present

H.S.&M Pinafore(play)

or "Hack Night"

(oh, you were looking for the real show?)

I'm called Little Buttercup

by Katherine Bryant

   I'm called Little Buttercup, 
   Dear little Buttercup, 
   Tell me, what did I do wrong? 
   Oh, why is poor Buttercup, 
   Poor little Buttercup, 
   Stuck with this insipid song?

   The words are all sappy; 
   The meter's not snappy; 
   The tune is annoying, to boot. 
   My props are distracting 
   My mind from my acting 
   And sailors who are just too cute.

   It's driving me crazy! 
   My mind's going hazy -- 
   I'll keep going nuts till it stops. 
   It's so bad, I'm thinking 
   Of coping by drinking 
   This excellent peppermint schnapps!

   So tell little Buttercup, 
   Dear little Buttercup, 
   Gilbert, please give a reply; 
   Oh, tell little Buttercup, 
   Poor little Buttercup: 
   Why, Mr. Sullivan, why?

I Play the Monarch of the Sea

by Brian Bermack

I play the monarch of the sea
The ruler of the Queen's navy
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants...

When at center stage I sing
I can hardly see a thing
And I snap my fingers at reviewers' taunts!

Though my costume is the best
It could use a bit more zest
But I'm happy to have gotten on the stage with pants!

When I was a Lad

by Brian Bermack

When I was a lad I was, forsooth
The light board operator in the booth  (1)
I pulled the levers and I fixed a fuse  (2)
And I wore a fancy headset as I read the cues  (3)
    ....
I read out all the cues so carefully
That now I play the ruler of the Queen's navy


In reading cues I made such a name
A computer wizard I soon became
I wore clean trousers and a brand new suit  (4)
For my interview to get into the Institute
    ....
That interview to enter did so well for me
That now I play the ruler of the Queen's navy


In 8.02 I earned such a mark
I was cast in a play about a secret aardvark  (5)
We had weird costumes; it was quite oddball
And it really didn't make a lot of sense at all
    ....
It made no sense, so I refrained, you see
From doing more with Dramashop at MIT


At double-oh-one I took such a stab
That they gave me a UROP in the AI Lab  (6)
I learned some C and I wrote some code
And I wrote a timesheet so they paid me what they owed
    ....
That silly UROP timesheet did so well for me
That now I play the ruler of the Queen's navy


I grew so bored that I resolved
With theater again perhaps I'd get involved
I looked about for audition calls
And I didn't really care if I got cast at all
    ....
I cared so little they rewarded me
By making me the ruler of the Queen's navy


Now students all, whoever you may be
If you want to rise to the top of the tree
If you find that the institute is rather cruel
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule
   ....
Don't eat at Lobdell...
And never sing on key
And you all may play rulers of the Queen's navy  (7)

He is at MIT

by David Euresti

   He is at MIT,

   For he's always problem setting, 
   And sleep he's never getting, 
   Since he goes to MIT

   For he could've gone to Harvard, 
   Or Princeton, Yale, or Stanford, 
   Or perhaps the AFA.

   But in spite of opportunities, 
   To attend these universities 
   He remains at MIT, 
   He remains at MIT.

The Hours Creep on Apace

by Bridget Copley

   The hours creep on apace. 
   My guilty heart is ruing --
   Ah, that I might undo 
   What Steph has got me doing!

   Its folly it were easy to be showing, 
   What I am giving up, and whither going.

   On the one hand, E39, filled with linguistics lads and lasses, 
   Big conferences in distant Santa Cruz, 
   Rare languages, aspectual verb classes, 
   Rich Indonesian data sets for my dissertation, 
   And hopefully, a speedy graduation!

   And on the other, 
   A dark rehearsal room in W20 with everybody singing,
   Where directors yell, and clashing divas fume, 
   And Dick Deadeye overboard they are flinging, 
   Where moments to get work done are rarities, 
   And dinner is bad sushi from LaVerde's!

   Amid this great cacophony, 
   Untiring and unknown, 
   We toil for Todd and Stephanie, 
   Till half the night has flown,
   Till half the night has flown. 
   No PhD can they impart, 
   No fine commencement dress,
   No fortune -- save this silly part, 
   And love of G&S
   And love of G&S!

   And yet, I'm so behind, you know, 
   That if I choose to do this show, 
   To sing upon this set so pretty, 
   I'll have to lie to my committee.

   Oh, god of love, and god of research, say 
   Which of you twain shall my poor heart obey?

A British Tart

By Emily Hanna and Jacquie Felton

    A British tart is a sordid soul 
    As cheap as a Mountain Dew 
    She never can resist a cute sailor when she's pissed 
    In fact she'll take a few

Last modified: May 20, 2002

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