A comedic tribute to everyone's favorite deputy! I do not own Scream.
Whenever I hear a woman's scream I think of thee,
Of your pubescent tenor,
That beautiful, cracking vibrato
Which is music to the ears of newscasters and fangirls alike.
Whenever an officer takes pride in his work,
Whenever a man takes pride in his office,
Your gentle countenance comes to mind,
Along with three words uttered as if by angels:
"I'm on duty."
Ah, but alas, forsake the day
That you did fall by that masked hand,
And bless fair Woodsboro,
Who, in the fifties before you were born,
Built a hospital in which you would one day recover.
Oh, I sing praise of your dancing walk,
For you limp with such grace and skill!
Curse and damn that fateful night
When you were again caught by surprise
And stabbed by this mocking phantom!
You fell forward,
Your melodious voice unheard,
Your precious blood splattered upon that plexiglass,
'Til your lover turned about
And saw you dying there.
But happy day again,
For you were saved somehow
By glorious, skillful medics
Sent by God to do his bidding.
Through strife and relationship issues you endured,
And how we gaped and gasped
When, within the third installment,
A throwing knife was hurtled at your head.
Ha, methinks it was in vain,
For again you slipped through fate's grasp
Like your often-spilt blood
Or a strawberry ice cream cone.
Danger came, and danger passed the same,
Though your life was threatened with an automatic,
You remained unconscious through the entire climatic scene,
And came out of it suffering only minor head trauma.
And though the saga may continue,
Through the battle raging on,
It is not Sid who makes us smile,
Nor the blood and guts and gore;
It is your antics and your mustache that we cheer and giggle for.