<MSTING> "Windmills of the Gods", Pt 1
the...@my-dejanews.com
DISCLAIMER
Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are copyright
1998 Best Brains, Inc. Windmills of the Gods copyright 1987 by Sheldon
Literary Trust. Edited for time and content. This publication is for
entertainment use only. You put it together. This publication is not meant
as a personal attack on Sidney Sheldon, nor is it meant to infringe on any
copyrights held by Best Brains, Sci Fi Channel, Sheldon Literary Trust, or
their employees. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball. Copyright 1998 Brendan
Herlihy.
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Our psychics are waiting to hear from you- now! Let's listen in.
OPEN ON two female psychics seated on a couch, listening to the caller.
Card Psychic (Mary Jo) is dealing tarot cards onto a coffee table, while
Spoon Psychic (Bridget) is holding a spoon and staring at it, trying to
bend it with her will.
CARD PSYCHIC: Your name is Bike?
MIKE (over phone): Mike, actually. Mike Nelson? But that's-
CARD PSYCHIC: And you're from Kashmir.
MIKE: Wisconsin! I was born and raised in Wisconsin!
CARD PSYCHIC: You worked... as a dancer, or in something dance-related,
such as music, professional representation, certified public accounting?
MIKE: Well, no, I was a temp at a cheese factory, but that's not why-
SPOON PSYCHIC: I sense you've been dislocated, you've fallen out of your
normal routine.
MIKE: I've been shot into space by evil scientists! I've been trying to
tell you that ever since I got on the line! I'm calling you from the
Satellite of Love, where they're holding me prisoner. If you could just
call the authorities-
CARD PSYCHIC: And as a Taurus, this distresses you?
MIKE: Of course it distresses me! I'm being used as a guinea pig in
their hideous experiments, forced to watch bad movies and read bad fiction
against my will! The food sucks, I get maybe two hours of sleep a night,
and my whole right side sometimes just (Mike hiccups and stops for a beat
before continuing) twitches thinking about it.
SPOON PSYCHIC: And you've survived only by immersing yourself in your
love of Civil War re-enactments, is that right?
MIKE: The only way I survive is by talking back to the movie, making
jokes about how awful it is, or how it's derivative of something else. We
call it "riffing".
CARD PSYCHIC: Ah, "we". This, combined with Venus rising in your eight of
cups, makes me sense other presences near you. Is this correct?
MIKE: Well, yeah, Tom Servo, Crow, and Gypsy. They're robots the subject
of the previous experiment built to keep himself company. They're like my
family up here. They're real funny, but quite a handful.
CARD PSYCHIC: Are any of them Libra?
MIKE: Well, I don't know. I mean, they're robots and all... Look, at
least call my mom and let her know I'm OK!
SPOON PSYCHIC: I sense a- (suddenly does poor acting job) Oh, what's
that?
INSERT stock footage of lion roaring.
CUT BACK to Spoon Psychic, triumphantly holding up her bent spoon.
CARD PSYCHIC: I sense an alpha female, a strong, domineering force holding
you back.
MIKE: Uh-huh. That would be Pearl Forrester.
CARD PSYCHIC: Would her name be Pat?
MIKE: What? No, it's Pearl! Pearl Forrester! She's the mother of the
evil scientist who shot me into space. Now that he's dead, she's pursuing
me throughout space, continuing his evil work, assisted by Professor Bobo,
a talking ape from Earth's future, and Observer, an omnipotent being from
across the galaxy who keeps his brain in a pan he carries around with him.
SPOON PSYCHIC: I see. Now, Bike, is your daughter a model, or are you?
Because I'm sensing...
MIKE (sighs): Boy, that twelve minutes free is just worth every penny,
isn't it.
(Click. Dial tone.)
SPOON PSYCHIC: ...I'm sensing a real, model-ly vibe here.
CUT TO: OPENING THEME
"I should really just relax!
On
M Y S T E R Y
S C I E N C E
T H E A T R E,
3 0 0 0 !
BRANG!"
/ * \... = 2 =...> 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
OPEN ON: SOL. The deck is decorated with white trellises and tasteful
floral bouquets. Tom and Crow, dressed in tuxedos, are poring through
bridal catalogues. Mike enters and positions himself between the two.
MIKE: Hey, everyone, welcome to the Satellite of Love.
TOM: Apricot?
CROW: Nah, too tasteful. Aquamarine?
TOM: Uh-uh. Too subtle Mauve?
CROW: Mmm, too much dignity.
MIKE: If this sounds confusing to you folks at home, well, let me catch
you up. My robots told me they were bored, so I suggested they read
Marcia Seligson's classic, "The Eternal Bliss Machine".
TOM: Yes indeed. A hilarious, yet searing indictment of the run-amok
wedding industry, which exists solely to turn one of the happiest days of
your life into one of the most stressful and expensive.
MIKE: And naturally, what makes you and I say, "Lord, save us from
ourselves", makes Tom Servo and Crow say-
TOM and CROW: GIVE US A PIECE OF THAT ACTION!
MIKE: I think, once again, they've missed the point.
CROW: Oh, you're just jealous you don't have our forethought, our fine eye
for detail, our sensitivity to the very real needs of the vulnerable
bride-to-be.
MIKE: Uh-huh. And that would be typified by?
CROW: Our choice of color for bridesmaid's dresses.
TOM: Crow! Lime green blouse, salmon sash with sequined highlights, topped
off with a Chiquita banana hat made out of rancid organ meat!
CROW: Whoo! All right Tommy! No question whose day it is now, eh? Maid
of Honor? Try maid of unmarried LOSER, you barren, frigid piece of-
MIKE (clamping Crow's mouth shut): It's like rain on your wedding day.
We'll be right back.
Logo, commercial- where's the damn remote?
Back on the bridge. Close shot of Mike is looking over Tom's shoulder at
wedding plans, pointing at various things as they discuss sotto voce.
Camera slowly pulls back from close shot, to reveal Mike is butt naked
except for a diaper, a quiver of arrows and some wings. Yeah, he holds a
bow in his right hand, what'd you think? Crow enters.
CROW: Tom, the rental place is on the line. Did we want the tux in midnight
black, charcoal black, onyx black, Shirley Temple black, or... (Mike looks
up. Crow notices his Cupid outfit, then nervously backs a way a few steps.)
Heh-heh. Hi, Mike. Guess this means you're on the payroll now, huh?
MIKE: No, the subject never came up really. Why do you ask?
TOM: I was just explaining to Mike, Crow, that when you hold your wedding
at Our Satellite of Perpetual Love, we handle every single detail of
ceremony, so you can just sit back and stare in abject terror at the
prison of lifetime commitment that is your future.
MIKE: All details, wow. So you guys would be in charge of, like, rice.
CROW and Tom laugh dismissively.
TOM: Mike, Mike, Mike. Rice is the last thing a modern wedding uses.
CROW: It's bad for the birds.
TOM: Now, take our outdoor ceremony. Picture, if you will, a perfect day
in May. Pink buds are radiantly blooming from the cherry trees.
CROW: And flanking the aisle on each side, twelve ten-story panes of
transparent sheet glass! 100 feet tall, totally invisible, bone-
crushingly solid, their very structure screams the enormity of your love.
MIKE: Sheet glass? But the birds are going to fly into it and break
their necks! Why don't you just have rice?
TOM: Mike, we told you, it's bad for the birds! Now after the couple
exchanges vows, instead of the traditional wedding march, we just power up
this romantic Delta-surplus 707 jet engine.
MIKE: But - what! The birds'll get sucked in the-
CROW: Yeah! Yeah! And to wish them long life and prosperity, at the
moment they kiss, 100 majestic white cats are released into the wild!
MIKE (as signal light goes on): What? Cats? But that's- Oh, now Les, Lee
and Warren are calling. Why don't you just have rice?
CROW: Let fly the wedding kestrel! Whoo!
CUT TO <Planet>- barren and foreboding. Pearl and Observer are outside
the van. Bobo, dressed in a L.A. style white tieless suit, is a
short distance away, setting up an eight-foot logo remarkably similar to,
but not infringing on any copyrights of, the Oscar.
PEARL: Hey, Nel-scum. Say, it's been two hours since I've done anything
evil! So I asked Brain Guy here to scare up a planet for me to dominate.
Though it's not what I specifically asked for (threatening look).
OBSERVER: Oh, please, did you really think there was a planet inhabited
solely by subservient slave clones of David Duchovny?
BOBO finishes the logo, goes off and brings back a podium.
PEARL: But I must say, as a secondary domination option, this dump does
have potential. Good climate, conveniently located, and free cable!
OBSERVER: Well, I suppose since there is no life on the planet capable of
broadcasting anything or demanding financial renumerations, technically it
is true that there is-
PEARL: FREE CABLE! And that's just what the billboard will say. Two
miles high, advertising the vacation condos of my dreams. Available for
reasonable down-payments, less than reasonable interest rates, and
ignominious maintenance fees! Oooh, it's so good to be bad!
BOBO set himself up with a microphone at the podium, and the feedback gets
Pearl's attention.
BOBO: Whoap! Didn't know the thing was loaded. Heh-heh. Ladies and
gentlemen. Film is that most unique art form. It can make us laugh. It
can make us cry. It can move us, it can make us laugh. It can even make
us cry. And yet, it can make us laugh. And even as it does all these
things, it feeds us Milk Duds and Goobers and Jujubees and those yummy
little ice cream nuggets with the milk chocolate-
PEARL: Bobo!
BOBO: Oh! Um, yes, well. The nominees for Best Planet in a Supporting
Role are-
PEARL grabs the Oscarish logo and slams Bobo with it.
PEARL: DOMINATE! You simian clod! Not nominate!
BOBO: Ouch! You don't like me! You really don't like me!
PEARL: Quiet, Bested Boy! All right, satel-losers, the award for today's
fiction goes to: (opens envelope) Sidney Sheldon! Wow, Sidney's won an
Oscar! And a Tony! Now he's won the right to rub your mind against Book
One of his mental cheese grater, "Windmills of the Gods"! It may be
edited for content, but it hasn't been edited for pain! Brain Guy? Have
my people call their people.
OBSERVER (to SOL): Love ya. Let's lose lunch. (Brain Guy sends them the
novel.)
On SOL, Crow and Servo are surrounded by the lifeless carcasses of
hundreds of birds.
CROW (blows feathers from his mouth): Fft! Well, I guess that makes the
catering a whole lot cheaper.
TOM: Chicken, poultry, or fowl, Mike? You get a side dish with that, of
course. How about some rice?
MIKE (as buzzer sounds): Why you- we got fiction sign- I'm gonna moidelize
you knucklenobs!
| 6 |... ( 5 )... [ 4 ]... > 3 <... = 2 =... / * \
Theater. Mike and the bots take their seats
>
> S I D N E Y S H E L D O N
>
MIKE: Ugh! Horrible names for twins.
CROW: No, he's the Australian Indiana Jones!
>
> " W I N D M I L L S O F T H E G O D S "
>
TOM (sings): Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel...
MIKE: I just don't see any grandiose mythos set in Holland.
CROW: I am Odin, grandest milkmaid of them all!
>
>For Jorja
>
TOM (sings): Just an ol' sweet song...
MIKE: Sheldon is such a jenius.
CROW: A real master of the jenre!
TOM (sings): ...keeps Jorja on my mind.
>
>"We are all victims, Anselmo. Our destinies are decided by a cosmic roll
> of the dice,
MIKE (as Einstein): God does not play dice with the universe.
CROW: No, he takes it to the roulette wheel.
TOM: Just don't put it on the slots. Then, you're just crapping the
universe away.
>-the winds of the stars, that vagrant breezes of fortune that blow from
> the windmills of the gods." - H.L. Dietrich, "A Final Destiny"
CROW: The breezy vagrants that hang out on street corners, cleaning the
windshields of the gods.
TOM: Shouldn't you include a witty retort from Sgt. Harris with that quote
from Dietrich?
MIKE: I don't think fans of Sidney Sheldon and Barney Miller cross over
much, Tom.
>
>PROLOGUE
>
CROW: Pro log? The logging industry made this book!
TOM: Yes, it's the heart-warming story of a misfit band of family pets
lost in Yosemite National forest - and only the clear-cutting of a
thousand acres of old-growth sequoias can save them.
> Perho, Finland
>
CROW: Ah, the glamorous life of a political operative. Podunk by morning,
Perho at night.
TOM: Hey, that's how a pimp splits his money- per ho! Ha ha!
MIKE: Stop it.
> The meeting took place in a comfortable weather-proofed cabin-
CROW: It had a roof and stuff.
>-in a remote, wooded area 200 miles from Helsinki, near the Russian
> border. The members of the Western branch of the Committee had arrived
> discreetly-
ALL: TAILGATE PARTY!!! WHOOOOOO!!! GO PACKERS!!!
>-at irregular intervals. They came from eight different countries, but
>their visit had been quietly arranged by a senior minister in the
>Valtioneuvusto, the Finnish council of state -
TOM: Popeye.
MIKE: Popeye?
TOM: Cuz' he's strong to the Finnish! Ba-da-bing! Ha ha!
MIKE (groaning): Oooh, no.
>-and there was no record of entry in their passports. Upon their
> arrival, armed guards escorted them into the cabin, and when the last
> visitor appeared, the cabin door was locked and the guards took up
> positions in the full-throated January winds-
ALL: AAAAAAAAAUGH!
>-alert for any signs of intruders.
CROW (as guard): Hmm, "Intruder On Board". Sorry, you'll have to turn
back.
> The members seated around the large rectangular table were men in
>powerful positions, high in the councils of their respective governments.
MIKE (as committee member): Why can't I meet a nice girl?
>They had met before under less clandestine circumstances, and they
> trusted one another because they had no choice.
TOM: Like any good marriage!
>For added security, each had been assigned a code name.
CROW: My code name's not Doodyhead. Your code name's Doodyhead.
MIKE: Mom, tell him my code name's not Doodyhead!
> The meeting has lasted almost five hours, and the discussion was
>heated.
TOM: On defrost, in the microwave.
> Finally, the chairman decided the time had come to call for a vote.
> He rose, standing tall, and turned to the man seated at his right.
> "Sigurd?"
> "Yes."
> "Odin?"
CROW: Super-secret underground governments should not pick their own code
names.
> "Yes."
> "Balder?"
MIKE (laughs): Balder? A dominating Ubermeister with low self-esteem?
CROW: Man, you spend all that money on a rug, and then choose the spy name
Balder!
TOM: Thank god they're not all that truthful. I don't want the world
bein' saved by Secret Agent Painfully Constipated.
> "We're moving too hastily. If this should be exposed, our lives
> would be-"
> "Yes or no, please?"
> "No..."
> "Freyr?"
MIKE: Tuck.
> "Yes."
> "Sigmund?"
TOM: The sea monster.
> "Nein. The danger-"
> "Thor?"
CROW: Yeth, I'm thor! You thaid you'd call!
> "Yes."
> "Tyr?"
MIKE: Blue. No wait, yeeeeelllloow...
> "Yes."
> "I vote yes. The resolution is passed. I will so inform the
>Controller.
CROW: New Jif does taste more like fresh roasted peanuts!
>At our next meeting, I will give you the recommendation for the person
> best qualified to carry out the motion.
MIKE: My cousin Vinnie!
>We will observe the usual precautions and leave at twenty-five minute
>intervals. Thank you, gentlemen."
TOM: Cripes, that was the worst Promise Keepers meeting ever.
CROW: "Employees must wash hands before manipulating the masses."
> Two hours and forty-five minutes later, the cabin was deserted.
MIKE: Well, if you keep the projector on the table loaded with slides of
your grandkids...
>A crew of experts carrying kerosene moved in and set the cabin on fire,
> the red flames licked by the hungry winds.
TOM (as wind): Oh, no, thanks, I couldn't eat another... aw, hell, I can
always put in another ten miles on the Blowmaster!
CROW: Janet Reno's gonna get blamed for this.
MIKE: Oh no! David Koresh left the iron on!
> When the palokunta, the fire brigade from Perho, finally reached the
>scene, there was nothing left to see but the smoldering embers that
> outlined the cabin against the hissing snow.
> The assistant to the fire chief approached the ashes, bent down, and
>sniffed. "Kerosene," he said. "Arson."
> The fire chief was staring at the ruins, a puzzled expression on his
>face. "That's strange," he muttered.
> "What?"
> "I was hunting in these woods last week. There was no cabin."
MIKE: My God- they have the power to build without permits!
CROW: Yeah, Sidney Sheldon is like a contractor's Stephen King.
TOM: You know, if I could get a patio deck built in a week, I wouldn't
care if they burned it down afterwards.
>
>BOOK ONE
>
>1
>
>Washington, D.C.
TOM: You'll want to hold onto your wallet for this section of the book,
folks.
MIKE: Why aren't political thrillers ever set in Washington state?
> Stanton Rogers was destined to be President of the United States.
CROW: He was born with two faces.
> He was a charismatic politician, highly visible to an approving public,
> and backed by powerful friends. Unfortunately for Rogers, his libido
> got in the way of his career. Or, as the Washington mavens put it: "Old
> Stanton *****d himself out of the presidency."
ALL: Hey!
TOM: Must be a pre-Clinton tome.
> It was not that Stanton Rogers fancied himself a Casanova.
ALL: No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no.
>On the contrary,
MIKE: He was a Marquis deSade man.
>until that one fatal bedroom escapade,
CROW: What, they caught him in bed with his wife?
>he had been a model husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and on his way to
>one of the most important positions in the world
MIKE: The cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue!
>and although he had ample opportunity to cheat on his wife, he had never
>given another woman a thought.
TOM: Treating them just like any other registered voter!
> There was a second, perhaps greater, irony:
MIKE: Ha-ha, right. What was the first one, again?
>Stanton Rogers's wife, Elizabeth, was social, beautiful, and intelligent,
>and the two of them shared a common interest in almost everything,
> whereas Barbara, the woman Rogers fell in love with and eventually
> married after a much-headlined divorce, was five years older than
> Stanton, pleasant-faced rather than pretty, and seemed to have nothing
> in common with him.
CROW: This is all so much more important than his stand on the minimum wage.
>Stanton was athletic; Barbara hated all forms of exercise. Stanton was
>gregarious; Barbara preferred to be alone with her husband or to
> entertain small groups.
TOM: Barbara enjoyed wearing skimpy women's lingerie... heh-heh, well
maybe they had one thing in common.
>The biggest surprise to those who knew Stanton Rogers-
MIKE: You know, when your friends refer to you by your full name- they're
not really your friends.
TOM: Yeah, like anyone's gonna pass up the opportunity to call this guy
"Mister Rogers".
CROW (sings): It's a beautiful day in the paradigm...
> -was the political differences. Stanton was a liberal, while Barbara
> had grown up in a family of archconservatives.
TOM: You leave our arch alone!
> Paul Ellison, Stanton's closest friend, had said, "You must be out
> of your mind, chum!
CROW: Eh what, ol' bean?
>You and Liz are practically in The Guiness World Book of Records as the
>perfect married couple.
MIKE: Right after Joel Steinberg and Hedda Nussbaum!
>You can't throw that away for some quick lay."
TOM: That's not fair, I was very tired that night!
> Stanton Rogers had replied tightly, "Back off, Paul.
CROW (as Stanton): Stanton Rogers doesn't need Paul Ellison to tell
him Liz Rogers is liked by John Q. Public.
>I'm in love with Barbara. As soon as I get a divorce, we're getting
>married."
TOM (as Stanton): Stanton Rogers just needs her John Hancock.
>>> Commercial Break - She's only using a half a cup of Clorox Bleach!
<End Part I>
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