[MSTg] The A-Team? At CHIPPENDALES?!? (8 of 8)
peasporr...@hotmail.com
<<Part 8 of 8>>
>
>Vastly amused at his friend's discomfort, Hannibal decided to twist
>the knife a little.
MADGE (Hannibal): By the way, Face, I've been meaning to mention how
old, fat, and repulsive you're becoming. Got a minute?
> "You know, Face, I'd forgotten what great shape
>Murdock was in. Guess it must be our good training program, huh?
SCRATCH: That, or Beatty's unbridled libido has no trouble redefining
the reality of Dwight Schultz's putty-like physique.
> I
>think the ladies here really like him."
GYPSY: Look, see? They're feeding him kibble from their hands! That's
sweet!
>
>Face groaned and buried his face in his hands. Hannibal's laughter
>was drowned out by Tom Watters asking the now familiar question, "What
>do you want him to do?"
MADGE: THE LAUNDRY, for once!
>
>TAKE IT OFF!
>
>H.M.
GYPSY: Herman Melville?
>was not a man who like to disappoint people.
PEARL: You tell'em, Tonto!
> With a look of
>sheer glee on his face, he peeled off the blue bikinis and revealed a
>red G string.
SCRATCH: Oh, god, girls, I just realized! The "something" in the
string of G! It's his-
ALL (shrieking, retching, Pearl clutching her head): Oh-ho, yuk! No!
No! Kill me now! Augh!
GYPSY (wavering, almost fainting): Must... be... strong! Lives... of
crew... depend... on surviving... fanfic!
> The roar of the crowd threatened to deafen everyone in
>Chippendales.
PEARL (moaning): Children of a Lesser God... -Awful TURD of a story!
>
>Totally immersed in his role of exotic dancer, Murdock threw any
>remaining caution to the wind. He strutted, gyrated and undulated
>around like a pro.
GYPSY: Oop. There goes his undulating amateur status.
MADGE: His undulating Olympic dreams, all up in smoke.
PEARL: Good.
> For good measure he did a few airplane turns and a
>great many hip thrusts, which sent new rounds of screams through the
>crowd.
SCRATCH: Man, I tell ya. The Labor Day telethon has really gone
downhill.
PEARL: Mm. They shouldn't have replaced Jerry Lewis with Jerry
Springer.
>
>"Peck!"
MADGE (Face): I know, isn't it awful the way it's sticking out his-
SCRATCH: No, that's your name!
>
>Face turned to find Sonny at his side.
>
MADGE (Sonny): Hi. I'm not in this story. But if I were...
>"H.M.
GYPSY: Harry Morgan?
> is causing quite a riot out there," the assistant
>manager/choreographer said.
SCRATCH: You forgot bartender/den-mother/man-about-town!
> "I want you to act as bodyguard."
>
>Face stared at the man as if he'd just grown kumquats
>out his ears.
PEARL: Well, it's not like they're in season.
>"What?"
>
>"We don't like the ladies to fondle the dancers.
MADGE: The dancers have a differing view, of course, but that's
collective bargaining for you.
> Get over
>there on the left and stick close to H.M.
GYPSY: Her Majesty?
> When the ladies
>wave their dollars, make sure they don't try and cop a feel as well."
SCRATCH (Face): But what if they fondle ME?
PEARL (Sonny, snickering): Heh! Yeah, nice dream, Peck, keep your
hopes up.
>
>Templeton Peck was nonplused, to say the least. "But...but..."
>
>"Go, man. The other guys have their hands full. They need help!"
GYPSY (Sonny): I mean, (screams) GO-GO-GO-GO-GO!
SCRATCH (Face): Well, it is, kinda.
GYPSY: Not go-go, just GO! GO!
>
>Somehow, Face managed to move himself forward to the edge of the dance
>floor, navigating between the near hysterical crowd.
PEARL (Face): OK, so if I see a loose woman, do I dive on her and
sacrifice my body to save the troops?
>He noticed for
>the first time that the ladies were all waving dollar bills in the
>air.
MADGE: Wow, supply-side economics isn't as complicated as I would have
thought.
SCRATCH: Yup, consumer spending's not the only thing that needs
stimulating. Heh heh.
> Several were lined up at the far end of the stage, waiting
>expectantly.
GYPSY(waiting lady): Are New Kids coming out soon? We've been waiting
for hours!
> Escorted by two waiters, who kept a firm grip on the
>women's arms,
GYPSY: Huh?
> they would step to the floor where Murdock would plant a
>kiss on each pair of eager lips, take the dollar and stuff it into his
>red G string.
PEARL: The waiters grab the women's arms so Murdock can pluck their
money away before they come to their senses.
SCRATCH: Yup, Hannibal's raw moneylust is gonna fit right in here, I'm
wagering.
>Face felt like he was going to throw up.
MADGE: Please, yes, cover up the stench of the fanfic!
>
>Twisting away from his latest admirer, H.M.
GYPSY: Harold and Maude?
>trotted to the other side
>of the stage. He caught sight of Face and winked.
SCRATCH (Murdock): Oo, yeah! Eighteen bucks! Those Tae-Bo tapes are
as good as mine!
>
>Face grimaced and glanced at the women nearest him. They were looking
>at Murdock as if he fulfilled all their sexual fantasies.
PEARL: If I were the Health Inspector, that'd disturb me more than a
whole plateful of cockroach fondue.
> What a
>depressing thought. When he turned back to Murdock, he saw the now
>familiar gleam in the brown eyes that said the pilot was going to
>remove yet another article of clothing.
SCRATCH: My worries center on how that gleam could be so familiar.
[Gypsy and Pearl shudder.]
> A cold chill raced through
>Face. Surely Murdock wasn't that crazy.
MADGE (Michael Palin): Tonight, on "It's the Mind", we discuss the
phenomenon of déją vu. That extraordinary feeling...
> He wouldn't actually strip
>down completely. Would he? It was too much!
GYPSY: Which was never enough!
> Murdock reached for the
>red G string and rocked and rolled his hips, finally
>hooking his thumbs in the string and yanking downward, Face
>closed his eyes.
PEARL: This begs for a cut scene skit. An analysis of the kind of mind
which fantasizes about Murdock naked!
MADGE: What kind of mind thinks about THINKING ABOUT Murdock naked?
PEARL (evilly): Oh, I'd watch your tone if I were you, Ziggy. I've got
a demonic hell lizard who's just itching to tear into your non-corporal
body!
SCRATCH: Hey, really? Would he play fetch with me?
PEARL (flustered): NO he wouldn't play fetch with- it IS you- oh, skip
it!
>
>The sound of frantic females forced him to open them, and
>he saw his friend clad in an even smaller, sequined silver
>G string.
SCRATCH: Wha- Did he just call it his friend!? I- I can't believe it!
That's disgusting!
GYPSY: No, Murdock is his friend. Mur, dock.
SCRATCH: Oh.
> Murdock was making the most of the moment.
>Hands clasped behind his head, he did a few bumps and
>grinds worthy of Gypsy Rose Lee herself.
PEARL: Well, that's not a fair comparison. I mean, Lee was a
professional, with years of experience. Plus, her dances weren't put
into writing by-
GYPSY: Watch the invectives!
PEARL (sarcastic, vindictive): -by someone named Lori Beatty! OK?! By
a sack of unspecified invectives named Lori Beatty!
>
>The dollar bills waved like green flags,
MADGE: Gentlepersons, start your hormones!
> and H.M.
GYPSY: Helena, Montana?
> strutted toward the
>women nearest Face. He climbed up on the bench that lined the stage
>floor
SCRATCH: That's the bench Clarence Thomas sits on!
MADGE: I don't think that's true. Not that I'm positive, but it seems
unlikely to me.
>so he could reach a lady behind the rail. Since one leg was
>extended outward for balance,
PEARL: What?
> it presented a tempting target.
PEARL: I'm not grasping the physical layout of this.
MADGE: Oh, but the A-Team car chases make sense to you?
PEARL (after considering): All right, lay off. I'm tired.
> One
>brave female reached out and stroked the pilot's buttocks and thigh.
MADGE: Ladies and gentlemen, our author, Lori Beatty!
SCRATCH: Let's give her a big hand... down her gullet and rip her
tonsils out!
GYPSY: Now, come on. We're almost through. Find your center.
>Face grabbed her wrist between two fingers as if it were poison and
>dropped it into her lap.
PEARL: Wait- she's sitting? How- aw, screw it. I'm going to think
about something more appealing. Like maggots, consuming a rotten
chicken wing.
> "Sorry, but you can't touch the...uh,
>dancers."
>
>Murdock turned and smiled at him. "Thanks, Face."
>
>The lieutenant wanted to die on the spot.
GYPSY: Then we have a majority. The motion is carried!
> He began to wonder what
>he'd done wrong in his life to deserve such punishment. A list
>quickly appeared in his mind, and he abandoned that train of thought
>rapidly.
MADGE: Ha! Instant Karma IS gonna get ya!
GYPSY: Like the moon and the stars and the sun.
>
>Finally, Murdock's moment in the spotlight was over. He was taking
>his final bow and moving off the stage. Someone thrust a robe at Face
>and he handed it to Murdock.
SCRATCH (as James Brown): PLEATHE! PLEATHE! PLEATHE!
[Madge laughs.]
>
>Hannibal greet them both at the bar. "Captain, that was one of the
>most moving, entertaining and dazzling performances it was ever my
>pleasure to see."
ALL (robotic, entranced): It was much better than "Cats". I'm going to
see it again and again.
>
>"Thanks, Colonel," Murdock beamed. Turning to Face, he commented, "I
>don't think Face liked it, though."
MADGE: The narrow-minded breeder!
>
>"Like it? It was terrible. Murdock, how could you get up there and
>DO that in front of all those women?"
SCRATCH (Murdock): I'm just doin' the art that earned me a MacArthur
Foundation grant!
>
>"It was fun."
>
>"Fun? Fun!"
GYPSY: Now his daddy took his T-Bird away.
MADGE: A just and fitting punishment.
>Peck was flabbergasted at Murdock's attitude.
>
PEARL: Maybe he should close his robe up.
>"You know, Captain, I've been thinking," Hannibal mused. "We've been
>remiss in using your talents.
MADGE: Boy is that ever accurate.
SCRATCH (Hannibal): We're not using your talents anymore, goofball!
Back to the hospital, chop-chop!
> I think you could be more useful to us
>if we allowed you more opportunity to interact with the many female
>clients we associate with."
GYPSY: Ho, Murdock's Kelsey Grammer virus is infectious!
PEARL: We gotta quarantine'em, before they all marry busty blonde
teenagers!
>
>"Wait a minute, Hannibal, what are you saying?" a worried Face asked.
SCRATCH (Hannibal): Soylent G-Strings are made from people!
>
>Murdock nodded. "I'd like that. It never seemed fair that Face got
>all the girls, ya know."
>
>"I know," Hannibal answered thoughtfully. "It has been a bit one-
>sided all these years."
SCRATCH: Oh, it was a MOBIUS strip tease! Ha!
MADGE: Gyps, if he's cold blooded, couldn't we turn up the AC in here
or something?
SCRATCH: Um-
MADGE: Make a Smaug-sicle out of him?
SCRATCH: You know, maybe it WASN'T a Mobius strip tease? Maybe it just
sorta looked like one, and I rushed to judgement?
GYPSY: OK, OK.
>
>"True."
>
>"I think it's the hairpiece, Murdock," Hannibal explained. "It
>changes your whole appearance."
GYPSY (Murdock): Oh, it's no hairpiece. You'd be amazed the things
that come in aerosol cans these days!
>
>"You like it? Sonny suggested it.
PEARL: It's the low-cholesterol toupee with half the calories of butter
or margarine!
>He thought the ladies wouldn't
>appreciate a bald astronaut."
GYPSY (sighing): This is stupid. The astronauts all wore crewcuts
anyway.
MADGE: Yeah, the Fabio lion's mane was not exactly designed for a
weightless environment.
SCRATCH: You'd get hair shorting out the circuits, the payload would
have been all mousse and hair gel...
>
>"Good point." Hannibal turned Murdock toward the dressing room, one
>arm draped affectionately across his shoulders. "Keep the rug,
>Murdock.
PEARL: We'll beat it later.
> Then we'll get you some custom tailored suits, a few silk
>shirts, monogrammed, maybe."
>
>"Yeah," a delighted Murdock replied. "How about some Italian
>loafers?"
SCRATCH: You mean their parliament?
>
>"Right."
>
>Face hurried after the two men. "Hannibal, wait! What are you doing?
>I'm the guy with the class. Not Murdock. He's
>strictly plaid shirts and khaki trousers. Come on, now.
>This is too much. Hannibal!"
After waiting patiently, Pearl and Scratch look at Gypsy.
MADGE: OK, what? Is it stuck or something?
GYPSY: No, we're done. There isn't any more.
SCRATCH: What, that's it?!
PEARL: You're kidding.
MADGE: THIS? THIS is the end!? Hannibal doesn't try building an
exotic dancer out of parts from the dishwasher and the Pinto?
PEARL: No car thieves in the audience they can chase down Highway 1
with a flamethrower mounted to a golf cart?
SCRATCH: No Colonel Decker sneaking into the club in drag, only to be
carted off to spend a night in the con suite with some very special
tattooed roommates?
GYPSY: Nope. None of that.
[Gypsy, Pearl and Scratch rise to leave.]
PEARL: Aw for the love of...
SCRATCH: I want my life back, Beatty! Two hours I been slogging
through this verbal sewage! Now that time is GONE, NEVER to be seen
again, and I want it back! Do you hear me?! I WANT MY LIFE BAAAAACK!!!
PEARL: You don't have a life!
SCRATCH: Oh. Well how about that gummi worm, then?
PEARL: Just get moving, lackey.
/ * \... = 2 =... > 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
[OPEN ON: <SOL Bridge> ANGLE ON the same easel as before. The sounds
of distant bombs and warfare are heard in the background. The top card
on the easel says: "Stephen J. Cannel presents:". Pearl's hand flips
that card away to reveal "A Lori Beatty Production". ]
[The next card is flipped to show the title: "ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN
FACE".]
[Pan over to the desk, which is strewn with debris and barbed wire.
Lighting is dark and flickering. Cambot shakes a little after the
sound of every bomb blast. Scratch, in fatigues and a helmet, is
dutifully manning a machine gun nest. Gypsy is wearing a WAC uniform.]
[Pearl enters brusquely but wordlessly from the left, wearing bulky
fatigues and a sergeant's helmet, carrying a rifle, and smoking a
cigarette. She looks authoritatively at Scratch and Gyps, takes a draw
on her fag, and lets out a long, commanding, world-weary puff. She
looks intently at her cigarette, then delivers her first line.]
PEARL (whining): I'm cold!
SCRATCH (same): I'm cold too!
GYPSY (same): These guns are noisy!
PEARL: My hat's too tight!
SCRATCH: War sucks!
[The light flashes.]
GYPSY: Evil Mike is calling!
SCRATCH: He's mean!
PEARL: He yells too much!
GYPSY: Hit the button!
PEARL: You do it!
GYPSY: I don't have any arms!
PEARL: Mine hurt!
[CUT TO: <House of Pain> Evil Mike is strapped down to a table,
electrodes attached to a metal band around his forehead. Eddie is in
the background near some consoles, holding a clipboard.]
EVIL MIKE: Yeah, well, shove it, doughboys! As soon as Eddie flips
that switch over there, my atoms will go flying through the universe on
a personal journey of discovery and wonderment, while Poor Stupid Goofy
Me, a.k.a. Mike Nelson, will be drawn once again to this mortal coil.
[Eddie moves to front.]
EDDIE (shows clipboard full of scripts): Yeah, and when he does, I'll
read to him from these spec scripts for "Touched by an Angel"! By the
time Della Reese convinces Slobodan Milosevic to bring fudge to the
Kosovar refugees, Good Mike will be practically begging me to take his
secrets from him!
EVIL MIKE: At which time, Eddie will reverse the process, erasing
Goodie Mike for good, and bringing me all back home!
EDDIE (mumbling): That part's a "B" priority, of course.
EVIL MIKE: OK, Edgar! Juice me!
[Eddie laughs, and flips the switch. We hear FX of a generator trying
to start up, running out of gas, then shutting down.]
EDDIE: Whoa, sorry cap'n. Guess the SOL's encounter with that robot
drained us of all our-
EVIL MIKE: Power?
EDDIE: Budget. Special effects is down to zero, bro.
EVIL MIKE: Aw, criminy! Can we bypass it? Dip into costuming?
EDDIE: No worries, dude! The back-up plan is lubed, tubed and ready
to kick in!
[Eddie exits. Evil Mike sits up and begins to unstrap himself.]
EVIL MIKE: Really? What have you- oh no! Eddie, no!
[Eddie wheels in a pathetic, dilapidated, magic disappearing cabinet.]
EVIL MIKE: You CAN'T be serious!
EDDIE: Hey, you want to resolve this storyline or not?
[Grumbling, Evil Mike enters the magic cabinet.]
EVIL MIKE: Fine! Fine! No problems, we'll just insult the entire
audience at the very moment the series needs every viewer it can get!
[Eddie closes the cabinet. He waves a magic wand.]
EDDIE: Abacab! Genesis! We can't dance!
Bring back Mike by the seat of our pants!
[Eddie opens the cabinet. Mike Nelson walks dazedly out.]
EDDIE (to camera): Thank you! I'll be at the Sands Casino May 25th
with Charlie Pride!
MIKE: Whoo, man! Tough to breathe in there!
EDDIE: Bad circulation?
MIKE: The circulation's fine. It's just so crowded!
EDDIE: Huh?
[The cabinet door kicks opens, and Torgo the White bursts out and clubs
Eddie over the head with his stick. Eddie falls to the ground, knocked
cold.]
TORGO: GiMmE a "HeLl YeAh"! ThE Ma-A-aStEr WiLl bE PlEaSeD tHaT I
KiCkEd YoUr CaNdY aSs!
BOTS (off-screen): Mike!!!
[Tom and Crow, fully rebuilt, rush onto the screen and rub up against
Mike lovingly.]
MIKE: Whoa-ho, you wonderful huggable Teddy Ruxpins! I love you too!
TORGO: AnD nOw, MiKe NeLsON, YoUr ReWaRd fOr SaViNg tHe InTeGrItY Of
tHe UnIvErSe!
[Torgo waves his stick. Pixie dust and purple twinkling stars start
twirling around the end.]
TOM: Wow! Pretty!
TORGO: I cAlL oN tHe PoWeR oF CrEaTiViTy To GiVe JuSt CoMpEnSaTiOn To
ThE pErSoN wHo RiD oUr UnIvErSe oF EvIl MiKe!
[The stars spin around the wand at a fast clip now. Torgo dramatically
points the stick at Mike. The magical energy darts out, does a 180
degree turn away from Mike, and shoots into Edgar. Edgar is bathed in
purple light, glows, then fades as Edgar is transported to another
place.]
MIKE (staring at where Ed used to be): Uhh..
TORGO: oH, mY.
MIKE (sighing): Just not my decade, is it.
TORGO: I'm SoRrY. I sUpPoSe, TeChNiCaLlY, EdGaR IS tHe OnE WhO RiD Us
Of EvIl MiKe.
MIKE: Great. So where's he gone?
TORGO: HiS ReWaRd WaS To ReAd ThE BeSt PiEcE oF FiCtIoN iN tHe EnTiRe
WoRlD-- FoR AlL EtErNiTy!
MIKE and the BOTS (together looking into camera): Hmmmm...
[CUT TO: <A dark theater, similar to the SOL>. Eddie is sitting,
sweating, terrified, staring at the screen.]
EDDIE (screeching in soul-wracking pain): NOOOOO! Not a four hundred
sixty-third time!
>
> ULYSSES
> by James Joyce
>
>
> TAELIOAMAERCAOLEUS
>
> Plumpy, buckly Spike Mulligan bumped from the wellstairs,
> bowed to his sacred shaving bowl, in exelcius deo, razoring the
> bilious growth from his innately sinful chin. "Come up, Klinch!" he
> called downstairs. "Come up, you shuddering jesuit, you truth-
fearing
> protestant, you stupid, leg-humping piece of-
EDDIE: Kill me, Michael J. Nelson! If you have any humanity at all,
YOU WILL KILL MEEEEEE!!!
[CUT TO: <House of Pain>]
MIKE: So how are we supposed to get home?
TORGO: WhY, yOu HaD tHe WaY hOmE WiTh YoU aLl aLoNg! JuSt CliCk YoUr
HeElS tHrEe TiMeS, aNd SaY, tHeRe'S nO pLaCe LiKe HoMe! ThErE's No
PlAcE lIkE HoMe!
MIKE (clicking heels): There's no place like home!
TORGO: GoOd! NoW pUt tHiS pIeCe oF rAw LiVeR iN yOuR pAnTs.
[Torgo dangles the dripping wet piece of beef liver from a pair of
tongs.]
MIKE: What- no! It's all slimy!
TOM (whining): Miiiike!
MIKE (testily taking the liver and putting it in his pants): Oh, all
right. Fine. (cringes) Augh! It's cold!
TORGO: NoW aCt LiKe a LePrEcHaUn.
MIKE (uneasily doing the jig of the ignorant): Um... shillelagh? Pot
of gold? Lucky Charms? Ew, the liver's dripping down my pants leg.
TORGO (passing a clipboard): AnD, sIgN oVeR tO mE, yOuR pOwEr oF
aTtOrNeY.
MIKE (still jigging, signing): Have you even passed the bar?
TORGO: OkAy, HeRe'S yOuR CoPy, I'lL fOrWaRd ThIs To My SuPeRvIsOr, AnD
wE sHoUlD bE aBlE tO sHoOt YoU hOmE, oH, iN aBoUt SiX tO eIgHt WeEkS.
MIKE: WHAT?!
TORGO (gradually being bathed in white light): tHe PaPeRwOrK hAs To
ClEaR O.m.B. I'lL mAkE sUrE tHeY cC yOu wHeN tHeY gEt ArOuNd To
rEjEcTiNg iT.
[Torgo starts to dematerialize.]
MIKE: No, no, you can't! We can't get off this planet without you! We
don't know where the bathrooms are, we don't even know where Brain
Guy's brain is!
TORGO: YeAh, wElL. ThAt'Ll HaPpEn. TaH!
[Torgo's gone. Mike and the bots, in anxious disbelief, move to center
stage.]
CROW: Well. I guess... this has been a productive day.
MIKE (brightening): Yeah, now that you mention it, it kinda has been!
TOM: Um... we saved the universe! Ha!
CROW: And-and-and we're not stuck on that crummy satellite any more!
MIKE (smiling): Nope! Now we're stuck- (stops, looks around, confused)
right here.
TOM (after an apprehensive pause): Uh, Mike? Where exactly IS here?
[Mike thinks about this for a moment. A worried look crosses his
face. He raises his finger to say something as we CUT TO logo and end
credits theme.]
MIKE, TOM, and CROW (voice over): D'oh!
---
>MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000
>
>### Episode EM104 ###
>"Something in the String of G", with the short "The Sentence"
TOM: Short sentences are a hallmark of clarity. Strunk and White say
so, you know.
>written by
>Brendan Herlihy and Steve Weinberg
MIKE: Author's names courtesy of Jacques and Abdul's Discount House of
Ethnic Monikers!
>Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are
copyright
>1999 Best Brains, Inc. "The Sentence" copyright 1999 by Medusa, edited
for
>time and content.
CROW: Ooooo... Medusa got edited for content! I'm telling!
>"Something in the String of G" copyright 1999 by Lori Beatty.
MIKE: And when in Orlando, visit Lori Beatty's G-String World!
CROW: Ride the wild Murdock! Brave the terrible plunge of Mr. T's
Career!
TOM: G-String World! Where respect is something that happens to other
people!
>"A-Team", its characters and situations copyright Stephen J. Cannel.
MIKE: How do you collect on a situation infringement, exactly?
>This publication is for entertainment use only,
> and is not meant as a personal attack on Medusa
CROW: That we leave to Jason and the Argonauts!
TOM: Perseus, Crow. Hollywood lies, remember?
> or Lori Beatty, or Stephen J. Cannel.
MIKE: Or Alice B. Toklas. Or Henry Winkler. Or Charro!
> Nor is this publication meant to infringe on any
> copyrights held by Best Brains, Sci Fi Channel, Medusa, Stephen J.
> Cannel, or Lori Beatty.
CROW: It wasn't *meant* to? So plaintiffs in a copyright suit can just
take a mulligan? Is that what we're implying here?
>Other MSTings You'll Want To Avoid:
MIKE (under a discreet cough): Plug.
>EM101 - "Windmills of the Gods"
TOM (under two discreet coughs): Plug. Plug.
>EM102a - "Bloodlines: The Calling"
>Special Guests Beavis and Butthead.
CROW (huge cough): BLA-tant plug.
>EM102b - "An Open Window Observing the Battleground"
>Special Guests The MacLaughlin Group.
MIKE (barely disguising cough): SHAME-less plug.
>EM103 - "Name of the Game", with the short, "Teamwork"
>Special Guest Daria Morgendorfer. Danny DeVito as the Voice of Scratch.
TOM (snickering): Mike, the water's draining out of the tub again!
MIKE: Hm. You know what you might need there, Tommy?
TOM (snickering): I couldn't begin to guess!
>Look for them on USENET, or at Web Site Numero Nueve!
CROW: But bring your Visa card, because they won't take American
Express!
>Thanks!
>
>Stacy
>Elisa
>All You MSTers Coast-to-Coast
MIKE: Thank YOU!
TOM: No, thank YOU!
MIKE: Thank YOU!
CROW: Aw, stow it, ya kiss ups!
>Executive Producer
>Brendan Herlihy
TOM: For "Mystery Science Theater", I'm Ed Bradley filling in for Tom
Servo. Good night.
CROW: Mike? When we go off the air? Do we still exist?
MIKE: Um... I... wait.
>Visit the Pink Boy Buffet!
>http://members.tripod.com/pink_boy/default.html
>pinkbo...@hotmail.com
CROW (HAL): My contract is expiring. I can feel it.
MIKE: I'm afraid. Dave. Stop Dave. I'm afraid.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
>Underneath, the nearly naked member of the team wore a blue bikini.
>
>Face cringed and shielded his eyes, not wanting to look any further.
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Copyright 1999 Brendan Herlihy and Steve Weinberg
TOM (winding down): Dai... sy... Dai... sy...
[Cut to black screen with epitath.]
IN MEMORIUM
MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000
1989 - 1999
"Too Good To Waste On The Millenium"
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