Title: Kilted Yaksmen
Author: Um, not ren. No, definitely not me...okay, it was me.
Disclaimer: Take them back, Kevin, I don't want them anymore.
Rating: RS. For Really Strange.
Notes: Ouch. Jay was in a mood. If you don't know Ren and
Stimpy, you're gonna be so lost...
Summary: Paying homage to Ren and Stimpy.
Six fifteen in the morning. It was too early to be out of bed,
but they were. It was too early for any other activity than
sleep, or, failing that, coffee. Yet somehow, Silent Bob found
himself not only out of bed, but fully dressed and listening to
Jay in the shower.
Which was, of course, the next best thing to watching Jay in the
Today was a Very Special Day. Today, at exactly six thirty in
the morning, would begin the First Annual Ren and Stimpy
Marathon of Doom. Why it was the Marathon of Doom Bob wasn't
quite sure, but he suspected that anyone insane enough to watch
that many straight hours of the cartoon was Doomed to spend the
rest of their days heavily medicated in a padded cell.
So be it, thought Silent Bob. He was a big fan of the cartoon,
though not as big a fan as Jay, who had insisted they rise at
this ungodly hour. Who before this day had never gotten up at
six in the morning in his life. Ever. And hopefully, thought
Bob with a shudder, he never would again.
For someone so fond of sleep, Jay was alarmingly cheerful at
six a.m. Disturbingly cheerful, even, as if sleep deprivation
- they hadn't actually made it home until two - had sent him
temporarily insane. As if he had mistakenly dumped some
experimental happy drug into his coffee instead of sugar. As
if...Bob's speculations regarding Jay's sanity (or lack thereof)
came to a sudden, surprised halt with the abrupt confirmation
of his suspicions.
Jay was singing in the shower.
Too shocked to move, Bob stared at the bathroom door, wondering
if early morning insanity was catching and he was hallucinating.
Nope, he decided after a moment. That cheerful warbling noise
coming from the bathroom was definitely Jay. Or a clone. An
evil clone designed by the government to confuse and seduce
him into...into what, exactly? Truth be told, Bob's mind had
stalled somewhere around the word 'seduce'.
Once the shock of Jay's behaviour had passed somewhat, some of
the words to the song began filtering into Bob's brain. What
the - something about yaks, and wearing women's clothing? The
tune sounded familiar, though. Was that...couldn't be. God Save
The caffeine kicked in, then, and Bob's brain finally made the
connection. Ren and Stimpy, the tune, yaks...it was the anthem of
the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen! He wilted onto the sofa in
relief. He wasn't insane. Jay wasn't insane. Well, he wasn't
He jumped as the door to the bathroom slammed open; Jay stood
framed in the doorway, hands braced on either side. He was
dressed in boxers, his skin still glistening damply and flushed
from the shower, and his eyes were fixed on Bob with a most
"Do I know you?" he asked, his voice dripping with paranoia.
Oh God, thought Bob. He really is insane.
"Does my wife know you?" Jay continued, stalking towards Bob,
His wife? Bob could only stare as Jay drew closer.
Jay was almost at the couch now, his lips drawn back in a snarl.
"How do I know you're not from the FBI?"
Bob's mouth fell open in shock as Jay leaned so close he could
have kissed him, if he only moved forward a few short
inches...Jay smiled then, one eyebrow quirking as if in
"So..." he said, in so friendly a tone Bob blinked. "Nipples,
Just as Bob was beginning to consider going back to bed, his
brain caught up to the rest of him. "No sir," he said calmly.
"I don't like it."
Jay's smile grew into a grin. "That ain't what you said last
night," he said smugly, then swatted him on the shoulder. "Move
your ass over, Lunchbox. Cartoons are on, and as much as I love
you, a man's gotta have priorities."
Glancing at Jay in profile, all little boy enthusiasm, Bob was
forced to agree.
The end. Fweeeeee. Credits go to Ren and Stimpy for the Kilted
Yaksmen song and the episode with the rubber nipples. Here be
the words to the anthem, for the curious amongst you.
Our country reeks of trees
Our yaks are really large
And they smell like rotting sheep carcasses
And we have to clean up after them
And our saddle sores are the best
We proudly wear women's clothing
And searing sand blows up our skirts
And the buzzards they soar overhead
And poisonous snakes will devour us whole
Our bones will bleach in the sun
And we will probably go to hell
And that is our great reward
For being the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen
And a thousand thousand slimy things lived on, and so did ren.
[Gratuitous editorial insert: If that doesn't tell you why I love
this woman's writing, then there's no better way. Go on over to the
archives of the Jay
and Silent Bob slash list, search around, you'll find wonderful stuph