"MY FAIR FIDDLEGIRL"
by Fiddlegirl and Tommy Turtle
Fiddlegirl and Tommy Turtle Productions is proud to present their parody of the entire musical, "My Fair Lady", based upon George Bernard Shaw's "Pygmalion", with book and lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner and music by Frederick Loewe. The film version differs slightly from the record-setting Broadway production (longest run of any musical in Broadway history, at the time), as does "West Side Story". (Why???) The movie version is used throughout, as it's a lot easier to get a DVD of a movie than of a play. :)
OPENING -- SCENE 1
Why Can't Musicians Get Their Parodies To Pace?
"Why Can't The English?"
Professor Tommy Turtle, the world's most famous grammarian, parodist, and general authority on everything, finds one day a new writer at AmIRight, a professional musician named Eliza DoFiddle. Ms. Fiddle displays considerable raw talent for parody, but despite, or perhaps because of, her musical background and inherent ability to interpret and adapt, he finds her parodies, though funny, crude, unpolished, and generally lacking in technique. Her pacing and scansion are especially weak. He expresses his frustration as he votes and comments, and she replies.
Look at her: professional musician!
Condemned: wrong, many syllables' position
By rights, Sir ChuckyG should have her banned
For it's so da*nmed ab-surd!-Her many songs, mis-scanned
Oh, how immature.
This is what Miss Fiddle’s generation
Got from Lib'ral Arts-ish education
Oh, great… I have to listen to this ramble?
Look at my lines—pacing square
Not yours—beats are everywhere
Lengthen, shorten, any way you like...
Did they ... teach you *that* at school?
And if they did, you bossy mule?
We’ll have none of that, Miss Sassy Tyke!
Dear, your timing is the worst.
Hear the pacing of the verse?
Musicians ought to find subs just like “that”!
Know exactly what will “pass”
But not this one.
FG: (under breath)
I ask you, ma’am, what sort of word is *that*?
That attitude will never master pace
No more wretched insults, “in your face”!
Why can't musicians get their parodies to pace?
The turtle finds it easy: "First Time I Wore Your Lace"
If you wrote much sloppier
You’d never score past a “two”
There’s *no* parodist pace-poor as you
I beg your pardon!
A parodist’s feel for pacing absolutely classifies him.
If rhythm should balk, it makes all other parodists despise him.
On common page, the two of us must try to get
Oh, why can't musicians
Set a good example, to paro-dists, noobish, all grateful: what ear hears
Some folks, quite unstylish, find count in arrears
There even are places where "meter" completely disappears
Why, in America, they'll never learn it for years! 
Look at the practice from the music she has played
Exper'ienced meter reader; 'haps better: "meter maid"
Melod-ic'lly, rhythm flows from lyrical meter’s stress
The pace won't change from the words, actually, if singers would pronounce them properly.
A radiance, lovely, radiates from her: parodies, enlight'ning
But meter is bass-ackwards;
It could use a little tight'ning
Want proper pacing? You're regarded as a geek
Why can't musicians --
Why can’t musicians --
Learn ..... technique?
Despite their mutual disgust, the Professor reluctantly agrees to take Ms. DoFiddle under his flipper, and to mentor her in the ways of parody. They spend hour upon hour going over various aspects of technique. A curious phenomenon emerges: Their mutual hostility continues, but at the same time, there is a meeting of the minds, nay, a melding of the minds, occurring; subtly, but at times reaching almost ESP-like levels.
In Scene 2, Ms. DoFiddle, the Professor, and all AmIRighters voice their thoughts on how things are going.
 Couldn't resist the switch in meaning from "meter" as the structure of verse ("pacing", if you will) to a shot at the US's abominable failure to adopt fully the metric system, despite being supposedly the most technologically-advanced country on the planet. The only others who haven't adopted it: Burma and Liberia. Yeah, we're in great company there. (TT is ashamed of his fat, lazy, dumb countrymen.) Skip the following history and status should you like:
The use of the metric system was made legal as a system of measurement in the U.S. in 1866, and the United States was a founding member of the International Bureau of Weights and Measures in 1875. The system was officially adopted by the federal government in 1975 for use in the military and government agencies. In 1985, the metric system was made the preferred (but predominantly voluntary) system of weights and measures for United States trade and commerce.. It has remained voluntary for federal and state road signage to use metric units, despite attempts in the 1990s to make it a requirement. A 1992 amendment to the Fair Packaging and Labeling Act (FPLA), which took effect in 1994, required labels on federally regulated "consumer commodities" to include both metric and U.S. customary units. An amendment that would allow (but not require) metric-only labels is currently under consideration, and all but two US states (New York and Alabama) have passed laws permitting metric-only labels for the products they regulate.
Despite all of that, what you actually "see" (other than on your 750ml or 1.75 liter bottle of whiskey -- and who reads that -- or can, for that matter?) is still Imperial units (feet, miles, ounces, pounds, etc.), except in the scientific and tech communities, and on the tools of the mechanic who fixes your Toyota™ or BMW™.
The conversion has been described as "the now-stalled process... This process has been unsteady, with no end in sight. ...While the rest of the world has generally converted, the U.S. has, because of its size, been able to carry on with customary units, and there has been little political will to continue conversion." Send your Congressperson a 20-kilobyte e-mail, or snail-mail it: It's only 44 cents (44 hundredths of a dollar, or centidollars) for the first 28 grams.
"Today, the American public and much of the private business and industry still use U.S. customary units despite many years of informal or optional metrication. At least two states, Kentucky and California, have even moved towards demetrication of highway construction projects." Sigh -- moving backwards, as usual.
Wouldn't It Be Loverly?
FG is at her home, and TT, in his burrow. Though far apart, their ESP and general mind-melding cause them to start musing aloud at about the same time.
It's rather dull at AIR; perhaps I'll e-mail ChuckyG. Hmmm...
I'm getting sick of his nit-pick; try tough talk: Tommy T. Hmmm...
If not train wreck, but blended: Write it (bummer!) with FG!
BOTH, separate but equal:
Wouldn't it be loverly?
READER, to FG:
Why's he hound ya now, dear Ms. Fiddle? Little nits?
All I want is a site, unique
Far away from the Turtle's beak
So he cannot critique
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
All I want is a page somewhere
Far away from the censor's glare
To stare at derriére
And write of coupling lovingly
Oh, so lovingly writing of lamb-pooning at my will
I would never stop till lamb... and readers both had their fill!
Lots of voters who think I'm sweet
Lots of Fives, is my page replete
Away from flippered feet
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
All we want is a tune at AIR
Fiddlegirl: no one can compare
Prepare with care so rare
Until TT discovered me
"This, delete; that line's incomplete"
Feelings: cold; gives me lots of heat
"Watch pace and metric feet" 
Until I cry, "Oh, Brother! Gee!"
Oh, so talented, kitten; and so: groomin' skill by drill
I won't let her fudge one thing ... keep playing Jack to her Jill
Two good heads writin' par-o-dy
Render splendor, do he and she
At times, unfair to me
But sometimes, treats ... me lovingly.
Shove her, he?
Love her, T!
Oh, shouldn't it ... be: Tommy, me?
Dove, is she
Love me, T.!
Love her, T.!
Couldn't they team lovingly?
Unfortunately, their differences continue to overshadow both their good intentions and the good wishes of the AmIRighters. Will the Professor regret his decision to take her in? See Scene 3, and find out!
 "metric foot", or just "foot" (in verse) - a group of syllables, usually two or three but sometimes four, forming the basic unit of poetic rhythm. One word may contain many feet, and one foot may span several words.
For example, in this song, the main verse feet are two syllables each:
To stare / at der / riére
Let A Woman In Your Write
"I'm An Ordinary Man (Let A Woman In Your Life)"
In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle, Professor Turtle, and the AmIRighters expressed mixed feelings regarding the sometimes-positive, sometimes-frictional teaming of FG and TT. Finally, however, the Professor can take it no more, and ventilates to his friend, Colonel Nitpickering, his regret at having taken Ms. DoFiddle under his flipper.
Well, after all, Nitpickering, I'm an ordinary guy
Who desires nothing more than just to write about girls' pants
To speak of lesbians and dykes, while euphemizing terms like c***s...
An average horny guy; his fav'rite topic: quim
Who likes the single life, free from wife
Writing whatever he wants to, on a whim
Well... just an ordinary guy....
Let a woman in your write
And your obscenity is through!
No more lines about your bone
Or of pining to be blown
And what's even more appalling:
No more songs of balling --
Let a woman run your write
And she's making ev'ry call!
Sketch a song, and you will find:
Censors out that girl's behind
Loving lingerie so lacy?
Tells me, "No, that's much too racy!
"Cut it all!"
You want to write of Paris Hilton
She only wants to do "MacBeth"
But that is not quite up my alley
So I'm researching Mary's death
Let a woman share your song
And no more singing of your schlong
Let her make her d*mn demands:
"No more giggles at girls' glands"
I'd be equally as willing
For a waterboarded grilling
As to ever let a woman run my write
I'm a merry Turtle-man
Very erudite, my lectures
Always game to share my brain
Epitome: Turtilian kindness
Ne'er resorting to disdain
A gracious man am I, never, "the bird", he flips
The sort who always would, ever would
Share with his readers his Perfect Pacing Tips
A very mental man....
Let a gal collaborate
No penning puns about your lance!
"Your advice" she asks me, "please?"
And I share my expertise
Though she'll listen with much grace, she --
-- Turns my parodies from racy
I am a writer, crude and boorish
Who likes to make his readers blush
Forget my schwantz; she curbs my language
Writing "Love To Nail Her"? Shush!
Let a woman make the cuts
And she's cutting off your nuts
Let the others take hen-pecks
"It's not right: write rites of sex"
I would rather get all cozy
And to schtup O'Donnell, Rosie
Than to ever let a woman curb my "writes"
I'm a quiet kind of man
Who prefers to spend time hanging
At an underwater reef
Enjoying peaceful, quiet silence
And from people, a relief
Defensive man am I, of pedagogic ploys
Who likes to cogitate; strictly rate --
-- Other folks' parodies' pacing, girls and boys
Quite forgiving man....
Let a woman in your work,
And your erotica is through!
In e-mails that never end
Girlish, smarmy tripe, she'll send
Grief, imparting till I'm smarting
And to tell me, "No more farting songs for YOU!"
She wants to write of love and family
Harass your brassy sass, alas!
Post "Mari-an: Librarian"
*I* want to post 'bout piece of a*s!
Let a woman run the rite?
For a woman, be polite?
[incoherent chorus of female whining, moaning, b****ing, griping.....]
I shall never let... a woman... help... me write.
Will the Professor stick to his guns and decide to Chuck it all? See our next exciting episode, and find out!
 Mary Jo Kopechne, killed by the late U.S. Senator Edward M. Kennedy, who went unpunished and remained a Senator for the rest of his life -- another 40 years. See the links for our parodies of same, including the shameful details.
With A Little Bit Of Luck
In Scene 3, Professor Turtle regrets his decision to allow Ms. DoFiddle to enter his hitherto-unbreached shell. Eventually, though, he calms down and recollects the joys of posting at AmIRight, whose readers respond to his musings.
Sir Chucky made this site for entertainment
Which was a truly awesome thing to do
(although, at times, I wish that we got payment)
With a little bit of luck
And a little bit of pluck
I perchance received a laugh or two
With a little bit… with a little wit…
Why, some giggles, grins, hoots, chuckles, and laughs, too!
I'm sure my par-o-dies have made you groan some
I'm well aware my puns are putrid poo
And sometimes, writing gets a little lonesome
With an awful lot of luck
It's unlawful: so much luck
I met Fiddlegirl, and we were two!
Schmoozed a little bit… and the Fiddle bit…
Found a kid who’ll pit… her wits in sync with you!
So far, FG: Straight as an arrow
But with a little bit of luck,
She’ll run amuck!
Demented sex makes maid and turtle merry
Can we be good, and keep our songs all clean?
TT: his lex-iconic fav'rite: cherry
With a little bit of pluck
And if carefully, you duck
Two-entendre: sneak your puns, obscene!
With a little bit… hide ‘em in a “crypt”…
With a little bit of luck, they’ll get right through!
With a little bit… it’ll be a hit…
With a little bit of poonin’ luck!
They always threaten me with censor
But if quite cleverly, I tuck
Get nod from Chuck!
The sword of love leads man to whelp of neighbor
In afternoons, when no one else is home
If caught, the judge gives 20 years’ hard labor
With a little bit of luck,
Though the warden’s tongue might cluck,
Chat her up each week from prison phone!
Flirt a little bit… tat-for-tit a bit…
Give a little fit… in vis-its on the phone!
Be a little s*it… for a little bit
Get a little writ for bloomin’ luck!
[Interlude: AIR gossips about FG joining the "envelope-pushing" TT.]
Not banned; it played, which helps support my thesis
That you can write ‘most anything, it’s true
And Fiddlegirl will iron out the creases
With a little bit o’ luck
When I've no more clams to shuck
She has sense of humor just as blue!
With a little bit… no, they'll never quit…
With a little bit o’ luck she’ll pull him through!
With a little bit… they can be legit…
With a little bit o’ bloomin luck!
Against guide-lines for parodists: sex, panderin'
And give ChuckG's poor heart another clout
By makin' rhymes: up skirts, to take a gander in
When you're out of rhymes for "luck"
Find out finally: Shvantz, Stück
You can always leave some room for doubt!
With a little grit... You can "fiddle" it
They'll acquittal it; your schmuck won't be left out!
You can whittle it... then submittle it
Non-committal, it: muck snuck, not struck!
Non-committal, it: muck snuck, not struck!
Tune in tomorrow for our next exciting episode, in which Ms. DoFiddle weighs in!
Just You Wait, Tommy Turtle
"Just You Wait"
In our last exciting episode, the previously-pi**ed Professor reconsiders his regrets and recalls the rewards of AmIRight and of his new-found partnership.
However, all is not well in Parodyville. Ms. DoFiddle has begun to chafe from the Professor's constant constructive criticism in persistent pursuit of perspicacious parodic pluperfection, or, as she calls it, "nit-picking".
Just you wait, Tommy Turtle, just you wait!
You’ll be sorry; Turtle tears will fall—too late!
I’ll be popular and funny
Sell my songs for heaps of money
Just you wait, Tommy Turtle—just you wait!
Just you wait, Tommy Turtle—think you’re slick
‘Cause your parody ideas fly double-quick
But a whisper to the mortals who stand guard o’er the AIR portals…
Oh ho ho, Tommy Turtle, just you wait!
Oooooo, Tommy Turtle!
Just you wait until you’re deep beneath the sea!
Hey, Tommy Turtle!
And the other guys all want to write with me
When the posse comes around
At *my* pace, we’ll write ‘em down!
Oh ho ho, Tommy Turtle!
Oh ho ho, Tommy Turtle!
Just you wait!
One day I’ll be famous for my sweet pseudonym
Garner thousands of straight “5” sets again and again
One evening, our King will say:
"Ms. Fiddle, dear thing,
"I want AmIRight-ers your praises to sing"
"Next week I, Sir ChuckyG, shall say
"I proclaim Liza DoFiddle's day!
"All the writers will celebrate your glorious skill
"And whatever you ask of me, I’ll grant it—I will!"
"Thanks a lot, ChuckyG, I’ve been going through hell
"And all I want is Tommy Turtle's shell!"
"Done!" says the Man, "Bring him in"
"Guy, TJ, grab Terra-pin!"
Then they’ll march you, Tommy Turtle, shell and all
And Sir ChuckyG will tell me, “Watch him crawl!"
As they click their “one” votes dire,
I’ll shout: "Mouses: Aim, Fire!"
Oh ho ho, Tommy Turtle,
Down you’ll go, Tommy Turtle!
Just you wait!
Will they get back together and resume his mentoring, her education, and their partnership? See Scenes 6 and 7, and find out!
Poor Professor Turtle
"Servants' Chorus (Poor Professor Higgins)"
In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle expressed her venom at the tyrannical Turtle's terrible tirades. Nonetheless, she really does want to succeed at parody. She resigns herself to yet more hours of repetition of his exposition, and humbly returns for her lexical lectures and lessons. The AmIRighters are by now admiring the Professor's profound patience and persistence.
Poor Professor Turtle
Sore, Professor Turtle
'Spite dismay, he'll bravely stay
Inure, Professor Turtle
Right her wrong; don't retreat
Smile, not frown; do not succumb --
-- Till she's best, 'cause she's sweet
Though a little dumb
[Interlude, as the Professor makes another try at the seemingly-hopeless Eliza]
Poor Professor Turtle
Sure: possess her, Turtle
On he plods; she numbly nods
Endure, Professor Turtle!
Get to scan
Work till midnight! Get it right!
[showing FG how to count syllables]
Four... five ... six... syll'bles
[continues to try to teach FG how to count and match syllables and stresses, and to syllable-match/rhyme where possible.]
Quit, Professor Turtle
Split, Professor Turtle
Ne'er will she
No wit, possesses Fiddle!
Make it rhyme! Match somehow!
She's confounding; Can't be trained
Take your time; Keep your vow
Don't stop try'n'; Explain!
[to FG, slowly, as to a moron]
The name of game: remaining in the vein
Will Eliza *ever* get it right? Tune in for our next exciting episode, and find out!
To Reign, Hussein Must Plainly Beat The Dame
"The Rain in Spain"
In our last exciting episode, the valiant, never-say-die Professor Turtle struggled on with his obstinate student, as the AmIRighters empathized with his misery. The struggle to make a proper parodist of her, and to enlarge her repertoire, continues.
PROF. TURTLE: [spoken]
Ms. Fiddle, if you wish to write *political* parody, you must *understand* the situation first.
Now, listen carefully:
John McCain is a decorated war hero who spent five and a half years in a North Vietnamese prison camp, where he was brutally interrogated almost every day. He still bears wounds from that, and lost most of the use of his right arm. His experience of thirty years in the Senate dwarfs Obama's.
So, the Democrats cannot attack McCain directly. However, Barack Hussein Obama has youthful good looks and charisma, is an eloquent speaker, and holds the race card.
Therefore, in an effort to combat the fact that the news media gave 99% of their coverage to Obama, with MSNBC practically kissing his behind on camera, McCain chose a female VP candidate, and quite the looker, too -- the perfect thing to get some attention back to the GOP.
Unfortunately, she proved to be not too bright. So *that* is where the Dems need to attack.
[FG looks at him blankly, uncomprehending]
Here, let me see if I can put it more simply:
[spoken slowly; bored, weary, and almost hopeless]
To reign, Hussein must plainly beat the dame
To reign, Hussein must plainly beat the dame
[startled, looking up with renewed attention]
What was that?
Her mane, acclaimed; Won fame; This dame’s "got game" 
The game, it’s plain: defame and tame her flame!
I think she's got it! I think she's got it!
Sustain campaign, and White House, you’ll attain
By George, she's got it! By George, she's got it!
Now, once again, where is this dame?
With McCain! With McCain!
And how can she be slain?
FG, TT, and Col. NITPICKERING, in unison:
Campaign, Hussein, from Florida to Maine
ALL, in unison:
Just feign disdain for small-town dame’s domain
In Hartford, Houston, and Hawaii --
-- Hillary hardly happened
[TT plays the xylophone] 
[spoken, to rhythm of chimes]
How blind was she to Leftist’s charm!
Now, once she came, where was the stain?
On the dame! All the blame!
On map, where'd she place Spain?
Take aim, fair game, declaim the name: Hussein
Free reign, obtain: Proclaim your fame, no shame!
[bantering back and forth as they dance - cha cha, Flamenco, folk dances, etc.]
Tell me, what *should* Bill Clinton do?
Must refrain! Poon, abstain!
Joe's hair -- can you explain?
[ad libbed] 
Alaska's claim to fame: her fetching frame
To gain the reign, must mainly beat the dame
But why is *she* Obama's bane?
And how does she drive men?
She'll drain your gains cuz' she ain't no plain Jane
Because she's vain, you have to pull her chain!
Refrain remains: Be Seinfeld to Elaine!
Hussein: obtain and maim claim of lame dame!
Success at last! Tune in to our next exciting episode, as the erudite exegeses and their excellent elaboration by Eliza elicit exuberance!
 Former winner of 'Miss Wasilla' (town in Alaska) beauty pageant.
 For those who haven't seen the movie, this is paralleling a movie scene: Professor Henry Higgins plays the xylophone in the rhythm and pitch in which he wishes Eliza Doolittle to speak, as part of the overall goal of teaching her proper speech, manner, and grace.
 The two couplets above match an instrumental in TOS. The remainder, until the final "Ole", isn't in TOS, but we were having too much fun with it :-)
We Were De-Pantsed All Night
"I Could Have Danced All Night"
In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle's hours and weeks under Professor Tutle's grueling turtleage -- pardon me, Professor Turtle's grueling tutelage -- actually, "turtleage" works rather well, thank you -- finally pay off, as she succeeds with her lessons for the first time. As Scene 7 ended, they were dancing joyfully in celebration. And as sometimes happens in such cases, one thing led to another, and before they even realized what was happening...
Bed! Bed! We spent all night in bed!
Gave head, love bites, and then I sent him down
He gave up sheep tonight
No more does he drool at woolen mound!
We were de-pantsed all night
We nudely pranced all night
On bed, or on the floor
We did a thousand things
We wore out all the springs
No, never did we bore
I don't know just why so much lust, inciting
Perhaps because, Shakespeare, recite
I only know when he
Made real romance with me
I could have stayed de-pantsed
It's after two now
List'ning to you now
We'd rather sleep instead
We were entranced all night
My pole was stanced all night
Allure: a lure: amor
I played the Fiddle's strings
Each felt as though had wings
Off bal-cony, could soar
I'm all aglow; why find her so inviting?
Perhaps 'cause puns, pens partner, bright
I only know when she
Allowed advance from me
Admission grants, my lance
Would you shut up, please?
More quiet shtup, please?
We'd like to get some sleep
FG and TT in unison, so to speak :)
Each other: glanced all night
Did things from France all night
Hardcore rapport galore
All these "em-bed-ded" flings
Such climax grand, it brings
Tomorrow, we'll be sore
Above, below; all parts are so delighting
As all the fireworks ignite
We only know when we
Combined FG, TT
We took a chance; enhanced:
Oh... my... gosh... What's happening here? Is it sustainable? Is *he* "sustainable"? Tune in to our next exciting episode, and find out!
Ass Hot To Trot
In our last *really* exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle and the Professor, both delirious over her delightful delivery and demonstrations of her dutiful diligence to the demanding didactic, dumbfoundedly discovered demselves denuded in de bed, deliciously devouring each other. Will dis saga continue, or will dis saga sag?
Ev’ry Luke and Earl is dear, but here
Is a Tur-tle who is without peer
Mattress thrashing, into headboard crashing
Nectar melting fast; our play, risqué
No abatement to the forces
Fating that we two should lie this way
Foreplay skipping, hurriedly unzipping
Momentary rashness; judgment gray
Pulse is ... rushing! Face is ... flushing!
Heartbeat ... speeds up! Steed, in-deed; he keeps his reed up!
Never reckoned how ... she would sin for fun!
Got her bells all ringing
She is springing forward- YESSSSS!
[seconds go by—catching breath]
What a frenzied session that was!
I could get accus-tomed
to Tommy's pace
Fiddle’s thrilling, passionate and willing;
How about tomorrow, at my place?
[They cuddle and rest for seven minutes] 
Man above all men!
Want another one?
What? Again, already?!
Thanks to head, he's horny!
-ie, one more, can!
Is this a lasting treasure, or just a moment's pleasure? Tonight, the light of love is in her eyes, but will she love him tomorrow? Correctly, words, she's written. And swears that he's the only one. But will his beak be bitten, when his tripe has once more begun? Tune in to our next exciting episode, and find out!
 The movie has a seven-minute interlude here before the song resumes. Also a reference to "The Seven Minutes" by Irving Wallace, © 1969, a fictional novel about the trial of an author of a book banned for obscenity; the novel deals with the fundamental issue of free speech vs. censorship. Wikipedia has a page on it, for more info and to grok the reference a little more deeply.
On The Beach Where He Lives
"On The Street Where You Live"
In our last exciting episode, parodic ecstasy evolved into erotic ecstasy for one glorious night. But how does each feel in the light of day?
When he wrote about the lambs he boffs each noon,
He completely done me in
And I love that she's picked up a new word, "poon"
Thinks it bold, poetic, rather than a sin
But together, we might write enchanting farce
If I got her well-redoubted
Parodies to .... (parse!)
I have often walked down the beach before
Hot and sandy; seems I’d always rather teach before
Nowadays do I… look for Turtle guy
Knowing I’m on the beach where he lives
In Sargasso Sea, does much food abound? 
I no longer park with any other brood around
I'm indiff'rent for any diff'rent shore
Knowing you're on the beach where I live!
And now, my dreams have no ceiling
I’m aglow just knowing he’s near
With hope, at water’s edge, kneeling
For any second, he may suddenly appear!
Lifeguards point and stare; men are mobbing me
Could be Hasselhoff, but *Tommy*: Hot and bothered, me!
My heart only beats for my Turtle sweet
Love’s in reach on the beach where he lives!
[Musical interlude while FG opens her laptop and checks the latest submissions and posts on AIR…scanning threads for TT’s comments…]
As for guys at AIR, all so fatherly .
I love all of you, but Tommy, I would rather see
His four flippered feet make our team complete
Heights, we reach, on the beach where he lives!
They've melded mentally, paired parodically and physically, and the two have become one, as a writing team. They are ready to debut their combined works at AmIRight. How will they be received? Plauded or panned? Will success ruin them? Will failure sour them? Tune in to our next exciting episode, and find out!
 "Sargasso Sea" - an area roughly in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by the currents that run clockwise around said Ocean. Said currents were used by sailing ships to travel from Europe to the New World and back.
Being in the middle, the area tends to be calm of both wind and current, and therefore accumulates a great deal of seaweed, especially the species "sargassum" (from whence the name). Sailing ships could thus become becalmed there, and some species of turtles hatched in Florida and neighboring areas are believed to swim there, both to feed on the seaweed and to hide from predators, until maturing and growing large enough to fend for themselves in open waters.
You Did It
In our last exciting episode, Eliza DoFiddle has finally followed, and fallen for, Professor Turtle. They produce their first team effort
, a modest parody, but it succeeds. Encouraged, Eliza exhorts the exalted Professor to collaborate with her on a "Big 7" parody she has started, but on which she has reached Writer's Blockhead: the dreaded "American Pie". The perennially-proud Professor eagerly agrees, and they dare to post the very next day their parody of it
. Despite the close scrutiny of the despised Zodarn Pathetic, a megalomaniacal, wanna-be parodist who is not nearly so talented as he thinks he is, and spends most of his time writing fact-free rants and diatribes, it is a smashing success for the dramatic debut of the duo.
That night, Col. Nitpickering and the Professor celebrate, as Ms. DoFiddle sits by and watches, waiting for her kudos. But do her kudos ever kome?
By Chuck, TT, she did it
Your bidding; no kidding
She really tried to screw it
But TT, forbid!
I really thought she blew it
Redoubted debut, it
Thought she should be committed
But proceed, you did
You have shown such mettle
Should be King of AmIRight
Aren't I something?
All alone, you tamed that little Fiddlegirl, contrite
I'm great; Five, rate
Good editor, it's true
But some of the stories came from you!
[indicating Nitpickering, disappointing Liza's expectations]
Infinitive, she split it
She did it; you bit it
From horrors, did you halt her
Made her worship at your altar
Though she pout about it
You......... did it!
The folks all raged and cheered tonight
As TT's rhymes, they'd all recite
Ever admiring contents of your skull
Shortly after it was up
I knew our cup, they'd sup from, and yup:
Each reader: "Phat!" My genius, they would mull
You should have seen the Fives, applause
Ev'ryone marveling: lack of flaws
You'd think they'd never seen perfection before
And when The Prince of Meg'lomania came to greet her
Tried to disarm new leader, all adore
I said to him, "The Fiddle --
"You diddled and twiddled"
She gave you so much static
But you're *so* darned charismatic
And ev'ry-one knew
That you... did it
Gosh darn it, for Zodarn Pathetic
If it hadn't been for Fid, I'd have derided, scorned him
Pathetic! That dreadful Parodian! Such hot air!
Yes, he was there all night, to get in his own licks
That a-hole, who thinks he's a parodist, smart
Total wack, who would kindle a fart
He makes up his mockeries, mostly of muck
But sought to know what makes DoFiddle pluck
Ev'ry rhyme, though so profound
On it, he would try to pound and criticize
Envy seething to the bone, vainly did he try, this drone, to witticize
All our lines derided—what a fool — he’s not half-worthy of one glance at her
But I stepped aside ... and let him prance for her
Oozing smarm that all abhor
He roiled his way toward Fiddle's score
Blessed with wit of bale of hay
He tried to rip Fid's fine display
A vote half-assed, a triple-One
Aglow, so smug at what he'd done
Though with an IQ meager,
Lacking style, but awed,
He pronounced to the posters
That she was ... unflawed!
Her pacing is too good, he said;
A skill that to her, clear-ly must be foreign
Whereas turtles are constructed: experts, native language,
And although she may have gone to college in the Ivy League, perhaps Bostonian
I .. can .. tell .. that .. she was trained ... Chelonian! 
Not only Chelonian, but His Royal Good
Yes -- by King Mydas! 
"Her rhymes," he said, "are truer than Pathetic's are or ever were
"Expertise is absolutely fitted in each line
"I thought my songs superior, but actually, they never were
"How could she receive more plaudits, numerous, than mine?"
"I know how parody, can fertile, be
"Her mind's as fertile and as grammarian as The Turtle be!"
Five ... Five ...... Fiiiiiiiiiiiive!!!
Congratulations, Professor Turtle
For your victory tonight!
Our salutations, Professor Turtle
You're the King of all AmIRight
COL. NITPICKERING and the AMIRIGHTERS, in unison:
And the credit for it all belongs to you!
Eliza's been sliza'd! The Fiddle: belittled, bespittled, bewhittled. What will she have to say to that? Tune in for our next exciting episode, and find out!
 "Chelonia mydas" is the Latin genus and species name of the green sea turtle, e. g., TT.
In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle's and Professor Turtle's first major team project, their parody of "American Pie"
, is a smashing success. However, the Professor -- sooo uncharacteristically -- seems to be claiming all of the credit for himself! Stung, Eliza stomps out of his cyberspace. When she returns, he starts in on her again -- but the Professor has a surprise in store. She flings his derisiveness back in his face, and demands to be made an equal partner. Uh-oh -- sparks are gonna fly....
Geek, she will never be; bull, flinging
I feel like wringing
Her neck for her words
Such flippant smart-ass! Hear her mumble
And whine and grumble
Fiddle, I'm so...
Words, words, words! Why's he such a nerd?
Sermonettes all day through
Telling me what to do
Should flip him the bird-- wouldn't you?
“Think you're a star? Learned quite enough?
"TT's too gruff?-- Show me!
“To be a team is your desire?
"Perfect: require-- know me!”
Lyrics vetting, shredding in the middle of the night
“Don't mix up stress, just write it right
"Anyone who's read my Pacing Tips
'll tell you that!
"Maybe it's time for a chat”
“Put in ellips-...-es when you pause
"E-rase your flaws.” Slows me... Snows me!
“Ne-glectful of... metrical rhyme”
Thinks I'm an ungrateful cow
Ooooohhh... and how!
Sneers at my songs; calls them all crimes
“Don't waste my time-- pro: me!”
Rough-hewn, my tune; juvenile scrawl
No good at all! Woe, me!
Severs each endeavor; won't he cheer a single word?
There is no rule I haven't heard
If we wrote together, I know we could be a dream
But his critiques make me scream!
Think of his charms melded with mine
Keep me "in line"? Oh, me...Blow me!
Don't grate and drill, inking my lines
Team up with Fiddlegirl now
Make .... them "wowww!"
Will the Professor cave in? It wouldn't be like him, would it? Will Eliza recant? Can't she? Cant, she? Tune in to our next exciting episodes, and find out!
Let Me Do My Own Darn Rhyme
"Get Me To The Church On Time"
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.
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…
Let her do her own!
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
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!
Fault-finding, each mistake, recording
No song is safe from Turtle’s slime
(Moron!) Flaming invective
Just let me do my own darn rhyme!
He doesn’t know that ev’ry morning,
She’s steamed and lookin’ for a fight!
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!
Our sweet Fiddlegirl… he’s past reforming
Sad story seen a dozen times
Need drugs or whiskey
Op-pose him? Risky…
Might leave me in the lurch-
Her good rep, besmirch
But I still need to work my own darn rhymes!
Gone: we'd not miss him
We'd like to bris him
Just leave alone this lass, sublime
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!
Got Parton’s “table”?
Legs like B. Grable?
Or Palin’s features, lines "just fine"?
[much more slowly]
Let’s get him smashed, and off to bed, now
Help Fiddlegirl play trick so sly
No pris’ners taken
With sun, Tom "hung" 
Songs free ... to fly!
With shell mosaics, walls adorning
So long to Tommy—Fiddle’s primed!
[gradually resuming original tempo]
From chrys’lis emerging,
Because you let her write
Fin'lly got to write!
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!
 "hung"(-over), of course. But... (cough)...
Why Can't The Fiddle Be More Like I Am?
"A Hymn To Him (Why Can't A Woman Be More Like A Man?)"
In our last exciting episode, Ms. DoFiddle yelped at the yoke of the slave-driving Professor Turtle. She vowed to escape from that yoke, write her own yokes -- uh, jokes -- and her own entire rhymes, for that matter, and hied off in a huffy hissy fit.
Professor Turtle, of course, cannot understand such ingratitude, when he has spent most of his waking hours trying only to help her. He turns for reassurance to his friend, Colonel Nitpickering, asking: Is he really the slave-driver she makes him out to be? Is he not truly a kind and decent man, so generous with his time and attention? Why does Ms. Fiddle feel this way? Why can't she see things from his point of view?
What in all of Heaven could have prompted her to split?
Really! -- The unmitigated gall!
With my know-ledge, blessed her
Thought I had impressed her
I cannot grok the little twit at all!
Fiddlegirl's irrational! She thinks that she's "all that"!
Her stresses stink; her pacing often lags!
I give her my elucidating, educating, elevating,
Cultivating Five-ly-rating exegeses, but she calls them "nags"!
Nitpickering, why can't the Fiddle be more like I am?
I beg your pardon?
Yes! Why can't the Fiddle be more like I am?
Tactful but honest; I really do care
Forgiving of error; folks' feelings, I spare
To your song, I'll always Five and tip my hat
Why can't the Fiddle ... be like that?
Tell her there will never be another "her"
Can't the Fiddle learn what I have said?
Why is she complaining that I smother her?
Why does she throw up ... call me a bother; a dread?
Why can’t her manners ... be more like TT's?
Always so pleasant, and never would tease
Why, ev'ryone loves him; so easy to please
Do AmIRighters really think I need cold showers?
Of course not!
Are they livid if I write of bonking ewes?
And are they sickened by my talk
of virgins’ flowers
Well, why can't the Fiddle ... be a flooze?
Quite the vaudevillian, no doubt of it
Now and then, so gent-ly, he corrects
Some, of his uncouthfulness
, will pout a bit
But - known by all ... to be the Master of Lex
Why can't the Fiddle - be more like I am?
I'm always so friendly at sharing my mind
Well-lettered companion, polite and refined
If I were scouring for quim, sir, would you bellow?
Of course not!
If I worked hard to make your mirth play, would you fuss?
Is she the "Sally" to my "Tom" at Monticello?
Well, why can't the Fiddle ... be like us?
Why can't the Fiddle ... be more like TT?
Never indecent; avoiding all flaps
Never a yelp, de-spite anyone's lapse
Buddy to ChuckG, yup! Exemplary, become
Why won't the Fiddle ... just succumb?
Why is pacing something Fiddle never gets?
And why do all her syllables collide?
Ones and Twos from AIR are all she ever gets
Why won't she .... study and say "yes" to my Guide
Why can't the Fiddle ... behave as I do?
My ratings are zooming; my writings enthrall
I'm hailed as an expert, by one and by all
Would I start b*tching when my knowledge, I am showing?
Or carry on at fine-tooth comb wrought by TT?
Would I stomp off forever; stop my brain from growing?
Why can't the Fiddle ... be like me?
Will Ms. Dofiddle come to her senses and return, grateful for the Turtilian tutorials? Tune in for our next exciting episode, and find out!
In our last exciting episode, Professor Turtle, puzzled, bewildered, and, to be honest, a little bit miffed, at the excoriating exit of the frivolously foolish Fiddlegirl, is reassured by his faithful friend and companion, Col. Nitpickering, that the Professor is a fine fellow, ever mellow, despite her bellow. Thus, when she confronts him, he expects her to be begging for forgiveness.
For the first time in his entire life, the Professor is wrong.
What a duel it’s been; an abomination cruel
You stink! *You* pan my mirth; I cry
Aren’t *you* the jewel? Stern and stubborn as a mule;
But I’m finished! You may quote, “Goodbye!”
Ciao, you inflated bag of wind;
Paro- Star! Watch the Fiddlegirl ascend!
Too sensitive—fussy! These modern ideas that she’s read are absurd, North and South. I’m *not* gonna go there.
Folks ... will ... post, have no fear, without you
AmIRight will be here without you
There'll be Fives, sets of three
Plenty more paro-dy
There'll be Sir Chuck-yG without you
Lyric satire will thrive without you
We won’t fret; we’ll survive without you
Though your ego is vain from your brilliance, it’s plain
There’s no e-ternal flame lit for you
We can do.......
You, dear friend, who pace so well,
You can go to Hartford, Houston, and Hawaii!
Chuck can still run this page without you
I will be all the rage without you
Find a new gal to screw, ‘cause I’m through!
You crazy wussy!
Without your kenning it, the tide has turned
My Cae-sar “salad days”, like Cleo, spurned
No doubt your pushiness will now subside…
If AIR can do without you, Tommy—So can I!
I have friends of my own: nice men, too
Kind, encouraging, sweet -- not like you
Just stay there in your shell
I can write bloody well
TT: [singing] interrupts:
By...... Chuck, I really did it!
Wit pitted; out-witted
I said I'd make a writer from a noobish kid
'Spite times that I thought, "Screw it",
Work through it; pursue it
I'd make an AmIRighter, and exceed, I did!
Ms. Fiddle, you are punster-ful!
The Impressor is professed! (Sorry, folks, it's been a rather grueling write for both of us. One more try:) The Professor is impressed! He's made a professional-quality parodist of her, as he set out to do -- and he actually admires her new independent spirit!
But has there been too much water under the dam -- or is it "over the bridge" -- or is it "off the bridge"? No, that
was our Chappaquiddick series
Anyway, can they patch this all up, or must they forever go their separate ways? The thrilling conclusion is next!
I've Grown Accustomed To His Pace
"I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face"
In our last exciting episode, Ms. Eliza DoFiddle declared her independence from the Professor, as she felt that she did not need him, or his "assistance", any more. The Professor, au contraire, was delighted at her parodomaturation, and admired her new independent spirit, yet still feels that they would do better as a team than if they were to go their separate ways - and that she needs him. (And he, her? He'd never admit it!). But is it too late? Is this the end of Team Fiddle-Turtle?
Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!
Can’t get accustomed to his pace
He’s picky as the day is long
Shreds all my brilliant lines to bits
With half-a-million nits
“Off here—you see?
Not hard, watch me!”
Ms. Fiddle’s pacing, pure disgrace
Should be on list of Deadly Sins
If she would only be more careful with her counts in every line,
Read my Guide To Perfect Pacing
: Homework, I ... assign
But as it is, can’t overlook
Each rough, misguided choice
She *must* learn ... how to ... pace!
“Write with Turtle!” What an infantile idea. What an impulsive, naïve, foolish thing to do. I’ll regret it; I’ll regret it! I’m doomed to have each lyric disavowed!
I can see me now, Mrs. Fiddle Writing-Hood
Typing on my little keyboard, fingers sore
I can see me now, with pneumonia taken ill,
Mind fatigued, but still the Turtle, stern: “Once more!”
I’ll try to write the way he wishes
And end up writing jingles instead
Wishing I were with the fishes
While Professor floods my lyrics with red!
In a year or so, when her fans have gone away
And the Five-ings that she seeks have turned to squawks
She'll come back, bow low, and be begging on her knees
For the erudition of the Turtle Talks
Poor Ms. Fiddle. Back then, so spiteful!
Now, ingratiating! And invite-ful!
How gratifying: she, in massive emails day and night
As she clamors, "Teach me more, to write your way"
Pitiable that only with me can she write right
Will I take her back, or let her drown in Ones?
Give her lessons or a spanking for her nerve?
Will I share with her my ... most impressive clout?
But I'm a Turtle, ever kind
Although a sheep, I would; never could --
-- Stop exposition, or even hold a grudge
With all, I share my mind
She'll not have another crack
If she were begging, "Pretty please"
Let her write it on her own
Let her readers gag and groan
I'll help no more; condemned forever: Threes!
“Write with Turtle”—Ha!
But maybe soon I’ll hear him say
“You got it, kid! Hooray!!!"
No more of those:
"Pace: second nature to you now
"None leaving out; wit, weaving in
"And though you’re not a math’matician;
"For analysis, no clue;
"Still, I’m very happy
"To be writing songs ... with you"
I’ll be so proud to share "my space”
With Turtle here on AIR;
Accustomed to his pace
Professor Turtle, back in his den, is pacing (so to speak) aimlessly, not knowing quite what to do with himself. Attempting to stifle the urge, but failing, he boots his computer and reads some of Eliza DoFiddle's early "parodies", seemingly such child's play, so many lessons ago ... was it weeks, months, or years ago? Time is a blur...
He flips to her recent works and to their collaborations, noting the amazing contrast. He recalls the time spent together, sometimes quarreling, sometimes frustrating, sometimes an agonizing effort, but in his heart, he knows that something deep within Eliza has touched something deep within himself.
He trembles for a moment. What good is it to have a shell if it can be breached so easily?
Angry at himself for his momentary weakness, he shakes it off as he would shake parasites off his scales. He collapses into his recliner, head in his hands, and mutters to himself aloud.
[spoken, shocked at the sudden epiphany]
I've ... I've grown accustomed to her grace!
He hears a click of the laptop lid being closed. He looks up and is startled to see in the doorway --
[spoken, mimicking her initial awe of the Professor]
I read your Pacing Tips
before I came, I did. 
The professor tries to stifle a smile and his joy, as unsuccessfully as he tried to stifle his heartbreak a moment ago. Feigning the pseudo-superior smugness that had been too real for too long, he lifts his head and eyes to meet hers, smiles, then relaxes back into his recliner with a look of contentment and happiness.
Fiddle, dear, please fetch my slippers -- all four of them. 
She brings his four slippers and crawls into the recliner with him, tucking her head on his shoulder as he puts his flipper around her and draws her close. They snuggle, happy together. 
And they were Merried (and Pippined)
, and parodied happily ever after! 
 SPOILER ALERT: If you haven't seen the movie and don't intend to, the actual footnote is below all the copyright stuff. If you haven't seen it and intend to, or saw it but forgot it and might see it again, don't read that footnote.
 Could that be a follow-up, since it was a hit for The Turtles? Who knows? Guess we'll just have to wait and see what comes next from the minds of the Furtle (Fiddle-Turtle)!
 Our humble homage to AIR's greatest male-female writing team ever -- oh, heck, just AIR's greatest writing team ever, regardless of gender, who so many times have inspired us all.
This has been a Fiddlegirl-Tommy Turtle production.
Written and produced by Fiddlegirl and Tommy Turtle.
Directed mostly by Tommy Turtle, as he's inherently as domineering as Henry Higgins, but Fiddlegirl generally ignored him, as everyone should, and thus came up with massive brilliance of her own.