!

(SPOKEN)

AL: So you see why it is so important that enhanced interrogation techniques like simulated drowning, beatings, sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, hypothermia, and whatever else we can think of that doesn't leave a mark must be preserved as a tool for the defense of the United States.

RUSH: Yeah- and remember, if you don't think inflicting pain on others is fun, then you're not a true red-blooded American!

JOHN: Only by taking away your rights can we protect your freedom.

DICK: I don't know why we're doing this- Obama's too much of a pussy to do anything to us any-

(Much shushing, hissing, and whispers as sound fades out...)
redneckgaijin: (Default)
(tune: "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" by John Rox)

(SPOKEN)

AL: Good evening, I'm Albert Gonzales, leader of the Republican Glee Club. With me today are Rush Limbaugh...

RUSH: Hello there!

AL: ... Dick Cheney...

DICK: Be afraid.

AL: ... and John Yoo.

JOHN: Hiya.

AL: And tonight we're going to sing about something very important to all of us...

RUSH: Vicodin?

DICK: Gaining absolute global power?

JOHN: Evading prosecution for our past deeds?

AL: No, no, NO. I refer to enhanced interrogation techniques.

THE OTHERS: Ooooooooooh.

AL: You see, without enhanced interrogation techniques, the terrorists who threaten at every moment to blow up your house, rape your daughters, and take the last slice of pizza from your fridge won't tell us what they're planning.

DICK: That's right. Because, as we all know, Osama bin Laden never brags about his deeds or tells us he's going to attack us in advance.

JOHN: Yes, and suicide bombers never tell their families goodbye or leave incriminating farewell recordings on Facebook, YouTube or MySpace.

RUSH: And sometimes these sleezeballs even claim they're not terrorists at all! When it's obvious! I mean, if you're wearing a turban and speaking Arabic, then it's pretty obvious that-

AL (interrupting VERY quickly): Ah ah ah ah... perhaps we'd better just let the song speak for itself. Key of G, gentlemen...

(music begins playing, then singing:)

ALL:
I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
Torture is the American thing to do

RUSH: Make him confess, written or oral
I'm gonna make him suffer and who cares if it's immoral

JOHN: I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
I don't think Scalia will mind, do you?
We don't have to seek a legal precedent
Because we know they're all guilty til proven innocent

DICK: I can see them now some Sunday morning, once we've stripped them bare
Oh what fear and what surprise when we poke them in the eyes
And waterboard them in an easy chair

ALL: I want a Muslim terrorist to torture
Torture is the American thing to do

AL: No Eighth Amendment, no Geneva Accords
I only want Muslim men to torture
But really any foreigner will do

(SPOKEN during instrumental)

RUSH: Al, that was my line there at the end.

AL: Sorry, I did not recall.

(SUNG)

AL: Using the power of the executive
We'll see what we can do to them so long as they still live

DICK: There's lots of room in Bagram and in Guantanamo
We'll take pleasure in his pain and nobody will know

RUSH: I can it now some Sunday morning in Afghanistan
Oh what glee and what guffaws when we slam him into walls

JOHN: And tell him he won't be seen again

ALL: We're gonna save America through torture
Nothing else but torturing will do
We'll make them talk, after we've had him butchered
We won't stop till all of them are tortured...

DICK: And then someday we'll come and torture you!

(SPOKEN)

AL: So you see why it is so important that enhanced interrogation techniques like simulated drowning, beatings, sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, hypothermia, and whatever else we can think of that doesn't leave a mark must be preserved as a tool for the defense of the United States.

RUSH: Yeah- and remember, if you don't think inflicting pain on others is fun, then you're not a true red-blooded American!

JOHN: Only by taking away your rights can we protect your freedom.

DICK: I don't know why we're doing this- Obama's too much of a pussy to do anything to us any-

(Much shushing, hissing, and whispers as sound fades out...)
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Tune: "Blue Christmas" by Billy Hayes and Jay Johnson

I'll have a dry Christmas without booze
I'll be so dry visiting my Aunt Sue's
Presents wrapped underneath a green tree of fir
In the living room of a teetotaler

Without booze my Christmas is dreary
And of Kool-Aid I'm getting so weary
You can get in your car and drive down to the bar
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas

I'll have a dry Christmas without booze
Have you got Schlitz or some Guinness I could use?
You're three sheets to the wind at the old Dew Drop Inn
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas

Some champagne or gin would be so full of win
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas


(No, I don't actually drink.)

Merry Christmas.
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Tune: "Blue Christmas" by Billy Hayes and Jay Johnson

I'll have a dry Christmas without booze
I'll be so dry visiting my Aunt Sue's
Presents wrapped underneath a green tree of fir
In the living room of a teetotaler

Without booze my Christmas is dreary
And of Kool-Aid I'm getting so weary
You can get in your car and drive down to the bar
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas

I'll have a dry Christmas without booze
Have you got Schlitz or some Guinness I could use?
You're three sheets to the wind at the old Dew Drop Inn
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas

Some champagne or gin would be so full of win
But I'll have a dry, dry Christmas


(No, I don't actually drink.)

Merry Christmas.
redneckgaijin: (Default)
(tune- what there is of it- "Mambo Number Five." I had to listen to the whole thing repeatedly to get the meter close enough to work. Your pity is welcome.)


2, 4, 6 8 10
Everybody in the Tardis, doin' it again
There's been eleven Doctors maybe more, the boys say
Tom Baker was the only one but I really don't know
Tennant's acting is pretty deep
But the girls go squee for Jon Pertwee
I like Eccleston, Troughton, Hartnell and McCoy
But you mustn't forget about my number one boy
In 1982, give or take a few, y'know
He was the man on Britain's favorite show
Away with his companions- who were they all?
Please lemme hear a roll call

A little bit of Adric, he's gonna die
And Nyssa of Traken, last survi-vor
An Aussie named Tegan, works the airline
A little twerp named Turlough to snarl and whine
A little Brigadier off teaching school
A bot named Kamelion, the Master's tool
A little bit of Peri, American (yeah right)
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

Doctor number five!

Casting call, when Tom Baker takes his fall
Replace him with Tristan from All Things Great and Small
A Panama hat and a cricket bat
And a piece of celery- what's up with that?
Add some baddies and you're doing it right
What monsters is the Doctor gonna battle tonight?

A little bit of Mara, a snaky thing
A little Black Guardian pulling strings
A little time travel with the Cybermen
A couple Sea Devils and Silurians
A little Omega to annhiliate
Davros and his Daleks exterminate
Bringing back the Master again and again,
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

Tardis! The Tardis!
Doctor number five!

Regeneration in the Zero Room
A little Castrovalva going boom
A little bit of London set on fire
A freighter starts the dinosaur funeral pyre
A leper colony named Terminus
A little Five Doctors (more or less)
Spetrox toxaemia brings the end
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

I- do- all- to-
Catch up with episodes of classic Doctor Who
But when Peter Davidson stepped aside
In came Colin Baker- ay yi yi

Doctor number SIX
YECH!

redneckgaijin: (Default)
(tune- what there is of it- "Mambo Number Five." I had to listen to the whole thing repeatedly to get the meter close enough to work. Your pity is welcome.)


2, 4, 6 8 10
Everybody in the Tardis, doin' it again
There's been eleven Doctors maybe more, the boys say
Tom Baker was the only one but I really don't know
Tennant's acting is pretty deep
But the girls go squee for Jon Pertwee
I like Eccleston, Troughton, Hartnell and McCoy
But you mustn't forget about my number one boy
In 1982, give or take a few, y'know
He was the man on Britain's favorite show
Away with his companions- who were they all?
Please lemme hear a roll call

A little bit of Adric, he's gonna die
And Nyssa of Traken, last survi-vor
An Aussie named Tegan, works the airline
A little twerp named Turlough to snarl and whine
A little Brigadier off teaching school
A bot named Kamelion, the Master's tool
A little bit of Peri, American (yeah right)
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

Doctor number five!

Casting call, when Tom Baker takes his fall
Replace him with Tristan from All Things Great and Small
A Panama hat and a cricket bat
And a piece of celery- what's up with that?
Add some baddies and you're doing it right
What monsters is the Doctor gonna battle tonight?

A little bit of Mara, a snaky thing
A little Black Guardian pulling strings
A little time travel with the Cybermen
A couple Sea Devils and Silurians
A little Omega to annhiliate
Davros and his Daleks exterminate
Bringing back the Master again and again,
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

Tardis! The Tardis!
Doctor number five!

Regeneration in the Zero Room
A little Castrovalva going boom
A little bit of London set on fire
A freighter starts the dinosaur funeral pyre
A leper colony named Terminus
A little Five Doctors (more or less)
Spetrox toxaemia brings the end
A little Doctor Who makes me a fan

I- do- all- to-
Catch up with episodes of classic Doctor Who
But when Peter Davidson stepped aside
In came Colin Baker- ay yi yi

Doctor number SIX
YECH!

redneckgaijin: (Default)
This one is based on the webcomic I write, Peter is the Wolf. Tune, with extensions, that of the Beach Boys' Surfer Girl:


Full moon rising in the skies
See it shining in your eyes
You're looking quite strange, little werewolf girl
I watch you twitch and writhe and groan
Prob'ly wish you were alone
But we had a date tonight, werewolf girl

Your clothes are ripping everywhere
As your body grows
Fur and muscle and big teeth now
How was I to know?

Fur conceals your naughty bits
But I can see your huge round FANGS
I can't stop staring, big ol' werewolf girl

Now you stand ten feet or taller
Blocking out the light
I just hope that you won't ask to
Take me for a bite

It's three AM and I am sick
Seven hours of chase the stick
You're not so scary, big ol' werewolf girl

Roam the woods without a stitch
Some might say you are a bitch
But you're a great big puppy, werewolf girl
redneckgaijin: (Default)
This one is based on the webcomic I write, Peter is the Wolf. Tune, with extensions, that of the Beach Boys' Surfer Girl:


Full moon rising in the skies
See it shining in your eyes
You're looking quite strange, little werewolf girl
I watch you twitch and writhe and groan
Prob'ly wish you were alone
But we had a date tonight, werewolf girl

Your clothes are ripping everywhere
As your body grows
Fur and muscle and big teeth now
How was I to know?

Fur conceals your naughty bits
But I can see your huge round FANGS
I can't stop staring, big ol' werewolf girl

Now you stand ten feet or taller
Blocking out the light
I just hope that you won't ask to
Take me for a bite

It's three AM and I am sick
Seven hours of chase the stick
You're not so scary, big ol' werewolf girl

Roam the woods without a stitch
Some might say you are a bitch
But you're a great big puppy, werewolf girl
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Once I built SUVs, watched them run
We built so many cars and trucks
Once I built SUVs, now that's done
Brother, can you spare a buck

Once I built a condo in the sun
Hanging sheet rock really sucks
Once I built a condo, now that's done
Brother, can you spare a buck

We went to war in camo, damn we looked sweet
Full of yankee doodle do-or-die
Five hundred thousand soldiers in the desert heat
And we never stopped to ask why

Don't you read my Facebook? My name's Al
I've had a bad run of luck
Send it by a check or maybe PayPal
But dude, can you spare a buck


Tune: "Brother Can You Spare a Dime," which I heard an NPR story on while driving into Houston yesterday
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Once I built SUVs, watched them run
We built so many cars and trucks
Once I built SUVs, now that's done
Brother, can you spare a buck

Once I built a condo in the sun
Hanging sheet rock really sucks
Once I built a condo, now that's done
Brother, can you spare a buck

We went to war in camo, damn we looked sweet
Full of yankee doodle do-or-die
Five hundred thousand soldiers in the desert heat
And we never stopped to ask why

Don't you read my Facebook? My name's Al
I've had a bad run of luck
Send it by a check or maybe PayPal
But dude, can you spare a buck


Tune: "Brother Can You Spare a Dime," which I heard an NPR story on while driving into Houston yesterday
redneckgaijin: (Default)
I made that last post so I could make this one.

For quite some time now I've contemplated a concept: "Four Filkers Go to Dinner." The general theme is that four filkers argue about where to eat dinner together in song. Each filker has a different veto destination, covering things well enough that the only place available is the universal fandom food- pizza.

This idea came from a single rhyme I had to "Under the Sea": "This little flounder's/ No quarter-pounder/ Take it from me." I'd like to do the whole thing to Disney movie tunes (with the final song, agreement on pizza, being to "The Circle of Life"). However, today I got another rhyme, so I'm going to attempt the whole "Out of the Sea" bit.

I'm not a picky eater
That's what I'd like to think
With broc'li I've got no quarrel
With liver I'm tickled pink
But there's one type of food I won't eat
That's where I draw the line
You won't catch me eating seafood
Or anything of that kind

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
Fillet of flounder's no quarter-pounder
Take it from me
Shrimp cost too much for a snack
And calamari tries to fight back
Claw, shell or fin, I'm eating nothin'
Out of the sea

Everything they got is served raw
Or else it's been deep-fried
Rub a piece against the wall there
And watch cars drive by outside
And even if you like to eat fish
Or think lobster's pretty nice
Just you wait for the sticker shock
When you see the sky-high price

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
For fugu you flip, but you'll leave your tip
Posthumously
You can dine on whatever you wish
But life's too short to waste on a fish
Have a Happy Meal, yeah
Stuff that won't kill ya
Out of the sea
Out of the sea
Don't wanna eat where my future dinner
Stares back at me
You might like watching the tanks
But it's not for me, so no thanks
I just don't feel like meeting my meal
Out of the sea

You swoon for the tuna
You harp on the carp
You're urgin' for sturgeon
Or maybe the shark
For haddock you're mad
You go for shad roe
But all of this leaves me cold (yeah)
Hushpuppies bug me
To coleslaw say no
I yawn at a prawn
Your blowfish can go
And fish named for cat
Your mackrel and splat
Make my gut want to blow
(Oh no!)

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
I'm hardly keen for the taste of sardine
Much less anchovy
Crabs and lobsters leave me a wreck
Call up Orkin or Terminex
Call me a thug, but I ain't eating no bug
Out of the sea
Listen to me, mon
Don't want no salmon
Out of the sea
General Tso's chicken
Sounds fine for din-din
Salad and soup, or
Maybe a burger
Don't care where we go
But this is my veto
NOT from the sea

- Out of the Sea, lyrics by Kris Overstreet

(and actually, I like white-fleshed fish and fried shrimp, and have no problem with fried food. You can keep oysters, though.)

(Oh. And I absolutely hate liver, too. Love broccoli, though. Sit on it, Bush the Elder.)
redneckgaijin: (Default)
I made that last post so I could make this one.

For quite some time now I've contemplated a concept: "Four Filkers Go to Dinner." The general theme is that four filkers argue about where to eat dinner together in song. Each filker has a different veto destination, covering things well enough that the only place available is the universal fandom food- pizza.

This idea came from a single rhyme I had to "Under the Sea": "This little flounder's/ No quarter-pounder/ Take it from me." I'd like to do the whole thing to Disney movie tunes (with the final song, agreement on pizza, being to "The Circle of Life"). However, today I got another rhyme, so I'm going to attempt the whole "Out of the Sea" bit.

I'm not a picky eater
That's what I'd like to think
With broc'li I've got no quarrel
With liver I'm tickled pink
But there's one type of food I won't eat
That's where I draw the line
You won't catch me eating seafood
Or anything of that kind

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
Fillet of flounder's no quarter-pounder
Take it from me
Shrimp cost too much for a snack
And calamari tries to fight back
Claw, shell or fin, I'm eating nothin'
Out of the sea

Everything they got is served raw
Or else it's been deep-fried
Rub a piece against the wall there
And watch cars drive by outside
And even if you like to eat fish
Or think lobster's pretty nice
Just you wait for the sticker shock
When you see the sky-high price

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
For fugu you flip, but you'll leave your tip
Posthumously
You can dine on whatever you wish
But life's too short to waste on a fish
Have a Happy Meal, yeah
Stuff that won't kill ya
Out of the sea
Out of the sea
Don't wanna eat where my future dinner
Stares back at me
You might like watching the tanks
But it's not for me, so no thanks
I just don't feel like meeting my meal
Out of the sea

You swoon for the tuna
You harp on the carp
You're urgin' for sturgeon
Or maybe the shark
For haddock you're mad
You go for shad roe
But all of this leaves me cold (yeah)
Hushpuppies bug me
To coleslaw say no
I yawn at a prawn
Your blowfish can go
And fish named for cat
Your mackrel and splat
Make my gut want to blow
(Oh no!)

Out of the sea
Out of the sea
I'm hardly keen for the taste of sardine
Much less anchovy
Crabs and lobsters leave me a wreck
Call up Orkin or Terminex
Call me a thug, but I ain't eating no bug
Out of the sea
Listen to me, mon
Don't want no salmon
Out of the sea
General Tso's chicken
Sounds fine for din-din
Salad and soup, or
Maybe a burger
Don't care where we go
But this is my veto
NOT from the sea

- Out of the Sea, lyrics by Kris Overstreet

(and actually, I like white-fleshed fish and fried shrimp, and have no problem with fried food. You can keep oysters, though.)

(Oh. And I absolutely hate liver, too. Love broccoli, though. Sit on it, Bush the Elder.)
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Yesterday [livejournal.com profile] starcat_jewel made a reference to the "Hurricane Fandango," adding, "To the obvious tune."

The obvious tune, for those who don't know, is Tom Lehrer's Masochism Tango. A commenter demanded she, or somebody, complete the filk. I went back to "Hurricane Tango" for mine, because although "Masochism Tango" and "Hurricane Fandango" have the same number of syllables, I didn't like how "Hurricane Fandango" scanned into the original song. Besides, tangos and fandangoes are seriously different rhythms anyway- I didn't want to dick with the music behind the lyrics.

So, queue up in your mind the score from the orchestrated recording of Lehrer's song, and bear in mind this was written in about fifteen minutes of sit-down time:


There's a cloud blowing up in the Gulf, dear
The weatherman says it's as we all feared
Let's join the host fleeing lowland and coast
As we dance to the Hurricane Tango

It's the same tale every September
We sit down and try to remember
Did we buy bottled water back when we oughta
As we dance to the Hurricane Tango

We quail
And rush for board and nail
To prevent the coming gale
From busting through the glass
Hit the road
Whether or not we're told
Get five miles from home
Before running out of gas

And when it gets too much to handle
We stay glued to the damn Weather Channel
'Cause we can't unwind till they make up their mind
Who's dancing to the Hurricane Tango

We stay
And wait for Landfall Day
And we can't help but pray
Every time something goes "clunk"
(Was that a tree on the house?)
Better still
Your neighbors on the hill
Decide to hold a party and get drunk
(Hic! 'Scuse me!)

Then the storm turns away towards Mobile*
And frustration and annoyance you feel
You cuss 'cause you know the next time it blows...
You'll STILL dance... to the Hurricane Tango!


* If you live from New Orleans to Pensacola, substitute "Brownsville" for "Mobile".

--- Hurricane Tango, lyrics by Kris Overstreet
redneckgaijin: (Default)
Yesterday [livejournal.com profile] starcat_jewel made a reference to the "Hurricane Fandango," adding, "To the obvious tune."

The obvious tune, for those who don't know, is Tom Lehrer's Masochism Tango. A commenter demanded she, or somebody, complete the filk. I went back to "Hurricane Tango" for mine, because although "Masochism Tango" and "Hurricane Fandango" have the same number of syllables, I didn't like how "Hurricane Fandango" scanned into the original song. Besides, tangos and fandangoes are seriously different rhythms anyway- I didn't want to dick with the music behind the lyrics.

So, queue up in your mind the score from the orchestrated recording of Lehrer's song, and bear in mind this was written in about fifteen minutes of sit-down time:


There's a cloud blowing up in the Gulf, dear
The weatherman says it's as we all feared
Let's join the host fleeing lowland and coast
As we dance to the Hurricane Tango

It's the same tale every September
We sit down and try to remember
Did we buy bottled water back when we oughta
As we dance to the Hurricane Tango

We quail
And rush for board and nail
To prevent the coming gale
From busting through the glass
Hit the road
Whether or not we're told
Get five miles from home
Before running out of gas

And when it gets too much to handle
We stay glued to the damn Weather Channel
'Cause we can't unwind till they make up their mind
Who's dancing to the Hurricane Tango

We stay
And wait for Landfall Day
And we can't help but pray
Every time something goes "clunk"
(Was that a tree on the house?)
Better still
Your neighbors on the hill
Decide to hold a party and get drunk
(Hic! 'Scuse me!)

Then the storm turns away towards Mobile*
And frustration and annoyance you feel
You cuss 'cause you know the next time it blows...
You'll STILL dance... to the Hurricane Tango!


* If you live from New Orleans to Pensacola, substitute "Brownsville" for "Mobile".

--- Hurricane Tango, lyrics by Kris Overstreet
redneckgaijin: (Default)
(a song that's been rattling around in my head for months, about the life of dealers at fan-based conventions)

THURSDAY EVENING, AND THE TENTS GO UP.

You drive eight hundred miles with everything you could find to sell
Stop just long enough to check into a cheap fleabag motel
Then over to the con hotel and the exhibition hall
Just another weekend at the carnival

Set up your booth all Thursday night and come back again at the break of light
Ready to sell with two minutes until
The Friday shoppers trickle in, and with them comes the awful din
Of the fans who pay your food and rent and bills

"Do you have that shirt in my size?"
"Will you be here all three days?"
"Do you have that show, you know, by the creators of Maze?"
"Do you accept plastic, I think the Visa's clear?"
"Oh man, thank God I found you here!"

SATURDAY, AND THE RUSH IS ON.

On Saturday the tidal wave crashes through the dealer's door
A mob of fans, costumed hams, and shoplifters galore
A crowd forms up along your table looking to buy
Whatever thing of yours has caught their eye

The lulls in traffic are too brief, and closing comes as sweet relief
Now's your chance to have a little fun
But you eat your dinner all alone, wander the con on your own
In a crowded hotel you're a crowd of one

"There's no games I want to play tonight,
There's no films I want to see,
I can't believe these kids are so much younger than me!
How the hell will I retire?
You call this a career?
Good God Almighty, what am I doing here?"

SUNDAY, AND THE CONVENTION IS DYING.

After they check out of their rooms, before they say goodbye
The Sunday shoppers trickle in to make their final buys
The plastic boxes come back out, the displays are coming down
The carnival is moving on to another town

You've made enough to pay the bills and keep gas in the truck until
Your next convention somewhere down the road
And the fans keep talking with their friends, pretending conventions never end,
Making one last purchase to lighten up your load

"Hey wait, are you still open?"
"Do you still have that thing I see?"
"I'm here to pay for the stuff you held behind the table for me!"
"Do you have card so I can order
the stuff you don't have here?"
"Tell me, will you be back next year?"

And in a week or month you load the truck and make another haul
To another town, another con, another carnival

--- "The Carnival," lyrics copyright 2008 Kris Overstreet

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