A Grocery List!

*For reference, we have also posted the fanfic in its original format (the italics are ours) after the MST.

AN MST BY KITTY, BIRDIE, AND TYRONE
Based on "Fair Elven Lady" by ShiaZu

Fair Elven Lady

K: Yaay! I love the fair!
B: My Fair Lady? It's Elisa! As an elf!
K: Eliza. Lisa was in the other one.
B: Oooooo. *shudder* Don't remind me of that one. My therapist told me to pretend it never happened.
K: All I want is an elf somewhere...far away from the suethor's stare...
B: With one enormous . . . flare!
K: Oh wouldn't it be loverly!
B: *doot doot doot*
K: Lots of morphine for me to...um...eat?
B: Um . . . Next line! We must persevere!

Author: ShiaZu

B: Like . . . a Shia Pet?
K: Not just a shia pet! A whole shia zoo!
B: (giraffe nose)!
K: No! No making things appear until we at least get to the story. Er, poem.
B: Wait. It's a poem?
K: It...looks vaguely poemish. They used their enter key a lot.
B: Oh no. I can only imagine the damage they've done . . .
K: *coddles the poor enter key* At least their shift key doesn't seem to have been too abused.
B: Or the commas. Yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, books or movies, and this poem is entirely fan-made.

B: Fan-made? It's made of fans? Like one of the little paper fans women used to use to cool themselves in church?
K: She doesn't even own the movies? What kind of fan is she? If we bought her the books, would she go away?
B: She is not worthy to own the books.
K: She could make fans out of them!
B: Or paper airplanes! Or origami swans and things!
K: I want an origami swan or thing!
B: I have an origami swan! This guy that liked me in seventh grade made it for me! It even flaps its wings when you pull on its tail!
K: Ooooh! How exciting! All my secret admirers ever gave me was...oh, wait. He was a stuffed bear. Like, not he gave me a stuffed bear. He was a stuffed bear.
B: But Big Bear made a wonderful boyfriend, stuffed though he may have been. *patpat*
K: *sniffle*

Verse 1: Gone Again

B: Again?
K: I wish it would be gone in the first place.
B: I don't remember anyone having been here in the first place! Well, except me. And you. And Big Bear.
K: Maybe it's lost with Legolas' heart.
B: Maybe Big Bear ate Legolas' heart!
K: That would be awesome. I would probably marry him for that.

Yonder fair oh Elven-maid

K: See? We're going to the fair!
B: *sings* Pharoah, Pharoah! Oooooh no, gotta let my people go, hunh! Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah!
K: *backs away slowly*
B: "Fair oh". Get it?
K: Yeeeah.
B: Fair oh? Pharaoh? I win!
K: Wait a minute! The Pharaoh is an Elven-maid?
B: Whoa. That's . . . odd.
K: They never mentioned that in my Sunday school class . . . . Makes a lot of those illustrations inaccurate though.
B: Did they use a flannelboard? I love flannelboards!
K: No, we just had little illustrated Bibles. Though less creepily illustrated than the one we found at the House...

Above the frosty boughs was laid

K: ...
B: *translates* Look! An elven pharoah is climbing a tree!
K: What is she doing...above...the boughs?
B: Maybe she's . . . sleeping. Like Dumbo! *pink elephants*!
K: So we have a drunken Pharaoh Elven-maid. Being...laid. Above Frosty's boughs.
B: I didn't even know Frosty had boughs. The things they don't teach you. It's sad, really.
K: Yeah, in the movie his arms were definitely snow, not sticks. ...I mean boughs.
B: Maybe they were stick-boughs! Like Tae-bo!
K: Of...course. *switches to grammar geek mode* So this sentence is passive; we need to know who was doing the laying.
B: And why they were presumably carrying her around to have to lay her down.

To thee of golden distant sun

K: Isn't it nice of her to tell us which sun? I always get so confused.
B: Does this sentence make any sense to you so far? Because I've got nothin'.
K: How...do you get laid...to someone? Laid does not work transitively in that way. Laid + to = pain.
B: Ooooooooh! So "Yonder Pharaoh Elven-maid/Above Frosty's boughs was . . . pain . . . thee of golden distant sun"?
K: Maybe it's like the address in a letter? From: Pharaoh elf chick/To: Some guy from the sun/Re: I think U R soooo hawt!!!1
B: Brilliant! That must be it! You're a genius, Kitty! *jealous*
K: *preens*

To eyes alight till heart 'ere done

K: Um...what is " 'ere" being a contraction for in this line? I can't think of any word that makes sense in this line.
B: I don't think there is one. We need the Dictionary of Badfic Language! Where's Mouse when we need her?
K: I don't know, all I have here is the Suethaurus, will that work?
B: That'll do, donkey. That'll do.
K: *brings it out* We've got...shpere, kvere, hechthere....here it is! Glere!
B: *reads* Glere: It's shortish . . . and oldish . . .
K: No, Birdie, that's the entry for the Lorax.
B: Ack! Sorry!
K: *steals the Suethaurus* It's a type of pumpkin, native to Alaska. I wonder what that heart is doing with a pumpkin?
B: So her eyes are lighting up with love for an undercooked pumpkin?
K: Her eyes will only light up until the…heart pumpkin is done. They're like an egg-timer!
B: Maybe her heart is a pumpkin?
K: I...don't know. I just don't know.

A voice of song for clouds in air

B: *dies*
K: *revives* You're not getting out that easily.
B: Aww man . . .
K: So, how is the "for" operating in this sentence?
B: With a scalpel, naturally.
K: Is this one of those uses like "she had gold for hair?"
B: She had a voice for clouds!
K: Awesome! I want a voice for clouds.
B: I have a toe for rainbows. That's the closest I could get.
K: All I've got is some sniffles for snow.
B: Wow. *jealous* Can I borrow some sometime?
K: *gives you a sniffle*
B: *sniffles* Oh awesome! This is one quality sniffle!

And silver upon waves of hair

K: *picturing actual waves made of hair*
B: Like, there's a sea of hair? And someone is throwing silver into it?
K: With huge tidal waves. A tsunami of hair! A...hairnami.
B: People throw their silver into the hairnamis and make wishes!
K: You know, I keep trying to connect these lines into some coherent story.
B: Don't bother. It's not worthy the agony.
K: Maybe it's a list? Maybe this isn't a poem at all! Maybe it's a vaguely rhyming grocery list!
B: She shops at a reeeeally strange grocery store then. It's definitely not Publix.
K: Maybe it's Plublix?
B: Kitty! Never say that again! There's only ONE "L" in Publix. One!
K: *looks at the next items on the list*

Cheeks of cream and eyes that beam

B: Question: Are her cheeks made of cream cheese or sour cream?
K: I was thinking coffee cream.
B: Yech. I don't like coffee.
K: Or maybe that raspberry cream that's inside of the really expensive chocolates except you don't know until you bite into it whether it's that or something nasty like toffee.
B: ooooooOOOOOOoooooo. But what about her eyes then?
K: Sentence ambiguity! Her cheeks may actually be of eyes that beam!
B: But are they sharpened eyes that beam?
K: That would explain what they're doing to the beams. They're cutting them.
B: Into what?
K: Stars.
B: Oh. Stars. Right . . . . This, er, "poem" is really starting to get to you, isn't it, Kitty?
K: Not at all.

Her hands a sail on misted dream

K: The morphine, on the other hand...
B: Wait, you have morphine and you haven't shared?! Give it here!
K: *gives* I'm not sure it's as strong as what our Shia Zoo was on.
B: Well then I want whatever she had. It certainly worked for her.
K: "Misted dream" definitely makes me think of Puff the Magic Dragon. As does the sail for that matter. Though I'm not sure how it's her hands.
B: So we have an elven Pharoah sitting on Frosty's boughs
K: Chatting with a guy from the sun while she waits with her egg-timer eyes to see when the pumpkin will finish cooking.
B: This elven Pharaoh has a voice for clouds, whatever that means, that she uses to make wishes as she throws her silver into hairnamis.
K: And she also has cheeks made of expensive chocolate and sharpened eyes. And her hands are a sail. And some "mist"-induced hallucinations have obviously been involved in this entire matter.
B: Hey! Maybe this whole thing is a hallucination! Caused by the morphine!
K: It takes more lines to explain this poem than the poem itself. That is so sad.

Came up the slope of far off glen

K: A verb!
B: *throws confetti and blows a kazoo!*
K: Verbs! These verbs! Glorious verbs!
B: All my LIFE I've been searching for verbs such as these! . . . Or at least since the beginning of this "poem."
K: Now...does this verb have a subject?
B: *searches for subject*
K: I mean, I guess if we're going by proximity, it's either the hands or the dream.
B: Oh, do let's pick the dream. It would be ever so much fun!
K: Dream it is, then.
B: So there's a dream coming up the slope of a far-away glen. Does this somehow relate to the first two stanzas?
K: Only if the glen is above the boughs. Which seems like it might be a little awkward.
B: Maybe Glenn is climbing the tree!
K: Oooh! Maybe he's the guy from the sun?
B: Right! Glen the Sun-Man is climbing this tree and dreaming of . . . um . . .
K: Glenn never struck me as much the sort of guy to have...slopes, particularly.
B: Well, he is kind of tall . . .
K: Perhaps you're right.
B: It's hard to make any sense of this, because she doesn't have anything cohesive at all.
K: Disclaimer: These lines were actually all in one place, in this order, presented as a poem. We're not just choosing random phrases here, folks.
B: Maybe we should. It might make more sense that way.
K: I think we could just start sticking things in here and no one would know the difference. "A butterfly gumbled and sparkled so pretty."
B: No no no. That's far too coherent. It has a subject and a verb! You can't do that!
K: I'm a failure at...grocery lists?
B: No more Plublix for you!

A mystic maid of wonder then

B: But not now. She was only mystic for a time.
K: There's the mist again!
B: Oooooo. That explains it. The, uh, "mist" wore off.
K: But it was working...then.
B: I wonder when!
K: When the pumpkin was done.
B: So I guess that means her eyes turned off.
K: Oh good. No more glowing, possessed, nine-foot-tall, hairy eyes...
B: *surreptitiously ups Kitty's morphine*

Her shoes of gold her skirt of white

B: COMMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
K: Why would you expect such a thing now?
B: *sob* Why can no one ever use a comma correctly?
K: This person's idiocy should not be extended to the whole of humanity. Please.
B: *cuddles the poor mistreated commas* It's alright. Birdie's got you. No one can hurt you now.
K: *patpat* That's right, it's OK little guys. We love you.

Her eyes sparkled in the blackened night

B: She has very active eyes.
K: I thought they had turned off though!
B: So far, she hasn't done much of anything, but her eyes have been very busy.
K: They've been timing, cutting, sparkling...
B: Maybe the pumpkin burned. And turned the night black. And so her eyes began to sparkle.
K: Of...course. *shuts birdie's morphine off*
B: Hey! I need that!
K: You weren't supposed to use it all at once.
B: You know what happens to me without my morphine! The punctuation poisoning . . .
K: Your commas will help you through.
B: *snuggles commas again* It's okay, guys. We can get through this! As long as we stay together, everything will be alright . . .

"Elven-fair!" cried a voice in sorrow

B: *envisions an Elven State Fair*
K: Different from the voice of song. Which was clouds.
B: Apparently it's a sad song. Perhaps it's raining?
K: Rain at the fair? Oh no!
B: They always shut down all the fun rides when that happens. It's very sad. I would be sorrowful too.
K: Makes my voice cry.
B: But not your eyes, fortunately. Her eyes are much too busy to cry.
K: No, they've got enough to do as it is.

"To seek thee ever beyond the 'morrow

K: It's...a verb. But not a conjugated one.
B: Wait. Is this unidentified voice speaking to the Elven State Fair?
K: Yes. And telling it, in its own broken English, to...seek.
K: Itself.
B: On the day after tomorrow?
K: Yes.
B: But what will it find?
K: The ever. Of course.
B: And how is any of this related to the Elven Pharaoh from the first two stanzas?
K: Maybe...the fair...is above the trees. On Glenn's slopes. And...the sun. Yeeeah.
B: Maybe the fair is the one with the dream?
K: And sail-hands! Of course! You make everything make sense, Birdie. I knew I kept you around for a reason. Besides spitting on me, that is.
B: Awww, thanks Kitty! And I only spit on you when you're dirty. If you would bathe, we wouldn't have this problem, now would we?
K: *licks self clean*
B: Ewww! Gross! I wish you wouldn't do things like that in public. It's embarrassing.
K: I'm a kitty, what did you expect? If you wouldn't molt so much...
B: That's not my fault! What would you rather me do? Just keep on collecting feathers? Soon I'd have too many and I would look like just a ball of fluff.
K: It'd be an improvement.
B: *offended* You know what, Kitty? We're not friends anymore! *sticks out tongue at Kitty*
K: Bird tongues are so useless.

Light of light cast upon the earth,

B: Light of light . . .
K: Light-bright!
B: I loved light-bright! I used to go in early to my art class and play with those!
K: You had them in your art class? No fair!
B: He was basically the awesomest art teacher ever.
K: So we now have a whole cast of light-brights filling the entire earth. Or we will, the day after tomorrow.
B: Dun dun dun . . . .
K: Our doom shall surely be upon us.
B: And this unidentified dreamy voice is seeking this. Great.
K: At the fair.
B: Which is on Glenn's slopes.
K: Above Frosty's boughs.
B: With the Elven Pharaoh.
K: And the guy from the sun.
B: And a pumpkin. But what about the hairnamis? Don't they get to cause some doom too?
K: They should. But maybe the hand-sail allowed us to survive on the sea of hair?
B: Maybe . . . It makes about as much sense as anything else so far.

And you fair lady, of royal birth"

B: Fair lady? That doesn't sound very nice. Just because she works the fair doesn't mean you should be rude to her.
K: Hey! Carnie-girl!
B: . . . Of royal birth.
K: Get over here and get me some cotton candy!
B: Most carnies are royal, aren't they?
K: Almost all.
B: If I were royal, I'd definitely work the fair. It's not like I'd have anything better to do with my time.
K: Exactly. And you'd get all the caramel apples you wanted.
B: Yay! Sign me up!
K: You could even come up with new things to fry. Though once they've fried Coke, I just don't know where there is left to go...
B: Cheesecake!
K: Hmm...not new, but I approve anyway. Maybe she'll fry the pumpkin?
B: Fried pumpkin? That sounds . . . mushy.
K: See? Continuity!
B: Hooray continuity!

"Rest thee in the golden haven,

K: Everything's got to be either silver or gold with her, doesn't it?
B: Remind me who "thee" is again. Is he talking to the carnie still?
K: The ever. Or the fair. Or the Pharaoh. ...Or the pumpkin.
B: Pharaoh's are royal. And he did say the carnie was of royal birth.
K: This is true.
B: So he's telling the elven Pharaoh to go take a rest in this haven of his? I thought the Pharaoh was already lying on Frosty’s boughs.
K: So now she has to sail across the sea of hair to get beyond the 'morrow and to the haven.
B: Sounds dangerous. Especially with those hairnamis about.
K: Don't worry, her hands are a sail.
B: She can use her eyes to time how long it takes! Just take a pumpkin . . .

Jewels upon jewels the beast be laden

K: ...the beast.
B: Tyrone!
T: Um . . . who, me?
K: *glomps* Tyrone!!!
B: Hey! Kitty, look! It's Tyrone! He came when I called him!
K: He's such a good beasty-weasty! *gives Tyrone a beasty-weasty treat*
T: Stereotypes . . .
B: *does a little dance*
K: So show us the bling, Tyrone! Jewels upon jewels, they tell us.
B: We want to see!
T: Bling? That beast may have jewels upon jewels. Not this one. This beast be broke.
B: A broken beast? Oh, no! Did they put you in a cast?
T: Just a small, wallet-sized one. Quite convenient for beastly activities.
K: A wallet-sized cast? And they fit your whole you into it? That sounds cramped.
T: Yep, my whole me. Eh, there are benefits to being a beast. I'm foldable, apparently.
K: And you get laden with jewels upon jewels!
B: Origami beast!
K: Oooh! He can hang out with the swan!
T: Swan? Where?
B: She can make a fan out of him!
K: And they will sail away with her hands...on the ocean of hair...
B: And lie on Frosty's boughs . . . It will be ever so much fun!
T: Yeah . . . fun. *squints at Birdie*

I come to thou with gifts anon,

K: Like, anonymously?
T: Anonymous gifts! Yay! It's Christmas!
B: Thou? Thou, the beast? Or Thou the carnie-girl?
K: I don't think thou is the beast. There wasn't a comma.
B: Ah, so Thou is the carnie.
K: So I would surmise.
B: And the carnie is getting gifts. Christmas gifts.
T: Carnie? Is she related to the swan?
K: We're not really sure.
B: Not much of anything really makes sense in this, uh, "poem." That seems to make as much sense as anything else.
K: There haven't been a whole lot of clear cause-effect, action-subject kind of relationships.
B: Very few actions, lots of subjects.
T: Interesting familial relationship.
K: Or even, like, niece-uncle relationships.
B: Couple-therapist.
T: Beast-weirdos.
B: Any relationship at all, really.
K: Though there was a royal birth mentioned.
B: Wait, are you calling us weirdos, Tyrone?
K: Are you denying it?
T: Um . . . no. To both.
B: *indignant* I'm normaler than . . . than . . . than something that's really normal! Like . . . toothpaste! I'm normaler than toothpaste. So there!
K: Oh yeah, well I'm normaler than regular paste.
B: *gasp*
T: I don't know. Toothpaste is getting odd.
B: Now they have the kind that turns blue on your teeth! I wanted some of that, but my mommy wouldn't get it. *sad*
T: Sorry, I have problems with that. I want white teeth. Not blue.
K: And the bubble-gum flavored kind...*shudder*
T: Agony.
B: They're only blue until you brush them. Then they're squeaky clean!
K: I don't want my teeth to squeak.
T: I don't want squeaky teeth either.

Wait for me there, for I have gone"

B: Um, do we know who "I" is?
K: I have no idea who is waiting for whom, but I don't care. *passes the morphine*
T: Or where "there" is?
B: *glomp* MORPHINE!
K: Are you trying to glomp the morphine? You seem unaware of what a glomp is, Birdie.
T: That sounds painful.
B: Yes, I was glomping the morphine!
K: I'm fairly certain "there" is the golden haven.
B: With the beast?
K: And I'm fairly certain morphine does not appreciate running tackle-hugs.
B: So this someone is supposed to be waiting for this other someone in a haven with a beast who's stolen a bunch of goods?
K: Oh, but they were gifts.
T: Ah, so is the carnie waiting for the speaker to clean her squeaky teeth in a golden haven? Fillings?
B: Gold fillings!
K: And the speaker will do so...anonymously. As a gift.
T: How kind.
B: Because it's Christmas!
K: Hurray! *starts singing* On the first day of Christmas, the carnie gave to me, a Pharaoh in a Frosty Tree!
T: The speaker sounds an awful lot like Santa Claus. No, it's Herbie, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer!
K: On the second day of Christmas the carnie gave to me, two hairnamis and a Pharaoh in a Frosty Tree!
B: I love Herbie!
K: Herbie? Oh dear!
T: I see he's succeeded in his dentistly pursuits.
K: I'm so proud of him!

Sighed in drear the fair quiet lady

T: In drear?
B: Wait, the carnie-girl was talking the whole time? Why is she so dreary?
K: Talked like yoda tried the poet. Wouldn't you be?
T: I mean, she probably needs crowns. Not fillings.
B: Well, she is of royal birth.
K: But the beast has all her jewels.
T: Alas. Cruel beast.
B: I say we KILL the Beast!
T: NOOO!!! *hides*
K: I won't rest 'til his head is mounted on my wall!
B: We're not safe until he's dead! He'll come stalking us at night! Set to sacrifice our children to his monstrous appetite!
T: *peeks out and snorks*
B: . . . Kitty, Tyrone is snorking at us.
K: I do believe you're right. I say we KILL Tyrone!
T: Grr! Why'd you invite me over here anyway? You didn't mention a beast-hunt.
B: Fifty Frenchmen can't be wrong! We'll lay siege to his castle and bring back his head!
T: Broke, remember? No castle here.
B: Well, we weren't planning on a beast-hunt until you stole all the carnie-girl's jewels.
K: It was awfully rude of you.
T: True. Should I return them?
K: I mean...they were her Christmas gifts.
B: Harrumph. I should think so.
T: Oh. *guilty*

The stars her guide 'till her heart be ready

B: WHO IS SHE?
T: I her can't stand.
K: *restrains herself from ranting about 'till*
T: Oh, go for it.
B: So many pronouns . . . so few antecedents . . . I . . . can't . . . take it . . .
T: *Increases Birdie’s morphine drip*
K: No, I'll just...let her go ahead...and till whatever she wants to... Till away, pretty carnie lady. And all your pretty pink elephants. La la la.
B: *retreats to a corner to sob, muttering about the beauty of antecedents*
K: I wonder what her heart is getting ready for?
T: I mean, getting fillings can be scary.
B: But Herbie is a good dentist!
T: True, but she's never had such a good dentist.
K: And what the stars are guiding her through. Or to. Or...whatever.
B: Maybe the stars are guiding her across the hair-ocean?
T: That hair-ocean must be vast.
K: Oh it is. And very wavy.
B: Vast enough to have hairnamis, certainly.
K: That it is. Is Xavior helping her?
T: Xavior!
B: Xavior will come to the rescue!
K: That he will.
T: How noble.
B: No other constellation but Xavior the Turtle!
K: No, Xavior! Don't do it! Let her drown!
T: Please. Whoever she is.

She whispered to the night a song so fair

K: I talk to the night all the time.
B: Ah, but she whispered to the night. Much different.
T: No. You can't whisper a song. It's not possible.
K: It's a fair song, though. Those are special. Whisperable. *passes Tyrone the morphine*
T: Ah, so the night is the song. *takes quick whiff* Mmm. That seems decent. Hook me up.
K: No, the song is to the night.
T: But . . . but . . . . *shakes head*
B: I wonder what she was singing to the night. I normally tell the night about the day. After all, it never gets to see the daylight.
K: It's nice to keep it informed.
T: How sad. The day is very fair.
K: Well that's why the song has to be.
T: Too bad the night can never experience it.
K: I will invent a machine that lets day happen - during the night!
T: Yay!
B: Woot! Can I come?
K: Sure. Of course, it may destroy the entire space-time continuum. But who needs that anyway?
B: Oh. Well, I don't. Rarely ever use it.
T: Meh. All we need is to save the night from that horrible fate.
K: That's right.
B: *whispers in song* It's okay, Night! We will save you!
T: Aww. That's so sweet. *tissues*

That all the pearls of the ocean gathered there

K: Actually those are dandruff.
T: Very itchy, methinks.
B: I thought the beast stole all the jewels.
K: He did. Definitely no pearls left. Just dandruff.
B: And . . . the "there" that she's referring to is her song.
K: So it would seem.
B: So all these nonexistent pearls are gathering . .. at her song . . .
K: Songs are places too.
T: I mean, I travel to "Beautiful Day" on every other Sunday.
K: It reminds me of a much better poem...about a walrus and a carpenter...
B: The walrus and carpenter were mean! They lied! Is the carnie-girl lying too?
T: Oh, no!
K: Yes, that's how she's getting all the dandruff pearls to follow her. And then she is going to...eat them.
B: Ewch.
T: They react well to lies. Quite gullible, that dandruff.
K: You would be too if you lived in this poem.
B: May I ask what dandruff tastes like, that she would be inclined to eat them?
K: No, you may not.
B: Oh. Okay then. I won't, I guess . . .
T: Here. Have a pearl. *gives to Birdie*
B: Oooo! Shiny!
K: And you know that one is real, because all the real jewels were laden upon the beast. It's not some cheap dandruffy imitation.
B: Yay! The beast is sharing with me! Such a nice beasty-weasty!
T: So, I didn't steal them? They were laden on me? *confused*
K: You...um...both. Stop attempting continuity.

Over the mountains, past the sea

B: Over the river and through the woods!
T: To grandmother's house we go! *squeals*
K: *bursts into song* We sure do have a lot of scenery in this poem. We've set up a whole map by now.
B: *squeals*? Since when do beasts squeal? I thought they *raowr*'d.
K: That's what I thought.
T: I have a very complicated vocal tract. It squeals when it thinks that I've done something wrong. Like stealing jewels.
B: My, that's an . . . interesting . . . condition.
K: Your vocal tract thinks for itself? You should get that checked out.
T: Yeah, well . . . anyway. *blushes*
B: Ok, so, just to doublecheck, do we know at this point what it is that's over the river and through the woods?
K: And the mountains, and the oceans, and a glen, and a haven.
T: Nope. Just that all the dandruff wants to be there.
B: So are we just assuming that the dandruff pearls are gathering at the song's grandmother's house?
K: Seems as good a place for them as any.
T: I think that there's Head & Shoulders in the other direction. I'd run from that if I were dandruff.
B: But would even Head & Shoulders be able to get rid of an entire pearl made of dandruff?
K: An ocean full of them, no less.
T: There's an intensive treatment. Cleared up my dandruff like that. *tries to snap. fails miserably*
B: It's okay, beasty. It's hard to snap with those long claws of yours. *patpat*

To an unknown land, her lover be

T: Her lover's an insect?
K: I've heard of a lovebug, but not a lover be.
B: Wait, if she knows she needs to go over the river and through the woods, how is the land unknown?
K: Look! Even the...poet?...doesn't know where the heck we all are.
T: She's adventurous.
K: She certainly is. Maybe she just doesn't know which river or which woods.
T: She's running from the shampoo too. Trying to gather her pearls, I suppose.
B: Is this the wood in which Frosty resides?
K: Near Glenn perhaps?
B: Wait, does Glenn have dandruff? He was holding things on his shoulders, wasn't he?
K: His slopes, to be precise.
T: Glenn? I don't know Glenn.
B: Glenn was from the first part of the . . . "poem."
K: He was the one carrying the Pharaoh around earlier.
T: Oh. Like an Egyptian slave? Poor Glenn.
B: The Pharaoh that was resting on Frosty's boughs.
K: Because he laid her there.
T: Boughs?
K: Yes, boughs.
T: Itchy. Yet again.
B: Is any of this making any more sense to you than it did at the beginning, Kitty? I'm still lost.
T: I'm loster.
K: I'm....digging the morphine.
B: Although we have made progress. Now we have verbs to go with our subjects!
T: Yay!
B: *snuggles verbs*
K: What, are we considering "be" a verb?
T: No, Bee is the lover.
K: Oh, right. Very itchy indeed.
T: Do we have any antecedents?
K: Never. We don't believe in them
B: I believe in antecedents! *snuggles antecedents*
K: *steals the commas while Birdie is busy snuggling the antecedents*
T: Thief!
B: My commas!
K: It makes Jesus happy when we share.
T: May I have a comma?
K: *hands Tyrone a comma*
B: *sniffle* I've lost all my commas . . .
K: Why can't we share them all? They need all the love they can get.
T: Aw. Weren't there 3?
K: There were more than 3, there were all the commas in the world.
B: I guess . . . as long as you guys promise to only and always use them correctly!
T: *places hand on Strunk & White* I swear.
K: There will be no abuse of commas. But sometimes I may let them play.
B: As long as you don't let them out to people like Shia Zoo. Or *shudder* Kelticdream.
K: Never!
T: That's called abandonment. Malicious abandonment.
K: No, abandonment would be better for them. That's just plain cruel.
B: Cruel and unusual punishment.
T: But all too usual.
B: We can be like social workers! For commas! Free the commas!
T: *pickets*

Her tone strung high, her hope dipped low

K: Aaand she's singing again.
T: Not whispering this time, I see. Getting more comfortable with her voice.
K: I wonder why there is an inverse relationship between hope and tone. Maybe she's...a really lousy soprano?
T: The more hopeless one is, the better a soprano.
B: I didn't think one's voice was a string instrument. You were in dorkestra, Kitty. Correct me if I'm wrong.
T: No, it's a corded instrument. Very different.
B: So how is she stringing it?
K: Well...*gets out sharpie* "Her tone corded high".
T: *resists impulse to conduct anatomy lesson*
K: Believe me, we don't want to even think about this chick's anatomy...
T: *believes Kitty*

But alas there she could not go

K: I thought she already went?
B: Alas! She cannot get over the river and through the woods to her lover bee!
T: Is her name Alas?
K: She is a lass.
T: Oh. That makes sense. *hits morphine button*
B: We don't get names in this story. Just pronouns.
K: *has an idea* We should give her a name!
B: Oh, I love names!
T: Mmm. Fun.
B: *gets out a baby name book* How about Euphrasie?
T: I'm all for that.
K: Not sue-ish enough
B: Eu'phrasie the Beautiful?
T: Phrasie for short.
K: Eu'phrasiella the Magnificently Gorgeous, perhaps?
B: I love it!
T: Perfect. *christens*
B: But, um, Kitty and Tyrone? Who, exactly, did we just christen?
T: She.
K: I think we should make her the antecedent to all those poor pronouns and possessors.
T: Not her. We christened She. That's how one would shorten her name to one syllable.

Jingled bells as down she flew

K: Dashing through the snow...
T: So if Herbie's doing the fillings, is she Santa Claus?
B: Can Santa be a girl?
K: I hope not.
T: Can hair be an ocean?
B: Good point. We keep trying to make this make sense. Silly us.
K: You can mess with the oceans all you want, but nobody messes with Santa.
B: Santa can be creepy. He's a stalker, you know.
K: It's his job.
T: Not too good for stalking, those jingling bells.
K: They really aren't. Though being able to fly does help.
T: Quite true. *glances upward with trepidation*
K: *revelation* If she can fly, maybe that's how she got above Frosty's Boughs!
B: *gasp*
T: Genius! *crowns*
K: It's not a crown, it's a tiara.
T: Oh. My bad.
B: Your theory explains so much!
K: ...while still explaining nothing at all.
T: Not a thing. It's more fun than "huh?", though.

Across her chest the sword she drew

B: She's killing herself!
T: Such talent.
K: No, just tattooing herself.
T: Drawing a sword on herself. *tries the same, and ends up with a mess*
B: Be careful or you'll disembowel yourself. Yuck.
K: You would look funny with a sword tattoo anyway, Tyrone. Especially with all that fur.
T: Point. What if I shave it in? . . .No.
K: No.
B: *pictures this* . . . *tries to gouge out eyes*
K: I remember one of my brothers once got something shaved/drawn into the hair on the back of his head.
T: What did he have shaved on his head?
K: A Bills logo, I believe.
T: Exciting and, uh, fashionable. Right, fashionable.
B: Weird Buffalo people.
K: True fandom, baby.

It sparkled there in dazzling light

T: Glitter Sharpie!
K: Ooooh...pretty...
B: Wait, there's such a thing as a glitter sharpie?!
K: I want one!
T: Somewhere in the world, I'm sure.
B: I would die for a glitter sharpie!
K: I would kill Birdie for a glitter sharpie!
B: . . . hey . . .
T: *enjoys not being the hunted one*
K: What, your life in exchange for a glitter sharpie, I figured that was the going rate.
B: *cries* Nobody likes me, everybody hates me . . .
K: You should go eat worms.
T: Ew. Worms. Gross.
K: Well, she is a bird.
B: *dries eyes and sniffles* So, uh, to get back to the MST here . . . Do we know what "it" is?
K: Her tattoo.
T: The sword.
K: Or maybe the jingle bells.
B: Ah. Right. So really we have no idea.
K: What else is new?
B: Hooray ambiguity!
T: *arranges streamers*

She saw not her lover come in the dark of night

T: Not, her lover?
K: Can we move the "not"?
T: I thought the lover was Be.
B: Well, bees can fly at night.
K: I want it to say "she saw her lover not come in the dark of night."
T: How does one see something not come?
B: But maybe her lover did come and she just didn't see it. Because he was hiding from her.
K: That's what I want to change.
T: I've never seen an absence of coming and said that I saw the thing not come. *grammar nazi stuff*
K: And if you see someone staying still, then you see that they are not coming, don't you?
T: Ah. So Be is acting like a hummingbird. Just hovering there.
K: Exactly. He's a hummingbe.
T: Perhaps he hums in a whisper, too.
K: Ooooh, perhaps!

"Foul fate!" she cried in a voice so pure

B: Her pure, corded, voice for clouds!
K: That cries, and strings, and whispers songs!
T: But she's crying as well. This is a really talented soprano.
K: I'm not sure there is such a thing.
T: Point.
B: Altos are way better. *does the sweet alto dance*
K: *alto limbo!*
T: *goes under them all* Woot, basses!
K: Heck yes, I'd be a bass if I could.
B: I'm going to marry a bass and make him sing to me every day. *nodnod*
K: Hmm...so her voice is pure. But pure what?
B: Pure . . . venom?
K: Pure sewage?
T: Pure water?
K: Well that would make good clouds.

That announced her grief she could be sure

B: Pshew. As long as she's sure. We wouldn't want her to be uncertain about these things.
K: Well . . . she could be sure.
T: No! Stop trying to make sense in my head! *hits temple*
K: But we're not sure if she is.
B: Is there someone she's talking to? Or is she just lamenting her grief to herself?
T: Foul Fate, of course.
B: Ah. Of course.
T: Sounds like the name of a band.
K: Maybe she's got an intercom, or some kind of PA system that she's making this announcement over. With jingle bells playing in the background.
B: As she flies around, singing.
T: Well, if she attaches tin cans to each end of her hair, she could send messages a long way.
B: All the way across the ocean! How cool would that be!
K: Oh dear, does that mean the ocean of hair is following along behind her as she flies? This cold get dangerous!
B: Hairricanes! Hairnamis! Oh, Foul Fate!
K: ...and bears! Oh my!
T: *skips*
K: How very un-beastly of you.
T: I mean, I could squeal at the same time.
B: *weirded out* Please don't.
T: But I shall refrain. Don't want to scare the children.
K: Or us.

Thy won my heart with lovers' tricks!

T: Oh, no. More hearts being taken.
B: Fate won her heart?
K: The morphine must be getting to me, because I definitely read that as "ticks" rather than "tricks."
T: That makes sense. The ticks sucked out the blood so well that the heart came with it.
K: Eeeewwww.
B: Blech.
T: Wait. Thy? Thy what?
K: *attempting to distract herself from the lovers' ticks* Please notice "thy" is now a pronoun. Or possibly a regular noun.
T: It needs to possess something.
B: Maybe she's saying that "Thy won" is her "heart with lovers' ticks"
K: Maybe "Thy" is somebody's name? Short for...Thyrone?
B: That's it! She has a lisp! She was just trying to say Tyrone! Oh, Thywon!
T: That's so clear, Kitty. Thanks for making that obviously sensical.
K: You used ticks to win her heart?
B: Gross. You beast!
T: I've got enough in this fur. Plenty to share.
K: You stole her away from the bee!
B: Whoa. Too much information.
T: Well, what can I say? Ladies swoon at the sight of me.
B: Or the smell . . .
T: Hey . . . *sniffs armpit* Phew. Gotta fix that.
B: I'll say. I nearly passed out when you joined us.
K: *tosses you a can of odorant*
B: Ya got Old Dumpster?
K: No, but I have some low tide, and wet dog.

Annotate upon the beauty my heart doth pick.

K: . . .
T: I don't know where to start.
K: This chick is getting less coherent by the minute.
B: Is beauty like berries? You can stop by the side of the road and pick them?
K: Only if you're a heart.
T: With ticks. I can attest to that. I pick Beauty all the time.
B: Well, you are the Beast. *rolls on floor with laughter*
K: So who wants to bet "annotate" was one of the author's vocabulary words this week?
B: Can one annotate upon something?
T: If you're standing on it while annotating.
B: Ahhhhh.
K: I don't know if Belle would appreciate being stood on by some gross ticky heart.
T: Poor Belle, getting stepped on all the time.
B: *sings* Walk over me!!
T: *blinks*
K: I, um, don't think I know that one, Birdie. *backs away slowly*
T: Must be in the extended version.
B: I love that one! I'll have to sing the whole thing for you sometime! How about right now? *starts* Are you for real? Are you—
T: No.
K: How about not. *smothers*
B: *fights Kitty off* Fine then. Be that way. *harrumph*
T: No means no.

She gasped in grief, the stars wept

T: Inhaling grief doesn't sound too fun.
B: *overwhelmed* That's two subjects, each with their own verb! All in one line!
T: *shocked preen*
K: Wow! It's like a party! Of course, there was no connection of any sort between the two...
B: Well, naturally not. Baby steps.
T: Thus, no semicolon. Just a . . . comma . . . .
B: So random question: do stars weep fire?
K: Well, when we have a voice for clouds I'm inclined to think these stars are not made of fire like the normal ones.
B: Right right. The way this story runs, they're probably made of hair.
K: No no, that's the sea.
T: Mousse, actually.
K: I bet you're right. Chocolate mousse.
T: They look like dandruff in the sky. Mmmm, chocolate...
B: Pearls of dandruff, hanging in the sky, crying.
K: Have you been eating the pearls, Tyrone?
T: Um . . . of course not? Right, no. Never. *burps*
K: There is so much gross going on over there right now . . .
T: Is *stifled oral passage of gas* better?
B: . . . No. Not at all, actually.
K: Oh not the burp. . . the what you'd been eating. And your ticks.

But alas her dreams forever slept

B: Despite the fact that the stars were crying. Crying stars are like alarm clocks for dreams.
K: I didn't know dreams could sleep.
T: When a person is awake, their dreams sleep. Duh.
K: Makes perfect sense.
T: So she became an insomniac.
K: ...and eventually died? That would make me live happily ever after.
T: I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to She's death.
B: Foul Fate! We beseech you, take from us Eu'phrasiella the Magnificently Gorgeous!
T: Hear us!
K: Please! We're begging you!
T: Come, sing about love!
K: . . .what?
B: *perks up* So I can sing now?
T: Godspell. Never mind. Birdie, if you promise not to sing "Step on Me", or whatever that was.
K: Be fair!
B: *offended* It was "Walk Over Me" and it just so happens to be one of my favorite songs at the moment.
T: My apologies for mistitling the non-existent song.
K: Birdie makes up songs a lot.
B: It is not nonexistent! I have it on my lappy! And on CD! *sticks out tongue at Tyrone and Kitty*
K: Suuuure.

Anon return? The foolish nave!

K: Santa's back!
T: The foolish reader for getting this far.
B: Santa's a nave?
T: Not a knave. Of course not.
K: Nope, a nave.
T: Apparently, Saint Nick is the main room of a church sanctuary.
K: Maybe a navel.
T: Is he orange?
B: He's the bellybutton of the church!
K: Yes!
B: *sings* Cuz I need to tell you somethin': I don't got a bellybutton!
K: Why does she keep trying to sing?
T: *plugs ears* It's the morphine. A little too much, perhaps?
B: *sings and dances and skips about the room*
T: *speechless*
K: A lot too much.

Yet her heart pined still for one so brave

T: Hey, I ain't pining for anything!
K: Look! It's Frosty's boughs again! This really is a Christmassy...grocery list.
B: Maybe she's throwing a Christmas party?
T: I think the hair would be a fire hazard.
K: Maybe it's more like a guest list?
T: And what a list it is...
B: Frosty, Santa, Herbie, Foul Fate . . .
T: RSVP to She.
B: *RSVP's*: NO. I wouldn't come if you paid me.
K: That explains that initial call to the Sun Guy.
T: At least She's holding it in a church navel.
K: Better clean up the lint first.
B: Ewww. Why does this MST continually cross the line? Tattoos, ticks, oderant, linty navels . . .
K: And dandruff pearls, don't forget.
B: As I recall, we didn't have any problems with these things until Tyrone showed up . . .
K: You have a point.
T: *slinks away*

Elven-maid thy time is spent

K: Ding-dong! The Pharaoh's dead!
B: Your time is up! You can turn your egg-timer eyes off now!
K: Yay! The pumpkin is ready!
T: And give the hair to Locks of Love! Wigs for the generations. . .
K: Who would want them, though?
T: True. They are all dandruffy, after all.
K: You could just use it to rope a couple of sea turtles.
B: As long as it's not used to rope Xavior.
T: That would be sad.
K: It would.
T: Constellation abuse. It's a traveshamockery.

The moon is gone, the stars relent

T: Gone? Forever?
B: Oh no! Goodnight Moon!
K: *runs to get it back*
T: At least the stars are protesting its departure.
K: They are relenting. I wonder what they are relenting.
B: *sings* Stars, in your multitude, scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light . . .
T: They are the sentinels!
K: *shoves a sock down Birdie's throat*
B: *gags* *chokes*
K: *heimlichs*
T: *snorks*
K: A teeny, tiny, birdy heimlich.
T: Just a Heim, really.
B: Hypocrite! First you shove a sock down my throat and then you give me the Heimlich?
K: I only wanted you to nearly die.
B: Oh. Thanks. That means so much . . .
K: And then be indebted to me as your rescuer.
B: You wouldn't have had to rescue me if you hadn't tried to kill me! *runs off sobbing*
T: *offers tissue*
K: *grabs her back* Not yet you don't! We're nearly through!
T: Hope...in...sight...

Upon thy beauty a shadow lies

T: Well, if the beauty's being stepped on, of course there's a shadow. Probably some mud, too.
K: I should expect.
T: Or is it telling a mistruth?
K: You can never trust those shadows.
B: But I love me some silhouettes!
K: Well, those are awesome, it's true.
T: Yay! Someone spelled silhouette right! *hugs*
B: *hugs back* *throws confetti*
K: It is a hard word to spell, I'll admit.
B: Well, not everyone is as talented as I am. *preens*
K: Those confounded French and their extra letters...
B: How do most people spell it?
T: Silooet. Silhuit. Silut.
B: Silut? That doesn't even sound the same!
T: That's for the southern person who tries, slurs it, and gives up halfway through.
K: Sillawet! I'm going to call it a sillawet from now on.
T: Blasphemy! *sprinkles holy water*
K: You're just making it sillawetter!

May you forever search beneath the sky

T: For commas and antecedents.
K: Nice of her not to end this list with a period. Leaves us open to choose our own ending.
B: I . . . don't even know how to respond to that.
T: But She may not search above the sky. That's reserved for the relenting stars.
K: Of course. And the moon, if it ever gets back.
B: Pretty moon . . .
K: Pat the moon.
T: Is Pat the man in the moon?
B: I can never see the man in the moon! It's very sad.
K: Supposedly there are two of them
T: Pat has multiple personality disorder? Tragic.
K: Well you would too if you had been to this party...
B: *sings* Let's get this party started!
T: Oh, God...why?
K: She's allowed to sing that; it's an actual song.
T: An actual bizarre song. I veto.
K: And we do need to party. The story poem list is over!
T: Yay! I think I could, uh, growl *coughsquealcough* with joy!
B: Can we have chocolate-covered pretzels? I love those.
K: No, but we could have mousse-dipped dandruff pearls!
T: That sounds like a high-class hors d’oeuvre.
B: . . . . No thanks.
T: So is that it?
B: Gosh, I hope so. My mind can't take anymore. So we can call this one a wrap?
K: Yep.
T: Mind? What mind?
K: And now I can kill you.
B: *runs*
K: *runs after*
T: *showers*


*Fair Elven Lady

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, books or movies, and this poem is entirely fan-made.

Verse 1: Gone Again

Yonder fair oh Elven-maid
Above the frosty boughs was laid
To thee of golden distant sun
To eyes alight till heart 'ere done

A voice of song for clouds in air
And silver upon waves of hair
Cheeks of cream and eyes that beam
Her hands a sail on misted dream

Came up the slope of far off glen
A mystic maid of wonder then
Her shoes of gold her skirt of white
Her eyes sparkled in the blackened night

"Elven-fair!" cried a voice in sorrow
"To seek thee ever beyond the 'morrow
Light of light cast upon the earth,
And you fair lady, of royal birth"

"Rest thee in the golden haven,
Jewels upon jewels the beast be laden
I come to thou with gifts anon,
Wait for me there, for I have gone"

Sighed in drear the fair quiet lady
The stars her guide 'till her heart be ready
She whispered to the night a song so fair
That all the pearls of the ocean gathered there

Over the mountains, past the sea
To an unknown land, her lover be
Her tone strung high, her hope dipped low
But alas there she could not go

Jingled bells as down she flew
Across her chest the sword she drew
It sparkled there in dazzling light
She saw not her lover come in the dark of night

"Foul fate!" she cried in a voice so pure
That announced her grief she could be sure
Thy won my heart with lovers' tricks!
Annotate upon the beauty my heart doth pick.

She gasped in grief, the stars wept
But alas her dreams forever slept
Anon return? The foolish nave!
Yet her heart pined still for one so brave

Elven-maid thy time is spent
The moon is gone, the stars relent
Upon thy beauty a shadow lies
May you forever search beneath the sky