This is an amateur, non-commercial story, which is not produced, approved of, or in any way sponsored by the holders of the trademarks/copyrights from which this work is derived, nor is it intended to infringe on the rights of these holders. And so it goes.


a filk by Jeff Morris

(to the tune of "The Music of the Night" by Andrew Lloyd Whatebber)


Whip me, beat me
To a bloody puddle
Save me, hold me
Give me a long cuddle
Readers need their angst fix
So snap my bones like toothpicks
Make them sympathize with my poor plight
Hurt-comfort fills the fanzines of the night


Bash me, trash me
Till I'm down and bleeding
Then you'll suffer
Silently and seething
Abuse my body neatly
Then agonize so sweetly
Readers ache to see that awful sight
In their favorite fanzines of the night


Close my eyes with a nasty one-two punch in my face
Throw me out of the shuttle into space
Break my back so I'll never walk again
Then hold me close to satisfy the fen


Shoot me, zap me
Beat me into heaven
Any genre--
Star Trek or B7
Doesn't really matter
Just which one gets splattered
Long as it is done precise and right
For nurses read the fanzines of the night...



Writer's apologetic note--I won a Fan-Q for this back in 1994, believe it or not. It appeared in the appropriately named Serrated Seven, and it remains one of my favorite filks. It also neatly sums up my opinion of the hurt-comfort fiends in zine fandom, including the one I married, to whom this was dedicated to...thank God she forgave me for it...