These filks were originally posted in January and February 1997 to the e-mail list WILDWEST.

THE NIGHT OF THE WAND'RING CHOO-CHOO

(to the tune of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo"; suggested by JJ)

Pardon me boys,
Is that the train they call the Wand'rer?
Booby-trapped doors,
And exits hid in the floors.

Gordon and West,
They ride the train they call the Wand'rer.
Trav'ling in style,
They cover mile after mile.

They head from Washington to New Orleans with divas in tow.
On to Denver next, and then to San Francisco.
Villains try to stop 'em; Jim and Artie drop 'em.
They're Grant's number one team 'cause no one can top 'em.

Agents live the high life while the train's on the track.
(Engine crew and Tennyson cooped up in the back.)
"Torte?" "I'll have a smidgen. Did you feed the pigeon?"
"Let's play billiards. I'll go get the rack."

Train bimbos meet
With Jim and Artie at the station.
Drinks by moonlight,
Then they go out for the night.

Bimbos will frown
When Jim and Artie say it's time to roam.
They're trav'ling on the Wand'rer; it's the place they call home.

© 1997 by BJ

 

THE NIGHT OF THE DETONATING TOP HAT

(to the tune of "Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails," with apologies to Irving Berlin)

I just got an invitation through the mail.
"Your presence expected this evening, it's formal--
wear top hat and white tie and tails."

I don't think this invitation is for real.
My hackles are rising, the ploy is surprising;
the author of this is in jail.

But I'm puttin' on my top hat,
tyin' up my white tie,
brushin' off my tails.
I think I'll be a Russian gen'ral--
mustache and an eyeglass,
an imperious sort of male.

At the soiree I find a damsel in distress who comes to me for aid.
Villains capture us and throw us in a cell! "Don't be afraid"--

--'cause I'll just reach for
my highly loaded top hat,
pull out that explosive,
blow the door to hell.

Then I'll squeeze a little shirt stud
give the guard a faceful
of colored gas--no yell!

Then I put on a beard, serape, and sombrero with a fring-ed brim,
Infiltrate the villains' lair so I can rescue partner Jim.

Then I go home,
Change back into my white tie,
And meet the gorgeous damsel
Who loves me in my tails.

And since the villains
are safely in the pokey,
we'll dine on something smoky,
a pheasant or a quail!

© 1997 by VJ (aka Karen Beckwith) and BJ

 

THE NIGHT OF THE DUELLING DUETS

(to the tune of "Puttin' on the Ritz," with apologies again to Irving Berlin)

Have you seen that little man
Angry since his life began
Planning all those vengeful schemes,
Dreaming California dreams?
High hopes and wild inventions,
Mad mopes and grand intentions,
Coveting a crown--
Thinks he'll win it hands down!

First he's got
The perfect bait to launch his plot
Then celebrate with Antoinette
Singin' a duet.

With Voltaire
He stalks about his cluttered lair.
No fear or doubt, at his spinet
Singin' a duet.

Banks and mints fall to the villain's forces,
But thugs have poorer brains than average horses,
So of course he's

Found out by
Our heroes--Oh, with him they'll vie,
Doc doesn't know they've cast a net
In their own duet.

Doc gets mad
When these two rout the plans he had,
He starts to pout, then joins his pet
Singin' a duet.

Hate and pique
Are all-consuming--leave him weak
To ev'ry looming and dire threat
Singin' a duet.

Megalomani'cal thoughts give rapture,
Laying traps for Jim and Artie's capture,
But they fracture.

Punching lugs
Jim knocks some lumps into their jugs
And Artie jumps in to abet,
Wreckin' Doc's duet.

Chase ensues,
It's a pursuit the agents lose.
So Doc can hoot that he's free yet,
Singin' a duet.

© 1997 by BJ and VJ

 

THE NIGHT OF MY VICIOUS VALENTINE

(to the tune of "My Funny Valentine"; started by Liz, finished by BJ, with a little help from VJ)

Behold the way our proud villainess
Her evil doth parade.
Thou knowest not, my foul murderess
The picture thou hast made.
Thy practiced smile and thy well-dressed curls
Can't conceal thy evil plot
To marry wealthy men to your girls
Then kill them on the spot; you're

My Vicious Valentine,
Cruel Emma Valentine,
You grasp for money and pow'r.
Your plans--redoubtable,
Untalkaboutable,
Make widows in the bridal bow'r.

Toy with James West in between,
Run his "likes" through your machine,
Does deciph'ring what they mean
Leave you sour?

But your plans will fall apart,
E'en though it breaks your heart.
Wail, Emma Valentine, wail!
The honeymoon finds you in jail.

© 1997 by BJ, Liz, and VJ

 

THE NIGHT OF THE WANDERER

(to the tune of "The Wanderer," with apologies to Dion)

Oh well I'm the type of guy who will never settle down
Where pretty girls are, well, you know that I'm around
I kiss 'em and I love 'em and they fall just like a leaf
I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em; steal their hearts just like a thief.
I ride the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer
I ride around around around

Oh well there's Deb right behind me, Janis standing on my right
And Jenny is the girl that I'll be with tonight
And when she asks me which one I love the best
I tear open my shirt I got Lizzie on my chest
I ride the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer
I ride around around around

Oh well I roam from town to town
I take on villains everywhere
'Til I've stopped their evil plans
With my two fists of iron and indestructible hair.

I'm the type of guy who likes to roam around
I'm never in one place I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl
I hop right on that train of mine and ride around the world
It's the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer
I ride around around around

Oh yeah I'm the type of guy who likes to roam around
With Artie by my side I roam from town to town
We take on all the bad guys that the President directs
And when I get a hankerin' for the gentler sex
I hop on the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer
I ride around around around...
I ride the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer
I ride around around around

© 1997 by BJ & VJ

 

SECRET AGENT SHOES

(to the tune of "Secret Agent Man")

A secret agent leads a life of danger.
Take one wrong step and death will be no stranger.
With every move he makes,
Another chance he takes.
Our footwear helps him live to see tomorrow.

Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
If you're gonna be an agent,
Then wear these on your feet.

Depend on them for walking through the fire.
Trust them to bring you safely through the mire.
Don't fear a knife-made gash,
Or deadly acid splash.
Odds are you will live to see tomorrow.

Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
Protect your toes from acid,
From flames, from corns, from heat.

You're runnin' through a rocky canyon one day,
Then climbin' up a concrete wall the next day.
You needn't fear a slip;
With our special patent grip
Odds are you will live to see tomorrow.

Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
For even surer footing,
Use our distinctive cleat.

Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
Secret Aaaaaa-gent Shoes.
They're Secret Service-endorsed
'Cause they can't be beat.

© 1997 by BJ

 

WHERE DO I BEGIN?

(to the tune of "Love Story"; inspired by the godawfullest episode W3 ever did, "The Night of the Tycoons," and by BJ, who wrote:

> What I don't like about TNot Tycoons:
> --------------------------------------
> Let's see, where shall I begin?)

Where do I begin, to tell the story of an agent and his seal,
A sweet adventure that has lots of kid appeal?
The simple truth is that I haven't got the zeal
To even start.

But I know you'll insist
that I regale you with the exploits of this pair,
this happy twosome who suf-fur from awful hair
yet always manage to display great savoir-faire--
they play a part.

They play a part, pretending to be odd,
the hair, they say, is merely very mod,
they persevere with great elan,
and anywhere they go, they're never lonely
because bad guys who all want only
to foster their schemes
keep butting in.

How long will it last?
Can guts be measured by the fights the heroes win?
Or the disguises which are cleverer than sin?
Who cares, they'll try until their hair is getting thin,
And we'll be there.

© 1997 by VJ

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