MiSTing: Home For Christmas [STNG/Holiday] [PG] [1/4]
MBlackw415
By Stephen Brian Ratliff
MiSTing by Matt Blackwell
[Season 9 opening]
[The scene opens on the bridge of the Satellite of Love, which is
festively bedecked with Christmas decorations. Mike, Gypsy, Tom and
Crow are watching television.]
Crow: So, let me get this straight; this reindeer has been kidnapped
and these kids are the only ones who can save him, and thus,
save Christmas?
Tom: You got it.
Crow: And the Mads never forced us to watch this one?
Tom: Nope. Even they had some standards.
[Mike turns towards the camera.]
Mike: Hi everybody. I'm Mike Nelson, and I'm still trapped here on the
Satellite of Love and being forced to watch bad movies. To make
things worse, it's Christmas time, and somehow Pearl's convinced
Observer to remove All the good holiday specials from TV
and replace them with lousy ones.
Tom: Yep. So far tonight we've seen "Santa Claus: The Movie,"
"Silent Night: Deadly Night", "Silent Night: Deadly Night 2",
the remake of "Miracle on 34th Street". . .
Crow: That's the version that starred the Olsen twins and Emo Philips.
And don't forget about "A Very Chachi Christmas."
Tom: Believe me, Crow, I've been trying!
Mike: As you can see, we're rapidly losing our Christmas spirit.
Crow: Well, Tom and I haven't lost ours, thanks to the wonder
of eggnog.
Tom: That's right! Nog, a miracle of modern beverage technology!
Mike: Guys, you're robots. Eggnog doesn't affect you.
Tom: Well, heck Mike. If Data can get drunk, we figured that we could
too. . .
Mike: [Shakes head.] Didn't we go over the difference between Star
Trek and reality when you two tried to build a transporter?
Crow: Mike, it would have worked. . .
Mike: Your plan was to hack me apart and then use a catapult to fling
my body parts across the cosmos! You said, and I quote, "We're
pretty sure we can rebuild you once you get there."
Tom: Mike, you never did let us do a trial run, so how could we
know if it would work or not?
Mike: <Sigh.> Look, I'll try to explain one more time. [The lights for
Castle Forrester begin to flash.] Never mind. The Grinch,
Heatmiser, and Mr. Potter are calling.
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: Happy Festivous, Yukon CornNelsonus. We've got a special treat
for you today.
<SOL>
Mike: [Brightly] You're canceling today's experiment?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: [Snort] Yeah, right. I'll let old ghost face here tell you
about the evil fate about to befall you. Brain guy?
Observer: Yes, hello, Nelson. Eons ago, the inhabitants of my
homeworld, being omniscient and supremely sophisticated and
all that, were entrusted with a wondrous and frightful
thing - a piece of fan-fiction which would wreak havoc upon
the very cosmos if let loose upon an unsuspecting galaxy.
<SOL>
All: Wow!
<Castle Forrester>
Observer: For many millennia, we have held this ultimate story, this
wretched horror, this engine of unbelievable abomination in
check, for fear tha-
Pearl: Just cut to the chase, willya?
Observer: Ah, yes. Anyway, since you blew up my homeworld, I figured,
"What the hell?", so I'm sending it to you.
<SOL>
Crow: Sounds pretty bad, fellows.
Mike: Oh, c'mon, guys, how bad could it really be?
Tom: Maybe Rick Berman finally agreed to do my Baywatch/ Voyager/ A
Christmas Carol crossover idea?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: No. It's from an older friend of yours. A Mr. Stephen B.
Ratliff. I believe that you're familiar with his work?
<SOL>
Mike: We're doomed.
Tom: Heck Mike, it won't affect us a bit, due to our being liqoured up
and all.
Mike: Tom, you are not drunk!
Crow: It can't be any worse than what's on TV right now. Hey! The Star
Wars holiday special just came on! [Pause] Is that Bea Arthur?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: Yep. So, enjoy your brief time left in existence, Nelson.
Ta-ta.
[Professor Bobo appears from the right side of the castle.]
Bobo: I'll be sending some banana nut bread along with the story.
[Pearl rolls her eyes.]
<SOL>
Mike: Banana nut bread? Well, that's nice of him. [The lights begin to
flash.] Oh no! We've got fanfic sign! [The usual mayhem ensues
and the trio leaves the theater..]
[6. . . 5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . . 1. . .]
[Mike and the bots enter.]
Mike: Well, at least we've got something to eat during the fanfics.
Tom: You do, Mike. [Sarcastically] But we're robots. We can't eat
anything. [Sarcastically]
>From srat...@runet.edu Fri Dec 26 12:26:43 1997
Tom: Hey! Ratliff posted this at 12:26 on 12/26!
Crow: So?
Tom: I just think that it's kinda neat, that's all.
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>Subject: NEW Home For Christmas 1/1 (TNG, Marrissa Stories)
>From: srat...@runet.edu (Stephen Ratliff)
>Date: 26 Dec 1997 18:26:43 GMT
>
>
Mike: It's Grinch Mean Time.
Tom: Grinch?
Mike: 'Tis the season.
>Title: Home for Christmas
>Author: Stephen Ratliff (srat...@runet.edu)
>Series: TNG, Marrissa Stories
>Rating: [G]
>
>Historian's Note:
> This story is set after "All the King's Horses" and takes place
>roughly eight months after the commissioning of the Enterprise-E,
>two months before Marrissa leaves the Enterprise, and four months
>before First Contact.
>
Mike: Of course, this means that it takes place five years after
"Where Silence Has Lease."
Tom: Two months after "Flight of the Voyager."
Crow: And 4.5 years after "Riker's Ribaldry on Risa.
>Home for Christmas
>
>A Marrissa Story
>
Mike: On three. <pause> Three.
All: AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
>by Stephen Ratliff
>
All: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
>Prologue
>
Mike: Saigon. I'm still only in Saigon. Every time I wake up, I expect
to be back in the jungle.
Tom: Wrong prologue.
> It was Christmas Eve Morning at the Picard Family Vineyard.
>Marie was preparing breakfast for everyone.
Tom: [Marie] 10 billion bloody people on Earth, and *I* have to feed
them all. . . <grumble>
> Isabelle was feeding Rene
>his cereal and the ten-month-old boy was spreading the stuff all over
>the floor.
Mike: Rene has a bright future ahead of him in the field of
performance art.
> Theresa hadn't come down to breakfast yet. She was
>insisting on dressing herself, and her mother was sure that she'd be
>trying to dress up today.
Tom: So, she cleaned and pressed her old prom dress, just in case
Theresa needed it, or in case that dreamy Gerard showed up. He
was just late that's all. He'd show up for the prom soon. After
all, he was only 20 years late now. He was probably just having
car troubles. That's all. Yeah. That's it. Car troubles.
> As Marie finished Theresa's waffle,
Crow: [Sitting upright] Waffle?
> her three year old daughter
>rushed into the room. Theresa was wearing a green skirt, a red
>turtle-neck, and a white sweater with the tag turned up.
Tom: With the help of this unobtrusive tag, we can track sweaters
wherever they go in the wild.
> It was one of
>her best outfits, the one that Marie had intended for Christmas Eve
>Mass. Hopefully it would last the day. "Here is your waffle, Theresa,"
Bots: Waffles! Waffles!
Mike: Hey! Calm down guys! What's with you?
Crow: Wait a minute! Ratliff's just taunting us!
Tom: Hey! He is! Why that dirty little so and so!
Crow: Well, we won't rise to his bait, will we Tom?
Tom: Nope. We'll just ignore it. [Pause] D'oh!
>Marie said, placing the waffle on the table as Theresa climbed up into
>her booster seat.
Crow: With the booster, they'll be able to get Theresa into orbit
faster than they'd be able to with just a single stage liftoff.
> Marie fixed the tag and pulled Theresa's blond hair
>from under the sweater, then turned back to the waffle maker. "Try
>not to get the syrup on your sweater."
Crow: The waffle maker's wearing a sweater?
Mike: Home appliance fashion is tre chic in 24th century France.
> "I'm not a baby, Mommy," Theresa said,
Crow: That's right! She's the third in command of the Lexington's
Kid's Crew.
> spearing a piece of
>the maple syrup covered waffle.
Crow: Theresa seems to think that waffles are just a vehicle for
holding syrup and butter.
Tom: It figures that Ratliff would take Dr. F's side of the argument.
> "I don't make messes like little Rene."
Mike: Yeah, he really botched that Montolli deal. We had to ice six
people on that one.
> At that Rene knocked his cereal bowl off his high chair.
>Seeing the bowl bounce off the floor and the cereal scattered All over
>it, Rene raised his arms in amusement, pounding them up and down.
Tom: Rene, don't try to escape the fanfic by flapping your arms and
trying to fly.
Mike: We've tried it. It doesn't work.
> Rene's
>mom looked at the mess and sighed, "Tell me he'll grow out of it."
Mike: Well, he better hurry - he's already 26 years old.
>Isabelle began cleaning up the mess.
> "When is Marrissa coming?"
Tom: Not until after "A Royal Wedding." <rim shot>
> Theresa asked, carefully wiping
>her mouth, determined to show that she could keep her sweater clean.
Crow: A tip for Theresa: next time that you're trying to keep a
sweater clean, don't wipe your mouth with its sleeve.
> "She, Uncle Jean-Luc, Aunt Beverly, and your cousin
>Jacqueline will be here in a couple hours,"
Tom: Good. They still have time to enter the Marrissa Relocation
Program.
> Marie said, sitting down
>with her own waffle. "I see you are looking forward to your cousin's
>arrival." Theresa nodded, spearing another piece of waffle.
Crow: Do the French really use spears as tableware? Cool!
> "Any particular reason?"
> "She's a princess," Theresa pronounced between bites.
Tom: Well, she's a royal something, I'll grant you that.
> "Oh?" her mother said. "And that's something special? Like
>her being in Starfleet."
> "Anyone can be in Starfleet," Theresa pronounced.
Crow: She does have a point. They did let Troi in...
> "Uncle
>Jean-Luc is in Starfleet, so's Aunt Beverly. Marrissa's a princess
>too."
All: [monotone] Head of Enterprise security, future Commander of the
Stargazer's fighter wings, and head of all the Kids' Crews in
Star Fleet.
> "It seems Theresa has caught a case of royal hero worship,"
>Isabelle commented from across the room, lifting her son from his
>high chair.
> "Runs in the family," Marie replied.
>
Tom: Which explains the ancestral Picard family shrine
to Saint Barry Allen.
> Little Theresa heard the front door opening. She was in the
>living room, staring up at the tree.
Crow: [Special Agent Cooper] Ahhh, Douglas firs!
> She couldn't remember ever
>having a Christmas tree before. Her mommy said that they hadn't had
>one last year.
Mike: They just had an aluminum pole up in the middle of the room. And
Theresa remembered something about feats of strength. . .
> This year's tree had silver garland and red spun glass balls
>hanging from it's boughs. White lights sparkled, and an ornate red
>and white glass star topped the tree.
Mike: Sparkly glass everywhere. And little kids running about. That's
a great combination.
Tom: How many stitches do those glass lacerations require?
Mike: Two or three per piece.
Crow: And does this knowledge come from personal experience?
Mike: [Uneasily] No,no. Of course not. Heh.
> The sound of the front door opening drew her away. From the
>hallway came her mother's voice, "Welcome home, Jean-Luc."
Mike: [Isabelle] Wow! What happened to your hair?
Crow: [Picard] I found an old artifact on one of my archaeological
digs. It's called "The too-pay of Shat-ner."
> As Theresa came around the corner, she heard her uncle
>respond, "It's nice to be here. Where is my little niece?"
Mike: [Minnewegan] Oh, she fell into the wood chipper. Really sad,
don't cha know?
Bots: [Same] Oh ya, ya.
> Her uncle towered over her as he approached. He wore black
>pants and a long sleeve blue causal shirt.
Crow: Jean-Luc Picard: Model by night.
> He squatted down beside
>her as Isabelle helped Aunt Beverly take off her coat. Theresa's
>mother was opening the door. "So how is my favorite niece doing?"
Mike: [Jean-Luc] And where is she? Tell me where you've hidden
Candice!
> "Fine," Theresa said, her attention diverted to the door by the
>entry of a new person.
Tom: Why it's Ebenizer Scrooge! (Played by Patrick Stewart in a
special dual role.)
> Marrissa was carrying a large number of
>packages,
[The trio coughs heavily.]
Tom: Okay, it's Star Trek. Someone might have a large number of
packages. It's certainly possible.
Crow: Still, the fact that *Marrissa* is the one carrying them is
disturbing in the extreme!
> and didn't exactly look like a princess in her Starfleet
>security uniform. "Marrissa!" Theresa shouted, rushing over to her
>cousin.
Mike: [Theresa] Did you bring me something?
Crow: [Marrissa] Yep. I'm giving you the entire Yesrej Wen star
system!
Mike: [Theresa] Is that where that Ecurb Neetsgnirps guy is from?
> "Well I can see who Theresa is interested in," Jean-Luc said,
>standing back up. "Well at least Jackie still likes me."
Tom: Jackie Mason? He's still alive in the 24th century?
Crow: Yep. They froze him, just in case the world supply
of comedians ran low.
Mike: Boy, I bet he screamed when they cut his head off.
Crow: What?
Mike: Well, they cut his head off so that they could freeze it, right?
Tom: Um, no. They'd probably just pump his body full of chemicals.
Mike: [Mumbling] Uh oh. I better call Aunt Helen and tell her to
call an ambulance and get Uncle Lou's head out of the cooler
in the Tuf-Shed.
> "Oh, by the way Jean-Luc, she needs changed," Beverly said,
>handing the eight-month old girl to her father.
Mike: Just ignore the grammar problems.
Tom: So, the Picards named their daughter Jean-Luc?
> "Hello, Theresa, it's been a while since I've seen you,"
Mike: In person, at least. My spies watch you constantly.
>Marrissa said, squatting down to become eye level with her two foot
>shorter and ten year younger cousin.
Tom: Let's see. Marrissa is about 14, so she'd be about 5 feet tall,
so her four year old cousin is three feet tall?
Mike: I hope that the WNBA is still around. They'll want to keep an
eye on Theresa.
> She nearly loss the packages, so
>she straightened up.
Crow: Whew. The drama nearly overwhelmed me there.
> "Can you show me the tree, so I can put the
>presents under it?"
> "It's in here," Theresa said as she darted into the living room.
>Marrissa followed the toddler.
>
Tom: And the vicious cycle of elders deferring to those younger than
themselves begins again.
> In the living room, Marrissa placed the presents under the tree.
Mike: It was probably a bad idea to place the lit candelabra under
there, though.
>Theresa watched as her cousin placed the colorfully wrapped packages
>under the tree. As each package was placed under the tree, Theresa
>asked who it was for.
Mike: Marrissa gave the same answer each time. "Me."
> She examined closely each of the packages that
>Marrissa had said was hers.
Crow: Curiously, many of them were ticking.
Tom: I wonder if she got our, *ahem*, clock too?
> Wondering what was in the packages
>under the tree was a tradition going back longer than that of the
>Starship Enterprise.
Tom: [Scholarly] Yes, that tradition is believed to have originated
with young Paul McCormick of Oshkosh, Wisconsin back in the
ancient days of 1973.
> While Marrissa entertained her cousin with the presents,
>Marie and Beverly came into the room. They sat down on the black
>leather couch
Tom: Ooh. It's the seventies again. I bet there's a van too.
Crow: And a waterbed.
Tom: And a lava lamp.
Crow: Sound familiar Mike?
> with red tartan patterned throw pillows. "So Marie, how has
>this year been?" Beverly inquired.
Crow: [Marie] The Cardassians attacked the vineyard a few times.
An alien probe nearly destroyed the world. Shapeshifters
attacked. It's been kinda slow.
> "Much better than last year," Marie replied, leaning forward to
>pour out the wine into crystal goblets. As the red wine poured, she
>continued. "Last year was rough after Robert and Rene's deaths.
Mike: [Marie] I mean I had to wear black for almost two weeks! ! And
their deaths really put a crimp in my social life.
> This
>year has been a year of joy in comparison.
Tom: Ahhhhh!!!! It's the Picard family Christmas letter!
> Isabelle had her baby.
Crow: And he's already fought off his first kidnapping by the Trakce!
>Little Rene has been a joy. Especially since I don't have to change my
>grandson's dippers."
Mike: Astronomers have labeled the new constellation "Ursa Rene Minor."
> "I wish that was so with Jackie," Beverly replied, taking one of
>the glasses from Marie. Looking at Theresa continued.
Crow: Yes, the act of looking at Theresa continued for weeks on end.
Mike: Theresa's deformities are the town's main attraction these days.
> "I can't wait
>until she's as old as Theresa. At least she's sleeping though the
>night."
Tom: [Beverly] Unlike Jean-Luc, who's been awfully frisky lately.
Mike: Thank you for not using an incontinence reference there.
Tom: I have some standards. [Turns towards Crow.] Unlike certain
others in this theater.
Crow: Hey!
Mike: It's the season of peace. Calm down.
> "Wait until Jackie starts walking," Marie said. "Little Rene is
>just starting."
> "I remember when Wesley started walking," Beverly replied,
>shaking her head.
Mike: [Beverly, wistfully] That was the first step in getting him out
of my life!
> "It's been 24 years since I had him. I'm forty-
>eight years old. You'd think I would be done with raising children by
>now."
Tom: [Bev] But no, I just have to sleep with every man who wanders
by...
Mike: What?
Crow: [Sing-song] Tom's in trouble. . .
Tom: What? I've been taking a method acting course. I'm just adopting
the role of Beverly.
Mike: But she wouldn't say something like that!
Tom: Have you studied her like I have, Mike? Until you do, you have no
right to judge my portrayal of her.
[Mike grumbles and resumes watching the text.]
> At the base of the Christmas Tree, Theresa was carefully
>examining a silver wrapped foot long package with a red bow.
Crow: The traditional French Christmas baguette.
> Her
>face was drawn with
Mike: The help of over 400 Disney animation experts, making "Theresa"
one of the most lavish animated films ever!
> intents concentration,
Tom: So, she was concentrating on tents then?
> as Marrissa steadfastly
>refused to let her know what it was.
Tom: [Theresa] An RPG launcher?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] A "My Little Plastique" kit?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] Blueprints for a pulsed phaser cannon?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] A strawberry-juice filled Supersoaker?
Mike: [Marrissa] Shut up.
> "I envy you," Marie said. "You've still got All the most
>important mile stones ahead of you. The first step, the first word,
Crow: [Marie] Whereas you personal life is destined to continue along
it's downward spiral. Jean-Luc will leave you and you'll die
alone and friendless, like the cow that you are.[Mike turns
towards Crow, who continues.] I'm in the same acting course
as Tom. I know Marie's character inside and out. She'd say
that.
[Mike stares at Crow for an angry moment, and then returns to the text.]
>Theresa's growing up so fast, and becoming so independent.
Crow: [Marie] Unlike *some* children who keep getting posted to their
daddy's ship.
>Sometimes I wonder if she still needs me, then she comes down for
>breakfast with her shoes on the wrong feet and her shirt on
>backwards."
Crow: [Marie] Of course, my husband used to do the same thing. But he
was a rapper for a while.
> "I remember when Wesley use to do that,"
Mike: He was a rapper for a while too.
> Beverly said,
>placing her half empty wine glass on a coaster on an end table.
Tom: Whew. For a minute there, we had the serious possibility of a
moisture ring.
Mike: And Gary Gnu returned the empty glass to the kitchen.
> "He
>wouldn't let any help him, no matter how bad he had dressed himself."
Tom: That was just last week. . .
> "Speaking of your son, is he coming?" Marie asked, taking a
>sip of her wine.
Crow: [Maire] Or is he off saving the universe? Again.
> "I asked him to, and he said he'd try, but his training doesn't
>leave much time,"
Tom: [Bev] He's becoming an omnipotent deity. Did I mention that?
> Beverly said, as her husband entered the room
>carrying Jackie.
> "One freshly changed little lady," Jean-Luc said, handing the
>little girl to her mother. He then took a seat beside his wife,
>placing his arm around her.
Mike: Coming this fall from Pocket Books: "Jean-Luc Picard's Guide
to Scoring with the Foxy Ladies." "Put your arm around her"
is Chapter 6.
> He smiled as Marie handed him a glass of
>the family speciality.
Tom: Ah, the combination cabernet/hair tonic/viagara.
Crow: Well, the hair tonic part needs work...
> He took a sip. "The Fifty- three?"
> "Correct," Marie replied,
Crow: [Marie] See? Your bald husband at least has taste in wine. Such
a pity it doesn't extend to women.
> as she looked back to the two by the
>tree. Theresa was now leaning back against Marrissa, who was telling
>her a story. "Aren't they cute?" she whispered.
Crow: In a "She'll kill me if I don't say that" kind of way, of
course.
> "I think you're biased, but what parent isn't," Jean-Luc said,
Mike: *My* parents always tried to ditch me at the grocery store.
You're worthless, Mike! Why don't you have a decent job?
I was five! [Mike stands] What did you want me to do!? Huh?!
[Mike stops as he notices that Crow and Tom are staring at him.]
Um, that was a piece from "A Christmas Story."
Tom: Uh-huh.
Crow: Sure.
[Mike quietly sits back down.]
>staring at his baby daughter, who was smiling up at him.
> Then Isabelle stuck her head in from the door, "Dinner is
>served," she said.
> "She's cooking?" Jean-Luc remarked as they got up from the
>sofa.
Mike: [Jean-Luc] Bev, do you have your stomach pump with you, just in
case?
> "I've been working with her," Theresa said. "I've got to pass
>on the talent some time.
Crow: [Marie] Especially since your wife has no aptitude for cooking.
> Plus, this place still doesn't have a
>replicator."
>
Tom: [Bev] Well, if you'd learn to cook something besides this swill
you laughingly call food, you wouldn't need it, sweetums!
Mike: Why do I feel like I'm trapped in an "abfab" marathon?
> The lunch was a traditional home cooked meal. There was
>baked ham, mashed potatoes,
Mike: Which Marie had sculpted to resemble Devil's Tower for some
reason.
> and green peas laid out on the table.
>A basket of fresh baked bread was passed around the table, and
>everyone took some.
Mike: Mike: I suppose this is the food equivalent of Ratliff's usual
"introduction" scenes.
>Jean-Luc breathed in the smell.
Tom: [Picard] Who's wearing Charlie?
Mike: [Riker] That's me sir. I was getting ready for my one-man
tribute to Sandra Bullock.
> this was one thing he missed up in
>the stars. He poured himself a glass of the fifty-three, and after a
>prayer, they began to eat.
> "So Isabelle, how have you been doing?" Beverly asked, as
>they ate.
Mike: Ah. The pointless small talk of family gatherings begins.
Tom: If they had brought Data along, he could be using his "Small
Talk" program right now. That would liven things up.
> "Petty good, I think," Isabelle said, feeding her son. "Since
>Rene started walking, it's been rather hard to keep up with him
>though."
Crow: [Marie] Yes, he's a mobile little tyke. Unlike the sessile
offspring of some women that I could name.
> "I remember when Wesley started walking," Beverly smiled.
>"He was into everything."
Tom: [Bev] And he was talking when he was six weeks old too.
> "I have to keep him away from the tree,"
Crow: [Marie] He spent 45 minutes yesterday designing a new lighting
system for it. And then he re-engineered the cat's DNA so that
it could croon like Sinatra.
Mike: o/~ Start spreading the news... Meow. Meow, meow meow ,
meow... o/~
> Isabelle remarked.
>"He nearly knocked it down yesterday."
Crow: [Marie] But then the new anti-gravity unit he designed kicked
in.
Tom: [Bev] Cow!
Crow: [Marie] Slut!
[The two bots launch at each other, but Mike easily breaks up the
fight.]
Mike: That's it. No more method acting courses for either of you!
> "I bet his grandparents adore him," Marrissa commented.
Mike: [Marrissa] Even though they should be spending their every
waking moment idolizing me, the embodiment of perfection in the
universe.
> "I do," Marie said, "But that Mr. Boucher wouldn't dare show
>his face here."
Crow: He must have made fun of Jerry Lewis.
> "Marie, you shouldn't be so hostile," Jean-Luc remarked,
>getting another piece of ham.
Mike: Apparently, Jean- Luc has been turned into a four foot tall
ventriloquist's dummy.
Tom: Beverly, I want you to SLEEEEEEEP!!!!!
Crow: Look familiar, Mike? Girls leaving you for ventriloquists?
Tom: I'm a toaster strudel!
Crow: DRINK THE BLOOD OF THE VIRGIN! I'm sorry. Did that come out
as creepy?
Mike: Okay guys. Enough callbacks.
> "Philippe is Rene's grandfather and Isabelle's
>father."
Crow: And Julius's cousin, and Pierre's neighbor, and Yvonne's sugar
daddy, and - whoops!
> "He gave up that right when he threw Isabelle out last
>Christmas Eve," Marie replied with disgust.
Tom: [Marie] Well, she did wreck that church and shoot up that bus
full of nuns, but hey, everyone does that, right?
Crow: Which of us can honestly say that he hasn't set fire to some
great public building? I know I have!
> "I thought we had talked with him, and he had accepted the
>situation," Jean-Luc remarked, halting his consumption of his dinner.
> "I thought so too," Isabelle said sadly.
Crow: She did not halt her consumption of dinner while she spoke.
Isabelle is a Mr. Bumble.
> "Then Rene's last
>Christmas present arrived. Apparently the hand crafted saddle was
>too much for him."
Mike: Well, those leather saddles do chafe, and those spurs hurt...
[Mike stops as Crow and Tom stare at him.]
Mike: . . .or so I've heard.
> "And I found Isabelle on my doorstep Christmas morning,"
>Marie concluded. "It will be a long time before he's welcome in this
>house."
>
Tom: [Marie] Why, there'll be a 14 year old commanding a starship
before I ever dream of letting him into my house again.
> The church was decorated in Christmas attire. Boughs of holly
>adored the end of each pew.
Crow: [Holly] There's a pageant going on. There's a pageant going on.
It's still going on.
> A manger was set up on the left side of
>the alter,
Tom: Well, there's a *change*.
[Mike and Crow groan.]
> complete with a straw filled manger.
Mike: Yes, no manager is complete without a manager.
> Candles where lit
All: Sigh.
Crow: Where lit? There lit candles. There reactor core. There wolf.
Mike: He'll get it right someday.