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Lovemakin' ordnance feat. MC Gillaran

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#1 Pencil-Monkey



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Posted 07 December 2009 - 06:50 AM

When I heard this chirpy, cheery ditty, I found it very hard to dislodge from my mind, and grew steadily more irritated by its perpetual upbeat optimism. I was inexplicably reminded of Gillaran :D, and decided to exorcise the song from my mind by turning it into a FILK. Once I got started, however, I just couldn't stop before I had churned out a complete choreography for the inevitable music video. Now, brace yourself for massive blocks of text, ahoy!

[Gillaran, dressed in a child-sized Zorro costume, is trying to steal a horse from the stables. Suddenly, he is confronted by Catherine Zeta-Jones in a skimpy nightgown! The situation rapidly devolves into a frenetic fencing scene, with Ms. Zeta-Jones showing great prowess with the Spanish steel, yet inevitably being disarmed by her nimbic superior. Gillaran breaks out in song:]
I’m a debonair swordsman
A lovemaking ordnance
If I say so myself

[Gillaran swipes a few carefully placed cuts with his blade in the front of Ms. Zeta-Jones’ bodice. She gasps audibly as part of the gown falls away (her round bits still concealed by her luxurious flowing tresses), forming a step ladder. Our Diminutive Don Juan nimbly scales the impromptu ladder, enveloping the astonished woman in a passionate embrace. The camera zooms in on their faces, as their lips fuse in a languid kiss.]
Blessed with biceps bodacious
A mood that’s vivacious
And the Dex of an elf

[The door is kicked open and the room fills with uniformed guards (the other BAGgers in disguise, led by Ember). They advance menacingly, as Gillaran disengages from his amorous endeavours with a loud popping noise. Cue new fight scene, with lots of Jungle Gym rope action and severed suspenders. Gillaran easily holds his own against the inept opponents, eventually slicing a rope holding a large trapdoor closed, releasing an avalanche of horse feed/manure/name-brand sporting goods (check with product placement department) burying the guards and buying himself time to escape.]
Quite the ladies’ man
It rhymes with Gillaran
But they all call me “the nimbic”

[Catherine Zeta-Jones sighs dreamily as she gazes with wanton abandon at her adventurous beau, Gillaran the Nimbic Hero. Cut back to Gillaran, who leaps atop a black stallion, ready to gallop off into the sunset, yet his deep swashbuckling streak compels him to pause and finish the verse to taunt his foes. This becomes his undoing, as his steed chooses to rear impressively at the exact moment Gillaran is doing “quotation marks“. His hands off the reins and blatantly disobeying every Health & Safety regulation, he tumbles ungainly to the floor and is quickly beset by seeking, grasping hands.]
What the hell made them irate?
They should appreciate
I’m never caught with a limp… pick?

[Our hero struggles to escape his captors’ grip, his hands snaking into his belt, searching for a weapon. As his fingers touch steel, he swiftly brandishes his find. Close-up of Gillaran’s face as he stares, dumbfounded, at the set of lockpicks in his hand, right before his assailants seize him and bodily shove him, kicking and screaming, down an old (saddle) bag.]
I ain’t leaving my bag
They have closed it really tight, those faggots
I ain’t leaving my bag
They have closed it really tight, those faggots
Now I’ve been tied up tightly
Night night

[Close-up of the saddle bag, dangling from side to side, being briskly carried off. The flap opens and Gillaran’s head and shoulders pop out. As he sings, he tries to escape the confinement of the smelly old bag, but Ember and the other BAGgers keep putting him down. He waves good-bye to the camera as he is finally pushed firmly down the bottom of the bag, and the flap is shut tight. Fade to black.]
I will bet you a dollar
There’ll be heat under collars
When I pick up the scent

[Interior view of courtroom – Gillaran is standing in front of the magistrate, chained and shackled with a giant metal ring round his neck. The rest of the BAGgers are present, with Ember serving as High Executioner. The dour-looking judge glares sternly at Gillaran, but before he has time to render his verdict, our hero escapes his bonds and slips the huge chain off his neck. The room explodes with tumult and uproar as Gillaran leaps on the podium, grabs the judge’s gavel and starts wielding it like a rapier.]
Yeah, my slow roguish grinning
Will set their minds spinning
When they sense my intent

[Gillaran vaults and skips from table to chandelier to the top of someone’s head, constantly evading his pursuers by the tiniest of fractions, laughing at their futile efforts.]
Wenches are sexual
Business as usual
I turn my animal charm on

[He lands in front of the all-hot, all-female jury. They titter and swoon as he does a little dance for them, swinging his hammer in play-acting fencing moves, interspersed with slow pelvic thrusts. Close-up of Ember frowning, the very image of disgust.]
Won’t you sway your judgement call?
I hear them screaming all
A nimbic’s mots are just that bon

[Gillaran is so caught up in amorous advances towards his would-be captors, he fails to notice Ember sneaking up behind him, bag in hand. Then follows the sudden pounce, the brief struggle, the childish sulk.]
I ain’t leaving my bag
They have closed it really tight, those faggots
I ain’t leaving my bag
They have closed it really tight, those faggots
Now I’ve been tied up tightly
Night night

[Gillaran tries his darn’dest to flee the hated confines of the mouldy bag, but at the end of the chorus, he is at Ember’s mercy. He looks at her pleadingly, but puppy-dog eyes are no match for a druid. She pulls the big, red lever and opens the trap door underneath the immobilized nimbic. Gillaran plummets into inky blackness, fate unknown.]
Warlord of Accordlands
Plus accordions
Singy music non-stop
Ladies’ hearts all go boom-boom

[Gillaran’s limp form is greeted by rock-hard, bone-strewn cavern floor. The camera pans out to a bird’s-eye view of him as he extricates himself from the bag, spitting and cursing. An ominous shadow falls upon him as he’s dusting himself off. He looks up. Quick zoom to a close-up of his face as it is contorted by shock, fear, awe, terror and dread. The camera continues to zoom into his eye, where the irises of his pink eyes show a reflection of the creature confronting him – an immense dragon!]
People likey Steve-O
Funky games he runs
Need mo’ sexy birds, tho’
Hidey-hole in motel room

[Gillaran quickly masters the situation, leaping into a dazzling display of dare-devil acrobatics as he evades the dragon’s smouldering breath. The skeletal remains of the dragon’s past victims re-animate, and begin to sing along as a backing vocal. As the room erupts in a sulphurous conflagration of doom, the skeletons are struck, mid-verse, and are torn apart by the fiery discharge. One of the skulls bounces across the cavern floor, striking letters that have been carved into the stone; words that turn out to be the lyrics of the song. The skull bounces in time with the rhythm – skull karaoke.]
Hungry paparazzi
Hunt with crossbow guns
Seeking chasing nimbic
Telescope with double zoom

[Court room – people are locked in a heated discussion, with Ember evidently being the most vociferous proponent of letting Gillaran fry, opposed by every right-thinking woman in the room, and a few of the more effeminate men, as well. It looks as though she will never relent, yet in an unguarded moment, she glances back at the open trap door with just a hint of regret – pity, even. Cut back to Gillaran, backed against the wall with the dragon bearing inexorably down on him. Just in the nick of time, a rope dangles down in front of him – the camera pans up, revealing a throng of people clustering around the lip of the trap door, holding the other end of the rope.]
Tripping trap big bag
Gillaran laughs

[Gillaran speedily scurries up the hempen route to salvation. The dragon roars with displeasure as he crawls up on the court room floor. As he stands, he is face-to-face with Ember. A long moment passes, as Gillaran stares at his erstwhile antagonist-turned-savior. Ember affects an air of nonchalance, yet her eyes flicker; under her cool exterior and arms firmly crossed, her composure is uncertain. Suddenly, Gillaran jumps up in her arms, planting a long, luxurious kiss on her shocked lips. Ember forces him off, piercing him with an outraged glare. Cut back to the cavern below, where the dragon looks up in surprise as a firmly tied bag lands on the floor. The contents of the burlap container struggle in vain seeking escape, finally managing to pry open a polka-dotted patch that had been sewn on. A fearful pink nimbic eye peeks out of the hole, as the shadow of the squamous monstrosity rears up. The rumble of the pyrotechnic department warming up fills the room – then, all is fire.]
I ain’t leaving my sack
Now it’s leaning against Ember’s rack
I ain’t leaving my sack
Now it’s leaning against Ember’s rack

[Cut to a dimly-lit room, filled with dancing people, including the BAGgers. The sparse illumination is provided in trickles of tiny orange dots, weaving across the walls, floors and boogieing bodies, disco ball-style. The dragon dominates the back of the chamber, waving its tail and snapping its claws in time with the music and eating Justin Timberlake. The camera pans up to reveal Gillaran suspended from the ceiling. He’s still trapped in the bag yet looks considerably more tattered and scorched. The sack is riddled with burn marks and soot – the disco lights glow through these holes, produced by the nimbic’s own naturally luminous personality. In the background. Robbie Williams becomes dessert as Gillaran grins at the audience, singing cheerfully along.]
Coz she’s got me tied up tightly

[Close-up of Gillaran, as he winks lasciviously to the camera. Fade to black. Roll credits.]

EDIT: Just fixed a size issue - how oddly appropriate for a song about a nimbic. ;)
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#2 Keener


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Posted 07 December 2009 - 07:05 AM

So good and so wrong at the same time. :D
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