"We Are Jane Campion" -- A Postmodern Carol (#16 in a Series)

At least The Phantom liked it.  He would.

Da-da was guest hosting a writers' workshop the other night and while he had the mic, he asked those assembled to name some of their writing inspirations. People muttered amongst themselves and called out various names of writers, filmmakers, poets, fast food mascots, etc. Strangely, the entire front row -- which consisted of eight middle-aged ladies -- spoke amongst themselves for a few moments in hushed whisper. Curious, Da-da watched them come to a consensus, wondering WHY all eight of them had to venture forth only one name (perhaps they were a hive entity). Finally, several of them spoke at once: "We are Jane Campion."

Now, Da-da is a lot of things. But what he is most of all is WEAK. He's also a satirist, so this simple declarative sentence fired all 983 cylinders of Da-da's Satirical Tourette's Syndrome (not to be confused with Da-da's Shakespearean Tourette's), making Da-da fairly vibrate for long seconds while he tried his best to overcome his natural urges. He failed. He broke into song. Other people picked it up, until the whole room was singing, much to the confusion of bookstore staff and passersby. Here's what we all sang (well, the chorus, anyway):

WE ARE JANE CAMPION

[Sung to the tune of, "WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS," with apologies to Freddie Mercury.]

I've paid my dues
Time after time
I've done this sentence
But committed no rhyme
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of syntax
Kicked in my face
But I've come through

'Cause we mean to write on and on and on and on

WEEEEE ARE JANE CAMPION, MY FRIENDS
WE'LL GO ON WRITING TILL THE END
WE ARE JANE CAMPION
WE ARE JANE CAMPION
NO TIME FOR BOOZERS
CAUSE WE ARE JANE CAMPIONS... OF THE WORLD!

I've taken my prose
And my uncertain scrawls
It's brought me misfortune
And everything that goes with it
I thank you all
Sure it's no pop apotheosis
Not without the muse
I consider it a challenge before
The whole bloomin' place
That I ain't gonna booze

'Cause we mean to write on and on and on and on

WEEEEE ARE JANE CAMPION, MY FRIENDS
WE'LL GO ON WRITING TILL THE END
WE ARE JANE CAMPION
WE ARE JANE CAMPION
NO TIME FOR BOOZERS
CAUSE WE ARE JANE CAMPIONS... OF THE WORLD!

WEEEEE ARE JANE CAMPION, MY FRIENDS
WE'LL GO ON WRITING TILL THE END
WE ARE JANE CAMPION!
WE ARE JANE CAMPION!
NO TIME FOR BOOZERS
CAUSE WE ARE JANE CAMPIONS... OF THE WORLD!

Group satire-therapy is so inspiring.

Zhombie LOVES Jane Campion. And of course Freddie.

[Amazing factage: Did you know that Freddie Mercury was born "Farrokh Bulsara" on the freaking island of Zanzibar (?!) and that he could sing FOUR OCTAVES? Awesome. But is he more -- or less -- gay with that mustache? Not that there's anything wrong with that.]

[ Sing Postmodern Carol #15! ]
[ Sing Postmodern Carol #17! ]