[MiSTed] Duty Now For The Future (by Devo) -- Part 3
Rbrav
http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Studio/9125/mst3k.html
Part 3
---
>SMART PATROL/MR. DNA
CROW: Huh?
TOM: DNA... there we go... (scribbles it down)
>[synth 'fog' effect at start of song]
CROW: Ah crap, the engine won't start...
>-He's been with the world
MIKE: All except for Sweden and parts of the Canary Islands.
>I'm tired of the soup du jour
TOM: I want Cream of Mushroom!
>-He's been with the world
MIKE: I want the background singers to die. Now.
>I wanna end this prophylactic tour
CROW: Another big word!
MIKE: "Pathetic" fits, in this context.
>Afraid that no one around me
TOM: Appreciates the talent I pretend to have.
>Understands my potato
MIKE: Relate to this.
>Think I'm only a spudboy
CROW: What is it with this band and tubers?
>Looking for a real tomato
TOM: That doesn't make things any clearer.
MIKE: There's been an awful lot of food on this album.
CROW: This is the food album, the geometry album, *and* the smut album.
MIKE: All they have after this is a snowball and some flowerpots.
>-He's been with the world
>I'm tired of the soup du jour
CROW: Isn't "soup du jour" French for "crappy New Wave album"?
>-He's been with the world
TOM: (detective voice) Okay, who's been with the world? I want names.
>I wanna end this prophylactic tour
CROW: Boo! Get off the stage!
>Afraid nobody around here
TOM: Cares about *my* feelings...
>Understands my potato
MIKE: Buy my latest book: "Understanding the Potato: A Look into the Mind of
the Tuber."
CROW: Foreword by Mr. Potato Head.
>I think I'm only a spudboy
TOM: And not much of one at that!
>Looking for a real tomato
CROW: Yeah, vine-ripened!
>-He's been with the world
TOM: How many members of Devo are there? Do we have to hear from each one?
CROW: (as member of Devo) You with the world?
MIKE: (as member of Devo) I'm with the world, you with the world?
>And I'm tired of the soup du jour
TOM: Ah no, not him again.
CROW: Someone ram a weasel down his throat.
MIKE: Sounds like someone already did.
>-He's been with the world
TOM: And he left his visa at home.
>I wanna end this prophylactic tour
MIKE: After 4 years of people throwing stuff at their heads, they're finally
getting the point.
CROW: Devo was around for 4 years at this point? How'd *that* happen?
MIKE: It was the '70s. Everybody was too far gone to notice.
>Afraid nobody around here
>Comprehends my potato
TOM: Whoa! He said "comprehends" instead of "understands"!
CROW: The rest of Devo is going to give him demerits after the performance.
MIKE: Actually, he gets them anyway, because he...
CROW: What's that? Do I hear the sound of a faaaaaan?...
MIKE: No, no... you see...
CROW and TOM: (singing) Mike's a spu-ud! Mike's a spu-ud!
>Guess I'm just a spudboy
>Looking for that real tomato
CROW: I bet the pussycat has it.
>Smart patrol
CROW: Patrol?
TOM: Smart?
MIKE: I'd always pegged them as the Somewhat Silly Patrol.
TOM: Or the Irritatingly Mind-Numbing Patrol.
>Nowhere to go
CROW: Actually, I hear Swaziland is lovely this time of year.
>Suburban robots who monitor reality
TOM: No wonder the airlines lost my luggage.
>Common stock
CROW: This is why Scott Adams thrives.
>We work around the clock
TOM: 23/7, that's us! Hee-yuck!
>We shove the poles in the holes
MIKE: I really don't think you should be listening to this album, Crow.
CROW: No objections.
>The smart patrol
TOM: Actually, they were busy. We're their stand-ins, the Stupid Patrol.
>Nowhere to go
CROW: I hear there're some nice lots on the surface of the sun. Why don't you
try those?
>Suburban robots who monitor reality
TOM: Reality should get a restraining order.
>Common stock
MIKE: What? Chicken? Beef? Vegetable?
>We work around the clock
TOM: And the pictures, and the shelves...
>We shove the poles in the holes
CROW: Actually, they just play Whack-A-Mole all day.
>Smart patrol
TOM: What about the Maniacally Insane Patrol?
>Nowhere to go
MIKE: There's always Winnipeg.
TOM: Winnipeg: No One Live Here On Purpose.
>Suburban robots who monitor reality
TOM: Reality check!
CROW: Nya.
>Common stock
TOM: They're kept in a warehouse all day.
>We work around the clock
MIKE: Of course, sometimes we have to work *through* the clock...
TOM: You're whiffing today, pal.
>We shove the poles in the holes
MIKE: Why couldn't they have just taken up golf or something?
> Shove it!
CROW: Hey! You want a piece of me? Huh? (muttering)... yellow-suited goon...
>[long guitar solo]
MIKE: Will this song just END?
>Smart patrol
TOM: Or a reasonably pathetic facsimile.
>Nowhere to go
CROW: Pretend you're in New York and give everybody the finger.
MIKE: This album actually is the equivalent of flipping off the listener.
>Suburban robots who monitor reality
MIKE: And then sell the bloopers to Dick Clark.
TOM: Or Fox.
>Common stock
CROW: So this is common? No wonder everybody hated the '80s.
>We work around the clock
>We shove the poles in the holes
>[odd sfx, including laser fire]
CROW: Cool. Maybe the Death Star's blowing Devo to bits.
>Wait a minute
TOM: 59... 58...57...
>Something's wrong
MIKE: Agreed.
>He's a man from the past
CROW: So they got Barney Rubble to produce this album?
>He's here to do us a favor
TOM: Can you loan me $5? My last album didn't sell so well.
>A little human sacrifice
MIKE: That's what I like to hear.
TOM: Yes! Yes! Please, yes!
>It's just supply and demand
CROW: I have a hard time believing there's any demand for this.
>Mr. Kamikaze!
TOM: Is that an import from Dark Horse?
>Mr. DNA!
MIKE: And his plucky young sidekick, Mr. RNA!
>He's an altruistic pervert
CROW: After he's done with his porn, he gives it to the homeless.
>Mr. DNA!
MIKE: Oh, they'll never get their own recombinant DNA lab.
TOM: What?
>Mr. Kamikaze!
CROW: Mr. Safety Cone.
>He's here to spread some genes
TOM: He's with the LAPD.
>Mr. Kamikaze!
MIKE: Mr. Shuffleboard.
>Mr. DNA!
CROW: Mr. Spam.
>He's an altruistic pervert
MIKE: Were he truly altruistic, he'd have shut up long ago.
>Mr. DNA!
CROW: Mr. Poopdeck.
>Mr. Kamikaze
TOM: Mr. Flamingo.
>He's here to spread some genes now
TOM: And a few Rogers.
CROW: And some Jakes.
MIKE: And a Larry or two.
>Mr. Kamikaze!
TOM: Shouldn't he be dead?
CROW: He's Chicken Teriyaki, the last living kamikaze pilot.
>Mr. DNA!
MIKE: Mr. Sawdust.
>He's an altruistic pervert
>Mr. DNA!
TOM: Fire that guy.
>Mr. Kamikaze
CROW: Mr. Q*Bert.
TOM: @!#?@!
>Here to spread some
CROW: Honey mustard sauce.
>Wait a minute
>Something's wrong
MIKE: The fact that someone hired you.
>He's a man with a plan
TOM: *Kill* Kathie Lee Gifford!
>His finger's pointed at Devo
TOM: It's not polite to point, MISTER Kamikaze.
>Now we must sacrifice ourselves
CROW: Do it already!
>That many others may live
MIKE: But who wants to live indebted to Devo?
CROW: Just as long as they're *gone*...
>Ok, we've got a lot to give
TOM: Yeah, yeah, sure. Now DIE!
>This monkey wants a word with you!
CROW: I'd say this song is about that far up the evolutionary ladder, yes...
>Mr. Kamikaze!
MIKE: How were these two introduced to each other?
CROW: (party host voice) Kamikaze, DNA. DNA, Kamikaze.
>Mr. DNA
TOM: Mr. Crowbar.
>He's an altruistic pervert
>Mr. DNA!
CROW: Mr. Cellophane.
>Mr. Kamikaze
MIKE: Hey Mr. Kamikaze! Your momma wears American boots!
TOM: Keep trying...
>Here to spread some genes now
>Mr. Kamikaze!
CROW: Mr. Bookmark.
>Mr. DNA!
TOM: Devo knows their ABC's.
MIKE: And, no doubt, their F's.
TOM: Nope.
>He's an altruistic pervert
>Mr. DNA!
TOM: Mr. Algorithm.
>Mr. Kamikaze!
CROW: Mr. Salami.
>Here to spread some genes
TOM: Why can't I fast-forward just HALF A MINUTE???
>Mr. Kamikaze!
MIKE: Mr. Hemorrhage.
>Mr. DNA!
TOM: Mr. Corkscrew.
>He's an altruistic pervert
CROW: Altruism is highly overrated.
>Mr. DNA!
MIKE: Mr. Glaucoma.
>Mr. Kamikaze!
TOM: Mr. Origami.
MIKE: Where's these guys from, anyway?
CROW: Dark City.
TOM: Yeah, every weekend they get together and throw a raging kegger with Mr.
Book and Mr. Hand.
>Here to spread some
>Whoo-ooo-oo!
TOM: Here to spread some what?
>One, two, three, four
CROW: Ooh, and we're back to arithmetic!
>RED EYE
CROW: *Another* song with a color in the title?
TOM: There's gotta be some law against that.
MIKE: Calling Ben Stein...
TOM: Bueller? Bueller?
CROW: (snickers)
>[odd synth noise]
TOM: Sounds like Godzilla had beans for lunch.
>Let me tell you a story
CROW: I wanna hear "Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie!"
>Let me shovel some dirt
TOM: Oh good, they've already dug the grave.
>Long time no sugar
MIKE: So this is them *without* sugar?
CROW: My God.
>And it's starting to hurt
TOM: Then turn it off.
>Something's flattening my cola
MIKE: Try not to leave it out for a week next time.
>Something's wrong with my brew
CROW: Eye of newt, hair of frog, spleen of muskrat...
TOM: No, you fool! *Colon* of muskrat! Spleen of manatee!
CROW: Whoops. My mistake.
TOM: Now look at what you've done!
>Something's rotten in Idaho
MIKE: You really should harvest the potatoes in time next year.
CROW: Again with the stupid potatoes...
>And I don't know what to do
TOM: Suggestion. SHUT. UP.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: Gong gong gong?
CROW: I think it's "going going gone".
TOM: Oh. Well, I hope they hurry up and leave.
>Going going gone on the red eye express
CROW: Red eye express?
MIKE: Devo gave me pink eye.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: Sure it's not the blue eye anxiety attack?
>Going going gone on the red eye express
CROW: Here, I'll buy the ticket. One-way.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: They're just saying this to get our hopes up. They're never leaving, are
they?
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: Well, this is the last track.
TOM: That didn't work for the other album.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
>Going going gone on the red eye express
CROW: I think my mind is going going gone...
>Only go around once
CROW: Do it any more and you get dizzy.
MIKE: Do not pass Go.
>Gotta quench that thirst
TOM: I've heard this before.
>Gotta grab that gusto
MIKE: Hey! Leggo my gusto!
>Gotta get there first
CROW: (Jenny voice) Run, Devo, run!
>Something's flattening my cola
TOM: What's he drinking? Jolt?
CROW: That would explain everything.
>Something's wrong with my brew
MIKE: That's not the only thing.
>Something's rotten in Idaho
MIKE: Doesn't he mean Ohio?
TOM: There's probably a bonfire. They're burning Devo in effigy.
CROW: Why does it always have to be in effigy?
>And I don't know what to do
TOM: There's always the instruction manual.
CROW: Well, they lose a lot in translation from Japanese.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
CROW: Well, we've heard this before.
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: Bye! Forget to write!
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: What's the holdup?
CROW: The company doesn't want Devo on board. They'd scare the regular
customers.
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: Actually, I think it has to do with laws against bringing new species,
such as Devo, into different environments because it could upset the balance of
nature.
TOM: Strike three.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: This song is upsetting the balance of the cosmos.
CROW: Not to mention my stomach... ooh...
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: I want a written guarantee of this.
TOM: Guarantee void in California and Parts of Outer Space.
CROW: D'ooh.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: They won't STOP!
CROW: I'm regretting the day I was created. Joel, you bastard.
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: Remind me to make some earplugs... ow! It hurts...
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
CROW: There should be a rule. No listening to Devo until 45 minutes after
you've eaten.
>Going going gone on the red eye express
TOM: Are they fahr'n fahr'n fahr'n auf der Autobahn?
MIKE: Don't start that again.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
>Going going gone on the red eye express
TOM: Where's the fast-forward button?
CROW: Or volume control?
MIKE: Or eject?
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
TOM: Gong!
>Going going gone on the red eye express
MIKE: They don't accept American Express, I guess.
>Going going gone with the red eye distress
CROW: The record must be stuck. Man, this happened last album too!
>Going going gone on the red eye express
TOM: That's it. I'm deactivating myself. Goodbye, world...
CROW: Don't.
TOM: Why not?
CROW: Me first.
TOM: Oh, ok.
>Red eye express
>-Red eye express
CROW: I'm starting to know what they were talking about with that S.I.B.
crap...
>Red eye express
>-Red eye express
TOM: What rhymes with express?
MIKE: Hmmm...
>Red eye express
CROW: Distress.
TOM: Well, duh.
>Red eye express
MIKE: Regress.
>-Red eye express
CROW: Duress.
>Red eye express
MIKE: Undress.
CROW: What, are we back to that cat song again?
MIKE: Sigh...
>Red eye express
CROW: Address.
>Red eye express
MIKE: Finesse.
>Red eye express
CROW: Depress.
TOM: Good one.
>Red eye express
MIKE: Impress.
TOM: Bleh.
>Red eye express
CROW: Success.
TOM: That does rhyme, but I don't picture it here.
>Red eye express
MIKE: Recess.
>Red eye express
CROW: Excess.
TOM: That's the one I was looking for.
MIKE: Well, we should be able to leave now! So why...
>BONUS TRACKS
CROW: Aieee! Curse you, Henry Rollins!
TOM: Tracks? As in plural?
MIKE: This isn't gonna be pretty.
>SOO BAWLS
MIKE: Well, they can't spell Johnny either...
>Pretty mongo everybody wants her toilet
CROW: Yeah, the first thing a man looks for in a woman is good taste in
bathroom furnishings.
TOM: (as slack-jawed yokel) Whoa, look at the bathroom furnishings on *her*.
>Same old story she don't let no one near it
MIKE: (alarm system voice) Step away from the toilet.
>The way she teases them, it's such a shame
TOM: This *is* shameful.
>She's got all the huboons cryin' her name
MIKE: Huboon?
CROW: This stuff is priceless when it comes to making fun of Mike, eh Tom?
TOM: You said it.
>-Soo Bawlz
>-Soo Bawlz
MIKE: Mike bawls too.
>She's got 'em howling
>She's got 'em growling
TOM: Now I'm hungry.
>-Soo Bawlz
>-Soo Bawlz
CROW: Crow hurls.
>She's got 'em going clean outta their minds
TOM: So, they couldn't take it either, eh? MIKE: I'm the only one left...
>-Soo Bawlz
>-Soo Bawlz
TOM: I just got a mental image of Kelly Bundy.
>Soo Bawlz
>Soo Bawlz
CROW: Gah, I hate this! It's happened on every stinking track on this whole
worthless album! Why do songs hafta go on and on and on with the same stupid
lyrics and the same horrible music for minutes on end? Why can't musicians
write more than 20 seconds worth of material at a time anymore? Is it too much
to ask for originality? I mean, symphonies can go on for minutes without
playing the same note twice, but noooo, pop music repeats every 3 seconds! If
not more! It's horrible! Just horrible! Even bad sci-fi B-movies don't do that!
They may suck too, but it's not the *same* suck over and over again for 4
minutes! ARGH! I weep for the future.
TOM: Are you done?
CROW: (taking a deep breath) Yes.
MIKE: Keep going. You drowned out half of the rest of the song.
>(song is audible again after Crow drowning out the next verse and chorus)
>One two three four
CROW: Five, six, uh... eleventeen... thirty-twelve...
>Tell the people what she wore
TOM: Yellow plastic, remember?
>They run in circles trying to call her up
CROW: Damn rotary phone booths.
>But her phone's been disconnected since she sold her butt
TOM: You'd think she could use the money from her butt to pay off the phone
bill.
>The way she teases them, it's such a shame
MIKE: That she keeps that tacky wallpaper up.
>She's got all the huboons cryin' her name
CROW: Soo! Sooooooooooooooo...
>-Soo Bawlz
>-Soo Bawlz
TOM: Crow! Start ranting again!
>She's got 'em howling
CROW: Ok. Hmmm... I really hate it when Cambot gets my bad side. And it happens
a lot! You see, I have a good side and a bad side. Good. Bad. See? Now, Cambot
usually gets my bad side, since each morning my bad side changes depending on
what side of the bed I get up on. It's usually my left, but it depends. And of
course, each day, Cambot always gets my bad side. Every day, no matter what, he
just does. Hey Cambot! Listen to me! From now on, I'm just gonna stare right at
you! RIGHT AT YOU! That way, you *can't* get just my bad side! You're gonna get
my whole side! Both of them! At the same time! You hear me? I'm gonna get my
revenge! Ha! Hahahahahahahahahaha.....
TOM: Crow?
CROW: You like that, Cambot? I'm gonna look *good* on you from now on!
TOM: Crow!
CROW: I... what?
TOM: Song's over.
CROW: Oh.
MIKE: Jeez, Crow, you were scaring me.
>PENETRATION IN THE CENTERFOLD
CROW: Hey now!...
MIKE: We're leaving.
CROW: But Mike, the song hasn't started yet...
MIKE: NOW.
CROW: Fine.
(Mike picks up Tom and leaves with Crow as the bass line starts to play)
[The S.O.L. Tom is about to read the finished Mad Lib.]
TOM: Ok. I picked up the last noun I needed from that really bad song.
CROW: Uh, Tom? They were *all* really bad.
TOM: Yeah. Um, the really long really bad one.
MIKE: I hated that one.
TOM: So did I.
MIKE: It's the only one from that album that made the Greatest Hits
compilation, although the Greatest Misses one had a lot of them... (pauses) How
did I know that?
CROW and TOM: Mike's a spu-ud! Mike's a spu-ud!
MIKE: Knock it off, willya?
[Suddenly, the three shake for a moment as the effect wears off.]
MIKE: Woah. What a hangover.
CROW: I feel as though I've let go of a lot of hate... but hate for what? TOM:
I can't remember. I hope we didn't threaten to kill anybody.
MIKE: Don't worry, Tom. I'm sure you didn't. Crow, however...
CROW: Hey!
TOM: Yeah, yeah. Well, here we go. This is the story of young _Chim-Chim_. One
_blasphemous_ day, _Chim-Chim_ was walking through the _Death Valley_ when he
saw a _prismatic_ _syllable_. _Sledding_ over to pick it up, he _spontaneously
combusted_ and _sang_. He decided to go to _Beijing_ instead. On the way, he
met _Luigi_, his old _god_. _Chim-Chim_ always _crammed_ _Luigi_, especially
after the _zany_ incident with the _prunes_, the _hemisphere_, the _khakis_,
and the huge _pitcher_ of _cockroaches_. When he saw _Chim-Chim_, _Luigi_ said,
"_Pootertoots_!" _Luigi_ _mauled_ _Chim-Chim_ about how _fudge-arrific_ the
_bratwurst_ was today. _Erratically_, _Chim-Chim_ agreed, and then told _Luigi_
about his _commercial_. Because of his _methane_, _Luigi_ _gargled_ and left.
_Chim-Chim_ walked away towards the _DNA_. The End.
CROW: What?..
MIKE: Even with good words, that made no sense! And from here, the whole thing
looks handwritten in blue ink.
TOM: Yeah, well, it's hard to get good Mad Libs up here! I picked these up from
the black market on Mars.
CROW: Ah, yeah, I remember that. That's where I got a hairnet in exchange for
your marbles.
TOM: My marbles! I was wondering where those went! Ooh...
MIKE: Hey, calm down! Tom, got any more Mad Libs?
TOM: Just one. Location.
CROW: Lesotho.
MIKE: The Gulf of Mexico.
CROW: Luxembourg.
MIKE: Equatorial Guinea.
CROW: Hollywood.
MIKE: Weed, California...
[Earth.]
DR. FORRESTER: No fair! The tape didn't drive them insane, *and* I got my
drycleaning too late! It's all shrunken now!
TV'S FRANK: Oh well. Can I have it?
DR. FORRESTER: For what?
TV'S FRANK: Kitties.
DR. FORRESTER: Well, I guess the ray wore off on you too, no matter how small
your brain is... here.
TV'S FRANK: Thanks! Here, kitty kitty...
DR. FORRESTER: And push the button while you're at it.
TV'S FRANK: Ok.
[A tortured "meow" is heard.]
DR. FORRESTER: Frank!
[TV's Frank pushes the button.]
All stuff is TM and Copyright their respective owners. I don't claim to own any
of this stuff. Please don't sue.
>-Wiggle wiggle wiggle
---
End Part 3