Murdercake

New comics soon, but I wanted to post this, because it’s season appropriate and I wanted to have it online somewhere. I wrote this in 2005, during the first season of Battlestar Galactica, as a parody of The Raven. A friend’s kept an archive of it online, but I’d like to have it here, just in case. It’s one of the nerdiest things I’ve ever done, which is saying something.

The Cylon

(with apologies to Poe)

Once upon a starship dreary, while I pondered quantum theory,
In hopes of finding the spy among us in this second Cylon War,
While I boasted, nearly flaunting, suddenly there came a taunting,
As of some one nearly haunting, haunting by my quarters’ door.
“‘Tis some plebeian,’ I muttered, “haunting near my quarters’ door -
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember thinking it was some crew member,
Not some robotic Miss December dressed up like a high-priced whore.
Eagerly I’d told Adama; – swearing upon my dear mama
That with very little drama – drama that I can’t ignore
I’d find the Cylon in our midst like I had claimed I’d done before
So I was stuck with that chore.

My exposure seemed quite certain and the thought that I’d be hurtin’
Killed me – filled me with terrible images of blood and gore
So that now, as I then considered praying, I kept on saying
“‘Tis some plebeian entreating entrance at my quarters’ door -
Some dense plebeian entreating entrance at my quarters’ door; -
This it is, and nothing more,”

Soon my pissiness grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
“Six,” said I, “I’m sorry, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But my task is truly daunting, more so with your irksome haunting,
Which is nearly outright taunting, taunting at my quarters’ door,
I wish that I had never met you” – here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there listening, hearing
Thinking, perhaps it had been a plebe as I had thought before
But only silence filled the air, so clearly no one had been there,
I said to myself in despair “It must have been next door.”
This I whispered, then heard a voice reply “It was not next door.”
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into my quarters turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a taunting somewhat louder than before.
“Woman,” said I, finger wagging “I grow tired of all this nagging;
More so since we have stopped shagging, so your silence I implore -
I’ve got lots of work to do and your silence I implore; -
This I want and nothing more!”

I said this and then right after, she, with a bit of cruel laughter,
Appeared right there before my eyes where she had not stood before.
She seemed to be amused highly; her attire was not picked shyly;
But, still she walked toward me slyly, heels clicking on my quarters’ floor -
Until she stopped in front of me and stood there on my quarters’ floor -
An inch taller, maybe more.

Then this seductive bird stood smirking interfering with my working,
Ran fingers though my hair as though I were something to adore,
“Though you fill me with temptation, you” I said, “caused my damnation.
Now I must earn my salvation due to starting this damn war -
What force in Heaven made me fool enough to start this new Cylon war!”
Quoth the Cylon, “Ronald Moore.”

So I looked up at her insanely as she spoke this name so plainly,
Though her answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For I will state with no deceit that none of us among the fleet
Could ever claim to have encountered this certain name before
From Galactica to Astral Queen we’ve not heard it before,
Not such a name as “Ronald Moore.”

But the Cylon, grinning queerly as she stroked my hair, said merely
Those two words, as if the name was such that I could not ignore.
Nothing further did she disclose – and tapped a finger on my nose -
I said as I forgot my woes “I’ve not heard that name before -
For reasons unknown it stirs me, not hearing that name before.”
Then she just said, “Ronald Moore.”

With my concentration broken by reply so plainly spoken,
“Nonsense,” said I, “what you utter is but superstitious lore,
Made up by some witless cretin who should probably be beaten
Before he’s messily eaten by a great and wild boar -
He can speak inside the belly of that great and wild boar
Of this god ‘Ronald Moore.’”

But this Cylon kept on smirking and preventing me from working,
Pushed me into my cushioned seat and she spoke to me no more;
Then, upon my prone form resting, her slender hands now molesting
And her smile flashing like a knife as they continued to explore -
But still I wondered, as her hands continued to explore
Who the heck was “Ronald Moore?”

This I sat engaged in guessing, while robo-vixen kept on pressing
Her lips to mine while trying to cast my shirt upon the floor;
But while she twisted like a yogi, I wished that she would smoke a stogie
After shooting down a bogey – wait, why did that thought come to fore?
What was I thinking about before that strange thought came to fore?
Something strange, ah, Ronald Moore.

My thoughts returned to matters dire, as she hiked my shirt up higher
I thought of failing the Commander and punishments galore.
“Six,” I cried, “please listen to me – now is not the time to do me
I must make a Cylon detector or Adama will be sore!
How, oh how will I make it so that Adama won’t be sore?”
Quoth the Cylon, “Ronald Moore.”

“Woman!” said I, “thing of plastic! – Don’t make me do something drastic! -
If I do not finish my device, I’m sure to be done for,
I am afraid that will require your hands withdrawn from my attire -
And I request that you retire – very truly, I implore -
Unless there – is there help you might provide? – tell me – tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Cylon, “Ronald Moore.”

“Gaius!” said she, “thing of gristle! – You lose much with your dismissal!
By our God who reigns high above us – by that God that you ignore –
He could give you such lush rewards, so many more than Kobol’s Lords!
See to whom this war’s leaning towards? What the hell are you waiting for?
I’ve told you the name of our God, what the hell are you waiting for?”
Quoth the Cylon, “Ronald Moore.”

“Be that name our sign of parting, Toaster Girl!” I shrieked upstarting –
“Get now back into the ether and leave me to Adama’s chore!
So go back to your home beyond and leave me be, you freaky blonde!
Don’t even take time to respond! – Walk right out my quarters’ door!
Take thy chip from out my head, and take thy form right out my door!”
Quoth the Cylon, “Ronald Moore.”

But the Cylon, ever daunting, still is taunting, still is taunting
Unseen by all but me and speaking in tones which I deplore;
When I seem to drift in limbo it’s because I see this bimbo,
And I’m thinking of the name that I had never known before;
I’m cursing that fiendish name that I had never known before
That fiendish name – Ronald Moore!