These Satires were written in the context of the online roleplaying game Ghostletters, in a storyline involving an historical serial killer and a number of fantasy characters. If you weren't part of the storyline, some of the songs may not make sense to you. However, feel free to adapt them to fit anybody you are peeved with yourself. That's what I did.

[Thalia is the Greek Muse of Comedy, physically incarnated as a Greek woman who is at the moment very very angry.]

Public Announcement

One called Ed Gein has traduced the honor of my Chosen Bartender, Jack O'Brian; has trespassed upon and befouled the Holy Environs of The Guinness; and has furthermore threatened with bodily harm both Jack and those he loves. Therefore I, Thalia, Divine Muse of Comedy, with each of my Known Sisters, both of my Unknown Sisters, and all the spirits of the Makers, do pronounce upon him the Bardic Curse, that his name ring in Satire until the smallest infant and the feeblest granny snigger at the mention of him, and he will be haunted even in Hell by the giggling of all the demons.

So Be It.

Installment #1 (To the tune of a World War II song about Hitler's jewels)

Ed Gein
    has only got one ball!
    that should be "None at all!"
He sez
He wants pieces -
Cause he can't get
   a live piece
      at all!

Ed Gein
    won't even have one ball
If Mary
    has any say at all.
She sez
She'll give him pieces -
And he can stew in
   his very
        own gall!

Ad lib at will!

Stay tuned ...

[Thalia is the Greek Muse of Comedy, usually Incarnate as a lively and cheerful Greek woman. Right now the curls of her black hair are very reminiscent of her relationship to the Furies.]

Oh, GeinGarbage!

    All children are dear to the Muse of Comedy!

    In fact, I was passing by Jack's today and heard a ten-year old boy singing,

has only got
one ball!"
loudly and cheerfully.


    You probably haven't noticed, dear, because I know you are illiterate and your brain consists of sewage, but a large number of well-armed entities are targeted on you Right Now. There really is no time to do justice to your perverted little dreams.

    You'd do much better to run like Hell.

    You know Ellie doesn't want you. You've been playing with guts, you never bathe, you were ugly to begin with, and your Mama dresses you funny.

And here's Installment #2:

A horse is a horse of course of course
And no-one can talk to a horse of course
That is of course unless the horse
Is the horse's-ass Mr. Ed!

Go right to the source and ask the horse
You'll notice he's dumb as oats of course
And always short of intercourse
The horse's-ass Mr. Ed!

    Thank you.

    I'm sending CD's to all the radio stations. If you hurry, maybe you can catch me.

Tag! You're Stupid!

[Thalia is the Greek Muse of Comedy, currently Incarnate as a wickedly angry Greek woman with a caustic tongue, who wants her Guinness.]
To the Sewage Surfer -

    Do you know how many of my Bards and Poets are among the streetpeople? All too damn many, that's what. This culture has less taste than overcooked grits.
    And YOU have regarded them as so much horrorfodder, to be used for Effect!
    Now I know that you are dense and illiterate and your brain is rotting and running out of your ears to get away from your thoughts, which is distracting to you, which is why you haven't replied to any of my posts. Besides knowing that you are no match for Me. After all, you can't even handle a mortal woman without using a knife. But I want you to know that my feelings are not hurt, and in fact, I have located some girlfriends for you. It was difficult. But the female demons in Hell have absolutely no taste whatsoever, and they are expecting you to give them some. They are licking their chops.
    In the meantime, one of my Street Bards has written Installment

#3, Just For You:

The Unfillable Jar

(To a tune in the musical "Man of La Mancha". If you can't guess which one - don't try to sing it.)

To dream    of the impossible scream
To be    the unrightable wrong
To give    the unbearable sorrow
To lust    and never perform

To reach    the unreachable low
To run    and hide, and run more
To try    without one ounce of courage
To fill    The Unfillable Jar

This is my quest    to fill up my Jar
With pieces of bodies    because I'm bizarre
To fight for the wrong    without logic or sense
To be willing to march into Hell    'cause I'm pitifully dense

And I know    if I'll only be true
To this infamous quest
That my heart    will lie stinking and black
When it's ripped from my chest
And the world    will be better for this
That one    scorned for very good cause
Is dead    and gone naked to Judgement
And fills    The Unfillable Jar!

    Thank you.

    By the way, I dropped in on one of my Poets up in Seattle, and I saw a Punk Rock group performing "The Horse's Ass Mr. Ed" on Public Access TV. Isn't that just precious?
    Maybe you should go tell them to stop. Go "wugga wugga" at them.

Stay tuned...

From:    Ed Gein
Persona:    A real-life, notorious serial/cannibal killer of the 1950's who became the basis for Norman Bates ("Psycho"), Leatherface ("Texas Chainsaw Massacre"), and Buffalo Bill ("Silence of the Lambs").
To:    Thalia

Yer an idiot. Shut up.


[Thalia is the Greek Muse of Comedy. She interprets her Mission broadly.]
Oh Crud Creature!

    Thank you so much for your note. It was everything that I expected of you.
    I know. You think, "All that Thalia can do is sing songs at me, and since I'm tone deaf I don't have to listen."
     But what you have not thought, Oh Crudly One, (because thinking does hurt you so you poor dear), is that even though I have fullest access to the minds of those who have adopted me as their Muse, I have SOME access to ALL minds.     Yes, even though all humanity would like to disown you, as they shudder to hear that there are tiny lice in their eyelashes and do not recognize their own bellylint, you ARE human. And all humanity shares That Which Is Called the Collective Unconscious. Which means that every one of you is about as unconscious as the next dodo, but the communists are more so. It also means that what is in any human mind can leak into others through underground passages, variously called The Springs of Poetry and The Sewage System.
    And, even though I am not your Muse, and the likelihood of my ever being your Muse is almost as microinfinitismally small as the likelihood of Ellie ever kissing you on the lips, which is even smaller than the pieces of you that will be spread from Hell to breakfast when Connell catches you, even so, I AM the Muse of many, many, minds across Eternity.
    And all Mind shares one great Basement, and We ancient ones live down here and always have and always will, and down here, We control.
    Do you know how many bodily processes are controlled by the Unconscious?
    I am not even the only Archetype pissed off at you. Lilith isn't an afficionado of the Comic Spirit, but she and I do have the same attitude about you. Every single one of my Sisters, Aunts and Cousins thinks you're Basic Slime and is eager to perform science experiments in your Basement.
     Oh, this is going to be such FUN!

    To keep you entertained while your guts learn the Gordian Knot:

Installment #4, as sung by Carly Simon:

Ed's so vain,
    he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
    He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told Ellie it was her fault,
That he'd followed her here for love.
All the bodies were her presents;
She was responsible for their luck.
With one eye on the mirror
As he preened his ugly hide

He really thought
she would cry, and believe him,
cry, and believe him

Ed's so vain,
    he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
    He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told Mary Val was wimpy,
She was unlovable, and a clown;
Like all of the scared men in history
Trying to bluster a woman down.
But he gave away his real thoughts,
'Cause he only targets what he fears -

He really thought
he could trouble the lovers
trouble the lovers

Ed's so vain,
    he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
    He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

He told the City Jack was his partner,
Jack asked him here and played along;
He doesn't know the Po-leece snicker
When they pass his notes around the Squad -
With his brain on tour of Outer Space,
'Cause every planet boots it on,

He really thought
everyone would believe him,
maybe one would believe him,

Ed's so vain,
    he probly thinks this song is about 'im;
He's so vain!
    He probly thinks this song is about 'im,
Dont' he? Don't he?

    Excuse me, Madonna's on the line and I want to get these recordings out right away. You're going to be SO famous.

Stay tuned ...

YooHoo, CruddyCakes!

    Isn't it such a nuisance to handle a knife when your palms keep sweating like that? Be careful, dear. Between the sweat and the blood, you'll probably drop the knife. And then, since the Gods of Chaos are also Archetypes and therefore on My Side, when you reach for the knife, you might grab it wrong, and cut yourself. Or even, stumble, and fall on your own blade. Oh dear - ANYTHING could happen.
    Now, because you never got to finish school and never managed to finish a book, here's something Literary for your edification:

Installment #5, The Ed Ode (with thanks to Willam Wordsworth)

Ed Gein is too much with us; late and soon,
Scratching and sniffing, he lays numb all Taste:
Little he is, and that much is a Waste;
He has given his soul to Hell, a sordid boon!
The skull that grins his bare teeth at the moon;
The demons who are howling at all hours,
Then gather to trouble sleeping ladies' bowers;
All these, and all of Hell, scream, "Ed's a Goon!"
It moves him not. - Dear God, he'd rather be
An Infant suckled, in a diaper torn;
So be it! Thinking on that pleasant scene
Is such a glimpse as makes me less forlorn;
Or better, to sight his Mother, rising, mean,
To drag him Hell-bound by his wrinkled Horn!


Other Adventures of Thalia in Ghostletters

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