[MiSTied] Princes of the Universe, 2 (REPOST)
Gary W. Olson
[Mike is standing on the left side of the screen, wearing a coach's sweatshirt.
Tom and Crow are on the right side, groaning.]
TOM: I can't stand it. I just can't stand it any more.
CROW: Me neither. "Treklander" and "Treklander II" should have indicated to
the world that Star Trek and Highlander are two tastes that do *not*
taste great together.
[Mike blows his coach's whistle, getting the 'bots attention.]
MIKE (speaking with a sort of George C. Scott-like voice): None of that, troops!
You haven't seen nothing yet!
TOM: You mean it gets worse?
CROW: How could the concept get any worse?
MIKE: How about a SeaQuest/Highlander crossover?
TOM & CROW: Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!
MIKE: Or a V/Highlander crossover?
CROW: That wouldn't be so bad, really.
TOM: Huh?
CROW: Two words: Jane Badler.
TOM: Oh yeah.
MIKE (sensing the skit is in danger of being sidetracked): My point is you have
to be ready to encounter a combination of Highlander and any television
show or movie in existance!
TOM: You mean like a NYPD Blue/Highlander crossover?
CROW: Or an Adam-12/Highlander crossover?
MIKE: Exactly! Cop shows in particular are choice targets for crossing over
with Highlander, given they share similar adolescent male power fantasy
themes. But that's not all...
CROW: Detective shows! A Matlock/Highlander crossover!
TOM: Moonlighting/Highlander! Hardcastle & McCormick & Highlander!
CROW: Roseanne/Highlander! Peanuts/Highlander!
MIKE: Guys, you're just getting silly.
TOM: Who cares? I feel much better now!
[Commercial sign light starts flashing.]
MIKE: Not for long. We have to return to the theater... right after this.
[Commerical: why not enjoy a nice, cool glass of milk?]
[Commercial ends and we return, as Mike and the bots are entering the theater.]
>Path: nntp.club.cc.cmu.edu!newsfeed.pitt.edu!hudson.lm.com!news.pop.psu.edu
>!news.cac.psu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!newsjunkie.ans.net!news-m01.ny.us.
>ibm.net!news
TOM: IBM! We don't innovate, we dominate!
CROW: Or we used to, anyway.
>From: cm...@ibm.net
MIKE: See Mike at Atlantic City all this week with funnyman Carrottop!
TOM: You're going to be at Atlantic City?
MIKE: No, this guy is.
TOM: Oh.
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>Subject: Repost: Princes of the Universe, 2
CROW: It's Princes Sphaghetti Night!
>Date: 1 May 1995 01:17:52 GMT
>Lines: 289
CROW: Circles? 804.
TOM: Zig zag patterns? Only 6.
>Message-ID: <3o1cs0$39...@news-s01.ny.us.ibm.net>
>Reply-To: {Mike Coelho} cm...@ibm.net
MIKE: I personally apologize on behalf of all Mikes everywhere.
>NNTP-Posting-Host: slip4-206.fl.us.ibm.net
>X-Newsreader: IBM NewsReader/2 v1.09
TOM: Newsreader divided by two?
CROW: Well, it *is* IBM.
>Part 7: Corellias Government Plaza, Building 1
MIKE: Pedestrians nothing.
> Kerr Doran looked out at the conflagration that surrounded the
>capital city and smiled. He liked what he saw. Loved it, actually.
CROW: Kurt Russell with his shirt off, fighting the blaze.
TOM: Watch out for the backdraft.
>Now that the game was over, and he had the prize, he was unstoppable.
>After all, he'd struggled for over ten thousand years to get here.
MIKE: Of course, if those freeway repair crews had worked just a little
bit faster...
> He'd tried to play fair in the beginning, even went so far as to
>spare unarmed Immortals. That was before Jerra.
CROW: Jerra Van Dyke.
TOM: Diagnosis: Highlander.
MIKE: No, that's Dick Van Dyke's show. Jerry Van Dyke is on 'Coach.'
TOM: He's right! Look, there's Craig T. Nelson!
CROW: I'm still picturing Samantha Mathis.
> Before he lost Gaea.
MIKE: Just look in the lost-and-found-earth-goddesses department.
>He'd been good then, one of the best. That was eight thousand years
>ago . . .
TOM: The last baseball season without a strike.
>(Flashback)
TOM (singing): She's a maniac, maaaaiiiiniac, and she's dancing like she's
never danced before!
CROW: These immortals are welders by day, I take it.
> "Kerr, do you love me? I mean really love me?" asked Gaea.
TOM: Would you give up Monday Night Football for me?
> "Of course I do. You know that," Kerr replied.
> "Then why are you keeping things from me?"
> 'Here it comes,' he thought. "I told you, there are some things
>that I just can't share with you, at least not yet."
MIKE: Besides, my chain mail underwear just wouldn't fit you.
> "Well, when then? I think I've been patient, we've been together
>for over a year now."
CROW: I'm just asking why you won't stop leaving the toilet seat up.
> "I'm just afraid that you won't understand, but I guess you are
>entitled to some answers."
MIKE: From the back of the book.
> "Kerr, I love you. There is nothing you can possibly say or do that
>can change that. Now, please, tell me."
> "OK, I don't want you to scream, or call anyone, or anything. Just
>trust me." Kerr took a knife from his belt.
> "Kerr! What are you doing?!"
TOM: I'm going to cut this tin can in half! Stand back!
> Kerr stabbed the blade through his heart. Gaea screamed, as Kerr's
>body dropped to the floor, dead.
MIKE: Hey, he said no screaming!
CROW: Now he won't come back to life.
> "Kerr!" She knelt beside his body and then lifted his head. "Kerr,
>why?!"
> Suddenly, she heard a crash. She looked up and saw a large man
>standing in front of their broken bedroom window. He was carrying a
>sword.
TOM: And a copy of their life insurance policy.
MIKE: You know, if you'd been insured through State Farm, I wouldn't have
to kill you.
> "Help him! Kerr! He stabbed himself!"
> "Shut up, woman!" said the man. "I haven't come to help him, or
>you. I've come for his head."
CROW: I've got a pan filled with neck juice waiting for it.
> "What? Who are you? Get away from here!" Gaea pulled the knife
>from Kerr's chest and held it in a defensive position.
> "You would pull the knife from your own husband's heart to defend
>yourself? You say you want to help him! You want only to help
>yourself."
MIKE: To his heart.
TOM: Be careful, that guy from "Cave Dwellers" might show up.
> "No! Stop it! Don't say that! Stay away!" She lifted the knife
>higher.
CROW: And threw out her back.
> "Move out of the way, woman. I grow tired of your whimpering." He
>moved toward her.
> "NO!" she screamed as she plunged the knife forward. The man
>knocked the knife from her hands with his sword. He picked her up by
>her neck and tossed her across the room like a rag doll.
MIKE: I remember when I was a kid. We'd throw rag dolls around the room
all the time. Or we'd sit on them.
CROW: We don't want to know, Mike.
TOM: Which Mike?
CROW: Both.
> "I warned you, woman. Now you will pay the price for getting in my
>way." He walked over to her and stuck his sword through her heart.
TOM: Now was this when swords were made of steel?
CROW: We'll let you know.
> Kerr's wound healed with a flash of blue light.
MIKE: Blue light special on healing factors. Aisle ten.
> The first thing he
>saw when he opened his eyes was
TOM: Laura Palmer.
MIKE: I see her! Laura!
TOM: Go into the light, Leland! Go into the light!
> the man, an Immortal that he did not
>know, standing over Gaea. The man had hurt Gaea!
CROW: Does this bug you? I'm not touching you!
> "NO!! YOU BASTARD!!" Kerr scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his
>sword and attacked.
> The man laughed loudly as he thwarted Kerr's attack with ease.
MIKE: Ease and ohs.
TOM: Dis and dat.
> "How
>nice of you to join us, Doran.
MIKE: Bob Dornan?
CROW: Kept alive by his bitter hatred of liberals.
> Allow me to introduce myself, I am
>Jerra. I've come for your head, please relinquish it." He knocked
>Kerr to the ground and closed in for the kill.
> Kerr got to his feet just in time to narrowly evade Jerra's slash.
TOM: Welcome to the jungle.
>"You underestimate me, Jerra!"
> "I underestimate no one," Jerra said as he attacked again.
CROW: No underestimations, just great savings every day.
> This time, Kerr was ready. He parried Jerra's thrust and knocked
>the broadsword from his hands. "Really?" Kerr said, and then took
>Jerra's head. The head smiled as it fell to the floor.
MIKE: Because the floor was covered with a DuPont StainMaster carpet.
> The Quickening was the most powerful Kerr had ever experienced, and
>it left him drained and exhilarated all at the same time.
TOM: While leaving us drained and exasperated.
> Strange
>feeling, that.
CROW: Strange feelings... weeeeiird feelings...
> Then he remembered Gaea. He looked at her, and he knew she was
>dead.
TOM: Her mood ring had gone black.
> He didn't even have to feel her pulse. He picked up her up
>and carried her to the bed without changing his expression. Kerr left
>the house that day, and he never knew what happened to her body.
MIKE: It got cast as an extra in 'Pulp Fiction.'
TOM: To increase the body count, right?
MIKE: Pretty much.
>(Present)
CROW: Cologne! Why, thanks, kids! This is just what I wanted!
> Well, the game is now over, and Gaea's death has truly been avenged.
>If only he hadn't become bitter and untrusting after she died. If
>only he could have worked through the anger. If only Jerra's
>Quickening hadn't brought his evil as well as his power and
>knowledge. If only-
MIKE: He could think of how to end this paragraph.
> "Stop it!" he said aloud to himself.
TOM (Smoky the Bear): Only YOU can stop... it.
> "It's over. I am the most
>powerful man in the universe. I will have this planet, and soon the
>Federation, and then, the galaxy. I AM GOD!"
CROW: You can't be God. You don't have a sliding cardboard jaw!
> Someone was coming. Amazing, this power, this Prize. He was
>smarter than before. He knew every man's thoughts.
MIKE: He had an intimate knowledge of Mitchell's hygenic practices.
TOM: Ewwww.
> He could feel
>mortals now, as he could Immortals before, the buzz was only slightly
>different, less palpable.
MIKE: What did I tell you? 'Palp Fiction.'
TOM: Doh!
> It was Horgan, his chief chaos
>distributor, his second in command.
CROW: Horrrrrrrrrrrgaaaaannnn!
TOM: No one can escape from Stalag Thirteen!
MIKE: Hey, what's that he's wearing on his head?
TOM: It's... it's...
CROW: A chaos distributor cap!
TOM: Zing!
> "Horgan! How goes the fight, boy?" he said with a smile.
> "Sir, we have disturbing news. It seems a Federation Starship is en
>route."
MIKE: That's disturbing?
TOM: Imagine if it had been En Vogue.
> "Disturbing? Horgan, that is Excellent news! It's the Enterprise,
>isn't it? I know the Federation would want to send its finest ship,
>to protect their precious dilithium. The fools. Do you know how
>worthless dilitium is, Horgan?
CROW: It's so worthless it lost it's 'h'.
MIKE: I bet the 'd' goes next.
> Give me a week and I could
TOM: Take off the weight!
> engineer a
>fuel that is a thousand times more potent from ordinary garden
>vegetables!"
CROW: Just gotta keep those durn rev'nooers away.
> "Sir, the Enterprise will be here within 2 days. I don't know about
>you, but I think we should at least prepare for-"
TOM: Me to figure out how to finish my sentence.
> "Horgan, I will know their moves before they do! Worry not, my
>friend. Go, and on your way out, send me in a girl. No, make it two."
MIKE: And make sure neither of them is Tom Hanks or Peter Scolari.
> "Yes sir." Horgan took his leave.
CROW: And shoved it.
> 'Foolish little man,' he thought. 'Planning to overthrow me as soon
>as he can get help from the Federation. Good luck.'
TOM: Hugs and kisses, Bunny.
> He laughed
>aloud. The laugh reminded him of Jerra's. Reminded him of Gaea.
MIKE: Reminded him of everyone he'd ever met.
CROW: Except Gallagher.
TOM: Of course.
> If
>only . . .
TOM: If only WHAT?
MIKE: Maybe he thinks the sentences will finish themselves.
>Part 8: Geordi LaForge's quarters
MIKE: Geordi LaForge's dimes.
> "Now," said Commander Geordi LaForge, "I could repair the old blade,
>it would be as good as new, for what that's worth, or I could make you
>a new blade, out of a stronger alloy.
CROW: Or I could send in thirty-six thousand box tops and get you a blade from
the cereal company.
> There are alloys that could
>slice this old blade into even smaller pieces with relatively no
>pressure at all."
TOM: Aside from the peer pressure.
> "But how would it feel?" asked Richie.
MIKE: Badly. It's very sensitive, you know.
> "Feel? What do you mean? It would feel like metal, how else?"
> "No, I mean how would the sword handle? Would the balance be the
>same? Would the weight change?"
CROW: Would it sing?
MIKE: Would it dance?
TOM: Would it demand a chance to direct?
> "We can make it feel however you like. Come on, lets try the
>replicator."
> "Replicator? You're going to replicate a sword blade?!"
CROW: No, he's going to replicate Phil Donahue's hair, dickweed.
> "What did you think I was going to do? Forge one for you?" Geordi
>laughed.
MIKE: Well, your name *is* LaForge.
TOM: Hey, it is...
> "Just try it, Richie. You never know." Duncan gave him a
>reassuring nod.
> "Well, OK." Richie lowered his head and followed Geordi.
CROW: Running into the wall moments later after Geordi turned the corner.
> "I'll catch you later, Richie. We'll meet up at ten forward."
> "OK, Mac."
> "Now, Lieutenant Worf, lets continue our holodeck excursions."
TOM: Let me take you on a sea cruise!
> "Very well, Duncan. After you." Worf gestured toward the door.
MIKE: Oh, no, after *you*.
CROW: After *you*.
MIKE: No, after *you*. You have a bigger forehead.
CROW: Is that the rule?
MIKE: It is now.
> "Thanks."
> As they approached the holodeck, Worf said: "This time, I would
>like to run my holodeck training program, if that is all right with
>you. You should find it . . .
TOM: If you open your eyes and stop cowering in the corner.
> challenging."
> "Sounds great."
MIKE: But really isn't.
> "Good. Here we are. Computer, Lieutenant Worf's calisthenics
>program, level three."
> "Level three? How many levels are there?"
CROW: Ninety-nine, plus the ten special levels that you can only get if Mario
collects all the red mushrooms.
> "Unlimited. I have made it through twenty-seven, so far."
> "Well, this sounds like fun."
MIKE: But really--
TOM: You've done that one already.
MIKE: It bears repeating.
TOM: I guess.
> "It is," Worf said, with an evil grin.
> They entered the holodeck, and were attacked immediately by several
>large four armed creatures.
CROW: Wow! Those Klingon Poodles are vicious!
TOM: Those aren't Klingon Poodles! Those are Bert I. Gordon special effects!
CROW: Nooooo!
> Duncan dodged the first few blows, and
>then knocked one of the creatures to the ground with a thud.
MIKE: He then got out the Klingon Pooper Scooper.
> As he
>drew his sword, Worf threw another of the creatures across the room
>with a roar. Duncan sliced yet another in half with his katana.
CROW: The fourth fled to Brazil and claimed asylum.
> The
>last beast rushed at Duncan,
CROW: Oh.
> and he plunged the blade through its
>chest.
TOM: No Klingon Poodles were hurt in the writing of this fanfic.
MIKE: Except for the one that piddled on Worf's foot.
> "That WAS fun, what's next?"
TOM: Now, a legion of Howie Mandels!
MIKE & CROW: Nooooooo!
> "Computer, level ten. Watch."
> This time, there were no four-armed beasts. Twelve very large
>klingons
CROW: In stunning blue strapless evening gowns.
> with razor sharp batleths appeared, six on either side of
>the pair.
> "You take the six on the left, I'll take the six on the right,"
>said Duncan.
TOM: I'll take the zero in the middle.
CROW: I was going to take them.
> "Agreed," said Worf as he readied his batleth.
> Four of Worf's attackers charged him. He decapitated the first
>with one slash, then seemingly with the same movement, sliced through
>the second's chest. The two that were left over
MIKE: Were wrapped in cling wrap and put into the refridgerator for tomorrow's
lunch.
> joined the attack.
> Meanwhile, Duncan had his hands full, as he battled his six foes
>with the katana. He slashed and parried with blinding speed,
>beheading the first two with three simple moves. Then, he leapt into
>the air and landed behind the last four. With one great strike,
CROW: He killed Earl Anthony *and* Pete Webber.
> and
>one even greater yell,
TOM (singing): He cried more! more! more!
> he cut through all four.
> Worf was finishing off his last opponent while Duncan waited and
>watched.
> "Very good, lieutenant. This is a great program. What level did
>you say you got to?"
MIKE: The one where you get arrested for doing these things.
> "Twenty-seven. Why?"
> "Computer, level twenty."
> The scattered body parts disappeared, and the program began loading.
CROW: As did Duncan's pants.
TOM: Ew.
>Just as it finished, Commander Riker's voice came over the comm.
>"Lieutenant Worf, report."
MIKE: Lt. Worf here, requesting an excuse to ditch this loser, sir.
> "Computer, pause program." Worf tapped his comm badge. "Lieutenant
>Worf here, Commander."
> "Lieutenant, report to the bridge."
MIKE: That'll work. Thanks, sir.
> "Yes sir." Worf turned to Duncan. "I am sorry, but I must leave
>you now."
TOM: Try to remember that time in September.
> "That's OK, I think I'll stay for a while, if you don't mind. Maybe
>I'll beat your record," Duncan said with a smile.
CROW: Then you'll have to switch to cassettes.
> "You have survived longer than anyone, for that you should be proud.
>You fight with much honor, Duncan. If anyone can beat me, I'm sure
>it's you."
> "Thanks, Worf. You are one of the most honorable and fiercest
>fighters I've ever known."
MIKE: In other words, you're as gullible as a post.
> Worf left the holodeck with a smile. Duncan continued his workout
>and made it to level thirty-three. That was something Worf could do
>without knowing, he thought.
TOM: What do you suppose is on level thirty-three?
CROW: A dozen Aztec Mummys?
MIKE: Lee Van Cleef and Timothy Van Patten?
CROW: Mitchell. It's gotta be Mitchell.
MIKE: A Mitchell programmed to think you're standing in between him and his
Schlitz.
TOM: Yikes!
>Part 9: Sick Bay
CROW: Oh, I'm all hot and it hurts and stuff.
> "So, you're from Scotland? I should have guessed.
MIKE: What tipped her off?
TOM: He's not wearing anything under his kilt.
> Descended from
>the great Clan MacLeod no doubt." Beverly programmed the tri-corder
>in preparation for Conner's exam.
CROW: According to these readings, your prostate is older than dirt.
> "Yes, actually. Duncan and I are both directly descended from the
>MacLeods. We can trace our lineage back almost one thousand years,"
TOM: Before we run out of tracing paper.
>Conner replied. "Where did you say you were from?"
> "Well, I didn't, but I think you tried to ask me. My family is
>from Scotland, too. The Highlands, actually."
MIKE: Not all of the Highlands, of course. Just one of them.
> "Really? You don't seem like a Highlander to me. Most of the
>Highland women I've known are a little, rough-cut. Except for
>Heather."
CROW: Heather Locklear?
TOM: Melrose Highlander?
> "Heather? Is that your wife?"
> "Yes. Well, she was. She's dead now."
MIKE: She told Christian Slater that he was no Jack Nicholson and he just
snapped.
> "I'm sorry. I lost my husband Jack, several years ago. Have you
>been alone long? I mean, I assume you're alone now."
> Conner smiled. "Well, it's been awhile.
CROW: I keep meaning to shave my palms, but...
> What are you going to do
>to me?"
TOM (Crusher): I'm going to re-enact my role in 'Sub Rosa.'
MIKE & CROW: Nooooooooo!
> 'Just give me the chance' she thought. "Well, I'm going to run a
>neural scan, to see exactly what's causing these headaches."
TOM: I bet it's Robert Urich.
> "Its stress related, I know it is. I need to get to the holodeck
>more. I need a vacation."
MIKE: I need the Go-Go's.
TOM: Hey, there's Belinda Carslyle.
CROW: I'm *still* picturing Sama...er, well, I guess I can picture Belinda just
this once.
> "I thought you were on vacation. Speaking of which, how did you get
>Star Fleet to let you ride their flagship to Risa?"
CROW (dude voice): I hooked 'em up with these chicks from Theta Epsilon.
> "Well, Duncan used to work at the Academy, and Richie called in a
>few favors. It's all very political."
MIKE: Good thing he knows Newt Gingrich.
> "I see. Lie down please." She started the scan. "Try not to move
>your head, Highlander." Beverly smiled. "There, all done."
> Conner sat up. "Well, am I going to live?"
CROW: Nope.
> "According to this, you're fine. Wait, this is strange."
> "What?"
TOM: We've almost finished the scene, and I've been able to complete all
my sentences.
> "This says you haven't made any dinner plans. Tonight. My
>quarters."
MIKE: Quarters, in a delicious hollandaise sauce.
CROW: (lip-smacking sound)
> "Beverly, I'd love to, but we're all meeting with the Captain
>tonight at nine. Why don't you join us?"
> "Well, I guess I could do that. But I'll take a rain check on the
>dinner. Deal?"
TOM: Are those box seats? Upper deck?
> "Sure." 'Maybe I'll let you examine a little more,' he thought.
MIKE: He'll let her look at his earlobes.
> "OK, now there is just one more test I'd like to run, if you don't
>mind."
> "Well, I-"
CROW: Sorry, we're out of walleye today. How about catfish?
> "Good. Lie down again."
> "What are you doing to me now?"
MIKE: I'm shaving your butt and puttimg cosmetics on it.
TOM (sinister voice): Avon calling.
> "This scan will isolate all your recent memories, scanning for high
>levels of adrenaline in your system. That will probably coincide with
>your recent headaches."
CROW: And the last six Boyz II Men singles.
> "How will you be able to tell there were high levels of adrenaline?"
> "When the brain stores memories, it also keeps a record of what your
>body is doing. It keeps track of all your glandular output."
MIKE: Even that gland there?
CROW: Every gland.
MIKE: Even the teeniest, tiniest gland...
TOM: *Every* gland.
> "Amazing."
> "Yes, isn't it?
ALL: *No.*
> There, all done.
> "Wait, this can't be right. It's dated some of your memories at
>over half a century.
MIKE: Hey, those are the only kind of dates he gets these days.
> Let me try it again."
> Conner grabbed her hand. "Beverly, forget it. I'm fine. Why don't
>we finish our walk in the arboretum?" He gave her his best smile.
TOM: And he gave her his best exasperated look, with a flared nostril as a tip.
CROW: Lassiez-faire facial expressions. You gotta love it.
> "Well . . . OK. We can finish this some other time. You
>definitely look OK now."
> "So do you. Come on."
MIKE (singing): And do the loco-motion with me.
>Part 10: Geordi LaForge's Quarters
CROW: Insert Part 10 into Slot 5.
TOM: Use as much model glue as you need. That's what it's there for.
> "This blade is a poly-duranium alloy, it's strong enough to cut
>through anything, even your other tritanium blade.
MIKE: But can it cut through the wall of animosity that is stifling our love?
> Now, how does
>this feel?" Geordi handed Richie the new sword.
> "Not bad. Not bad at all. Thanks Geordi."
> "If you don't mind me asking, why do you need such a strong weapon?
>It's not like a sword is going to do you any good against a phaser, is
>it?"
CROW: Hey, pal, you wave your phallic symbols around, I'll wave mine, okay?
> "Well, I've been fencing for years, and it's a lot of fun. I prefer
>hand to hand weapons, they're a lot more . . . noble than phasers."
TOM: They help little old ladies across the street and always put a little
extra onto the plate at church on Sundays.
> "You're starting to sound like Worf."
MIKE: Amazing he can get his voice that low with just a regular forehead.
CROW: I'll say... huh?
> "Thanks, I think. Now, if you don't mind ME asking, how did you get
>the visor?"
> "I was born blind. I've had it since I was a kid."
TOM: Of course, it was a few years before it actually *fit* me...
> "Surely you could have gotten genetically engineered eyes, why not
>switch?"
MIKE: You mean, jump the fence?
CROW: Swing both ways! You know you want to!
> "Well, the technology isn't perfect yet, I don't want to take the
>risk. There's a chance that if I get implants, and they aren't
>successful, I won't be able to go back to the visor.
TOM: Why not join Eyeclub for Men?
> I don't want to
>take that risk."
> "I know what you mean, I don't exactly trust technology all that
>much, but it does have a few advantages." He held up the newly
>constructed sword.
MIKE: And took its wallet.
CROW: The streets just aren't safe any more, you know?
> "It's not that I don't trust technology, I mean, I am the chief
>engineer of a starship. I just want to be sure. Actually, I see
>better with the visor than ordinary people anyway."
TOM: For instance, I can see you're wearing nothing underneath your kilt.
> "Well, thanks again for the sword. I really appreciate it."
> "Hey, no problem, Richie. I'll see you around."
> "OK, bye Geordi."
MIKE: Why buy Geordi when you can lease him?
>==================================================
CROW: All those equal signs and this fanfic still doesn't add up to anything.
>Mike Coelho 'There can be only one'
>cm...@ibm.net -+==========|----------------------
>--------------------------------------------------
MIKE: Time to get out of here, Crow, Tom...
TOM: Carry me!
MIKE: I will, I will...
[Cut to commercials.]
(continued in part 3...)
--
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and related characters and situations are
trademarks of and (c) 1995 by Best Brains Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Use of copyrighted or trademarked material is for entertainment purposes
only. No infringement on original copyrights or trademarks held by Best
Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred. This post is not meant
as a personal attack on Mike Coelho, nor should it be interpreted as
such. Society, in this case, is clearly to blame.
--
Gary W. Olson sw...@sojourn1.sojourn.com sw...@drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede