MiSTing; Visions (1/2)
cek...@pomona.edu
Chris Ekman (script) & Ken Applebaum (improvement)
WARNING TO ENGLISH TEACHERS: This post contains more dangling participles
than all the books in your local library combined. You are advised to keep
red correcting pens out of reach during this post.
This here is our first MiSTing, ever, so please be charitable. We'd love to
hear any comments or suggestions. I'll be at cek...@pomona.edu until Sunday,
at which point I'll switch to 76452...@compuserve.com for the summer. Ken
will be at appl...@stu.beloit.edu until about the same time, and then he'll
change to lmu...@umd5.umd.edu. Keep in mind that we'll be switching
identities sometime around July. Oh, and remember to set your clocks an hour
ahead.
-----------------8<----------------CUT HERE----------------8<------------------
[Crow and Tom are at the Satellite of Love counter.]
TOM: Look, that's all well and good, but *although* the economy does indeed
have a self-correcting mechanism that tends to eliminate either
unemployment or inflation, this mechanism works slowly and unevenly. In
addition, its beneficial effects on either inflation or unemployment are
sometimes swamped by strong forces, such as rapid increases or decreases
in aggregate demand, pushing in the opposite direction.
CROW: That's immaterial. What you're conveniently forgetting is Poland's role.
Poland had been a major player in eastern Europe in the fifteenth
century, but by the end of the seventeenth century had become a weak,
decentralized state. Now, if it hadn't been for plate tectonics-
TOM: Plate tectonics, shmate shecshmonics. We can sit here and invent
hypothetical situations all day, but that doesn't change anything.
CROW: So you deny that Connery was the better Bond?
TOM: I'm simply saying that whenever you inject radioactive enzymes into an
endoplasmic system, it's going to produce an unstable result. Any
professional will tell you the same.
CROW: That sort of thinking was discredited with Newton.
TOM: Now who's being dogmatic?
[Mike enters camera range.]
MIKE: Hey, what are you two nuts up to now?
CROW: We're bickering.
MIKE: Nothing new there. What about?
TOM: Oh, not about anything, really. Just keeping in practice.
CROW: I don't know how you can so blithely dismiss 1,500 years of astral theory
with a wave of your hand that way. You must be an absolute genius.
Makes you wonder why the world hasn't taken notice of you yet.
TOM: I'm going to ignore that.
CROW: Tom, ignore it all you like, but the fact remains; Spawn would beat Gen13
without breaking a sweat.
TOM: That's about the level of argument I'd expect from a 'bot who considers
logical positivism, and I quote, 'dopey'.
CROW: Reactionary!
TOM: Vulgarian!
[Mads' light flashes]
MIKE: Cool it, guys, John McLaughlin's calling. [presses button]
[Deep 13]
[Dr. Forrester appears even more disheveled than usual. His eyes are
bloodshot, and burdened by dark bags. His lab coat is wrinkled and stained.
D13 is littered with pizza boxes and beer cans.]
[SOL]
ALL: GAH!
CROW: Don't DO that!
TOM: Is he still moping over Frank? Jeez, can't he at least hire a maid?
[D13]
DR.F: [snaps out of daze, to some degree] Enough of this mindless chatter,
my little Chia pets. I (heh heh) hope you didn't put a lot of time into
your invention exchange.
[SOL]
MIKE: (confused) Er, we... don't *have* anything for the... invention
exchange...
CROW: (patronizing) Mainly because... we... no longer... *do* the
invention... exchange...
[D13]
DR.F: Well, it's just as well that you didn't, because nothing you could
possibly imagine can outdo the insidious device I have to show you *this*
week. [He holds up a black plastic wedge with a digital display
built-in.]
[SOL]
TOM: Congrats, you've invented the doorstop.
MIKE: What on earth is it made out of?
[D13]
DR.F: Genuine plastic marble, boobie. I spared no expense. And no, this is no
doorstop. This is a device called the Personal Life Clock. See, what
you do is, you enter your birthday like so, and your sex, and your name,
and this clock not only tells you what time it is, but how long you have
left in your projected lifespan.
[SOL]
[Several seconds of stunned silence] (say that ten times fast)
MIKE: That's... that's... grotesque.
TOM: Is there a lifetime warranty? If you croak before the clock runs out,
do you get your money back?
CROW: If the clock runs out before you croak, does it self-destruct and take
you with it?
TOM: Or does it just start running into negative numbers?
CROW: Forrester, you are one twisted mamma-jamma.
[D13]
DR.F: Oh, but that's not the best part. Every minute, your Personal Life Clock
will display one of 100 inspirational messages, designed to get you to
make the most of your fleeting life.
[SOL]
[hysterical laughter]
TOM: Like what? "Keep working, you lazy slob! You only have 17 years left!"
CROW: "Do you realize that, while you were playing Doom, TWO HOURS OF YOUR
LIFE SLIPPED AWAY?"
MIKE: That is simply the sickest, most morbid thing I've ever seen. What can I
say? It's you.
[D13]
DR.F: Flattery will get you nowhere- mainly because I can't take the credit.
I ordered it from the Sharper Image.
[SOL]
[More silence.]
TOM: (angry) You must be joking. Tell me that you're joking!
CROW: (simpering) He is kidding, isn't he, Mike? Because otherwise, there's
someone more sinister than Dr. F. running around down there!
MIKE: I... don't think he's joking, guys.
[unrestrained panic]
[D13]
DR.F: I am trying to buy the company that makes them, however. If I can
mass-market these babies, the guilt-ridden workaholics who really run
this country will all get dehabilitating ulcers- and then *I* step in and
TAKE OVER THE WORLD! MUHAHAHAHA! ...But enough about me... Since you
were too incompetent to come up with an invention this week, I'm
punishing you with some charming, whimsical crap that I recently found in
that bastion of hackdom, rec.arts.prose. Enjoy! And remember- today is
the first day of the rest of your DEATH!
[SOL]
CROW: Nice going, Nelson!
MIKE: Hey, at least it's variety.
TOM: Yeah, after all, it *could* be alt.startrek.creative.
CROW: (shudder)
[sirens blare, lights flash, pandemonium erupts.]
ALL: AHHHHH! WE'VE GOT USENET SIGN!!!
1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... *
> X-News: pomona rec.arts.prose:4131
> From: ll...@primenet.com (Larry L. Babcock)
MIKE: Okay, I dibs no jokes about this guy's name.
TOM: I don't think any are necessary.
> Subject: Visions
MIKE: (as Bush) Finally straightened out that darn vision thing.
CROW: You sure this isn't alt.alien.visitors?
TOM: Could even be alt.drugs.
> Date: Mon, 3 Apr 1995 09:12:09 MST
TOM: A date that will... oh, my heart's just not in it.
> Message-ID:<llb.2.0...@primenet.com>
> Hi! Holly here to tell you a story.
MIKE: Hey! *You're* not Larry! What have you done with Larry?
CROW: Maybe it's a pseudonym. I wouldn't want anyone to know who I was,
either, if I wrote something called "Visions."
TOM: Or maybe he just likes that name better than "Larry L. Babcock."
MIKE: Who wouldn't?
TOM: I hate not knowing if this person is a man or a woman. Until I know,
I'm calling them "Hollarry."
CROW: That's a terrible thing to insinuate about the First Lady.
TOM: Huh?
> So we may as well get comfy and have some of that hawthornberry tea.
TOM: Hawthornberry? We're on back-order from Concord, MA. I could whip up
some Thoreauberry, though...
> You may find this very interesting. It's tight though.
CROW: I'm intrigued already.
MIKE: Crow!!
CROW: What?!
> As a matter of fact I am releasing it early and you are my privy recipients.
TOM: [Stimpy] Oh, JOY!
> I hope you enjoy all I have to offer.
ALL: [clear throats]
> Let us proceed. The first of the stories has to do with my recent past and
> that to you I will relate now.
TOM: Darth Vader your father is.
CROW: Sentence structure makes sense not.
MIKE: This to me is good TV.
BOTS: Huh?
> 10 years ago was told by spirit that in order for Jesus to come I was to
fast.
CROW: I didn't think Jesus liked fast women.
MIKE: Strike one, Crow.
CROW: Hey, it could have been a grammar flame.
MIKE: Oh, okay...
> I tried for 9 days and nothing happened.
TOM: Stick to Slimfast.
> I did see Christ walking in front of my mothers utility room
MIKE: But aside of that, things were pretty dull. How was *your* day?
> and from my
> mouth came the word "Daughter."
TOM: [singing] Don't call me "daughter"...
> then I traveled to a purple star
CROW: [Irish brogue] Lucky Charms: they're magically delicious!
MIKE: Suddenly this is "The Little Prince."
TOM: Hey, it's a purple star, it could be "The Artist Formerly Known as the
Little Prince."
CROW: All I know is, if the Enterprise picks her up, I'm leaving.
> and there was a woman who greeted me by
> saying "Oh,"
MIKE: ...it's *you*.
CROW: We were expecting LaToya.
> and smoothing back my long hair.
MIKE: (falsetto) Have you considered having it permed? It would go so well
with your features.
TOM: (Bugs Bunny falsetto) You know, I'll bet you religious fanatics lead such
innnn-teresting lives.
> This was waking. Then I was allowed to see Christ from the chest down and
> from my mouth came the words,;
CROW: You've gained weight, haven't you?
TOM: D'oh!
> Write down what you want and put it in your
> purse.
MIKE: So Jesus is telling her to make a grocery list?
> I didn't know what he meant
CROW: Join the club.
> but two years later happened to be writing down a
> fairy tale and wrote down the right thing.
TOM: Wait a minute... Mike, this is The Celestine Prophesy!
> Three and a half years later I was told that during a visitation (I had 20
> of them in all) they weren't going to leave.
MIKE: And they just lie around the house all day, too. When are they going
to get jobs and move out?
> My visitor introduced himself as a daemon which means a tutor of knowledge
> in the dictionary.
CROW: Too bad he wasn't an editor which means a corrector of prose in the
dictionary.
TOM: "Daemon"? Sounds suspiciously like "demon"...
MIKE: Oh, no, Hollarry! You got the wrong realm!
> He had been there the whole time directing my visitations
TOM: Lights! Camera! Divine intervention!
> with his direct
> superiors Michael and Miranda.
MIKE: You know, most writers are happy with just *one* muse.
CROW: I know! This broad's got an entire heavenly host!
TOM: Maybe she got them second-hand from Shirley Maclaine.
> There were many visions. They said that Christ would come because I wrote
> the story.
TOM: Why?
CROW: Maybe he's gonna be her agent. I'l bet he knows a few publishers, eh?
MIKE: Crow, he's Jesus. Of *course* he doesn't know any publishers.
> Would you like for me to relate the story?
TOM: Since you asked so nicely... NO!
> If so, read on, because this little 11 kbyte story follows as an attachment.
> The Archangel Michael re-enacted the fourth chapter to be able to initiate
> communications.
MIKE: First word... sounds like...
> Thank you.
ALL: No, thank *you*!
> One
MIKE: (singing) ...singular sensation...
> In a valley 'twixt two mossy hillocks stood a large stone relick of
> enormous proportions.
CROW: "'Twixt"? "Relick"? Mike, I'm scared...
MIKE: Huzzah! Hear ye, hear ye, come one, come all to the Renaissance Faire!
> Vines and grasses threatened to reduce the carvings reliefed in their
> shadowbox coldness. The day was that grey.
TOM: No, that grey. It goes so nicely with the drapes.
CROW: Mike, are there going to be hobbits in this story? 'Cause I hate
hobbits. Hobbits give me migraines...
MIKE: There, there, Crow...
> Heavy milk mist shouldered the ancient trees and wound its' solidity through
> even the slenderest of reedgrass.
MIKE: Hey, I asked for the low-fat milk mist.
CROW: It does a forest good!
TOM: Can I get a side order of pea soup fog?
> A small figure curled beneath the shrouded mass of stone. In A tunic
> and tights of the most emerald green,
TOM: Tinkerbell! Everyone, think *happy* thoughts!
MIKE: No, no, stop, that's just Jim Carrey as The Riddler.
CROW: And he's getting away with a bundle in box-office receipts!
TOM: [Frank Gorshim] Hoohoohoo! Riddle me THIS, Mr. Burton!
> its' head and tiny feet were clothed
> with the kelly
MIKE: Hey, has anyone here seen Kelly?
TOM: Walt?
> of shaped skin of the Greentrunk tree.
> Of the race of faelfs,
TOM: Faelfs?
CROW: Gesundheit.
TOM: D'oh!
> he named Ehrin the White
MIKE: That's "Ehrin the Caucasian-American."
TOM: Any relation to Torgo the White?
> breathed awake and
> became the scenty grass for a moment and then laughed into the sun.
MIKE: Remember, kids, it's unsafe to laugh directly at the sun.
> "Swirls of cottonfur you gather as your garment today, oh bright one," he
> whispered.
MIKE: Jedi Training complete you must, Luke.
TOM: That's *my* joke.
CROW: Uh-huh. I think this guy's spent a little too fond of that "scenty
grass."
> Rising, the rust dark columns of trees passed silently by him,
CROW: Come back! You're my habitat!
MIKE: Maybe *this* is how the old-growth forests are disappearing.
TOM: Was this a grammatical error or a hallucination?
CROW: Oh, does it matter at this point?
> as dankness
> permeated making damp his eyes and nose. She In The Dreams had appeared
> especially bright in his dawn today.
CROW: Sharon Stone?
MIKE: Not *those* kind of dreams!
> A horselike translucent creature with gold mane and hooves and a horn
> which reflected what seemed a shifting of sunlight in her skin-hues...
CROW: [Judy Garland] I do believe this horse is changing color!
MIKE: [charioteer] Of course! This here's a horse of a different color!
> the image echoes in his mind made a sharp contrast to this opaque day.
> "My heart is drawn in longing for this gentle one, he murmered.
TOM: [singing] O my heart's like a red, red horse...
CROW: So he's in love with a horse, then?
MIKE: Are you implying that there's something *wrong* with that?
CROW: Have you ever seen "Equus"?
> Rounding a collapsing tree trunk revealed the pink of sweetbread
> mushrooms.
CROW: Geez, between the scenty grass and the 'shrooms, I think we know what
Hollarry is *really* writing about, eh?
MIKE: Yeah, it's sort of like "Alice in Wonderland."
> Dewcapsules!
TOM: Faster acting than regular aspirin!
> A whispered promise of a good day to come. He
> hopped joyfully down
MIKE: ...the bunny trail...
> past the thornwalls.
TOM: Mike, what did you mean, "sort of like 'Alice in Wonderland'"? What's
that really about?
MIKE: Er... maybe when you're older, Tom.
TOM: HEY! C'mon, tell me! I can handle it!
CROW: Nyah, nyah!
Two
MIKE: [singing] ...turtle doves...
> Warm green mossy root-gnarls curled a shady pillow for the sleeping
> Ehrin. A dragonfly hovered near his brow clasping hands in concentration.
TOM: Clasping hands...? That's a praying mantis, twerp!
> "Just about ready...steady...there.
> Pre-conscious memory programming set and solid.
CROW: [monotone] Now to return to the mothership. Resistance is futile.
MIKE: I just don't get this Windows '95.
> My, the faery queen herself would be proud.
TOM: This brainwashing stuff is creepy. Who's the faery queen, Goebbels?
CROW: No, J. Edgar Hoover.
MIKE: Actually, that works too...
> A kiss and I'm off oh slumbering one." A gentle humming whir faded away.
> He woke, nudging the place between his eyes and yawned. Sunlight
> filtered through the tall glade as consciousness lit the recesses of Ehrins'
> mind.
CROW: I thought memories light the corners of your mind.
TOM: Yes, but these are the *recesses* of his mind.
MIKE: I think Ehrin's mind is on a permanent recess. (snickering)
> Awake, he tasted a shadow memory of his dormerie. He lingered there.
MIKE: A memory of his dormitory?
CROW: PARTY TILL YOU PUKE! WOOOOO!
TOM: No, I think it's "the mammary of his dormant lingerie."
CROW: Ohhhh, yessss...
MIKE: That does it. No more "USA Up All Night" for you kids.
BOTS: Awww...
> With the passing of these days had grown a desire, maturing to an urge which
> dominated the subconscious without his waking being much more aware of the
> source than as a restless hunger.
MIKE: (Minnewegan) Oh, it's that pesky id. Don't worry, it's just a phase.
> He only knew that he was no longer content with his forest meanderings and
> explorations.
CROW: He wanted sex! Drugs! And rock 'n' roll, baby!
TOM: [Pacino] Hoo-hah! The boy's alive!
MIKE: Or at least something to eat other than mushrooms.
> Years before he had accepted when, to the loudly voiced concern of his
family,
> he had forsaken interest in the usual career of a faelf.
MIKE: Accounting.
TOM: My son, the vagabond!
> He loved the bustling homey life but he loved more what he found in the quiet
> wisdom of deep forest.
TOM: Laf is lak a box of chonk-lits...
MIKE: No, that's shallow Forrest.
> His thoughts would cast wide and restless as his feet.
MIKE: (as Steve Martin) I've got... RESTLESS FEET! (dances wildly)
> Questions. Questions.
MIKE: When was the Battle of Hastings?
TOM: What is the transitive property?
CROW: Who wrote the book of love?
MIKE: Man, I came out to the forest to get *away* from school!
> He had long stopped wondering why he was different, he just was.
TOM: [guy from The State] 'Cause I'm Doug, an' you're Dad, an' Dougs and Dads
don't mix. F'get it, I'm outta heeeeere...
> As a mita before the puberty rites
TOM: What's a mita?
CROW: [Groucho] I dunno, wassa mita with you?
TOM: D'oh!>
MIKE: [singing] Lovely Rita, Mita maid...
> his nature was marked as being bright
> and competitive if rather removed and dreamy,
CROW: So he's a laid-back ambitious smart flake.
TOM: Don't knock it, it's worked for Bill Clinton.
> and it was a disappointment to
> his mother when, without explanation, Ehrin began spending more and more time
> on his exploratory ventures.
MIKE: Mainly because he couldn't find his way back.
> It was natural for a faelf to love the forest, but since he could remember,
> Ehrin had felt wholly fulfilled by nothing but the whispering green of the
> sheltering thickets.
CROW: Is that legal in this state?
MIKE & TOM: Ewwwww.
> Sometimes he could feel and almost hear, movement of tinkling laughter at
> startling moments.
TOM: And sometimes the laughter wouldn't be tinkling...
CROW: MUHAHAHAHA! KILL YOUR PARENTS!
MIKE: CROW!
> Seeming to emerge around corners of his mind from riverbend banks covered
> with asters or along the meadow ridges, always leaving him reaching for its
> owner; searching, not finding, but with a joyful sense of fulfillment.
> The questions that impresses his mind and teased him into hours of
> wondering were answered in much the same manner,
MIKE: Multiple choice?
> by the shock of ideas whispered, it seemed, by the wind through the grasses.
TOM: Hsst! No man perfoms an evil deed willingly!
> Always, though, each opened an infinity of more and more questions.
CROW: Yeah, like "Who the heck is talking to me?"
> Nothing dulled the sweet ache of the urge but this,
TOM: Prozac.
> and as he wrapped his slim arms around an immense tree, he hung his head back
> and joy burst through his chest
CROW: Like the Alien embryo?
> and out his mouth in tearful laughter.
MIKE: That Gallagher just cracks me up!
> Such a good ache.
TOM: Yes, it hurts, but it's a *good* kind of hurt.
CROW: C'mon, feel the burn!
> The forest spoke of a sorrow at times too.
CROW: Someday, kid, you'll have to get a job.
> Ehrin felt too small to even begin contemplating this, but he would feel it
at
> times edging his mind
TOM: And occasionally roto-tilling it.
MIKE: Grammar flames are petty, Tom.
TOM: Oh, bite me, it's fun... hey, was that "petty, Tom" thing a joke?
MIKE: (nasal voice) Don' come 'round here n'more...
> and he quickly breathed it away. Then he would dip
> into the icy water, or go in search of some sweet tender blade or 'shroom on
> which to nibble.
MIKE: (sincere) Ehrin the White. Once a proud, upstanding member of society,
industrious, kind to his parents. Now, due to the ravages of "'shrooms",
he's a lost youth, with no respect for his elders, wandering around in
the woods talking to the wind. Think about it, won't you? Thank you.
Three
MIKE: (singing) ...to get ready, now go, cat, go!
> These days since the Dream began
MIKE: Dream appears courtesy of Neil Gaiman.
> his eyes brightened and heart jumped
> each time he thought of it
CROW:[muttering] Among other things...
MIKE: I told you, they're not *those* kinds of dreams!
> and at night he lay down with an excited hope of a
> glimpse of the delicate glimmering form.
CROW: Mick Jagger?
TOM: Or worse, Keith Richards?
MIKE: GlimmerING, not Glimmer TWIN.
BOTS: Phew!
> The dream had been coming more frequently in the past weeks and he awoke not
> disappointed this cool dawn as he sighed awake. Still, still so as not to
> erase a detail. Not her form did he see, not a murmer,
CROW: Seeing as it's pretty hard to see murmers...
TOM: Or murmurs for that matter.
MIKE: Now you guys are just getting mean.
> but this morning as he
> reached inward he grasped
TOM: His uvula.
CROW: Ick!
> a picture place and he thought he knew just in which direction it lay.
TOM: It's Narnia!
MIKE: Quick, everyone into the wardrobe!
> The fading memory was strong
CROW: Make up your mind!
> and it pulled him to his feet at a trot
> before full consciousness had roused him from the stiffness of sleep.
MIKE: As a result of which he stumbled over a rock and flew headlong into a
rosebush.
BOTS: Yay!
> Rubbing his eyes, he knew only purpose.
TOM: Which, for him, was a step up.
> Through the green and yellow he darted, leaping wolf bushes and an occasional
> bramble as he breathlessly scrambled and the sun glinted splotches of
> brilliance on his right side.
MIKE: No no no, my *left* side. That's my good side.
Four
MIKE: [singing] ...he's a jolly good fellow, for...
CROW: That's cheating.
TOM: If you stop before we get to five, you can retain some dignity.
MIKE: Good point.
> Into the dark marble still of the court entrance moved the sighing wings
> of Dranule.
MIKE: [sighing] We flap day and night, keeping you aloft, taking you
wherever you want to go, and what thanks do we get?
TOM: Dranule? I think we've found a name that rivals "Larry L. Babcock."
CROW: Nah, Dranule must be a pill that chases the 'shrooms.
MIKE: This story *is* a pill.
> With a bluegreen gleam of reflecting torchlights, the dragonfly swept deep
> into the mountainside towards a glittering entryhall. He was met by a faery
> clerk who had been expecting his arrival.
CROW: [David Spade] And you are...?
> He rose and said, "The Pure One grants you audience.
TOM: Marie Osmond?
> I will announce." Dranule entered the queens' chamber.
> She was seated in the center or a throneroom draped in linens of gold
> edged gossamer threading.
MIKE: Someone take the dustcover off the queen!
> A tinkle of laughter as her eyes turned even with him. "I see you have
> completed, and that very well I might say..."
TOM: You're not saying it very well at all. Completed WHAT?
> Dranule bent his left wing over his shoulder.
MIKE: Then he bent his right wing over his right shoulder...
TOM: Bent his brow into his next...
CROW: Retracted his legs into his torso...
MIKE: And voila! He's transformed into a cool fighter jet!
> "Yes, the little dreamer has developed and come quickly to the
> thresh-hold. A delight it has been to see the development these long
seasons,
> my lady. It is ready."
CROW: Soon, we will have the first of our minions!!
> "Good. Please report to me directly." She bent her head and her hair
> moved over her cheek. Dranule felt his breath suck into his chest.
BOTS: Wocka-chicka-wocka-chicka...
> A ripple had run the length of the shimmering lock from the movement. Down
> to her calves it curled. Bending his own brow
MIKE: As opposed to bending the queen's, I guess.
TOM: Execedrin Moment #438!
> he emerged from the chamber of the curved marble. "Ah,.. beauty to clear the
> stiffness of the soul."
CROW: Yeah, built like a brick...
MIKE: Crow, don't go there.
> Winging from a crack between two boulders, the master of illusion
TOM: David Copperfield?
CROW: "Clive Barker's Lord of Illusions."
> flew to
> hover near his favorite water lily plaza.
MIKE: Visit Water Lily Plaza! Open 24 Hours! Now with Stuckey's!
> A shadow flitted across a ripple just before he heard a faint whirring.
> The tone announced Lensah his friend. "Hello elusive one," she hummed.
TOM: How elusive can he be when that humming gives him away?
> "The plan proceeds?"
MIKE: Yes, Plan 9.
> Settling without haste onto the pad conjoining that of Dranule, the delicate
> dragonfly nosed at one of the cool nectar bowls centered at each flotilla.
CROW: "Conjoining"? "Flotilla"? Ooh, *someone* bought a thesaurus. I'm
impressed.
> Dranules' gaze rested appreciatively on her before he murmered an
answer.
MIKE: The "Male Gaze" strikes again.
> "Yes, he emerges". Smiling, they sipped coolerpads
CROW: Bartles & Jaymes coolerpads, no doubt.
TOM: And we thank you for your support.
> as the sun reached its
> zenith.
TOM: And turned its Zenith on to watch "Dave's World."
MIKE: So would this be a case of Zenith Envy?
CROW: God, I hope not. They get lousy reception.
Five
> For two days Ehrin followed the ducks in their spring migration.
TOM: And boy, are his arms tired!
CROW: Mike, hit him!
> Not a knowing,
TOM: That's for sure.
> but a feeling
MIKE: [Garth] Kinda like when I used to climb the rope in gym class.
> as an urge sprang newly at his each awakening;
CROW: I want my MTV!
> he passed meadow and ridge-sometimes finding a pathway, sometimes crawling
> over rotted tree trunks and dense thickets.
MIKE: Sometimes wading through chest-deep crocodile infested swamps.
TOM: Sometimes climbing up sheer cliffs.
CROW: Sometimes giving up and taking the subway.
> The afternoon of the second day as he rested near a cold pond, a huge flock
> of bright orange and yellow butterflies came from the south and settled all
> around him in a circle. Five of the largest then circled around his head and
> landed on his shoulders.
TOM: (singing) The cir-cle of liiiife...
> He felt overcome with weariness and leaned back into the sweet meadowgrass.
> In his dream he saw her.
CROW: Cameron Diaz?
TOM: [Barry White] Oh, yeah, baby...
> She was in trouble. Tangled in a green webbed mesh, the brackish slime
> of bog tainted a murky contrast to her glowing translucence.
MIKE: Some people look good in anything.
> In his dream he rose and walked to her. As he approached, the gleam in her
> eyes drew him in and seemed to both open and swallow him in at once. A
> whirling expanse covered him and grew faster as delight quickened his heart.
> Freefalling, Ehrin started, awake.
MIKE: (singing nasally) Now I'm free...
CROW: Hey! Only one Petty ref per show.
> Shaken, he rolled over and breathed.
CROW: Good idea, that. The breathing, I mean.
MIKE: Did he rattle? That way he could shake, rattle and roll!
> "What is this? How do I find her?"
TOM: [Robert Stack] If you've seen this woman, do not try to apprehend her.
Instead, call the Albequerque police department...
> The swamp.
MIKE: (southern accent) Pogo, I do b'leeve I'm havin' ha-loosely-nations...
I is seen a faelf!
TOM: O' cuss you has, Albert, we's havin' alfalfa fo' dinner!
MIKE: D'oh!
> There the ferns and brush grew into a jungle of almost impenatrable
> thickness. Ehrin sprang up and made his way hesitantly toward the ancient
> hollows. Insects buzzed around his ears as the air and ground grew damp and
> the trees blotted out the afternoon sunrays.
TOM: And the readers realized we'd stumbled into "The Blue Lagoon".
MIKE & CROW: NOOOO!
> Seizing a drooping limb, the little faelf swung up into one of the mammoth
> trees, climbing to itsU swaying top. From here he could see miles of hills
> and the marshy deltalands edging a vast lake. Life swelled and buzzed in
this
> ooze,
CROW: Bad story? You're soaking in it!
> and somewhere in the murk he felt sure she lay.
MIKE: She should have known that Florida real estate deal wasn't on the level.
> Palming down, he circled the tree wondering, then sat, leaning against the
> smooth trunk. Minutes later, he opened his eyes to the gloom, got up and
> walked in.
TOM: Gee, this guy can't do anything without taking a nap first.
MIKE: It seems to work for him, anyway.
CROW: I've heard of "sleeping your way to the top", but this is ridiculous.
Six
> Occasional reptilian slither sloshes
MIKE: Do not step in slither sloshes
Unless you have on galoshes!
And beware the Smee named Zed!
Who...
TOM: Please, don't do that.
> were all that disturbed the silence
> about the figure clambering across tree roots from one mossy pad to another.
> Pushing through the green fern fronds, he passed into the deepening gloom.
> His steps slowed as passage grew harder and Ehrin began to wonder what he was
> doing here
CROW: You're getting hopelessly lost with no food or water in a hostile
climate. Any other questions?
> and how there could possibly be anyone in all this tangled
> wilderness. He shivered. Just then, a heron flew squawking from a purple
> thicket, startling Ehrin and causing he to lunge against a kabnash tree.
MIKE: Aren't those where the Lorax lives?
> The rotting trunk gave way and crashing noisily, he rolled down the bank
> of an arroyo. His wild tumbling came to a sudden stop as he found himself
> seated hip deep in black slime.
MIKE: Oil, that is.
BOTS: (singing) Folks said, Californee's the place you oughta be...
> As the spinning in his head cleared and his eyes focused, they widened on an
> object lying twenty feet away.
> The deerlike mare reared her head back, pink nostrils flaring as she
> struggled against the cold black slime.
CROW: Hey, it's Tasha Yar!
> As their eyes met the ground heaved beneath them and a line grew
> bubbling up between where they lay in the bog.
MIKE: Strange. I've had violins begin to play, but...
CROW: Am I the only one here who's deeply disturbed by this!?
> Breaking their gaze and looking down, Ehrin saw the muck on his face and
> hands changed to tiny flowers and dust-- fluttering softly to the
> transforming pond. In seconds the water was clear
TOM: Wow, I'll bet Exxon wishes they'd known this trick.
> and, nestled in the
> swaying green grasses on the bank were rainbows of colored blooms everywhere
> between the trees.
TOM: Who is this guy, and why doesn't he visit New Jersey?
MIKE: Well, magic only goes so far, Tom...
> Then he noticed a stone in the river. It seemed as though gleaming, and
> growing brighter, colors moved from its' center and flashes of red, green and
> gold light reflecting on his face.
CROW: Now here's a pet rock worth having!
> He had picked up the rock, and staring at his hand, he watched the rays grow
> larger and then slow.
MIKE: I saw a light show like that at a Zepplin concert.
BOTS: Rock on!
> Finally he held in his hand a beautiful crystal where once had lain a common
> river stone.
> The mare lunged and blew air.
CROW: Even *she* can't believe this!
>
> End of first six chapters.
ALL: Uuuuugh...
> Holly S. Nichols
> 1604 N. Catalina Ave.
TOM: As in Catalina Caper?
MIKE: As in what?
TOM: Oh, never mind.
> Tuscon, AZ 85712-3454
ALL: ...7494.
MIKE: [singing] I went from Tuscon, Arizona, all the way to Takoma...
> (520) 321-4738
>
> l...@PrimeNet.com
CROW: llb... so, she's living in sin with this Babcock person, apparently, eh?
MIKE: Maybe the Archangel told her that's okay after all.
TOM: Let's just get out of here, all right?
6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...*
[back on the SOL bridge.]
TOM: Wow. You know, that was almost too easy.
MIKE: Yeah. I feel kind of dirty, ripping on a sweet religious fanatic named
Holly. I don't know... my parents raised me differently.
CROW: All I know is, it was long and dull and I'm glad to be out.
MIKE: Yeah, and I'm starving. Hey, Gypsy! Do we have anything for dinner?
[Gypsy appears on camera.]
GYPSY: No.
MIKE: What do you mean, no?
GYPSY: I've decided that we're all going to fast for a while.
MIKE: Fast? Why?
GYPSY: So we can meet some angels, of course. And then we can write beautiful
stories.
CROW: You mean like that crap we just suffered through?
GYPSY: Your sensibilities have just been dulled by all these years of cheese.
I was eavesdropping, and *I* thought it was wonderful.
TOM: So, how long will this fasting business take?
GYPSY: Oh, I don't know... it shouldn't be much more than a week.
MIKE: A week!? Gypsy, that's easy for you to say! You're a robot! Robots
don't eat!
GYPSY: ...Oh yeah. Maybe we can give up RAMchips.
CROW: GIVE UP RAMCHIPS?
TOM: Who needs heaven when you have RAMchips?
CROW: Mike, they've brainwashed her. We'll have to deprogram her!
TOM: Literally.
GYPSY: Deprogram?
CROW: Wait a minute. We're talking about Mike "Butterfingers" Nelson. This
guy is still baffled by toasters.
MIKE: Hey!
TOM: Maybe we *should* fast. I mean, we're talking about the Rapture, here.
CROW: Personally, I think the Rapture's already happened, it's just that too
few people have disappeared for anyone to notice.
MIKE: Gypsy, let me by! I'm starving!
GYPSY: Not a chance, heathen fascist! I'm wise to you, and your two little
minions!
MIKE: Minions? They just called me a clutz to my face!
TOM: Will you be serious? We have the opportunity to resurrect Christ!
CROW: Um, I don't want him back just yet. I've got a few sins I've yet to
atone for. And some more to commit...
TOM: You? Like *what*?
CROW: Wouldn't *you* like to know?
TOM: You better tell me, you little...
[massive free-for-all ensues.]
TOM: Liar!
GYPSY: Heathen!
MIKE: Nut!
CROW: Clutz!
[suddenly Gypsy falls limp.]
MIKE: Ha! At last! Turned her off! Be right back, guys.
CROW: Will you bring us some RAMchips?
MIKE: NO! There'll be no RAMchips until you two apologize!
TOM: Over my dead body.
CROW: Fine!
TOM: FINE!
[Mike storms off in a huff.]
TOM: You know, we'd better have a look at Gypsy before Mike has the chance.
CROW: Good idea. I suppose that means putting aside our petty differences
and working together as friends?
TOM: I suppose, yes.
CROW: You do it, I'm bitter.
TOM: CROW!
CROW: Fine, fine. Here, I'll plug her brain into yours. [connects wire to
Servo's and Gypsy's heads]
TOM: Accessing... accessing... aha!
CROW: What's the problem?
TOM: The part of her programming where it says Object$3eDevotion.5scn =
Richard Basehart?
CROW: Yes?
TOM: Somehow that got garbled into "Jimmy Swaggart."
CROW: The horror... the horror! ...But how?
TOM: Looks like a virus from one of the alt.religion posts.
CROW: We better tell Dr. F to be more careful! What if we'd all gotten the
virus?
TOM: Crow... hold me!
[the two hug, or rather, Crow hugs Tom, since Tom's arms don't work.]
CROW: I'm sorry, Tom! I'll never be mean to you again! After all... we're in
this together!
TOM: It's okay, Crow. We all make mistakes. I'm just as much to blame.
[Mike enters, munching on a submarine sandwich]
MIKE: Oh, great, you guys fixed Gypsy.
[turns Gypsy back on]
GYPSY: Hey, guys, I'm sorry for flipping out. I didn't mean it!
MIKE: Aww, Gypsy, we knew it wasn't your fault.
BOTS: Yay!
MIKE: It's nice to see us back together as a family again. And since you're
all such good friends... RAMchips for all!
BOTS: Huzzah!
TOM: Golly, this is our best Christmas ever!
GYPSY: But it's not Christmas.
TOM: Every day can be Christmas if you believe!
MIKE, CROW & GYPSY: [glare]
TOM: Whoops. Heh heh. Sore subject.
MIKE: (chuckles in bemused parental manner) You know, guys, there's a moral
to all this...
TOM: Yeah, and just like all morals, it's longwinded and trite.
CROW: So skip it! We wanna call Dr. F. and yell at him! He could have made
us all Moonies!
TOM: Or worse, Scientologists!
[Mads' light flashes]
CROW: There he is now! <hits button> Listen, you evil creep, do you know
what you-
[D13]
[Dr. Forrester is staring disconsolately at his Personal Life Clock.]
[SOL]
TOM: I don't think it's having quite the motivational effect he was hoping
for.
MIKE: Wow. You almost have to feel sorry for the guy.
CROW: Almost, but not quite. WAKE UP, LAMESTAIN! WE'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK
WITH YOU!
[D13]
DR. F.: Frank... oh, Frank... the seconds pass like hours without you...
[SOL]
TOM: SNAP OUT OF IT!
CROW: HE'S NOT COMING BACK! GET A LIFE!
MIKE: THERE ARE OTHER FISH IN THE SEA, YOU KNOW!
TOM: I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! ANSWER ME! TALK!
CROW: VE HAF *VAYS* UFF MAKINK YOU TALK!
MIKE: I FEEL YOUR PAIN! I KNOW SOME GOOD THERAPISTS!
[D13]
DR. F.: How will I fill all these hours without your shining face?
[Dr. Forrester continues staring at the clock, unmoved. A single tear rolls
down his cheek.]
[Time passes.]
[He stirs. Blinking for the first time in a couple hours, he becomes
somewhat aware of his surroundings. He bestows a lethargic glance towards
the viewscreen, and, after his eyes focus, he clumsily swats at the button.]
vsssssssssshPOIT!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MOST OF IT: Chris Ekman
ADDITIONAL JOKES BY: Ken Applebaum
PUBLIC OPINIONS UPHOLSTERER: Paul Murky, of Murky Research
STAFF COUNCELLOR: Kay Sera, who's now married to Frank Sera...
ADDITIONAL DIALOGUE: William Shakespeare
HOTEL BILL: Gilbert Harding
SPECIAL THANKS TO: The authors of the First Amendment
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.
This MiSTing is *not* a personal attack on the author. It's all meant in
fun. Until, of course, someone pokes an eye out.
> There were many visions. They said that Christ would come because I wrote
> the story.
Roger M. Wilcox
>
>WARNING TO ENGLISH TEACHERS: This post contains more dangling participles
>than all the books in your local library combined
... do. :-)
--
Roger M. Wilcox rog...@cisco.com (a.k.a. tra...@netcom.com (Jeff Boeing))
------------------- I'm not flying fast, just orbiting low. -----------------
MSTie #38188 | Dvorak keyboard - Esperanto - Ross Perot - ProLog - Amiga 2000
| Do I follow lost causes, or what?