Happy Fiftieth Birthday, Michael Ironside.
By Amanda Jay Clark.

There was a spectacular celebration,
Throughout Toronto for all to hear,
When in nineteen-fifty, a baby was born,
On February 12th of that year.
Born into an extra-large family,
In which the boy was proud to belong,
Raised with love and devotion,
He learned to know right from wrong.

The boy turned out to be extraordinary,
With a talent he wanted to share.
A unique, gifted entertainer.
Whose genius shines everywhere.
With intelligence well beyond his years,
The boy grew into a man,
Who makes the world a better place,
In any way that he can.

With a veracious love of literature,
And a joy for the spoken word,
It came as a surprise to no one,
That his own script and voice would be heard.
With hard work, and true dedication,
The man became a loved star.
Michael, I hope that you realise,
Just how very special you are.

You’re a man of high moral standing.
A loyal and trusted friend.
So devoted to your family,
On you, they can always depend.
You’re considerate, loving, and giving.
Courteous to everyone you meet.
By a unanimous invitation,
You have the world at your feet.

From the humblest of beginnings,
You rose to fortune, and fame,
And spread pleasure all around the world,
By the mere mention of your name.
The excitement all movie fans feel,
When they see you up there on the screen,
Whether playing the villain, or the hero,
You’re the best there has ever been.

Father, husband, brother, and son,
Are just some of the ways you are known.
You’re a grandchild, uncle, and nephew,
Plus the titles that you’ve made your own.
Like actor, producer, and writer,
But the one you should wear with most pride,
Is the name we know, and love you as,
Michael Ironside.

Now that we’re in 2000,
Can you say, without a lie,
That you’ve achieved all you set out to do,
As the years have gone flying by?
Well, let’s get all nostalgic,
And take a good look at your past,
To discover the wonderful legacy there,
That won’t fade away, it will last.

Before we start this exciting journey,
There’s something I think you should know.
So far, I’ve been kissy-kissy.
Now, I’m changing the way it will go.
I hope you have a good sense of humour,
Cos it gets cheeky from now on.
The soppy part is over.
The Miss-Nice-Girl writer, is gone!

From now on, it’s strictly comedic,
With the occasional hint of blue.
But, I’m begging you, please don’t sue me,
What ever else you do.
It’s all meant with great affection.
No offence meant in any way.
(I had to add those last two lines,
In case we come face to face some day)

In case you are now getting nervous,
And thinking of hiring security,
Let me say that you don’t need protection,
To keep yourself safe from me.
I’m not some mad psycho nutcase,
There’s no danger from the things that I do.
(Well, perhaps I’m a tiny bit crazy.
But only for loving you!)

So, now that I’ve calmed your nerves,
Rest easy, and enjoy the verse.
I can’t guarantee it will get better,
But I hope it won’t get any worse.
I hope you are sitting comfortably,
With a tonic, and extra large gin,
Because it’s time for the "This Is Your Life," part,
For the real story to begin.

Now that you’ve hit the half century,
And before senility nears,
I hope you won’t mind if I tell you,
What you’ve meant to me all through the years.
I’ve always loved movie villains,
They’re ruthless, cold-blooded, and tough.
I easily pass up the pretty boys,
Preferring a nice bit of rough.

I knew when I saw you in Scanners,
You’d leave all other actors behind.
Sorry - there’s no pun intended,
But you totally blew my mind.
You looked like a young Jack Nicholson,
Mixed with Sean Connery’s eyes.
You needed no Genie Nomination.
Canada knew it had a great prize.

Nowadays, things are different.
It’s not only Sean’s eyes that you share.
I guess you must use the same barber,
Cos you’ve copied the style of his hair.
Your endless, extra-wide parting,
Means that sunshine can radiate through,
And make you shine so much brighter.
It’s wonderfully sexy, too.

Still on the subject of Connery,
When you starred in Highlander two,
How did you each keep from giggling?
Cos you must have been high on the glue.
Grass doesn’t grow on a busy street,
Forgive me for sounding cliché,
But I don’t understand why the first they do,
Is stick you under a lousy toupee.

At the end, with a fatal blow from a sword,
Your head rolled away round the room.
Did you notice a strange man on the set that day,
Not directing, but pushing a broom?
I think it was Paul Verhoeven,
Who collects trophies as he sweeps.
I’m sure he picked up your severed head,
And took it home with him for keeps.

With your arms from Total Recall,
And your legs from Starship Troopers,
He put your head in a dark locked room,
To keep them all hidden from snoopers.
Be very afraid if he directs you again,
And says "Please turn your head, and cough,"
Cos the way he’s collecting your body parts,
There’s only one thing left to chop off!

Most people would think that he hates you,
To keep tearing your body apart.
I offer a different perspective,
I think he loves you with all of his heart!
You might think that my theory’s outrageous,
But, I’ll bet you my very last dime,
It’s the most logical explanation,
For collecting you one limb at a time.

So now . . . like a crazy, mad scientist,
He is building a replica you,
And training it as his love slave,
To do all the things you won’t do.
Then, like the Frankenstein monster,
It will turn on its master, and kill.
If Paul loves you as much as I think he does,
You’ll get you body parts back in his will.

And when your limbs are all reassembled,
When they’re all back in the right place,
You can march right up to, Schwarzenegger,
And smack that smug smile off of his face.
When he’s laying there moaning, and groaning,
Offer him a word to the wise.
Tell him, the next time he feels like fighting,
He should pick on someone his own size!

Total Recall had some compensations,
Even though Richter lost the fight for his life,
And had to watch on in seething frustration,
As Quaid screwed around with your wife.
On the bright side, you flew on a rocket to Mars,
That’s further than most men have flown.
Plus, you caused bloodshed and wild pandemonium,
And you did get to snog Sharon Stone.

But a snog is a poor reward,
When as usual, you ended up dead.
Have you considered a move to a safer career,
Like juggling with chain-saws instead?
Cos when you end up looking like giblets,
Chopped liver, and yesterday’s mince,
When your guts are spread out like spaghetti,
The gush of your blood makes me wince.

For example, in the film Watchers,
Poor Lem looked a heck of a sight,
After Furface jumped right through the window,
And gave him a painful dog bite.
Even worse was then to follow,
And the only way you could get free,
Was to pull out the knife that had pierced your throat,
Going right through, and into a tree.

Even then, the fight wasn’t over.
There was still some strength there you found.
It took two blast into your chest from a shotgun,
To knock you finally down to the ground.
OK. So Lem wasn’t the nicest of men,
And had to be stopped, but still,
They could have found a gentler way,
That was definitely overkill!

There was still no compassion in Black Ice.
Again, you were cruelly slain.
First stabbed, and then shot in the shoulder,
Then pushed under a speeding train.
Haven’t you got any nice friends to play with?
Cos the ones I have mentioned so far,
Don’t seem to be happy unless you’re so squished,
You could be mopped up and stored in a jar.

Was it really necessary in Killer Image,
For that girl to stick a knife in your shin.
And then, just for added discomfort,
Twist the blade around in your skin?
Just because you killed a few slutty girls,
And shot your brother, I still don’t know if,
You deserved your head smashed in with a tripod,
Before being shoved to your death from a cliff.

I’ve always thought of you as red hot,
But watching your body char,
In Mardi-Gras For The Devil,
Was one degree of heat too far.
All because you wanted vengeance,
For the souls wrongly burning in hell.
Too bad you didn’t drag Lieutenant Turner,
Back down there with you as well.

It was goodbye again in Voyage Of Terror,
Shot by the Captain while on the high seas.
What no one seemed to realise, was,
You were trying to save them from the deadly disease.
Mutiny they called it,
Even though, on The President’s wishes,
He wanted all those aboard abandoned forever,
And their corpses fed to the fishes.

Extreme Prejudice saw you at your best,
As the two-faced, scheming Paul Hacket,
Who was really working with Cash Bailey,
From whom you were stealing a packet.
Your end was painful, and bloody,
So there’s nothing unusual there.
Hunted and shot by two of your team,
The miserable, rotten pair.

To me, you are some kind of Superman,
But you proved that you couldn’t fly,
In the movie Point Of Impact,
When you fell to your death through the sky.
Did you fall off the boat, or get pushed?
The question is still up for debate.
But no matter what the answer is,
It was Pare` who decided your fate.

What was the deal with Spacehunter?
What the heck were you supposed to be?
The Cruel, sadistic Overdog,
Looked more like a sick puppy to me!
Suddenly, I find myself curious.
Was he real? Or, was he fake?
Did you spend hours in the make-up chair?
Or, is that how you look when you wake?

As if it wasn’t enough,
To have adults afraid of you,
You did Kids Of The Round Table,
So that children are scared of you, too.
They quaked in their boots as they watched you,
In The Next Karate Kid.
As for what you tried to do in Free Willy,
They won’t forgive the cruel things that you did.

But, at least you survived all three films,
Much to the children’s dismay.
For trying to kill that whale,
They wanted you to pay.
Yet . . . since they’re tomorrow’s adult audience,
And their young minds are easy to impress,
Getting them hooked and scared of you early enough,
Is damn good thinking, I guess.

Cos when they’re old enough for adult films,
They will be watching with baited breath,
For the moment their childhood intimidator,
Suffers his well-earned, torturous death.
There’s no worry that you’ll ever be redundant,
I’m very happy to say.
Not when tomorrow’s cinema goers,
Are waiting for you today!

So far, we’ve explored the villains.
The bad boys we all love to hate.
Who show no tenderness, or mercy,
For the mayhem they create.
The ones who have no conscience.
Need no kisses, or caresses,
The ones who end up dead,
In mangled, gooey messes.

Let’s move on to your heroes now,
And leave the ruffians behind.
Sorry about the miscreants I’ve left out,
But it’s time for something more refined.
The guys who fined the solutions,
Instead of causing all the strife.
Of course, and sadly, that doesn’t mean,
That you escape the film with your life.

I was taken by surprise in The Vagrant,
As you went to make an arrest,
And ended up with a chair through your back,
With the legs coming out through your chest.
I don’t think you should work with Marshall Bell any more,
The thought of it fills me with dread.
Cos all films I’ve seen you together in,
You’ve both of you ended up dead!

There’s no shortage of people who want you deceased.
They seem to be forming a queue.
I guess the one with the biggest reason,
Would have to be Mary Lou.
While collecting her crown on Prom Night,
You set her gown alight.
Then stood back and watched her scream, and burn,
As she went up like dynamite.

The fact that her death was an accident,
Didn’t cool her burning fire.
When she returned thirty years later,
The consequences were dire.
As one by one, the students fell,
To her vile murderous spree,
Till she ended up in your body,
And had to learn to stand up to pee.

Lysette Anthony plays a real lady,
In every one of her roles,
Until she got to work with you,
Then she shot you full of holes.
Perhaps the appropriate title,
Should have given you a clue.
Save Me, was her catch phrase,
But it should have been screamed out by you.

You were a guardian angel in Nowhere To Hide,
Offering protection for two on the run.
Laying down your life as a sacrifice,
To save a mother, and son.
But, as usual, you didn’t die easy,
Like Custer, you made your last stand.
With your guts full of lead, and a knife in your ribs,
You killed a man, using only one hand.

Do you mind if I ask you a question?
Will it be such a frightening ordeal,
On that day far, far in the future,
When you actually expire for real?
Are you afraid of The Grim Reaper?
I can’t believe that you are.
No matter how you depart this mortal life,
It will be gentler than you’ve suffered so far.

You were born in The Year Of The Tiger,
According to the Chinese.
A ferocious, man-eating feline,
That makes people shake at the knees.
I’ll bet you’re more like a kitten,
Than a terrifying predatory beast.
Not even a timid field mouse,
Would fear you in the least.

You never roar out of anger,
Or bite, out of rage,
Preferring to be curled up on the sofa,
To pacing around in a cage.
Purring out your pleasure,
With a Cheshire-cat grin,
When you’re shown some warm affection,
And tickled under the chin.

Now we know you’re just a softie,
Let’s look at the characters who survived.
Through charm and selfless bravery,
They positively thrived.
The ones who most resemble you,
And, all things being equal,
Let’s keep our toes and fingers crossed,
That they end up in a sequel!

Chaindance was your best movie ever.
It gripped me, right from the start,
And covered a sensitive subject,
That for years has been close to my heart.
Sex, and the disabled,
Is a strict, definite taboo.
Yet you made love an equal for all,
And not just the privileged few.

Your character ran the gamut,
From a cad who was angry and mean,
To a gentleman full of compassion,
And everything in between.
You wrote the script with perfection,
Sadly moving, and yet, it uplifts.
More proof, if it was still needed,
There is just no end to your gifts.

During the film, Brad asked you,
If you would please "Do up your fly."
Don’t worry, I couldn’t see anything,
Despite giving it my very best try.
After that sad confession,
I send you this heartfelt plea,
Can you find time to write Chaindance two?
It’s the sequel I’d most like to see.

Seeing you astride a majestic horse,
Watching you canter and ride,
Two magnificent beasts together,
You look truly dignified.
In Dead Mans Revenge as the righter of wrongs,
McKay found to his cost,
That for killing your wife, and the theft of gold,
His fortune and life would be lost.

With careful cunning, and powerful heart,
You helped the town to unite,
And gain back all their self respect,
Plus, the things that were theirs by right.
But, what you gained back for yourself,
Was the greatest gift God ever gave.
You finally got back together with, Tom,
The son you thought you’d lost to the grave.

Not much to say about Gun Crazy,
(Except that you played a big wimp.)
Down on your knees, and cowering,
For a kid little more than a shrimp.
I’d never seen you afraid before,
Not at the sight of a gun.
You’re the toughest man on the planet,
When all is said, and done.

And, at the big shoot out at the end,
When you’re usually showing true grit,
As the heroes start killing the villains,
Heck, you’re usually the cause of it.
But this time you hid behind a car,
Kept your head down till the shooting was through,
Only sneaking out of the shadows,
When it was safe, for a cuddle with Drew.

On the hunt for a brutal cop killer,
You were truly back at your best.
Despite of bad feelings between you and your partner,
You wouldn’t relinquish the quest.
When I knew it was called Deadly Surveillance,
I thought, here we go once more.
My gorgeous hunk of throbbing sex machine,
Will be left drowning in his own gore.

Thank goodness, that didn’t happen,
Though you came close a time or two.
And, not only from the bad guys,
Eddie also had it in for you.
Not because he was a rogue policeman,
But during constant pathetic rants,
He accused you of bedding his woman,
Of not keeping it zipped in your pants.

As the tenacious cop in Murder By Night,
You were hunting a maniac.
But the only witness to the crime,
Was a total amnesiac.
The two of you hated each other.
Urich knew how to twist the knife.
Cos the only thing he could remember,
Was how to bonk your ex-wife.

You desperately wanted him to be the killer,
So you could throw him in the slammer.
But when you went round with your ex to arrest him,
You got whacked on the head with a hammer.
As you lay there, barely conscious,
You realised you’d got him all wrong.
Urich turned out to be Kevin Carlisle,
And not the real Alan Strong.

With a memory like fog in Mind Field,
As the man whose brain had been fried,
You learned the truth about your fathers death,
His murder was in fact, suicide.
Through frightening LSD flashbacks,
You began to realise,
Your life had been loaded with falsehoods,
As the truth emerged from the lies.

When the facts were all clear of the fantasy,
And the ghosts of your past laid to rest,
You planned your own retribution,
On those you had come to detest.
For the suffering and grief they had caused you,
You vowed to make them all pay.
Without fear or thought for your safety,
You defeated the CIA.

And, you rescued the fair lady, Sarah,
The lawyer determined to try,
And force you onto the witness stand,
To make you testify.
She seduced you into the bedroom.
I’d never seen you in a love scene before.
(This is just my personal opinion,
But I think you should consider doing more.)

Without the use of narcotics,
The film gave me a couple of highs.
I thought that I must be dreaming.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Apart from Sarah’s seduction,
The other thing that caused me to drool,
Was the removal of a small bath towel,
Before you climbed down into a pool.

As the daredevil pilot in Top Gun,
An ace who lived to fly,
I envied you the freedom,
Of soaring around in the sky.
Overtaking concord,
At twice the speed of sound,
It makes me wonder how you ever,
Keep your feet on the ground.

Your character seemed so serious,
So why did they call him Jester?
Especially when losing to Tom Cruise,
Left an emotional wound to fester.
If it’s any consolation,
He’s not half the man you are,
He’s a sadly fading asteroid,
While you’re a bright heavenly star.

Flying home from Vietnam,
The fearless Frank Bruce,
Saw a cage down on the ground,
And wouldn’t call a truce.
To stop American POW’s,
From being tortured and slain,
Along with a rescue party,
You saved Robert McBain.

Then, several years later,
You were called upon once more,
Loaded up with weapons,
You went back to fight a war.
To remove a despot ruler,
The team got right into his face,
And put the evil dictator,
Firmly in his place.

The bleak future in Neon City,
If we keep doing things the same way,
Is exactly how we’ll be living,
It will become our modern day.
Gangs of murderous cut-throats,
Plundering, outwardly seething,
Air pollutants eating lungs,
Impossible for breathing.

Hot spots burning into flesh,
Searing it from the bone.
Cancer on the increase,
From the depletion of ozone.
Water unfit for drinking,
Food unsafe to eat.
A shortage of daily basics,
Causing riots in the street.

A future where nothing gets better,
And society positively reeks.
Where the disabled are still called monsters,
Mutants, damaged goods, and freaks.
Swearing is our new language.
Our main hobby is spreading fear.
Weapons are fashion accessories.
Destruction our chosen career.

We need more people like Harry M Stark,
Who still have the heart to care.
Or, what will we leave for the children?
There’ll be nothing left for them there.
The Earth’s slowly dying in agony,
Being run gradually into the ground.
If we don’t get our act together, now,
It’ll be too late to turn things around.

A film that gives hope for the future,
Is something I’d like to see.
Something that’s not all doom and gloom,
Death, and despondency.
Where the planet is safe to live on,
And there’s no more war, or sorrow.
Where we live in peace and harmony,
Instead of facing extinction tomorrow.

A world where I’m proud to be human,
And mistakes of the past, are no more.
A film that takes us towards a bright morning,
Instead of being as dark as before.
Who would be perfect to write the script?
Who has that special view?
Who can picture the world as we’d like it to be?
The answer would have to be, you!

Sorry if I went off at a tangent then,
This ode’s not about setting the world right.
It’s a special celebration for a man,
Who’s already an exceptional white knight.
It’s time to move on again now,
And leave the movie world behind.
Let’s go searching through the archives,
And see what TV work we can find.

As Acton, in The Ray Bradbury Theatre,
In, The Fruit At The Bottom Of The Bowl,
You were goaded into the murder,
Of the man who was torturing your soul.
He said, that as a writer,
You had no actual gift.
But it was the affair he had with Mary,
That caused the real rift.

In full knowledge that he was dying,
He used a cunning trick,
To entice you in to his manor,
So that his end would be quick.
Making sure that your finger prints were spread well around,
He formed his plan like a fiend,
To ensure that you wouldn’t get away,
And, you’d go insane as you cleaned.

To protect your deepest secret,
In The Hitchhiker’s Dead Mans Curve,
You followed the sad, old slapper,
Who could bring about all you deserve.
But, instead of her eternal silence,
That would finally bury the ghost,
Your car somersaulted through the air,
And you ended up crunchy as toast.

Treating the injured and sick,
As the debonair William Swift,
Women cued up for the medicine,
They could only take on your shift.
Tenderly, you stopped the pain,
A cure for every ill.
You soon had them feeling on top of the world,
Till they received your medical bill!

You’re never short on sympathy,
When you patrol the emergency room,
Bringing back wilted patients,
To their former glory and bloom.
Despite very limited screen time,
You improved the show such a lot.
And proved to millions of viewers,
That’s an impressive Wild Willie you’ve got.

I lost my faith in doctors,
Many years ago.
But watching you in a white coat,
There’s something I think you should know.
My temperature rises to fever pitch,
And my pulse races out of control.
I’ve never needed a doctor more,
Yet felt so good on the whole.

As the heartbroken brother, Schrader,
In the series, Hill Street Blues,
When the judge overturned the verdict,
It’s no wonder that you blew a fuse.
His Honour was less than honourable,
Because, for a nominal fee,
The guilty were able to bribe him,
And be allowed to walk out of court, free.

Let down badly by your witnesses,
One drunken, and rather crude,
Dropped his pants in front of the judge,
And paraded around in the nude.
The other, you’d paid an inducement,
For the testimony he could tell.
If my brother had been killed by that driver,
I’d have done the same things as well.

You learned not to be a good Samaritan,
In Hitchcock’s, Man On The Edge,
When you went to a grieving mans aid,
And he pushed you off of the ledge.
Too Late, you knew you’d been conned,
Your actions had been less than wise.
Knowing you’d run to his rescue,
Danny avenged poor Sally’s demise.

As the captain of the SeaQuest,
In twenty-thirty-two,
We saw you play the kind of role,
You were really born to do.
Brutal to the heartless,
Tender to the meek.
Giving comfort to the frightened,
And strength to the weak.

A commanding voice that is listened to,
A true leader of men,
Ready to spring into action,
No matter the where, or the when.
No matter what the problem,
However big, or small,
You’re never short of solutions,
You have the answer to them all.

Along with your trusty crew,
For the likes of President Bourne,
And the scheming Larry Dion,
Who treated the world with scorn,
You fought many battles,
In many different lands,
To prove to would-be warmongers,
That the world is safe in your hands.

To save us from nuclear destruction,
You travelled back through time,
Pulled us back from the ridiculous,
And returned us to the sublime.
Antagonists, Freeman, and Scully,
Would go to any length,
To bring about open hostilities,
But they could never match your strength.

Of course, not all your enemies were men.
In the background, like a nagging pain,
That couldn’t be cured with an aspirin,
Was the contemptible, Elaine.
Wow! That girl has a temper,
With a heart as cold as ice.
No wonder when it came to marriage,
You left her at the alter, twice.

Yet, chemistry tells us, you love her,
Even though she’s an atmosphere chiller.
(Let’s not forget, she shot you,
In Portraits Of A Killer.)
But, one thing we both agree on,
Ms Morse and me are aware,
That you do look good in a uniform,
It’s the thing you were born to wear.

I can’t forget the thrill I felt,
The first time I saw V.
It kept me on the edge of my seat,
And I mean that literally.
Although in my mid-twenties then,
It brought out my childhood fears.
And it’s still my favourite TV show,
After all these many years.

"We come in peace," They told us,
Which soon became an obvious lie,
As anthropologists, scientists, and doctors,
Began to vanish, and die.
They were here to steal the water,
And to store us as food in cocoons.
To brainwash us into their armies,
To fight in their homeland dunes.

It seemed so real, I was convinced,
That if I looked up into the air,
I wouldn’t see sky, or stars, or clouds,
Alien spaceships would be hanging there.
Millions of hungry lizards,
Searching for something to munch,
I knew without a single doubt,
I’d end us as lizard lunch.

Donovan, Julie, Elias, and Willy,
Though trying to do their best,
Were far too soft for fighting,
When it came to the real test.
The human race was doomed, it seemed,
No way that we could win.
Might as well lay down and die,
Throw the towel in.

Then . . . enter Ham Tyler.
The mightiest warrior of all.
Suddenly I was confident,
I would see those lizards fall.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Through Ham’s wilful might,
He turned a weak resistance,
Into an army that could fight.

You archenemy, Diana,
The slimy, evil beast,
Thought you were so tasty,
That you’d be a delightful feast.
She tried to take a great big bite,
On more than one occasion.
But you made her live to rue the day,
She started the invasion.

The more she fantasised about eating,
Her delicious Ham stew,
She found your meat tough, not tender,
She’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Mind you, I must confess,
I know how she must feel.
I’d like to take a bite myself,
For a forbidden, fabulous meal.

Even in the conversion chamber,
As a reptile pulled you under his spell,
He programmed you to kill Gooder,
But his plan didn’t go very well.
Through the tears for your lost wife, and daughter,
Their love helped you regain your mind,
To show the courage and strength that was needed,
To make you the saviour of all mankind.

As war raged on round the planet,
We found that we were thrust,
Into a world facing nuclear annihilation,
To prevent the use of red dust.
Ham said, "Go for it anyway,
Fight for all you are worth.
It’s the only way to be rid of the lizards,
And to claim back our planet Earth."

The food and the water was poisoned,
As the red dust was spread everywhere.
Lizards dropped dead in their thousands,
From breathing it in through the air.
To human’s, the red dust was harmless,
But Diana gave it one last try,
By starting the doomsday countdown,
So that our primitive planet would die.

Not even her advanced technology,
Could crush our determined race.
Before the machine reached critical mass,
She made her ex-scape out through space.
When there was no detonation,
Diana knew for sure,
That the conflict between us was over,
And the lizards had lost the war.

With their tails tucked between their legs,
The visitors beat a hasty retreat.
They went back to the hell they had come from,
In disgrace at their defeat.
While we drank champagne, and partied,
The celebration was glorious.
All thanks to a man called Ham Tyler,
Mankind was victorious.

It’s not easy for me, being a fan of yours,
The teasing is endlessly cruel.
And I can’t see any reason for it,
Well . . . perhaps I do give them plenty of fuel.
Like, shouting out warnings as if you could hear,
Whenever your about to be shot.
And cheering at all your villains,
When they’re showing the good guys what’s what.

And while you are painfully dying,
There is always a tear in my eye.
When I see you kissing and cuddling,
I heave a contented sigh.
And when you come out as a winner,
There’s no doubt that I’m totally pleased.
Oh heck! I think it’s just dawned on me.
Perhaps I do know why I’m so teased!

Still, I have to say, at the end of the day,
I think that the teasing goes too far.
They don’t mean anything nasty by it,
It’s just the kind of friends that they are.
My friend Vicky says, whenever she sees you,
You’re making someone go Snap, Crackle, or Pop.
For that reason, she calls you Rice Krispie,
Without many grains on the top.

My younger brother, Derek,
Says he would like you to know,
You should wear a hat, cos if you lose any more,
Your three sixes will soon start to show.
I’ve tried to make him be pleasant,
But it’s all to no avail.
And, I daren’t even tell his suggestions,
For what you should do with your horns, and your tail.

Then, there’s my big sister, Debbie,
Let’s not forget about her.
The way that she likes to upset me,
Is by calling you Raymond Burr.
And, my big brother Stephen.
He’s the cruellest one by far.
Although he’s seen all of your movies,
He pretends not to know who you are.

My friend Pennie is really no kinder,
In the things that she says about you.
She says that M.I.5 is initially,
Listed as your official IQ
They all wind me up something awful,
And leave me as blubbering mush.
And there’s no way that I can stop them,
Cos they all know which button to push.

Actually, they are all big fans, too,
And their teasing is all meant in fun.
They truly don’t mean it when they say,
He’s a reborn Attila The Hun.
They know your not really the devil,
Though you bring out the devil in me.
So be warned, all you would-be teasers,
I condemn you for eternity.

Also, be warned all you killers.
Arnold Schwarzenegger, Marshall Bell.
I have a special punishment in store for you,
My own private version of hell.
My hell isn’t hot, or full of demons,
But you’ll know that I do have top ranking,
As I place you securely across my knee,
For a severe bottom spanking.

Mark Hamill, and Christopher Lambert,
Robert Davi, and Michael Pare`,
For causing the death of my dream-boat,
You will also be forced to pay.
Make the most of your health while you have it,
Cos the outlook for you, is bleak.
By the time I have pounded your buttocks,
You won’t sit down for a week.

Sometimes, you have to work in tandem.
Clancy Brown, with Larry B Scott.
You may think Hacket’s killing was justified,
Let me tell you now, it was not.
Joanna Pacula, with Michael Nouri,
Barbara Williams, with Corey Haim.
Like I’ve said for the others I’ve mentioned,
You are in for more of the same.

As for Amy Madigan, and Patrick Swayze,
Because of the actions they took,
Even though neither of them pulled the trigger themselves,
They still can’t be let off the hook.
Though a spanking is perhaps too severe,
I’m afraid that I must insist,
That for leading the killers directly to you,
They must at least get a slap on the wrist.

Revenge could have been so much simpler,
When you worked with Stephen Lack,
If, when you sucked his brain dry,
He hadn’t sucked yours back.
But like Lisa Schrage, he went up in flames,
Leaving you nowhere to go,
Except to a pile of ashes,
And the cruel place down below.

Twice I’ve seen your characters die,
While leaving your body alive,
Cameron, and Mary Lou the new occupants,
And I’m afraid I’ll allow them to thrive.
I couldn’t possible take revenge out on them,
Not when they look so like you.
So, how I’m going to avenge their actions,
I simply haven’t a clue.

I’ve never been too fond of insects,
But I had never felt so stung,
As when that fire bug came and ate you,
Turning you in to beetle dung.
Now, if anything crawls into my house,
And it’s more than a quadruped,
I roll up my daily newspaper,
And whack it hard over the head.

To all Michael’s killers not yet mentioned,
Don’t think that you’ll get off scot-free,
You must always keep one eye open,
Looking over your shoulder for me.
I can’t say for sure when it will happen.
In a few days, or maybe a year.
But you should live in fear in the meantime,
Cos your spanking will be as severe.

Revenge is sweet, so the saying goes,
And I have enjoyed planning mine,
On all those who’ve hurt you in any way,
Or somehow crossed over the line.
But now, something’s got me to wondering,
I should have thought from the start,
Your friends may want revenge for the things that I’ve said,
And I’m just a big coward at heart.

Ask them please, not to hurt me,
And to have some respect for my gender.
I’m a girl who feels pain easily,
So the revenge that they plan must be tender.
I’m now practising screaming, and bleeding,
In anticipation of what they might do.
I can only hope at the end of the day,
They’ll be nicer to me than they ever were to you.

I’m coming to the end of this tribute now,
(What d’you mean, thank God for that?)
I hope you’re not planning revenge of your own,
I’d hate you to squash me flat.
But, if I’ve caused you any embarrassment,
Or discomfort in any way,
Here are a few suggestions,
Of the price I am willing to pay.

You could send me an autographed picture,
Oh yeah! That would teach me a lesson all right.
It will give me horrific nightmares,
When I look at it night, after night.
Better yet, you could send me two pictures,
That would instantly double my trouble.
My nightmares would then be in stereo,
And my life would crumble to rubble.

If you’re feeling particularly vicious,
Remember, I always leap to your defence.
It’s my friends who say mean things about you,
Go to them to claim recompense.
But, if it really must be me paying the price,
If my ego must take a blow,
For maximum effect, here are some hints,
Of the ways you should not go.

For example. A poor plan of revenge for this poem,
Would be a cerebral attack.
A search party left to find my brain,
And the poor devils never came back.
It had been secretly donated to science,
And crushed in a mortar and pestle.
So exploding my head would be a waste of time,
Cos it’s only an empty vessel.

So if you’re thinking, OK, I’ll shoot her,
Aim a gun right at her chest,
From this moment on, I want you to know,
That I’ll live in a bullet proof vest.
And don’t even think of doing,
What you did to poor Mary Lou.
This vest serves more than one purpose,
It’s totally fire proof, too.

And besides, if you do turn me to charcoal,
You will only be causing yourself sorrow.
I won’t wait thirty years to return,
I’ll be coming back tomorrow.
If I wait thirty years, you’ll be eighty,
And if we meet at that junction,
Where I’m forced to live inside your body,
I’d still like part of it to function.

The best revenge on me would be,
Keep doing what you’re doing.
Then, I’ll have to keep buying the videos,
And sit there drooling and viewing.
Keep showing the world your genius,
And don’t ever think of retiring,
That’ll serve me right for writing this,
As I’ll have to keep loving, and admiring.

But Michael, all joking aside,
Let me genuinely say,
I wish you all you wish yourself,
On this very special day.
Have a spectacular celebration,
Full of fabulous party cheer.
And collect more wonderful memories,
With your friends, and loved ones near.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this blast from your past,
Personally, I’ve had a ball.
But this poem would be a thousand pages long,
If I tried to cover it all.
My sincerest thanks for your exceptional work,
On TV, video, and big screen.
I treasure the things that I have on tape,
And long for the films not yet seen.

I’ll write again when you’re a hundred,
As you’ll still be around on the scene.
And, along with my fan letter,
Will be a telegram from The Queen.
So, here’s to the next fifty years.
Good health to you all the way,
With affection, and all my best wishes,
Love from, Amanda Jay.

Happy 50th Birthday, Michael Ironside is protected by copyright, and remains the property of the author, Amanda Jay Clark.

©

(Thanks to Patrish for the photo)

100 Anagrams of Michael Ironside, with meanings.
By Amanda Jay Clark.

I NICE SOLDIER, HAM. - Is this how you introduced yourself too gentle Willie in V?

HE MID NICE SAILOR. - Not that nice, since SeaQuest sank. (II loved SeaQuest 2032. I couldn’t believe they cancelled it. You turned an okay show into a brilliant one.)

I SHIELD MAIN CORE. - Otherwise, we end up with a nuclear waar.

HIS DOCILE AIRMEN. - Tom Cruise is a total snooze compared to you.

I HID CLONE ARMIES. - Trying to turn every fighter into a toough replica of yourself in V.

ERNIE’S HOMICIDAL. - Who wouldn’t be after watching Seergeant Hansen with an ever screaming Jennifer Grey in Portraits Of A Killer?

OH, I DEAL IN CRIMES. - Your sad reply when asked why you playy so many policemen.

I DIE IN MORE CLASH. - Sad, but true.

SLAIN MID CHEERIO. - One of your, if you blink, you miss mee performances. You barely says hello, and it’s goodbye.

OH NIL DIE I SCREAM. - But bless your little blood soaked boddy, you always do. Why do you never listen to my warnings? I always scream them out loud enough!

HE DIE SO CRIMINAL. - Your characters deaths aren’t alwways justified, and I can’t help sobbing. (Yes, I know I’m an idiot, but at least I’m a harmless, and happy one.)

I HIDE LICE ON MARS. - So that’s how that bug got up Arnnie’s nose.

RIDE ON HIS MALICE. - Best just to buy a one way ticket.

IS HOLE MANIC RIDE. - But what a journey.

HI SIR IDOL MENACE. - Has any menace been more idolised? Thoough I doubt that I’d have the bottle to say hi to you even if by some miracle I should be lucky enough to get that close.

I CALM HERO INSIDE. - But outside, grrrr.

DIM ALIEN HEROICS. - Oh look, there goes my head.<

HIRE SOLID ICEMAN. - None cooler, and definitely solid. I&##146;m convinced this is what they had in mind when they hired you for Father Hood!

I CEREMONIAL DISH. - And what a tasty ceremony it must havee been.

DIMINISH ACE ROLE. - Could our ace man’s role get any smaller? Not without major surgery!

MIRACLE I DO SHINE. - From every wonderful cell and disfuncttioning follicle.

I HIDE NO MIRACLES. - There for all the world to see. Shame that so few of us do see you for the miracle you are though.

I SIRE CHAIN MODEL. - Kinky, but nice.

I DESIRE NIL MACHO. - So let’s end the ugly rumour thatt started when you said, "I don’t want you Mrs Ferguson, I want your husband." Of course, being a florist didn’t help your case any.

NIL DISHIER CAMEO. - How very true.

SLIMIER HEAD ICON. - A tad sweaty perhaps, but not slimy. MMore shiny.

HE ADMIRE SILICON. - Well, don’t they all.

IDOLISER MACHINE. - That’s what you have turned me innto over the last twenty years.

I DO RELISH CINEMA. - But only when you are on.

>

I CHARM SENILE I DO. - How sweet. And the not so senile.

HIM IN OLDIE SCARE. - Well, you are knocking on a bit now. YYou scare the youngsters too.

OH, I MAIDENS RELIC. - Speaking as a maiden, yes please my prriceless relic.

HI, ONE MEDICAL SIR. - The greeting you gets every morning onn ER. Despite those Godawful sandals you’re forced to wear.

I DICE SOLEMN HAIR. - Stop it then. No wonder it runs away iin fright.

DEMONIC HAIR LIES. - You’ve told these on many occasioons. Katana comes to mind. Bless you, you have never grown that much hair in his entire life!

COOL AIR. HE IS MINE. - Well, you do make me sweat a bit.

I OIL MERCHANDISE. - With a big smile on my face.<

OIL HIS NICE DREAM. - Nothing worse than a dry one is there!!

I LAID MORE INCHES. - Yahoo! Bragging again.

I’M NO LAID, HE CRIES. - Poor baby. Would you like me to help? I really don’t mind volunteering.

I MISLAID HE CRONE. - How careless, and gender confusing.

SMILE IN HAIR CODE. - It’s the invisibility that makes it a code impossible to break.

I SO HINDER MALICE. - And cause a lot of it, too.

HERE, I MIND SOCIAL. - But there, who cares!

I CLAIM ODE SHRINE. - Some daft wench is bound to write me aa 1000 line poem for my 50th birthday.

I HONE DISCLAIMER. - I’m sharp enough to surrender to you any time.

IS REEL, I CAN DO HIM. - Beware the press!

HAILS DIRE INCOME. - Time to ask for a pay rise. Let’ss get you into the $20mil bracket.

RID LIE, I AM CHOSEN. - You certainly are, though by now, you are probably wishing that you weren’t.

I MILD SINCE A HERO. - Mild as a bull on the rampage, but at least an heroic one.

I SAID I’M HER CLONE. - Made up from all the body parts stolenn during filming by Paul Verhoeven. (Thanks, Michael, I’ll take it! Sad git that I am.)

HAIL ME IN. I SCORED. - Finally. Good for you, babe.

I DIE RICH, SOLE MAN. - And, so very often.

SIR ICED HIM ALONE. - You never did need any help.<

DO I SMIRCH, ELAINE? - Only Ms. Morse would know. Any chance that she would tell us?

I SMILE ON HER ACID. - Good God Ms. Morse. I only asked you aa question!

I’M DIAL. I NO CHEERS. - That’s what happens when you want to kill a whale.

HENCE, I DO SIMILAR. - Cop, villain. Cop, villain. Cop, villain.

I END SIMILAR ECHO. - Sea captain at last. Oops, not for lonng.

HI, I DISMAL ENCORE. - Cop, villain. Cop, villain. Cop, villaain. (Not that I’m complaining. I love them all.)

HIM CARIES ON IDLE. - How can this be an anagram of you, Mr ten films a year man?

SIR DO LIE. CANE HIM. - Ready when you are. Just say the word..

HE IS MAIN ICE LORD. - The coolest, yet hottest ice around thhat melts me every time.

HIDE AMNESIC ROIL. - Especially from Robert Urich.>

DIM HALO SINCE IRE. - Calm down and give it a polish then.

HIM DO AIL SINCERE. - Played a lot of very sick puppies haveen’t you? And, all brilliantly.

I HAIL DEMON CRIES. - Now you have to give me a break. If yoou can make a demon cry, is it any wonder you have me blubbering, too.?

HI, I CONSIDER MALE. - Oops. The least said, the better.

I LICE ADMONISHER. - Punishing the bugs from Starship Trooppers.

OH NICER IDEALISM. - You, through and through.

>

HIS MEDIOCRE NAIL. - Probably under too much pressure to doo much good. Better luck next time.

AN ICIER DEMOLISH. - Cool knock down. That’s you.

I’M HAIRDO SILENCE. - Shhh. Not too good on the visual either!

IS MEDICINAL HERO. - All the tonic I have ever needed.

DIE HARMONIC LIES. - And let’s get back to pandemoniumm.

I DEMORALISE INCH. - But the rest of you is great.>

I’M RELIC ADHESION. - I find you priceless anyway. And, IѺm definitely stuck on you.

I REALISED HIM CON. - Watch out!

DECISION RILE HAM. - They always made the wrong one didnѺt they! You will get Diana and her lizard buddies next time. (Is there ever going to be a next time? She’s still up there somewhere you know.)

HE CLAIM DERISION. - Who dare ridicule you? Send me their nnames and addresses. I’ll sort them out for you!

HIM IDLE SCENARIO. - How can this be an anagram of you? I hhave never known anyone put more oomph into everything they do!

HIM RADIO LICENSE. - Would that be Ham radio by any chance?? More like James Bond. Licensed to thrill, and kill.

HIS COIL REMAINED. - Other things may have gone for good, bbut your spring is as bouncy as ever.

ICE HIDE MORAL SIN. - Cool and naughty. That’s definiteely you.

I CLASH. I DOMINEER. - Every time. When will it be my turn?

MISER CHAIN OLDIE. - Just my damn luck that I’m only tthirty-nine then.

I’M HEROICS DENIAL. - Why?

HIE CRIMSON IDEAL. - A rush to the perfect red. Blood red nnaturally.

SO I REACH MIND LIE. - Is there nothing you can’t do? I guess being a scanner helps.

HIM IN SOLACE RIDE. - Always ready to give comfort. Just a bbig softie at heart.

ME? I CAN RILE HIS DO.- Not sure what or where your DO is, but I can make it angry. Guess I should be more careful from now on!

SNIDE HEROIC MAIL. - Oops. I hope that’s not what you think this is. It’s definitely not meant to be slanderous, or nasty, though I’m hoping that the heroic bit has come through by now.

HOLIER MAN IS ICED. - You little devil!

HIS MANIC DIE ROLE. - Dozens of them in fact.

I HARD NOISE CLIME. - Heard wherever you are in the world.

I IS COLD MEAN HIRE. - I’m still hoping for warm and friiendly when you read this.

I RIDE MACHO LINES. - Brilliantly.

I LEAD HIM IN SCORE. - And her. And them.

NIL ACID. HE IS MORE. - He is everything.

NEAR HIS DOMICILE. - Are you getting scared yet? Relax. I’m nowhere near.

 

Well Michael, that’s your lot. It’s finally over. Wow, I could hear that sigh of relief from here. All the teasing, insulting (mainly for your friends, but I’ll admit there’s some there for you, too,) the innuendo, and the double entendre. You can rest easy now. You don’t have to worry that I’m out there somewhere stalking you. All you have to worry about, is how much ink is in my pen for the poem I’m working on for your 100th birthday.

On a slightly more serious note though, since you do seem to be such a fiercely private man, I’m a bit worried that you may find this to be a personal invasion of your life. If you do, I’m truly sorry. I don’t mean any harm, not to you, your friends, or your family. I thought long and hard about whether to mail this to you, and decided that since I had worked so long, and so hard on it, I might as well send it anyway. What’s the worse that can happen? I know that my writing is nowhere near to your standard, but I’m hoping that you like it just the same. Feel free to turn the whole lot into paper aeroplanes if you wish. (I’d still appreciate a signed picture or two though, even if you hate this.)

So, finally leaving you in peace, (rather than in pieces, as Paul Verhoeven always does,) and looking forward to the next fifty years of your work, be healthy, wealthy, and happy,

Love from Amanda.

xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

This file was mailed to Michael’s agent on Tuesday, 11th January, 2000. As of yet, I have not received the autographed photo I asked Michael for. If I ever do, I will let you know. This document is protected by copyright, and remains the property of the author, Amanda Jay Clark.

©

For the FULL tribute that I sent to Michael Ironside, e-mail

Author of Rhyme "N" Reason

 

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