[MST] - Mistaken Identity by Jeri Massi [4/4]
C. Glenwood Williams
rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc, alt.tv.mst3k.mstings, and alt.drwho.creative as
well as to Web Site #9. If you are reading this post on any other
newsgroup, then it has been reposted, most likely without the original
author's consent or knowledge.
---------------------------
>
>In the morning, Lethbridge-Stewart sent Sgt. Benton down to the lab to
>warn the Doctor that Chin and his committee of enquiry were due at 9:00
>a.m.
MIKE: In a sensitive situation, always send somebody who has no idea
what's going on to do the important jobs.
> Benton unlocked the lab door with the keys from the Duty Officer
>key ring, and poked his head inside the lab.
>
>"Doctor?" he called.
TOM: Are you decent?
>
>In her hideaway, Jo woke up.
CROW: Snausages!
>
>"Doctor?" he called. There was an imposing array of machinery on the
>workbench, a complete setup of some kind, though Benton had no idea what
>it was supposed to do.
MIKE: Ladies and gentlemen, UNIT -- Defenders of the world.
> He came into the lab and knocked on the left
>TARDIS door, which was slightly ajar. Behind him, somebody whisked by,
>hurrying out of the room, but he barely noticed. The Doctor instantly
>appeared at the TARDIS door, and he let out a loud exclamation.
CROW: Remind me never to let Pertwee house sit for me.
>
>"You let her out!" he shouted. "She's gotten away! Quick man, get after
>her! What are you doing in here? Never mind that! Just get her! Stop
>her!"
MIKE: Random non sequiturs!
TOM: Fish!
CROW: The crystal skulls!
MIKE: Cockatoo! Cockatoo!
>
>"Right sir!" Benton ran out with the Doctor hard on his heels.
MIKE: He'd run faster if the Doctor would get off of his heels.
TOM: That's generally how it works.
> "Is it
>Miss Grant, sir?"
CROW [Benton]: She's hot. Do you think she likes me?
>
>"Yes, you young fool! If she gets out of the building we may never find
>her.
CROW: How hard can it be to find a woman that behaves like a stoned
rabbit and occasionally loses her clothes?
MIKE: Ever been to San Francisco, Crow?
> She could be hit by a car or get hurt in any of a dozen ways.
MIKE: So shoot to kill!
> Get
>the place sealed off!"
>
>"But Mr. Chin is coming--"
MIKE: We should go!
TOM: We can't.
MIKE: Why not?
TOM: We're waiting for Chinot.
>
>"Blast Mr. Chin! Do as I say!
CROW: Right-o. Mr. Chin, five rounds rapid.
> You get the place sealed off and then go
>to the top floor! I'll check the ground floor!" The Doctor darted away.
TOM: It stuck quivering to the wall.
MIKE: Just because nobody got it, it doesn't mean you get to repeat it,
Tom.
TOM: I don't care. It's still fun.
>
>"Right sir!"
CROW: I mean left! No, right! Maybe I mean left. Or wrong?
>
>* * * *
TOM: Great. All I see now are Davy Jones siamese twins.
CROW: Me, too. *Thanks*, Mike.
MIKE [holds up Dapol Dalek]: IRR-EL-E-VANT. YOU-WILL-BE-EX-TER-MIN-ATED.
TOM: Lets get out of here.
[How many of these pointless door sequence gags do we need?:...O...1...
2...3...4...5...6...0]
[SOL]
[MIKE and CROW stand at the counter, staring off into space. MIKE
is wearing a floppy cowboy hat while CROW has suspenders on.]
MIKE: Just you wait and see, Lenny. Some day, we're gonna get that
money, and then we won't have to work no more.
CROW: 'Cause we'll be livin' high off the hog, right George?
MIKE: That's right, Lenny. You and me, we're going places. We
won't have to eat no beans outta the cans no more.
CROW: I likes my beans with ketchup, George.
MIKE: I know, Lenny.
CROW: George? Um... Oh, forget this! Line!
TOM [off-screen]: Tell me about the Quilae, George!
CROW: Huh?
[TOM enters, wearing a plaid Tam O'Shanter]
TOM: Oh, for goodness- Look! It's very simple! You turn to George
and you say "Tell me about the Quilae, George." That's all there
is to it.
CROW: But it doesn't make any sense!
TOM: What do you mean it doesn't make any sense?
CROW: Well, it kind of comes out of left field, doesn't it?
TOM: Of course it does! You're supposed to be a half wit!
CROW: Oh, well, excuse me mister high-and-mighty director.
MIKE: Um, Tom? Excuse me? What's my motivation for this scene?
TOM: Oh- Look! We're playing Bruce Steinbeck's "Of Quilae and Men"
here. It's a classic of contemporary literature! It's a beautiful
tale of two brothers and their struggle to survive in the pitiless
wastelands of Monterey, California. What's not to understand?
MIKE: Wait a minute. Bruce Steinbeck? I thought it was by John
Steinbeck.
TOM: Of course it's not by John Steinbeck! Do you know how much
the rights for "Of Mice and Men" cost? Just saying "Of Mice and
Men" in public performance could cost us two-hundred dollars a
mention!
CROW: Uh, yeah. Right. Listen, Tom. I'm missing Dark Shadows, so
why don't you just bite me, okay?
[CROW exits]
TOM: Fine! Leave! We don't need you!
MIKE: Tom, it's been great, but I think it's over now.
TOM: It's not over until the director says it is!
MIKE: Yeah. Sure. I think I have more important things to do.
[MIKE exits]
TOM: Fine! You leave, too! I don't need either of you! I'll play
all of the parts myself. Action! What's that you got in your
hands, Lenny? It's a mouse, George. Didn't I tell ya not to play
with no mice no more, Lenny-
[Fanfic sign flashes]
TOM: We've got fanfic siiiiign!
[Fanfic sign now:...O...1...2...3...4...5...6...0]
TOM: I told ya, Lenny. Grown men don't play with mice.
MIKE: Let it go, Tom.
>
>At first Jo meant to find a way out to the sunlight, but there were
>predators everywhere, mostly male.
TOM: [singing] Look at that flesh, pink and plump / Hello little
girl....
> For the most part they had their eyes
>down and did not seem aggressive at the moment, but she did not like
>roaming in their territory. She wanted some place quiet.
MIKE: All she wants is a room somewhere.
> She stayed
>along the walls of the hallways and kept her eyes down as she hurried
>along, searching for other exit paths.
TOM: Don't draw attention... don't draw attention... AIEE! Human!
Hide!
> A tired old female passed her,
>pushing a wheeled cart. It caught Jo's attention. Various odors rose
>from it--sweet smells.
MIKE: Uh, no, Jo. That's the laundry cart. Get away from that.
> She followed it down several hallways to a great
>echoing room that she did not like at all. But the female went through
>the room and into a smaller room crowded with many smells.
CROW: Hey, Rose Petal is on my side!
TOM: Oh, be quiet, Baking Pizza.
MIKE: Both of you shut up or I'll put you in back with Week-Old Garbage
Can.
> This room was
>nearly deserted. The woman left the cart in a corner and wandered away.
>Jo crouched down behind the cart and waited.
CROW: Any moment now, the Twinkies will think it's safe to come out....
>
>She had found UNIT's cafeteria kitchen,
MIKE: Oh. Thanks for the clarification.
> a place suited for serving
>mostly pastries, muffins; sandwiches at lunch, and occasional fancier
>fare for special teas.
MIKE: And the further clarification.
> The morning service was just finishing. After a
>short while, the room emptied out, and Jo went exploring. She found the
>wide, step-in pantry, the source of all the odors, and climbed up the
>shelves.
>
>For twenty minutes or so she forgot about the dangers all around, about
>her hurt feelings over the collar trick, about her strong desire to be
>in sunlight and grass.
TOM: Once again, Jo's failure to learn from her mistakes and her
overwhelming lust for food comes back to haunt her.
> She pulled down the great cereal boxes, rummaged
>through them, sampled most of them, and filled her pockets with their
>treasures.
TOM: Wha- huh? How did she learn to use her pockets?
MIKE: The same way she learned to use her thumbs.
> Then she dropped them on the floor. The greatest treasure was
>the five pound canister of confectioner's sugar. She spilled it over
>herself as she tried to get it down.
CROW: Whee! I'm a cookie! Dunk me in milk and enjoy me all afternoon!
> The resulting shower of sweet,
>choking dust was brand new to her, both horrifying and delightful.
TOM: It reminded her of her days in Las Vegas with Hunter Thompson.
MIKE [Hunter S. Thompson]: We had a bottle of ether, twelve bags of
grass, six bottles of vodka, and somewhere we had picked up a salt
shaker full of confectioner's sugar....
> It
>filled the enclosed pantry with a cloud of white dust.
>
>Coughing and choking, she had to climb down and go back outside the
>pantry to breathe. Experimentally, she licked her right hand,
CROW: Although the dust had choked her....
>which--like the rest of her--was liberally coated with the dusty sugar.
>The first lick told her that she would never clean herself this way, but
>that the white powder was much better than figs.
TOM: Mike, is this a subtle allegory for-
MIKE: No, Tom.
TOM: Because it sure sounds like-
MIKE: No, Tom.
> She went inside and
>attacked the pile of sugar on the floor. It came up her nose and got
>into her eyes each time she bit into it.
TOM [singing]: Mr. Snow and Mary Jane Green...
CROW [also singing]: ...A rolled up ten and a Coke machine...
MIKE and BOTS [in three part harmony]: ...You won't get change if you
know what I mean....
> She coughed and sneezed and had
>to crawl outside again. That was when Benton spied her from the
>cafeteria outside and called out loud in surprise.
TOM: He's had dreams where Jo was covered in food.
MIKE: And it'll be a long time before he has one of those again.
>
>She took to her heels and darted away in full flight. Benton ran after
>her, shouting for the Doctor.
TOM: Doctor! Bring the eggs and flour!
>
>Being pursued by a predator was the absolute worst of her fears.
CROW: Really? I never would have guessed.
> She
>leaped and bounded down the stairs, the precious food rattling out of
>her pockets, leaving a trail for her pursuers.
MIKE: Oh, the birds will take care of it.
> Where ever she bumped or
>brushed against the walls or railings, she left a white streak.
CROW: Of course, the walls were painted white, so it didn't matter.
> She
>heard him calling and coming after her, and in desperation she ran
>through an open doorway. It was a trap.
TOM: See? There's a piece of cheese on the lever.
> There was no exit, and the room
>was filled with male predators, all of them in black it seemed, except
>for the one she had seen yesterday.
MIKE: Oh, no.
CROW: Mike, did she just stumble into an early issue of Sandman?
TOM: And now our honored guest, Mr. Fun Land....
>
>As this little white ghost streaked into the room, they all leaped up
>from their table.
MIKE and BOTS: Streaker! Streaker! Get the camera!
> Sgt. Benton raced in after Jo.
>
>"Don't panic sirs, nothing to worry about!" he exclaimed, hoping his
>words might have some effect to restore the board of enquiry to
>equilibrium.
TOM [Benton]: Just one of our Colombian Drug Lords....
> As Benton came around the table from one end, Jo skirted
>the other end and darted out the door again.
>
>"Benton! You are to restore order at once!" the Brigadier bellowed.
MIKE: Benton! I order you to make this story make sense!
TOM: Benton! Stand on the moon and change the Earth's orbit using this
pole!
CROW: Benton! Calculate Pi to its last possible place!
>
>"I knew this was a mad house!" Chin exclaimed. "Brigadier
>Lethbridge-Stewart, your methods of military discipline are substandard!
>Absolutely substandard!"
MIKE: Tailhook! Now *there's* a class operation!
>
>Jo wanted nothing more than to find her safe haven in the lab, but she
>could not orient herself. There was no sun to help her, and the hallways
>confused her sense of direction.
MIKE: Plus, David Bowie was walking around on the cieling singing. That
didn't help.
>
>"Jo! Jo!" a soft voice called, and the other stepped around a corner
>ahead of her.
TOM: The other what? What, this doesn't need clarification?
> He opened his arms. She suddenly understood the gesture,
>and recognized the gentle, inviting gaze, and she ran to him, no longer
>afraid of him.
CROW: If they start playing "My Heart Will Go On," I'm going to have to
vomit. Just on principle.
> The other caught her to himself and put his arms around
>her protectively. She pushed her face against his soft vest and tried to
>express her fear of the hideous thing chasing her. Benton came
>clattering up the hall behind her, and the Doctor raised a hand to tell
>him to stop. The sergeant instantly obeyed.
MIKE: Yes, lovable and incompetent Benton.
>
>Trembling to have a fierce predator so close, she glanced at it over her
>shoulder.
TOM: Wait a minute, when did Benton ever drug her?
CROW: Or put a heavy collar around her neck?
MIKE: Or record an album with Celine Dion?
> The other spoke, and the predator put its head down in
>submission and backed away to a safe distance. She was safe.
TOM: So, quilae have no short term memory, eh?
> The other
>stroked her sugar crusted hair and touched his sleeve to her cheek.
MIKE: Look at this! This is real velvet, and it's got sugar crushed
into it now! Bad Jo! Bad!
> She
>again pushed her face into the softness of his vest and jacket and tried
>to express her relief at finding him.
CROW: In a way that would *not* result in her being subpoenaed by the
Senate.
>
>The other spoke to her gently, and she knew from his voice and his eyes
>that he was glad to see her again. At last as she stopped trembling and
>as strength came back to her legs, he led her away, back to the lab.
MIKE: Where the hurtful, humming collar was waiting.
> She
>wanted to go with him. The world outside was too big, too confusing, and
>too filled with predators.
TOM [Singing]: No matter what you say, children won't listen....
>
>Benton followed at a distance, walking almost on tiptoe.
MIKE: Yay, Benton.
CROW: Care to try for another screw-up, Benton?
>
>In the lab, the other showed her the collar and spoke to her seriously.
>She knew he wanted her to wear it again, and as soon as he set it down,
>she pushed it away, unhappy.
MIKE: I didn't think the Doctor was into that.
> He stroked her hair and spoke. She didn't
>understand the words, but she knew he was pleading with her and that he
>had a reason for what he was asking.
TOM: Yeah, so do most high school quarterbacks, lady.
> At last she turned her head away
>and lifted her chin slightly to let him do as he liked.
>
>Benton entered and softly closed the lab door.
>
>"Is she quite all right, Doctor?" he asked.
CROW: All right, Benton!
TOM: That's what, bad move number five for you now?
> She looked at him warily,
>but he maintained a safe distance.
CROW: Safety zone.
>
>"No, not yet," the Doctor said quietly.
MIKE: Not ever, actually.
> He took up the collar and
>fastened it around her neck. "I took a reading on her last night with
>this signal enhancer. It showed an interruption of her normal brain wave
>function."
>
>"Can you fix things for her?"
CROW: What? Don't do that!
MIKE: Fix things *for* her, Crow. Not *fix* her.
CROW: Oh. Never mind.
>
>"Oh, easily enough," he said lightly. She looked at the Doctor again
>with unhappy eyes. "It's all right, my dear. Just two hums, and
>everything is over," he said.
TOM: First, why did the chicken cross the road?
CROW: Take my wife. Please. Hah!
> "Sergeant, just go over to that end of the
>workbench and throw that switch will you?
MIKE: I want to give you one last chance to royally muck up all of the
work I've done so far.
> I've got the discharge unit
>set up for her signal pattern. We may be able to restore normal function
>just by giving her brain a sort of template for a few seconds."
MIKE: Either that or we'll be having smoked Quilae under glass tonight.
>
>Sgt. Benton complied. Jo shrank away from the humming in the collar, and
>then hid her face against his vest.
TOM: If he could only teach the collar to hum on key, everything would
be all right.
> The Doctor put a steadying arm
>around her. She was suddenly unable to see for a moment, and then her
>vision cleared, and there he was, looking down at her with a faint
>smile.
MIKE: Oh. It worked.
TOM: Darn. Back to the drawing board, I guess.
> For a moment he was simply the other, powerful, and direct with
>his gaze, and equipped with food for her.
TOM: Yes! Now you, too, can have your very own other! Comes with
kung-fu grip and food for Jo!
> Then, like a picture coming
>into focus, she recognized his face, and his eyes took on all the good
>natured humor, the quietness, the expressions of restless intelligence
>and mercurial temper that were all the Doctor.
MIKE: Wait a minute. I thought this was the Pertwee Doctor.
TOM: Shut up!
>
>She was suddenly surprised. "You've got white stuff all over your vest,"
>she said.
CROW: Oh, Doctor. How much did you drop on your habit *this* time?
>
>"Do I?" he asked. He unfastened the Velcro fasteners on her collar and
>removed it. "What's that?" she asked when she saw it. Then she saw her
>own arms and hands. "I've got white stuff all over me!" she exclaimed.
>She rubbed her face. "I think it's powdered sugar! What's happened?"
TOM: Benton, have you been playing games with me again?
>
>Benton looked up from the workbench and at the Doctor's nod he switched
>off the signal generator. "You got into the pantry, Miss," the sergeant
>said.
CROW: You nibbled through all of the cereal boxes and left the poison
untouched.
>
>She looked at Benton for a moment in dumbfounded amazement; then she
>frowned and said, "I do remember being in a pantry. I was up high--"
MIKE: I'm sorry, that's just too easy....
> She
>looked back at the Doctor. "What's been going on the last few days?
>Where have we been?"
CROW: Tell her where we've been, Jonny!
>
>"You've had some amazing adventures," the Doctor told her. "And I'll
>explain them all to you.
MIKE: Again and again.
CROW: And you still won't understand them.
> But for your own sake, we've got to get you
>cleaned up in a hurry. Mr. Chin from the Ministry is here today, and
>he's going to want to look in on us."
TOM: So quick, put on this Emma Peel catsuit and wait inside the door.
>
>She instantly grasped the implications of a visit from Chin.
MIKE and BOTS: Presents!
> "All right.
>There are showers in the women's locker room. I've got spare clothes up
>there."
CROW: It's a school girl uniform. I hope Mr. Chin likes it!
>
>"Right. Have a quick wash at the sink first, and you might want to empty
>your pockets."
TOM: Just put your wallet over there on the desk and I'll take care of it.
>
>* * * *
TOM: Are we coming up on the end?
CROW: Is it ending?
MIKE: I think we have one more stretch to go.
TOM and CROW: Awww....
>
>The interruption of the opening session of the board of inquiry had Chin
>in an uproar all morning,
TOM: But eventually he got out of that uproar and into a dry martini.
> demanding an explanation.
CROW: Who killed Laura Palmer?
TOM: What's the deal with the Well-Manicured Man?
MIKE: Who exactly *put* the dip in the dip-da-dip-da-dip?
> The Brigadier
>shuffled aside the protests by saying he would get a copy of the final
>report of the incident to Mr. Chin as soon as possible.
TOM: Oh, reports always satisfy my protests.
> When the
>committee went on a tour of the facility, Chin insisted on starting the
>inspection with a trip to the lab.
CROW: So Mr. Chin has a fondness for dogs?
> The committee entered to find a very
>pretty, fair-haired young lady typing at a battered old typewriter,
CROW: Oddly enough, with no paper.
>while a white haired scientist with a labcoat on over his clothing took
>readings on a bit of diseased bovine sampling and jotted his notes down
>in a memo book.
MIKE: Hmmm... we better get this back to the Kansas farmlands. What
UFO story should we use this time?
>
>"So sorry to not be able to spare more time," he told the committee.
>"I've got to get this report out. Urgently needed by British farmers."
TOM: We've got to tell them to kill all of the cows. They're
maneaters, apparently. Who would have thought.
>
>The men uttered their apologies and backed out of the lab in a hurry.
CROW: After a thorough search of the room.
TOM: Yep. It's got walls, all right.
>The Brigadier closed the door behind them, but he paused to shoot a
>questioning glance at the Doctor, who nodded. Jo turned from the
>typewriter with a smile, and the Brig offered a thumbs-up. He was a
>champion at smoothing things over,
MIKE: Oh, we all saw just how well he handled the Mr. Chin situation.
> and he could take care of the
>incident in the morning, especially by assuring that the intruder was
>never identified.
TOM: Oh, well I see the logic in tha- huh?
>
>After he had closed the door, the Doctor turned to Jo. "Well done," he
>said. "Are you hungry?"
MIKE: Jo want a Scooby snack?
>
>"I could just die for fish and chips," she told him.
TOM: Oh, well in that case, drink this flask of cyanide....
> "I've got to get
>the taste of figs and raisins out of my mouth."
CROW: I need to sink my teeth into some good old human flesh.
>
>He grinned. "Back to the top of the food chain, eh? Come on then."
TOM: Oh, ha ha. Being a carnivore is fun, isn't it, Jo?
>------------------------------------------------------------------------
>This story is dedicated to Mother Bayer because nobody gets killed in
>it, so she approves of it.
MIKE: Aside from the fact that there are bleached skeletons of millions
of quilae.
TOM: And two fur traders.
CROW: And the audience.
>------------------------------------------------------------------------
>------------------------------------------------------------------------
MIKE: Woo! We're out of here!
CROW: All right! Ride the pipe out of here.
TOM: You know what this story was missing?
MIKE: Logic?
CROW: Characterization?
TOM: Pertwee.
[Isn't this closing the barn door after the fanfic has left?:
...O...1...2...3...4...5...6...0]
[SOL]
[MIKE is dressed in a neat suit with a fake beard and a pair of wire
rimmed glasses. CROW and TOM are nicely dressed as well. All are
seated in canvas director's chairs, holding hardcover books.]
MIKE: Hello, and welcome to Evening Readers. I am your host, Michael J.
Nelson. My guests today are Messr. Crow T. Robot and Sir Thomas
Aquinas Bananafanafofuinas Servo. This is the show for those who seek
other intellectual sustenance than can be obtained suckling at the
famous "glass teat."
CROW: Can we say that?
TOM and CROW: Teat! Teat! Teat! Teat!
MIKE: Today's assigned book for our respectable reading group was
Melville's classic, _Moby Dick_. Have both of you read the book,
gentlemen?
TOM: Indeed. I found it refreshing to return and once again reread this
classic tale of darkness and obsession that touches the very soul with
its stirring prose.
MIKE: And you, Messr. Robot?
CROW: Um, yeah. I enjoyed it as well. This book touched me in places I
have never been touched before.
MIKE: Messr. Robot, did you even bother to read the book?
CROW: Of course! It was the fourteenth time I ever read it. I love it!
MIKE: Then who, pray tell, was Starbuck?
CROW: You can't fool me. Starbuck wasn't in _Moby Dick_. He was in
"Battlestar Galactica." Nice try, Nelson.
MIKE: The truth, Messr. Crow.
CROW: All right, I stayed up until four a.m. last night reading it. And
I still don't know where that whale came from in the last chapter.
It's like they're just sailing and suddenly "Whoops! There's a honkin'
great huge albino whale off the starboard bow!" What's the deal with
that?
MIKE: Well, having ascertained that both of our guests have read the
book, albeit on different levels, our first discussion question for
today is: Jon Pertwee. An excellent Doctor, or someone we would all
prefer to forget? Sir Servo, your thoughts?
TOM: Thank you, Mr. Nelson. I would like to say that without a doubt,
Jon Pertwee *was* the Doctor. Just as Sean Connery created the
character of James Bond, so Jon Pertwee made the character of the
Doctor his own. Pertwee's era is the last great era of Doctor Who
before it began a rapid decline into puffery and ridiculous nonsense.
CROW: That is pure nonsense. I may remind *Mister* Servo that Jon
Pertwee's era was the most ridiculous era in the entirety of Doctor
Who's run on the BBC. It was in Pertwee's era that we saw many plots
develop that were solved only by Pertwee's knowledge of whiz-bang
gadgetry, not to mention the fact that Pertwee created the infamous
"Whomobile." And what's up with that Venusian Aikido, anyway? No, Jon
Pertwee took a character made interesting by such veteran actors as
William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton and lowered it to the level of a
cheap James Bond knockoff. It took Colin Baker and ultimately
Sylvester McCoy to return Doctor Who to its prior level of
sophistication.
TOM: If Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy are sophisticated, then my name
is Touch Connors. Mister Crow would do well to remember that both
Baker and McCoy were members of the horrendous "Reign of Turner," in
which Jonathan Nathan-Turner took control of the series and
systematically ran it into the ground with surrealistic children's
storybook-level episode arcs and the hiring of "actors" who couldn't
"act" their way out of a wet paper bag! And that includes your
precious Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy.
MIKE: Sir Servo, I feel inclined to side with Messr. Robot, even though I
am a Tom Baker man, myself. I feel that while Turner's stories were
not the best ever produced under the Doctor Who name, they were
nonetheless consistently interesting and more inkeeping with the show's
nature than the Pertwee era. But Pertwee was, I feel, crippled by the
fact that he got the character at a time in his history when the
character had been exiled to Earth. Perhaps with more freedom in the
story, Pertwee could have achieved a level equal if not superior to
that of Tom Baker.
TOM: You're both heartless philistines! Pertwee was the greatest thing
to happen to the series. Tom Baker couldn't decide if he was the hero
in a Gothic melodrama or a BBC sitcom, and Turner was directly
responsible for the show's demise!
CROW: Oh, bite me, Servo!
TOM: Come get some!
MIKE: And on that note, we go down to our correspondent on the surface.
Pearl Forrester, are you there?
[CASTLE FORRESTER]
PEARL: Right here, Nelson. So what did you think of my little virus
warning?
[SOL]
MIKE: I'm afraid it was a hoax, Ms. Forrester.
[CASTLE FORRESTER]
PEARL: Well, of course it was a hoax. I wrote it.
[SOL]
MIKE: Well, in that case- huh?
[CASTLE FORRESTER]
PEARL: Scared you, didn't it? And that's exactly what it's going to do
to the world when I unleash it onto the Internet, and all the people
will come crawling to *me* for the answer! Mua-ha-ha-ha! Bobo! Get
in here!
[enter BOBO]
BOBO: Coming, Lawgiver.
PEARL: Prepare to send the message to every owner of a small, golden,
beak-nosed robots in the world.
BOBO: But, lawgiver, we already did.
PEARL: What?
BOBO: According to my files, Michael J. Nelson is currently the only
owner in Earth space of a small, golden, beak-nosed robot.
PEARL: Curses! I'll get you for this, Nelson, and your little gumball
machine, too. Well, I guess it's *die* for now!
[Cut to black]
[credits]
Thanks to American schoolteachers and the authors of the first amendment.
Keep circulating the tapes.
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and situations
are trademarks of and (c) 1994 by Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved.
Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment
purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks
held by Best Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred.
> "Mmmm." Jo Grant closed her eyes and inhaled. "And mind you, don't
> turn me over until I'm medium well done on one side."