******

Set a year or so post-BDM. First chapter is here

This chapter is Jayne's POV.

Again, massively OOC for Jayne and River, I'm sure, but I still can't resist letting these two battle it out on an unusual (for them, at least) literary playground. Please don't sue me.

THEOLOGICAL DISCLAIMER: I'm figuring that the same River Tam who wanted to correct the scientific inaccuracies in Book's bible wouldn't hesitate to change the text of a famous poem that is generally considered to be about the God of that bible and the whole question of theodicy. If there's any heresy herein, blame it on the brilliant but definitely 'different' brain of River, and not on this poor, procrastinating pastor, writing fanfic when she should be polishing her sermon for this Sunday.

******

THE POET THEY CALL JAYNE (2/3)

( The River Strikes Back )

The ABCs of Pretty, Pretty ManFlesh

A Primer In Bad Verse, written in honor of goddessofbirth’s birthday tomorrow, and in celebration of her accurately titled Gratuitous Wall of ManFlesh Pretty posts!:

( Read more... )

Hope you have a very happy day tomorrow, Goddess!

I probably won't get a chance to post tomorrow on the actual 25th anniversary of the airing of the first "MacGyver" episode in the U.S., so I figured I'd better lay my annual (and increasingly seedy-looking) tribute on the altar of my TV religion today.

So here it is (again), slightly revised (again): my "Ode on the Feast Day of St. MacGyver".( Read more... )

* * * *

Naptime Hide-and-Seek with River and Jayne (a slightly more 'advanced' Learn to Read with River and Jayne adventure, written in response to goddessofbirth's Naptime Chronicles 4: In Between)

In response to another delightful "Naptime Chronicles" installment, I've written a new -- and perhaps even more 'bloody awful' -- "poem" (except that even my worst doggerel usually rhymes a lot, and this is completely rhyme-free; it's merely written in a mockery of the style of a children's reading primer) and posted it here on the Rayne Shippers community


Read the first three 'Naptime Fun' adventures, with disclaimers and apologies, here

'Tis the season, again, and with the dramatic increase in whining from my students upon their return from Thanksgiving break on Monday, I couldn't resist dusting off this piece of 'deathless poetry' from November of 2004, The 12 Days of Advent (for adjunct professors near the semester's end)

And here's the slightly updated version for this year:( Read more... )

ANYA AND TARA'S MYSTIC MAMAS DETECTIVE AGENCY AND THE STRANGE CASE OF THE MISSING MEMORIES -- an early birthday poem for keswindhover, partly inspired by her musings over the possible fanfic futures for Donna Noble

[Note: In this bit of doggerel I’m shamelessly ripping off some of the characterization and plot developments in missmurchison’s Tara/Anya stories, Resistance is Useless and Sitting on the Dock of eBay, at the end of which Anya is intrigued at the money to be made in criminal investigations and bounty-hunting. In this alternate universe, Anya and Tara had become a couple shortly after the abortive wedding in season 6, and so this poem is set sometime in what would have been season 7, perhaps.]

( poem may contain slight spoilers for 'Dr. Who' season four finale, as well as numerous insults to rhyme scheme, meter, and anything remotely resembling literary taste )

Presenting the conclusion to this poem in honor of missmurchison's birthday today:

( part 1 of 'Nancy Murchison and the Case of the Missing Scotch' )

By dint of much hard work and sharp elbow greasing,
the three lady sleuths found the distance decreasing
between them and their quarry, a leather-clad phantom,
his hair bleached white-blond and his fighting weight bantam.
“To the Murchison-Mobile!” cried Miss M, and “Away!”
as she drove like a madwoman after her prey.

While Kes and Rev. Dorothy held on for dear life,
Miss M sped ‘round curves that were sharp as a knife
(not unlike the thief’s cheekbones, as Dorothy noted,
and Kes quite concurred, asking not to be quoted).
When Miss M’s sporty roadster finally cornered the poacher
of potent potations, he had the nerve to approach her!

He said, “Not bad, luv! You followed my clues,
and here’s your reward: a film with your booze!”
Following his gesture, Miss M saw just beyond
a drive-in movie screen, and her smile became fond.
All the guests for her party, armed with every amenity,
had come to the drive-in, where they were showing “Serenity.”

“Surprise!” said Kes and Dorothy and Mr. M, who’d conspired
to turn Miss M’s birthday into an evening inspired.
“Thanks to our friend, here, and his knack for Scotch-snatching,
we were able to get you here, and without you catching
on to our game. Weren’t we smart?” “You’re not wrong,”
Miss M smiled as she said, so they’d never guess she’d known all along.


*The inclusion of non-alcoholic soda pop was due to the presence of Miss Murchison’s under-age daughters, of course.

Building on my earlier comments about deborahmm's Spike-and-Giles spin-off daydream, and on some of missmurchison's comments on that spin-off, I'm suddenly seeing Giles as Henry Higgins and Spike as Eliza in a new musical incarnation. And this is the music that plays in my head:

All I want is a lot of votes
For Giles and Spike wearing swirly coats.
As Alan Jay Lerner notes,
"Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?"

Sexy older guys who snipe and snark,
But are always up for another lark,
And so handy in the dark,
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?

Oh, so loverly watching Giles and Spikey on a tear.
Add Diana Rigg to the mix, and you know that I'll be there!

Someone's tweed hanging by the door,
Reminding you what a partner's for.
Two blokes whom we adore,
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
Loverly. Loverly! Loverly.

Unfortunately, I don't think I can come up with a better birthday present than the Edward Gorey cat earrings your kids gave you, but here's my humble offering, attempting to appeal to your love for both Cary Grant and Spike.

Thanks to the kind folks at http://www.carygrant.net/songs.html#LYRICS:, I was able to get the lyrics for "Pass Me By" (Carolyn Leigh/Cy Coleman), which was used as the theme song for the Cary Grant comedy "Father Goose" (http://www.ajmackintosh.ukgateway.net/film/PassMeBy.txt), which naturally gave rise to the following scenario in my mind:

Pater Goose

(a Spike/Buffy version of the Cary Grant/Leslie Caron film -- though the working title could also be Father Gruesome, I suppose): ( Read more... )

The movie’s theme song goes something like this (this one's for you, missmurchison!):

“I’ve got me ten fine toes to kick a little ass,
And no Great Pouf to tell me I’m too crass.
A lively pair of fists to deal with any sass.
Contemplatin’ mayhem can be fascinatin’.
Add to this some fangs that I can bare,
And nary a care have I,
So tell the whole darn world, ‘Next time you need savin',
Deal me out, thank you kindly, pass me by.’”

Chorus: “Pass me by-y, pass me by-y-y.
If you’re lookin’ for a champion, pass me by.”

“I’ve got me nice dark cave to keep out of the sun,
And no pesky Slayer spoiling all the fun.
Blood enough to drink from critters on the run.
When fur is flyin’, I’m no bloomin’ dandy-lion!
Add to these a soul to call my own,
And no more cause to moan have I.
So tell the whole darn world, ‘If you don’t like my deportment,
Deal me out, thank you kindly, pass me by.’”

Chorus: “Pass me by-y, pass me by-y-y.
If you don’t happen to like it, pass me by.”


Once again, belated happy birthday, Miss M!

The first four stanzas of "HarleyMan" can be found here.

And stanzas 5-7 are here.

Stanza 8 is here: ( Read more... )

Stanzas 9-12:

With a wicked little chuckle, Undead-Preacher-Man turned 'round
And asked his bluish bouncer, "What's the row?"
"Eat a sandwich made of knuckle, then your entrails I will pound,"
Said Blue to me, "Unless you answer now!"

With no choice but to humor this most unholy pair,
I decided it was time to spill some beans.
"We're here about a rumor of sedition in the air --
Me and this 'super spy' in leather jeans."

HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, in leather cool and black.
HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, for trouble you've a knack!

Though Blue seemed quite offended that we were such small fish,
Her undead bleached blonde colleague was sanguine:
"The game is far from ended," he told her, "so don't squish
These worker ants, whose gore you'd have to clean!"

I said a silent "Amen" to his non-blood-letting swagger,
And (trembling) asked him, "What game is this?
Even though I'm just a 'layman' in the field of cloak-and-dagger,
I've seen things here my mind cannot dismiss."

HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, in leather cool and black.
HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, time to get up off your back!

With a groan that won my pity, HarleyMan began to wake
From his brief, relaxing coma in the dirt.
"She looked so itty-bitty," said he, "But my mistake."
Said I, "Glad to see you feeling more alert!"

With a sound of pure disgust, Blue turned and stalked away,
Saying only, "I have offerings to receive!"
"She's learning to adjust," observed the Preacher, "but I'd say
That the offerings do a lot to help her grieve!"

HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, in leather cool and black.
HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, can't you get us back on track?

Said I, "Forget I asked for any explanation.
Somehow I think I'm happier not knowing.
But this HarleyMan's been tasked, by some power of this nation,
With finding out which way your wind is blowing."

Said the Preacher, "I can guess who gave your guy his mission,
And that's the demon we've set out to catch.
Our free-thinking cult puts stress on the demon's disposition,
While lies and terror he attempts to hatch."

HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, in leather cool and black.
HarleyMan, O HarleyMan, is Turd Blossom at your back?

[conclusion to follow soon]