Mark A. Mandel, © 1999, 2005
ttto
"Banned
from Argo" by Leslie Fish
(Second place, "Do It Yourself" contest, ConCertino '99)
This filk con really happened, though maybe not quite in this way, and these are real people. (Well, there's some question about how real we all are, but physically we're all here.) There's a skeleton key to our secret identities at the bottom of this page.
When I agreed to work for ConCertino '99 *
I should have checked my crewmates out before signing on the line.
I had high expectations of their skill and competence,
But found too late they weren't equipped with sanity or sense.
Chorus: We're the Con from Argo, yes we are,[or original verse below]
The Con from Argo, and we're going way too far.
We've got a jolly con lined up, for just three days or five,
I only hope we manage to survive.
Our Program Chairman wears a small stuffed dragon**
on his arm.
He says it gives him good advice and keeps him out of harm.
I asked about the schedule, and he didn't seem to know,
But the dragon said, "Just give him time; he's nice but kinda slow."
Our Lady of the Treasury improved the bottom line
By selling bonds that won't mature till 2099,
Until she was investigated by the SEC:
It seems the underwriter was the Bank of Rigel Three.
Our Hotel Liaison noticed that the manager looked pale.
She diagnosed fatigue and gave him
307 Ale.
He brightened up at once; she said, "The cure's not finished yet,"
And signed him for three panels and a half-hour concert set.
Our Webmistress discovered a strange problem on our page:
When browsers came to visit it, they couldn't disengage.
The server was completely clogged, rebooting was no use--
The page had gotten all stuck up with cookie crumbs and juice.
Our proper, cool Stage Manager was drugged with something brown,
It was cold and sweet and fizzy and it tingled going down.
And when Kanefsky's latest song electrified the crowd,
He got so stimulated that he almost laughed out loud.
A gang of mundanes landed and nobody seemed to care.
They peered into the Con Suite to discover what was there.
Half our crew was busy there and invited them to play.
They sang with us till midnight and came back at ten next day!
This song's called "Con from Argo", and you may well ask how come:
I stole the tune and format, but that isn't where we're from.
Remember all the chaos that those spacers caused on shore?
Just look around our ConComm; you won't wonder any more.
Final Chorus: We're the Con from Argo, yes we are,
The Con from Argo, and we all went way too far.
We gave a jolly con that ran three days and felt like five,
I don't know how we made it out alive!
Original ConChair verse:
Our ConChair's tastes are simple, but his methods are complex.
He has two separate organs, engineered to different specs:
The smaller one, to play with friends and strangers on the road;
The larger one he leaves at home-- it's much too big a load!
*
Some people have had the sheer gall to ask about
filing off the serial numbers and singing this about cons in general.
Since I object so strongly to people singing my songs,
you can just imagine how I'll feel if you change the beginning to
When I agreed to work the con, I thought it would be fine,
But I ...
and sing the song wherever you want to.
("Pssst! This is
Loiosh.
Y'know, folks, he really wouldn't mind at all!")
last modified 2006-02-14
