God rest ye, weary agents
The holiday is here
And yet you dread the beeping of
The console that lies near
For though this is a holiday
Your duties are still clear

So the agents never sleep
Never sleep
So the agents never sleep

Get off your lazy buttocks,
The Sunflower commands
There’s Sues on the horizon now;
I’ll play the call to arms.
In sending troops to battle
The Flower has no qualms

So the agents never sleep
Never sleep
So the agents never sleep

And so the agents march
Their footsteps crunching in the snow;
They hunt a Mary Sue to ground
And end her sordid show
Her author thought that she was safe
But now the world will know

That the agents never sleep
Never sleep
That the agents never sleep

Bring a torch, Selene and Dafydd,
Bring flamethrowers, come hurry and run!
It’s a palace, a palace in Mirkwood,
Evil!Thranduil, and “Leggy” calling:
“Ah, ah! Beautiful is the Mary,
Ah, ah! Beautiful is the Sue!”

It is wrong to muck with the canon,
It is wrong to warp time and space.
Hasten now, Selene and Dafydd!
Lest you be late, and miss the charges.
Ha, ha! Look at the stupid palace!
Ha, ha! Look at the stupid Sue!

Swiftly now, to burn the palace,
Swiftly now, to burn the Sue.
See how prettily it is burning,
See how the fire restores the canon!
Ah, ah! Beautiful is the fire,
Ah, ah! Beautiful are the flames!

It was Christmas Eve (we think)
In Headquarters
My partner said to me
“We’ve got another one!”
A Sue that sang a song
’Bout Frodo’s eyes so blue
I turned my face away
But our duty we must do

We got a nasty one
It won’t be easily done
I got a feeling there’ll be trouble with this Sue
But happy Christmas
If we survive this
We’ll get vacation if it’s the last thing we do

She’s got tits out to here, hair like rivers of gold
And she smashed up the canon, or so we’ve been told
So we take up our blades on this cold Christmas Eve
And we gulp down the Bleepsinthe while waiting for she

She’s so sweet, she’s so pretty
Princess of Gondor city
When she sings and she dances they howl out for more
Her sword she’s a-swinging
Kelly Clarkson she’s singing
She bears Frodo’s children, calls Arwen a whore

The girls and boys of the PPC
The Sue have vowed to slay
While the canon characters scream and run away

She’s a brat, she’s a punk, she’s a pain writing junk
Staring into the screen, typing “PLEEZ DUN B MEEN!”
You slimy young maggot, call Samwise a faggot?!
Merry Christmas my arse, I thank God it’s your last!

The girls and boys of the PPC
The Sue have vowed to slay
While the canon characters scream and run away

“I oughta leave HQ...”
“Oh, don’t do that, I’ll miss you!
You’ve helped me stay half-sane
Since I first found you!”
“I guess you have a point.
Hey, pass the Bleeprin here.
This job’s not always bad, as long as I’m with you.”

The girls and boys of the PPC
The Sue have vowed to slay
While the canon characters scream and run away.

Fangirls who are sugar high
L33tly ’Sueing o’er the Pit
To our concrit they reply:
“If u dont liek, dont reed it!!!!”

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

By Tolkien, we charge thee!

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

Veni, vidi, vici!

Suethors, why debauchery?
Why the canons’ angst prolong?
Ruthless is our mockery
So, get Spock out of that thong!

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

Sue’s a peerless fighter?

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

With our logic smite her!

Come to us, the PPC
If Sparrow has One True Love
Bad slash? —Not in our RC!
Commas, pelt her from above!

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

Will’s tears are not crystals!

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

Meet our pair of pistols!

Sue in Frodo’s bed has laid
Her, canons are forced to praise
O Eru, lend us your aid
While we bows and arrows raise!

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

So, think you’re immortal?

Spo-o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-
o-o-o-o-o-orking

Tell that to the Void portal!

The first “Oh hell,” the agents did say
was to certain poor consoles in rooms where they lay.
In rooms where they lay processing Sues
for assassins to kill; hey—that’s old news.

Oh hell, oh hell,
Oh hell, oh hell.
Born is a Sue and canon’s unwell.

The fic was bad—the worst they’d seen.
Duty was calling to kill the teen.
Agents looked and saw her near,
so they charged and murdered without fear.

Oh hell, oh hell,
Oh hell, oh hell.
Dead is a Sue and canon is well.

Last fanfic, I gave you concrit,
But the very next day, you waved it away.
This time, I guess you won’t mind
If I just leave flames instead.

Once written, we must try
To get good feedback, but you just roll your eye.
Tell me, Suethor; do you need a beta?
No, I thought not, I guess I’ll read ya later.

Here’s a website; I linked it up and sent it
With a note saying “You need help!” I meant it.
Now I know what a fool I’ve been.
You don’t want to improve, you just crave the attention.

Last fanfic, I gave you concrit,
But the very next day, you waved it away.
This time, I guess you won’t mind
If I just leave flames instead.

In a chat room, users with weird names.
I see you’ve blocked me; why such childish games?
My glod, I thought you’d appreciate assistance,
But your grammar errors show up with great persistence.

Another Tenth Walker for the one-hundredth time,
A Harry/Snape slashfic? This is really a crime!
Oh well, if this is what you call plot,
I guess I’ll leave you to it!

Last fanfic, I gave you concrit,
But the very next day, you waved it away.
This time, I guess you won’t mind
If I just leave flames instead.

You know Harry and Beka
and Aslan and Frodo.
Rincewind and Olaf
and Leia and Sparrow.

But do you recall... The most famous canon of all?

Mary the Sueish Canon
had some very wilver eyes.
And if you ever saw her,
you would say they attract guys.

All of the other canons
used to laugh and call her names.
They never let poor Mary
join in any canon games.

Then one foggy winter eve
Mary saved the day.
“Mary with your wilver eyes,
you caught bad guys by surprise!”

Then all the canons loved her
as they shouted out with glee,
Mary the Sueish canon,
watch out for the PPC!

’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through HQ,
Urple holiday fluff-fics filled everyone’s queue.
The agents were sent on their missions by pair,
Without hope that any directors would care.

While Mary Sues died upon swift arrow-heads,
Assassins despairéd of sleeping in beds.
Bad Slashers took buddies from each other’s lap
And stoic Floaters put up with all manner of crap.

In PPC HQ, no holidays matter,
Except for the sugary Suethorish chatter.
Mistletoe’s just an excuse for bad slash,
And lights, snow, and gifts come in colors that clash.

But down in the Nurs’ry little faces still glow
As a hope and a dream unabated doth grow.
The children of HQ believe still in cheer,
Even more so this even as Christmas draws near.

Though born most of Mpreg and rapefic and squick,
Even so all the little ones dream of St. Nick.
Father Christmas, or Santa, whatever the name,
On this night the glad man in red really came!

Or someone, at least, to the little ones’ den
Came dressed all as red as an editor’s pen.
His face was unbearded, he was wiry and tall,
And perhaps might have wished not to be there at all.

And yet on his thin lips a smile he did try,
And a glimmer of kindness appeared in his eye.
“Now, Spencer, now Andy, and Galeya, too,
And Marsha, and Henry, and Molly: for you!”

As he named them they gathered and looked for the proof
That this stranger was more than a holiday spoof.
When out from behind him came carefully ’round
The strangest of reindeer that e’er could be found.

His fur was all blue from his head to his foot,
And eye-stalks not horns on his head had their root.
Two sacks full of toys he had slung on his back,
And nervous he looked as St. Nick did unpack.

But the toys from within made the children all merry;
Their blue deer forgave they for being so wary.
Their gratitude ample their faces did show,
And lit all the Nurs’ry about with a glow.

After all the first gifts did the odd pair bequeath,
The Christmas Tree left they the others beneath.
The wrappings were pine-green or bright red like jelly,
And the ribbons were latticed like snowflake cancelli.

The makeshift reindeer and his would-be red elf
Left each of the children to him- or herself.
“Merry Christmas; goodbye, now,” their Santa Claus said,
And off through the hallways of Headquarters sped.

Soon after, in FicPsych, not spared from her work,
Jenni Robinson greeted the two with a smirk.
“It went off as plannéd, though not as I chose,”
Supernumer’ry said with an eyebrow that rose.

“His holiday spirit is truly abyssal,”
said Jenni to Ilraen, with a smile of dismissal.
“But never you mind that—you two did just right,
Bringing Christmas to all HQ’s children tonight!”

Raven E. Saxon
Was the Ainley Master’s child!
And her mother was a refugee
From when Traken Union died!
Raven E. Saxon
Found a Time Lord who’d been slain,
And she reached Earth when her dad was PM
For a TARDIS she had gained.
There must have been some magic in
Her for when she met her dad,
He suddenly did mend his ways and
He was no longer bad!
Oh, Raven E. Saxon
Fell in love with Doctor Ten,
And I’m sad to say they are on their way
To the story’s happy end.

Raven E. Saxon
Found some needles in her clothes,
And some itchy leaves up and down her sleeves,
And a rash upon her nose
Raven E. Saxon
Just continued with the fic
It felt like a gaff when the Doctor laughed
At her idiotic tricks.
And then another TARDIS entered.
Out came Time Lords twain,
Who charged the Mary Sue and
They both dragged her away.
Oh, Raven E. Saxon
Was destroyed by Magnus Greel.
And the canons, why, they were neuralyzed
And the ’verse itself could heal.

Suethors we have heard on high
Blithely singing their foul songs,
And the characters reply
Applauding these monstrous wrongs.

Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin! *
Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!

Canons, why listen to this?
Why resign now to your fates?
Why do they bring you such bliss?
Do not fall for this snake’s baits.

Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!
Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!

Come to Headquarters and see
Agents whose quest the Sues to sting;
With unmitigated glee,
They excel at their slaying.

Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!
Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!

Jay, Cassie Young, Laburnum
Acacia, Nat, Foxglove
Hunters of the Sue so dumb,
To them we raise hearts in love.

Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!
Rhachon le, Labo vi Orodruin!

* Translation: “Curse you, go throw yourself into Mount Doom.”

On the first day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
A single glistening tear.

On the second day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Two mini-Balrogs
And a single glistening tear.

On the third day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the fourth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the fifth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the sixth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the seventh day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the eighth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Eight underage admirals,
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the ninth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Nine stupid songfics,
Eight underage admirals,
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the tenth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Ten random tense shifts,
Nine stupid songfics,
Eight underage admirals,
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Eleven evil twins,
Ten random tense shifts,
Nine stupid songfics,
Eight underage admirals,
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, a Suethor gave to me
Twelve vamps a-sparkling,
Eleven evil twins,
Ten random tense shifts,
Nine stupid songfics,
Eight underage admirals,
Seven CAFs a-molting,
Six Elves a-drooling,
Five Time Lord ’ships!
Four misquoted poems,
Three unicorns,
Two mini-Balrogs,
And a single glistening tear.

The Maia, Melkor’s spawn, from the pit came,
His form as shadow black, his eyes as flame;
His whip of fire and sword of steel he carries,
The Balrog, Durin’s Bane, in Moria!

A Mary Sue the Fellowship did join,
And Frodo’s spotlight swiftly did purloin;
Two agents killed her dead before she e’er did see
The Balrog, Durin’s Bane, in Moria!

The agents on their mission scratched their heads:
“What can we do with Mary Sue now that she’s dead?”
“I know the thing for her,” the senior agent crowed:
“The Balrog, Durin’s Bane, in Moria!”

Now when the Mary Sues in Arda be,
They’re all assassinated by the PPC;
And where do all the sparkly, urple bodies go?
The Balrog, Durin’s Bane, in Moria!