The Day The Hugos Died a song by Matthew B. Souders

The Day The Hugos Died (to the tune of American Pie by Don McLean)

A long, long time ago;
I can still remember how those stories used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance,
That I could make the fandom dance,
And maybe, take a rocket in a while…

But every year they made me shiver,
Out on the porch like I’m chopped liver,
Fans outside the doorstep,
Who couldn’t take one more step.

I thought that one day if I tried,
I could help them show true genre pride.
But social justice warriors lied,
The day…the Hugos died.


So bye bye, sci-fi’s highest prize,
Told my stories in their glory, but was cut down to size.
And them good ol’ boys, are in for quite a surprise,
Warning, this’ll be the day their cult fries.
This’ll be the day their cult fries.


Did you write a hero’s tale,
With an epic series of travails?
RightFans have no use for you.
Do you believe in God above?
Do you think sci-fi should showcase love?
Well, they’ll claim you’re privileged too!

Well, I know that’s where we used to be,
But those guys all blocked diversity!
We must move on, they say…
Yes, diversity rules the day.

I was a lonely teenage science geek,
With no social skills, and no will to speak,
But now, I am a power freak,
The day…the Hugos died.


Now, for three years we’ve fought on our own,
In hope that someday they’d atone,
For all the harm to us they’ve caused.
When the kangaroo courts had convened,
And the heretics had left the scene,
To a chorus of mendacious, rude guffaws.

But, when forced to choose ‘tween us or none,
They hurled themselves down, dead and done.
The ceremony adjourned,
No award was returned.

And while truefen read a book on Marx,
The rest of us ignored the sharks.
Now we’re all whistling in the dark,
The day, the Hugos died.


Helter skelter in a summer swelter –
The ships flew off t’ward a mental shelter.
A sea of lily-white faces,
Not a mix of all the races.
Oh, the team all tried to spin a tale,
Media behind them, they’d prevail.

Now the chieftains lead their tribal loons,
While their sergeants played a marching tune.
Conform or be excused,
Forget your freedom to choose!

But the wrong folks tried to take the field,
The marching clan refused to yield.
Do you recall the truths revealed?
The day…the Hugos died.


There we were all in one place,
A generation who’d forgotten space,
No hopeful wonder in the stars.
So come on, Brad be fruitful, Larry, too.
You know, there’s only one thing to do.
Write the stories that set the bar!

Because as we watched them on that stage,
Our fists were clenched in white-hot rage.
No chance to save these people,
We’d lost them all to evil.

We’ll take our passion for the craft,
And human wave plots we will draft,
We won’t be cowed by men this daft,
The day…the Hugos died.



A few of us will sing the blues,
But cheer up, friends, there’s happy news.
Those rockets never mattered anyway.
We all fought in an epic war,
The faithful fans never knew before,
That the gates of WorldCon simply wouldn’t sway.

Now they know who their leaders are,
No tolerance, that’s quite bizarre.
A lot of words were spoken,
Their special trust was broken.

And the heroes we admire most,
Will never be forgotten ghosts.
So raise your glass and give a toast.
The day…the Hugos died.

We’re all singing…bye bye sci-fi’s highest prize.
Told our stories in their glory, now they’re cut down to size.
Yes, them good ol’ boys are in for quite a surprise.
Singing this’ll be the day their cult fries.
This’ll be the day that we rise!

Bye bye bullies in your disguise.
We tell stories in their glory, you just sit back and cry!
You good ol’ boys are in for quite a surprise.
Singing this’ll be the day that we rise!


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