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    Jane Austen’s BUFFY

    And now, from the mad mind that brought you Austen Trek and Jane Austen’s Batman, we have

    Jane Austen’s BUFFY; or, if Jane Austen had written Buffy the Vampire Slayer….


    Mr. Giles turned his eyes on Miss Buffy Summers. “I can guess the subject of your reverie.”

    “I should imagine not.”

    “You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in the presence of a vampire without being able to place a stake within his chest–and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! Their love of blood, and their eccentric dentistry–the villainy, and yet the arch dialogue of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

    “You conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a handsome vampire can bestow.”

    Mr. Giles immediately fixed his eyes on her face, and desired she would tell him what vampire had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Miss Summers replied with great intrepidity:

    “Mr. Angel.”

    “Mr. Angel!” repeated the watcher. “I am all astonishment. How long has he been such a favourite?–and pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

    “That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A watcher’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from reluctance in killing a person to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”

    “Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having charming relatives in Spike and Drusilla, indeed; and, of course, they will always be in Sunnydale with you.”

    She listened to him with perfect indifference while he chose to entertain himself in this manner; and as her composure convinced him that all was safe, his wit flowed long.

    “You are aware of his much-lamented past, I am sure,” said Mr. Giles. “And you must of necessity regard it with the greatest horror. To murder humans for one century, or two centuries, or three centuries, or whatever it was, above his head in blood, and alone, quite alone! What could he mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence to chuse to remain soulless for so long–and then, at the last, to repent? And why?”

    “The latter shows an affection for humans that is very pleasing,” said Buffy.

    “I have a excessive regard for Angel, he is really very sweet (for a vampire), and I wish with all my heart he were well settled. But with such friends as Spike and Drusilla, and with his inexplicable love for hair gel, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

    Cara
    Cara King, author of MY LADY GAMESTER and eternal geek

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    Jane Austen’s Oscar Nominees

    In all the rampant Oscar coverage, I’m shocked that no journalist unearthed the fact that the early versions of all five of this year’s Best Picture nominees were actually written by Jane Austen!

    There. You didn’t know it either, did you?

    What — you don’t believe me?

    Here, as proof, are excerpts from all five:

    Jane Austen’s SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

    No one who had ever seen this slumdog in his infancy would have supposed him born to be a millionaire. His situation in life, the poverty of his father and mother, his predatory elder brother, were all equally against him. He was fond of all boy’s plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to reading, but even to life itself–for how else might one explain his unaccountable attachment to bowling at the wicket even in the face of rapidly descending airships? His school was three months in teaching him the names of two of the musketeers, but he never was able to remember the third, for he was often inattentive, and occasionally lured by an award-winning soundtrack into running through the streets of Mumbai during school hours.

    Jane Austen’s BENJAMIN BUTTON

    Daisy, who could not think a man only a few years older than herself so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the fancy of certain in the room, ventured to clear Grandma Fuller from the probability of wishing to throw ridicule on his age.

    “But at least, Grandmamma, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation, though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. Benjamin Button is certainly older than I am, but he is young enough to be my brother. It is too ridiculous! When is a man to be safe from such wit, if youth and vigor will not protect him?”

    “Vigor!” said her grandmother, “do you call Benjamin Button vigorous? I can easily suppose that his age may appear much less to you than to one my age; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs! Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?”

    “Grandmamma, you are not doing me justice. You know very well that Benjamin Button is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer.”

    Jane Austen’s MILK

    Harvey Milk ascended the podium and began speaking. “There is one thing,” said he, “which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and resolution. It is the duty of any American to enter a vote in favour of equal rights. He knows it to be so; and if he wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would act at once, simply and resolutely, within the ballot box, as well as without.”

    Jane Austen’s FROST/NIXON

    Mr. Frost gazed steadily at his companion. “I say again, Mr. Nixon–Did you see what happened to the missing eighteen minutes? And do you feel in your heart any degree of shame or regret for committing actions which were not in complete accordance with legal statute?”

    “And now that I understand your question,” cried Mr. Nixon, “I must pronounce it to be a very unfair one. It is always the president’s right to decide on the degree of erasure of any secret record. John Dean must already have given his account.– I shall not commit myself by claiming more than he may chuse to allow.”

    “Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as G. Gordon Liddy could do himself. But his account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, he is so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about any body, that I really think you must say more than you have so far.”

    “Must I, indeed?” exclaimed Mr. Nixon. “Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so well. The truth, my dear Mr. Frost, is that if the president does it, it cannot with literal truth be said to be in actual violation of the law.”

    Mr Frost’s handsome face betrayed surprise. After a moment, he said quietly, “Excuse me?”

    “Do I shock you?”

    “No,” said Mr. Frost in some embarrassment. “I simply have no idea what you just said.”

    Jane Austen’s THE READER

    It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good figure, must be in want of a young, skinny, inexperienced lover.

    However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be on her first meeting any teen boys, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the boys (if, indeed, such creatures can be said to have minds at all), that she is considered the rightful property of some one or other of them.

    “My dear beautiful blonde mystery woman,” said one such skinny teenager, “have you heard that I am available to have an intimate liaison?”

    The blonde woman replied that she had not.

    “But I am,” returned he; “and I can offer you all the benefits of a regular love affaire except for skill, experience, clever conversation, or any knowledge of the world.”

    There you have it! The scoop of the year!

    And you saw it here first — on Risky Regencies. (And if you want to read Jane Austen’s versions of STAR TREK, DARK KNIGHT, and more, just click on the “Austen Trek” link at the bottom of this post!)

    Cara
    Cara King, who was also written by Jane Austen

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    Jane Austen’s “Twilight”

    And now…

    From the disturbed mind that brought you AUSTEN TREK, JANE AUSTEN’S “BATMAN,” and RIME OF THE VULCAN MARINER….

    We present to you JANE AUSTEN’S “TWILIGHT”……

    About five seconds after the arrival of my truck, it became certain that Edward Cullen was also arrived. His eyes were fixed on me with an intensity I found no less disturbing than intriguing.

    A blue van which entered the park at this point seemed at first to offer me no danger, but an unnoticed patch of ice threw it suddenly in my direction; and I, unable to move quickly enough to seek shelter, stood immobile in its path as the vehicle hurried along.

    Edward Cullen, who was standing across the park at that time, was somehow able to render me assistance. He stopped the course of the van, and raised it from the ground, but my head had been injured in my fall, and I was scarcely able to stand. The pale gentleman offered me his services; and perceiving that my modesty declined what my situation rendered necessary, took me up in his arms without farther delay, and carried me past the van. Moving through the park, he bore me directly to the ambulance, whither the EMTs were busily working, and quitted not his hold till he had placed me onto the stretcher.

    The remaining Cullens rose up in amazement at this, and while the eyes of all were fixed on me with an evident wonder, mine were fixed on Edward from a secret admiration which equally sprung from his exceedingly comely appearance and the wintery temperature of his hands. He apologized for his boldness in a manner so frank and so graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voice and expression. Had he seemed old, ugly, and tan, my gratitude and kindness would have been secured by any such act of heroism; but the appearance of youth, beauty, and elegance, coupled with an occasional attractive sparkle, gave an interest to the action which came home to my feelings.

    Indeed, his manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the theme of my intense admiration. His person and air were equal to what my fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his stopping the course of the van with one cold hand when he had a moment before been standing across the park, there was a rapidity of movement which particularly recommended him to me. Every circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his skin colour matched my favourite blouse, and I soon found out that of all manly hair colours, bronze was the most becoming.

    Cara
    Cara King, who will do Jane Austen’s Phantom very soon, she promises!

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