If you know me on Livejournal, you'll already know what this is about. Here's a shortened version: a few weeks ago, I ran into a particularly soul-scarring set of Redwall lemons (porno fics) which shall now forever be known among the Redwall likers at Fanficrants and Tales of Tails as "That Series". (No, they weren't on this site, and no, I will not link you to them. You really don't want to see them anyway.) This poem was the result. It's mostly true, right down to the disturbing imagery. There was more. I may have to go back and add more verses someday.

I'd like to point out that I don't actually have anything against lemons, despite the line "Redwall does not need hardcore." I couldn't find anything else which would fit the pattern, okay? What I have a problem with is BAD lemons. That Series is the first one I've found which actually gave me nightmares. Hence the apparent hate. I don't have anything against the author personally, despite what he/she writes. There is a difference between disliking a person and disliking their writing.

Oh, and the basic rhyme scheme isn't mine any more than the characters (except "me") and the inspiration. I stole it from Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven", which is my favourite poem ever and can NEVER be parodied too many times.

Okay, on with the flame-magnet - I mean poem.


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wondered, weak and weary,
How to keep from seizing up from being so extremely bored,
While I read the Tales of Tails slash, newbie came and linked and made splash,
And I felt my frontal lobes crash as I pondered just wherefore?
"That's sick!" I wailed. "Poor Mariel is innocent no more!
Redwall does not need hardcore!"

I slash furries, I admit, but bad yiff does give me fits,
And my head did ache in ways that I had never felt before.
"Why did that happen?" I shouted. "If he tried that, he'd get clouted!
This creature, she just pouted and stayed 'neath his roaming paw!
There was no clue that Mariel became a searat's whore!"
But canon, writers do ignore.

This "fan", despite my twitches, had made Mossflower's beasts his bitches,
Princess Kurda taking lovers, male and female, by the score.
"Oh, the jill blows her own trumpet, but," said I, "she's not a strumpet!
Will she never get respite – must you write her an encore?
I really doubt that she'd do Triss upon the armoury floor!"
(Skankifying I abhor.)

Though my cerebrum was bleeding, stupid me did keep on reading.
Soon the simple smut did turn to something darker than before.
It had been just slap'n'tickle – then a Corpsemaker raped Pikkle
And I felt revulsion trickle deep into my very core.
Poor Mariel had suffered that too, just one fic before,
Thus combining sex and gore.

I winced as I did read this. My brain really did not need this.
Slagar used the kids for things that I'd not seen him do before.
The Scourge had Redtooth on his knees (though I felt sick from the vile sleaze,
I'd have paid to see the rat sneeze). There was mess and blood galore!
There are reasons we did not see Cluny in the nude before.
Sweet Lord, what an eyesore!

I continued with the terror. I knew that I'd made an error
In clicking on this link to squick I'd never seen before.
Queen Tsarmina shagged her brother; seven born of Marlfox mother
Were busy 'neath the covers (though Predak and Lantur snore).
Must they rely on family if they feel the need to score?
Would explain a lot, I'm sure!

If the squick was not enough, on top of all this stuff
To understand the prose in these fics truly was a chore.
Help with typing does this guy need, his formatting makes my eyes bleed.
Though he paid more heed to spelling than some fics I'd seen before,
This writer seems to not know what the paragraph break is for.
It does make my poor eyes sore.

As I read it did get worse, and I soon began to curse
Both the writer and the linker – oh, I screamed, I yelled, I swore!
Things I never wished to see – the images assaulted me,
And I wished I could be free, for my brain was now so sore.
Soon I found myself curled up tight weeping, whimpering on the floor,
Vowed to view it nevermore.

Presently, though, I did break this vow – did not think I could take this,
But curiosity compelled me to go see these fics once more.
Though the hand upon the mouse shook, still I tried to take one more look,
Though my liking of the old books would be dulled forevermore.
I was praying for a "Page Not Found", perhaps a "404".
But no – still the yiff and gore.

"Badfic," cried I, "fic of evil – my brain's suffered an upheaval!
How can people write this, read this? How can Brian Jacques ignore
What they did to his creations, to his charming publications?
It really tries my patience! Make Mariel an emo-whore?
I'll track down this guy for BJ, then I'll buy him a chainsaw!
Oh, no, that's against the law."

Soon enough I started wondering, long did I sit there pondering
"Perhaps I'll take revenge for what these fics have done to me.
But how? I can't MST them, and I cannot PPC them –
I don't wish right now to see them, or I'll scream like a banshee!
So how then shall I mock it? So what form of parody?"
Then it struck me. "Poetry!"