*new MiST* Smallville: Moonage Daydream
Angry Johnny
writing them. It's been a long time coming, but I worked myself raw
getting it done in time for "Superman Returns," since this is sort of a
Superman fic (well... in the same way "Un chien andalou" is about
Clifford the Big Red Dog.) I hope you all like it, but if not... do
something better. Please.
Incidently, this is my first MiST, so... don't set the bar too high.
jstan...@gmail.com
Smallville: Moonage Daydream
Original Text by WeAre138
As Riffed by Angry Johnny
Warning: this fic veered occasionally into a vernacular that was,
well... a little PG-13. So, if you're a little young you probably
shouldn't be reading this, but there's really nothing worse here than
on any network television program made in the last thirty years anyway.
(Personally, I stopped watching tv completely after I unwittingly
discovered the rampant filth that was "Three's Company" and haven't
gotten over it since, but that's me.)
1...2...3...4...5...G
We open, as always, on the Satellite of Love. The Bridge has been
completely covered with macaroni ducks, paper linking-ring streamers,
and cheap, lumpy clay ashtrays with imprints of tiny, robot hands. Tom
stands behind the counter with a massive hardcover book, Joel and Crow,
wearing homemade paper hats and face paint, stand on the other side in
rapt attention.
CROW: You know, I really love being able to express myself creatively
like this.
TOM: I can feel my self-esteem growing all ready!
JOEL: Oh, that's great, you guys, that's why we're doing this.
[Notices the camera.] Oh, hi, everybody and welcome to the Satellite
of Love. I'm Joel Robinson and it's the final day of our annual weekly
Robots in the Arts Expo MiracleGro Fun Camp and Tom Servo here was just
about to amaze us with his new Summer, feel-good, beach blanket, um,
book. Tommy?
TOM: Thank you, Joel. A-HEM! "Archie & Veronica: A Romance In
Atrophy" By Tom "The Automator" Servo.
JOEL: "Archie and..." Servo, is this about the Archie comic
characters?
TOM: Well, sort of. I'm taking established characters, then
recontextualizing them in order to make bold, satirical jabs at the
inherent sickness and absurdity of the modern condition. Like John
Gardner's "Grendel," Alan Moore's "Watchmen," or Quentin Tarantino's
groundbreaking remake of "Steamboat Willie."
CROW: Oh, I loved that one!
JOEL: Um...
CROW: Especially when Mickey kills Captain Pete with the spud gun!
TOM: Can I begin?
JOEL: I guess.
TOM: Ahem. "Archie Andrews stood alone as he watched the only girl
he'd ever loved was lowered slowly into cool, damp earth. The thick,
black clouds reflected his thoughts even as they urinated what felt
like septic tanks full of foul-smelling rain through his coat and into
the very core of his being. Jughead. Every muscle tensed at the mere
thought of the name. Jughead. Archie wasn't sure which he hated more,
the fact that Veronica had gone to her grave before Archie could really
touch her or the fact that same couldn't be said of Jughead, but he
knew one thing: Jughead would die. Even if it killed him, Jughead
would die." [Breaking pace] So, what do you guys think so far? Moved
yet?
Joel and Crow stare in stunned silence.
TOM: What?
Commercial lights start flashing.
Pause.
SERVO, not getting it: What?
JOEL, seizing the book: Let me see that book.
TOM: Did you like it? Was it good?
Crow shakes his head, Joel taps the button.
[A steady stream of vaguely attractive women in beds extol the virtues
of calling Quest, Livelinks, and LavaLife personals instead of hitting
the singles bars.
Meanwhile, California falls into the Pacific Ocean and no one seems to
notice.]
The S.O.L. is back to its usual state; Joel and Crow continue to look
at Tom in abject defeat.
TOM: But it's really a meisterwerk of Lacanian analysis! A triumph of
the human spirit in all its ugly, peanut-buster-like blistering boils!
It's an emotional roller coaster ride and "Star Wars" for an all new
generation and...
JOEL: Servo, this just isn't the kind of thing I think a robot your age
should be working on.
TOM: Well, I don't see what you could possibly have a problem with.
JOEL, cracking open the book: Look here on page 9,382... "As Archie
polished centuries-old Japanese steel before the roaring flames, Mr.
Weatherbee favored him with the kind warm smile that let Archie know
the older man couldn't have been prouder of his own son. In the
fullness of time, Weatherbee finally spoke, 'You and me haven't j'gged
in awhile, have we?'"
Pause.
TOM: So?
JOEL: Archie is *not* slamming Mr. Weatherbee!
CROW: Well, he could be.
JOEL, shakes his head: Earl and Randy are calling.
Joel taps the Mads light
JOEL: Hello, sirs.
Deep 13.
Doctor Forrester stands with a shopping cart in front of a counter
manned by a mole person, a second mole person is line ahead of him, it
looks like they're going to be awhile.
Dr. F: Greeting, Life Obstacles. My invention this week is built
around one of the great uncomfortable moments of our time. Imagine
this: you're on line at your local grocery store buying Vodka and Lucky
Charms when the high school prom king shows up behind you, looking more
successful then ever. [Enter Frank, looking smugly self-satisfied in
his ascot and dickie.] Yes. Now, before he can recognize you and ask
all those prying questions that might reveal you still live in your
parents' basement and your idea of a good time involves a baggie full
of pixie sticks and big stack of Spider-Girl back issues, give him a
shot of *this* [Dr. F pulls a rather standard-looking lime green spray
bottle from his cart and sprays Frank right in the eyes, Frank
collapses, hands over his eyes and screaming.]
FRANK: Auuughhh!!! Aaauughhh!!!
Dr. F: That's right, it's Doctor Clayton Forrester's Patent Corneal
Corroder. Now all they'll remember is the searing pain as their pupils
dissolved.
FRANK: It hurts so much!!! Why, God, Why!?!
Dr. F: And that's not all, it also works on loan officers, kindergarten
teachers, and, of course, ex-girlfriends. [Dr. F gives the
still-screaming Frank a solid kick in the gut for good measure.] Back
to you, Tony Orlando and Dawn.
S.O.L.
Super-tight close-up of Joel and the Bot's horrified faces.
After several seconds, Joel attempts to shake it off and press on with
his experiment.
JOEL: Well, Sirs, I've been trying to get the Bots here to express
themselves a bit more creatively and, um...
Tom beams with pride.
JOEL: Well, it hasn't been going well so far...
TOM: Hey!
JOEL: But Crow was very eager to have another go at the old invention
exchange, and this...
Joel holds up a white plastic object about the size of a fist,
resembling somehow a cross between a Glade Plug-In and a hand grenade.
JOEL: ...Is what he came up with. Um, what is this, Crow?
CROW: Well, I'm glad you asked, Joel, because I'm more than happy to
explain. A-HEM-hem. Consider the human: vile chunks of fatty meat that
spend all the resources nature has given them trying to fight the fact
they're turning bad faster than the Chinese take-out your room mate
Chet bought last night and forgot to put in the refridgeraber. Left to
their own devices, these ugly bags of mostly water go South faster than
the Klu Klux Klan during Rush Week and...
JOEL: Um, Crow, were you going somewhere with all this?
CROW: Oh, right. If a human is going through his day and realizes his
breath is not so fresh, but has been cut off from his toothpaste,
floss, and mouthwash by an avalanche, flood, or nuk-u-lar holocaust, he
has a thousand different brands of mints, breath strips, and chewing
gums at his disposal.
TOM, casting a bitter glance towards Joel: And it still doesn't help.
CROW: Now, imagine that same human, going through his human day, aging,
wearing bad pants, serving as a breeding ground from nations of
dangerous microbes... suddenly realizes his hinder stinks to high
heaven! Whoo, dawggies!
JOEL: Oh, I don't like where this is going at all.
TOM: Funny, I think I do.
CROW: Well, with Doctor Crow's Miracle Hiney Inserts, it's problem
solved!
JOEL, very quickly setting Crow's invention down: Um...
CROW: That's right, it's once up the bum and no harm done and the
freshness of a traditional Irish Norwegian Spring is your reward! What
do you think, sirs?
Joel shakes his head vehemently in stunned silence.
Deep 13
Dr. F: And his greatest creations give birth to a suppository. Must be
a proud day for you, Samuel L. Chang.
FRANK, pleading a Dr. F's feet: Please, please make the hurting stop...
Dr. F: Take it like a man, Frank and send them the post. [Frank pokes
at the control panel, trying to comply with Dr. F's orders, but
somewhat hindered by the fact that he's lost his sense of sight.] Your
experiment this week is a piece of fecal matter by the 138 Collective
coming at you from sunny Philadelphia. It's a Smallville fever dream
called "Moonage Daydream" and it will hurt you like prostate exam from
Doctor Octopus. Put the hurt on 'em, Frank.
Dr. F grins triumphantly as he waits for the blindly groping Frank to
find the appropriate button.
And keeps waiting.
And keeps waiting.
And keeps waiting.
Dr. F: Oh, for crying out [he roughly shoves Frank out of the way and
pushes the button himself]
S.O.L.
The regular flashing chaos.
JOEL: We've got movie siiiiiiiiiiiiiign!!!
G...5...4...3...2...1
Joel and the Bots file into their appropriate seats and sit down.
JOEL: Ech.
TOM: What?
JOEL: I think I sat in gum.
TOM: How would anyone get gum up here?
JOEL: It's all sticky and gross and...
CROW: Um, that's not gum.
JOEL: Oh, God! Crow!
TOM: What an auspicious beginning.
> 138 Productions Presents:
> Moonage Daydream
TOM: Yes, "Smallville," where you can watch the most powerful hero in
the history of American fiction whine and complain for an hour a week
about what a raw deal he got.
CROW: Man, if I were Superman, I'd do things differently.
JOEL: Really?
CROW: Yeah, I'd fly around the Universe in a respectable pair of
flat-front khakis and I'd eat raspberry smoothies every meal
JOEL: Sounds pretty cool, Crow.
CROW: ...and I'd punch Batman around, just so he didn't get any big
ideas.
JOEL: I'd try to bring the Earth to a new era of peace and harmony,
without war, hunger, or poverty.
TOM: I'd make it with Wonder Woman.
JOEL: That's a good idea, too.
TOM: And Hawkgirl and Black Canary and...
JOEL: Okay, Tom.
> Chapter One:
CROW: "In Which Certain Events From The Past Come Back To Tear Apart
The Present And An Enemy Long Thought Dead Is Shown To Be Very Much The
Contrary."
>
>
> "Are you here for masturbation?"
TOM: Er, sorry, love, I'm just here to clean the windows.
CROW: Boy, this story just grabs you from the beginning, doesn't it?
> "Excuse me?" Lana Lang snapped as her eyes widened in
>indignation.
CROW: Apparently Lana regularly mistakes indignation for astonishment.
TOM: I've got a sneaking suspicion it's all dull surprise from here.
> "Oh, sorry," the sanitarium worker seemed to shrink
>deep within himself as he realized his mistake,
JOEL: Yeah, I think we've all had dates like that.
TOM: Joel!
>"new
>therapy program, Dr. Hans Bergle's intensive masturbation
>sessions,"
CROW (as worker): Sponsored by Gatorade, oddly enough.
TOM: "Hans Bergle?"
>he explained. "Down Room 229, Ward E,"
JOEL: Ward E? Isn't that the place where all the radio stations play
"Crazy Train" over and over and over again?
CROW: No, it's like when you walk out of the Burn Ward and right into
the Other Burn Ward!
TOM: I think it's like watching a bunch of really old people eat bucket
after bucket of fried chicken.
ALL shudder.
>he
>continued, gesturing in the appropriate direction. "We
>get a lot of people for that, lately.
TOM: Um, Joel, what's he talking about?
JOEL: Um, I don't know, Tom.
TOM: No, seriously, what is he trying to get Lana to do?
JOEL: Well...
TOM: She certainly seems to be upset about it. What is it, exactly?
JOEL: This is not a productive area of discussion.
>You just had 'the
>look,' about you, you know."
JOEL: The look of someone fantasizing about a
disabling-though-non-crippling injury?
> Lana had, of course, never been either so offended in
>her life nor quite so specifically offended; she was
>fairly tempted to ask the technician what, exactly, this
>"look" she had was,
CROW: It's an enchantment that disguises her true elf-shape and allows
her to walk unmolested through the World of Man!
TOM: Huh, not working to well, then.
>but she quickly pushed such concerns
>aside. "Look," she said, biting back venom,
CROW (as Lana): I have a View-Master!
>"I'm here to
>see a friend of mine.
TOM (as Lana): His name is Arch Hall, Jr.
>I called ahead, my name is Lana Lang..."
CROW: Although I also respond to Vicki Vale or Silver St. Cloud.
> At that the worker's face flashed with recognition.
JOEL: Like many deep-sea creatures, the local sanitarium workers
produce their own light when they successfully identify credited
members of the cast.
CROW: Cool, dad!
>"Ohhhhh...
ALL: I thought you were *Dale!*
>you want Room 138!
ALL groan.
>Down that way."
>He said,
> pointing in the opposite direction.
> Lana thanked the man
TOM: With the butt of a sawed-off shotgun.
>and proceeded towards the
>indicated room. She was almost out of earshot when she
>heard him call back to her,
TOM: "Nice hinder!"
JOEL: "You left you blinkers on!"
CROW: "Do you still have my copy of 'Shaolin Soccer?'"
>"But I'll tell you now,
>masturbation won't help those two!"
CROW (as man): Damned if that stops them, though.
>
> Of course Lana knew what the technician had been
>getting at before she opened the door
TOM: And was instantly hit by a wall of stank unlike anything she dared
to dream of.
>and found them,
>even his sense of normality, warped as it had been from
>years of service in this and other mental institutions,
>could still appreciate someone being just a little off,
JOEL: Apparently you *do* have to be crazy to work there.
>and what Lana found in Room 138 was no disappointment.
CROW (Lana): Paper towels! Kleenex! Heavy industrial rolls of toilet
tissue! I've found the mother lode!
> Clark Kent and Lex Luthor sat at opposite ends of
>square institutional card table,
TOM: Trying to grift the zanies out of all the pudding they had.
>their mutual silence
>just another white coat of sterility on the blank walls,
TOM (shaking his head): Another tragic metaphor crash.
>both young men completely motionless.
CROW: Apparently Edison has yet to invent the Rotoscope.
>Clark had the look
>of clean-cut certainty and single-minded drive on his
>face previously reserved for Cold War radioactive lizard
>movies and Depression-era comic book heroes,
JOEL: Let's just let that one go, okay?
TOM: Hey, I was just thinking about how much I miss watching Cold War
lizard movies.
CROW: Those were better times, weren't they?
>he stared
>into Lex's eyes as if trying to read his aura; the whole
TOM: Joel, I getting "slash" vibes left and right here.
JOEL: Always a possibility in fanfiction, Servo.
TOM: But...
JOEL: Just do your best and don't worry.
TOM: Okay...
>picture might have had the flavor of a massive staring
>contest had not Lex's glazed eyes been unfocussed on
>nothing in particular.
TOM: Mumbling to himself and manning his handle.
CROW (shakes his head): Same old Lex!
> "Clark," Lana said, carefully approaching Clark but not
>interrupting his field of vision,
ALL, sleazy: "Field of vision," eh?
>having made that
>mistake just once before.
TOM: Yeah, get caught in the heat vision and you learn *real* fast to
watch where you step.
CROW: Kentucky Fried Human: Extra Crispy Style.
>"It's me. It's Lana."
CROW (Lana, cheerful): I brought my world-famous grilled cheese
sammiches and a pharmacy full of prophylactics. I was hoping we could
have a picnic!
> "Lana, I'm think I'm on the verge of a breakthrough,"
JOEL (Clark): It will look like a pump and *feel* like a sneaker!
CROW (Lana): Um...
>Clark said without, somehow, moving his jaw or anything
>else.
CROW: He's a really cheap woozle!
TOM: I think he's just out of synch with the dub.
> "Of course you are, Clark," Lana managed in her most
>reassuring tone,
TOM (Lana): Now let's get you washed up and straight to bed, you've got
school tomorrow.
>"but you're parents and I want you to
>come home." Now she let her concern show through,
CROW (Lana): Which is to say your parents are out of town.
>"If
>only for a little while."
> Again, Clark did not even flinch. "I was just home."
TOM: I traveled there and back in the millisecond you just blinked. By
the way, your package from Good Vibrations arrived.
CROW: He's oddly more Supermanly here than he is on the show.
TOM: Yeah, it's nice to see the old detached, inhuman Clark instead of
the whiney 35-year-old adolescent we've been stuck with ere these last
five years.
CROW: Makes me wish I was reading "Kingdom Come," though.
TOM: Yeah.
> Lana sighed and said "Clark, that was five days ago."
> No response.
JOEL: Just like the day my Magic 8-Ball broke.
> "Clark," she was pleading with him now,
TOM (Lana): Please let me stay up 'til Conan! Pleeeeeeaaaaasseee!
>"you need to
>take a step away from this for a few days. Maybe even
>weeks. Get a fresh perspective on all this."
JOEL (Lana): Or some clean clothes.
> His jaw seemed carved out of granite.
TOM: Oh, so Alex Ross *is* doing the art for this one.
> "Clark," Lana placed a gentle hand on his shoulder,
>"it's been two years now."
All exhale loudly.
TOM: Geez, no wonder she's so horny.
> That much Clark had not, could not have, lost track
>of. It had been two years since Lex had his psychic
>break,
TOM: Unfortunately, he tried to repair his psyche quickly using duct
tape and Gorilla Glue, instantly driving down ther value in the
collector's market.
> two years since he uttered his last words to Clark or
>anyone and, given the nature of those words, Clark hardly
>found any consolation in being the one to hear them.
JOEL (Clark): I already knew Geico could save me money on car
insurance, damn it!
>In
>the time since, Clark had been a frequent visitor to
>Belle Reve,
TOM: Scaring the hell out of the inmates by constantly bursting into
song.
>a fact that both Lana and his parents had
>hoped would somewhat lessen with the inevitable
>realization that there was simply nothing Clark could do
>to help his closest friend.
CROW: So, this is where Superman learns that with great power comes
great responsibility?
TOM: Crow, this is Superman. He never learns jack.
>However, what had come to
>pass was quite the reverse.
JOEL: Dear God! Clark's powers have been reversed by rare! ...mint
green! ...Kryptonite!
>As time went on, Clark
TOM: Aged visibly and became a vast, beery corpse, leading many to
question his plausibility as an ageless immortal and the ultimately
leading to the cancellation of his show.
CROW: Servo, you're thinking of Boreanaz again.
TOM: Oh, right. [Chuckles] Boreanaz.
>became more and more obsessed with Lex's problem and came
>to blame himself more for it. This was only worsened by
JOEL: The fact that he'd taken to doing his Dame Edna impression
virtually round the clock.
>the sudden, completely unexplained disappearance of the
>meteor-freaks that used to occupy Clark's time on a
>nearly weekly basis
TOM: Hey Joel, where do you think all the monsters of the week go
during the summer hiatus?
JOEL: Oh, they take a few months off to travel to other
small-towns-that-are-inexplicable-beacons-for-the-unexplained, see
their latex and mood-lighting families, and maybe do a forgettable
summer feature or two.
TOM: Oh, okay.
>;upset as Lana and his parents were
>by these weekly dangers, they soon came to understand
>such activities were essential to both Clark's mental and
>physical well-being,
CROW: Or, at the very least, padded out the scripts with gratuitous
violence.
>keeping him occupied and testing his
>powers to their limits; such a distraction would do well
>now,
TOM: Might even provide a plot of some kind.
>but both meteor rocks and meteor freaks seemed to
>have gone extinct overnight
JOEL: Despite speeches by our most distracting politicians.
TOM: Damn school kids have been rolling and smoking 'em.
>and with school behind him,
>there's was now nothing else to hold Clark's attentions.
JOEL: Oh, it's going to be like "St. Elmo's Fire."
TOM: Um, I don't think so.
JOEL: Oh, sure, they're all going to come to terms with the second
adolescence, and laugh and cry and ultimately accept that the future
they've all been following was just an illusion.
TOM: Joel, almost everything in Rob Lowe's speech is wildly inaccurate,
the characters in "Smallville" have been tied down their futures for
five long, agonizing years, and that movie was so bad not even the
presence of Judd Nelson could save it.
JOEL: Well, granted, but...
> "Lana," Clark repeated the phrase that had become his
>mantra, "the answer is in me. I can feel it."
TOM (Clark): And the answer is... "when all else fails, play dead."
> "I know, Clark," she said, taking him by his arm and
>forcing him to rise from his seat,
CROW (basso): Arise, Rodimus Prime!
"I know."
> As Clark stood up, he felt Lana behind,
JOEL: Earning him a prompt mallet to the head and the standard "baka."
TOM: Somehow I doubt that's where this is going.
>felt her soft
>curve of her small, perfect breast
CROW: Gave her his card as copy editor for "Perfect Ten" magazine.
>against his massive
TOM: Attack.
>back
CROW: All hairy and spotty and greasy and gross.
TOM: I was close, though.
>and for a split second snapped back into reality.
JOEL (as Clark as Keanu Reeves): Whoa.
>Lana is the only brief spot of life in this entire room,
> this entire hospital.
CROW (in his classic film strip scientist voice): Witness with me the
healing power of *boobies*.
>She is warm and bright and
>breathing while Lex and I and even the walls around us
>have become cold and dull and lifeless.
TOM: Fortunately, with new Vitale Sassoon Ultra Hollywood Hair, color,
style, and body were only five minutes of searing, blinding agony away!
>How could I have
>missed it, he thought, it's all so obvious.
JOEL (slaps his forehead): Plastics!
BOTS: Huh? What? Etc.
> Lana could tell something had changed in Clark, she
>could sense it.
TOM: Ah, yes, dull surprise abounds.
CROW: It's just like a big dinosaur movie!
>"Clark?" her voice was choked with hope.
> "Lana..." he could feel the warm pulsating from her very
>core, strange red Eden.
CROW: Geez, makes her lady-place sound like a special move from a
Japanese role-playing game.
> "Clark?" She looked deep into his eyes as they burned
>like splitting atoms.
TOM (Clark): Do you think the Pet Shop Boys would speak at
Commencement?
CROW (Lana, disappointed): Oh... I don't know.
> He was silent for a few seconds, then he said, "Do you
>think Lex might be the messiah?" and she knew the light
>had gone out again.
CROW (Lana, pleading): But why? WHY?!?
TOM: Because it was made in Taiwan where they have no manufacturing
standards and don't believe in God.
CROW (Lana): And yet I'm still not satisfied.
> "I... don't know, Clark," she choked,
CROW: Oh, God, we're losing her! Quick, Servo, give her the Heimlich!
>leading him out the
>door.
> Clark nodded, beaming child-like pride
JOEL: He's like the kid who sold the most candy bars.
>for his new
>theory. "The leper messiah...
TOM (Lana): Well, he *has* been wandering around healing himself
lately.
>I think he'd like that."
> As the door closed behind them, Lana found herself awash
>in an involuntary wave of cynicism. "Yes, Clark, I
>imagine he would..."
CROW: And I imagine it would go *something* like this...
> Neither of them heard, as the door slammed shut behind
>them, Lex Luthor, his mind full of jellies and apricots,
TOM: Boy, Nurse Ratchet really plays fast and loose with the
medication, doesn't she?
>as he muttered once more his last words to Clark Kent;
>words Clark had been too frightened to share with anyone
>else...
TOM: Strangely it was "You got peanut butter in my chocolate."
CROW: No one knows why.
>then once again fell silent.
JOEL: Like a thousand voices...
TOM: Please, no.
>
>Far underneath Smallville, in a disused LuthorCorp
>facility
TOM: Behind a door that read "beware of the leopard,"
>forgotten by all save Lionel Luthor who took the
>blueprints with him to the grave a strange,
TOM: Along with the secret recipe for the MegaNut LuthorBar.
>mad
>celebration was well underway. The meteor freaks, danced
>and swayed around their great erection.
CROW: So they only had one big one to share between them?
JOEL: I think they mean they built something very big. I *think.*
>For the last
>sixteen months they had been acting in secret, shunning
>the light and the human world and its ways,
TOM: Ah, freshmen and their Massives.
>building
>their own nation amid the rubble. They no longer had
>names;
CROW: Or they did, but the writers were too lazy to come up with them.
TOM: Let's just say they're all called "Buford."
>they had even surrendered language, adopting a
>series of emotional aggregates
CROW: And interpretative dance.
TOM: Naturally.
>and, for some, a sort of
>limited mental telepathy. For sixteen months they had
>worked under cover of night,
CROW: With horrible, scarring acne like that, who can blame them?
>stealing the precious
>kryptonite from the other world,
TOM: Purchasing it at local conventions, then selling it on eBay at
inflated prices.
>digging it from the
>ground or diving for it beneath the waters. Sixteen
>months and now it was done.
TOM: Now the Son of Jor-El would BOW BEFORE THEM!
JOEL: You do realize that's your quota for the experiment.
TOM: But--
JOEL: Sorry, Tommy, but everybody gets *one*.
> The statue took up most of the lab area,
TOM: It was made of elephant dung and was said to resemble the Duchess
of York from a certain angle.
>while it was
>naturally composed largely of the more common green K,
>there were stripes of red, blue, and white
JOEL: ... and shocking pink...
CROW: ... and lamb and turkey...
TOM: And original recipe with optional crispy strips.
>and now they
>had the most important element;
JOEL: Love.
>never before seen but
>they all knew it had to be real: the only miniscule piece
>of gold kryptonite on the entire planet.
JOEL: Easily recognizable for it caramel coating and the prize that
came with it.
CROW: It'll pull your teeth right out!
>As the freak
>specially chosen for the task
TOM: By Frank Zappa.
>began to fuse the gold K
>into the larger chunk with his heat vision, a mere shadow
>of the true Krpytonian's,
CROW: Cyclops? Is that you?
TOM: Knew he got away somehow.
>the freaks around him danced
>themselves into a Bacchanalian frenzy,
TOM, deadpan: And they danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced. They
were liars in love and they danced.
JOEL, ditto: And they danced and danced and danced.
>hearing a music
>twinkling from the hazy cosmos themselves.
CROW: This is like a really is a bad remake of "Labyrinth," isn't it?
JOEL: Except that nothing happens.
CROW: Oh, what I wouldn't give for an odd, quipping puppet right about
now.
>
TOM: Hey, the doors are opening.
CROW: Excellent, let's exeunt omnes
TOM: Double time.
1...2...3...4...5...G
Servo sits behind the counter with a magazine and a bagelwich of
undetermined variety set out in front of him. Crow enters from the
side.
TOM: Huh, I didn't know mammals could bend like that.
CROW: Hey, Tommy! What's the haps?
TOM: Oh, hi, Crow. I was just reading the new issue of Maxim and
eating my General Tso's Tofu sammich.
CROW: Hmm, sounds good.
TOM: Oh, it's *very* good.
Suddenly the Hexfield irises open to reveal a bald white man with a
wardrobe that would bankrupt the show for several seasons and an
unshakeable aura of smooth. The Bots never turn to face him directly.
TOM: Hi, Lex.
LUTHOR I: Thomas, Crow, a pleasure as always [sips from a highball.]
CROW: We're, uh, we're reading one of your fanfics. "Moonage
Daydream?" Remember that one?
LUTHOR I: But of course, Crow. In fact, I arranged for you to read it
myself.
TOM: You gave Forrester this incomprehensible stinkwad?
LUTHOR I shakes his head in utter condescension: No, Thomas, you
misunderstand me. I am the true mastermind behind your current
imprisonment [sips from a martini glass.]
CROW: But, Dr. Forrester-
LUTHOR I: ...Is just another unwitting pawn in my cosmic game of chess.
[sips from a glass of brandy.] You see, my friends, nothing may come
to pass on this plane without my first giving it the rubber stamp of
approval. I am the Alpha and I am the Omega. I control the vertical.
I control the horizontal.
TOM: Um, that's really cool, Lex.
LUTHOR: But, of course, now that you know all this...
CROW: You just told us.
LUTHOR: ...We have to think about how we're going to proceed from here.
I could destroy you, obviously, but I think it would be more
interesting to...
MIKE o/s: Arghh! Arghh! All right! I'll talk! I'll talk! Just...
for God's sake... let me die!
LUTHOR I: Please excuse me, I must check on that.
The Hexfield irises closed.
CROW: So, who's in this month's Maxim, there, Tom?
TOM: Jenna Fischer.
CROW: Aw, cool, can I see?
TOM: By all means.
Crow begins to flip through the magazine eagerly, when suddenly the
Hexfield opens to reveal an older, doughier, bald, white man (with a
disturbing resemblance to both Coleman Francis and Curly-Joe DeRita)
astride a distinctly Seventies-looking green and purple battle mech.
Crow and Tom never look up from their Maxim.
LUTHOR II: Crush! Kill! Destroy!
TOM: Oh, hi, Lex.
LUTHOR II: Luthor mad! Rawr rawr! Luthor kill!
CROW: That's good, sweetie.
LUTHOR II: Luthor will have his revenge! Gar-garghgar! Gringr-snark!
TOM: Hm, I smell bread.
LUTHOR II: Rawrl-ra! Arrooo...
The Hexfield irises shut once again.
CROW: Huh. I didn't see that one coming.
TOM: What?
CROW: Jenna says in real life she'd chose Dwight.
TOM: Wow.
The Hexfield irises open to reveal a bald, white man who kind of looks
like Michael Garibaldi if he were played by Evan Handler. Again, Tom
and Crow do not look at him.
TOM: Oh, hi, Brian. What's up?
BENDIS: Well, I've just finished writing 37 of the fifty-eight comics
Marvel wants in by lunch, so I figger I've earned a thirty second
break.
CROW: Well, thank you for choosing us.
BENDIS: Hey, it's my honor. Can I get your thoughts on this new
Ultimate Spider-Man arc I'm working on?
TOM: Sure, go right ahead.
BENDIS: Well, I thought issue one would start with Peter fighting some
completely unrelated minor villain, issue two would be padding, issue
three would be a flashback to set up the current situation, issue four
would be padding, issue five would... also be padding, then issue six
would be a big, pointless fight scene that ends with the villain being
carted away by the authorities.
TOM: Sounds good. Fresh.
BENDIS: Yeah.
CROW: But... do you really think you could tell that big a story in
just six issues?
BENDIS: You're right; I'd better throw in another issue of padding.
Thanks.
The Hexfield irises closed.
TOM: You know, he didn't swear that much for being Bendis.
CROW: Maybe that was Bendis II.
The Hexfield irises open again to reveal a somewhat more Moby-ish bald,
white man.
TOM: Oh, hi, Lex.
The commercial sign flashes.
LUTHOR-E: Hi, guys, I just wanted to let you know that it's all gonna
work out.
TOM: Oh, well, that's, um... great, Lex. [To Crow, under his breath]:
Carkeys-carkeys-carkeys!
LUTHOR-E: You know, you're really both such beautiful people and...
[Tearing up] I'm sorry, I promised myself I wasn't going to cry
today...
CROW tapping the button with his beak: We'll be right back.
TOM, clearly uncomfortable: Um... it's okay, Lex... just, um, let it
all out, I guess...
Commercials.
G...5...4...3...2...1
Joel and the Bots file into their appropriate seats and sit down.
TOM: Hey, how did all those Luthors get our number anyway?
CROW: I think we gave it one Luthor and he passed it on to all the
others.
TOM: Makes sense.
> Chapter Two:
JOEL: Do you think we should take a moment here to recap what's
happened so far? Before we move on?
TOM: Joel, we don't know what's happened so far.
JOEL: Oh, right...
>
>
> "Oh, I'm sorry, am I offending the perverts?"
TOM: No, I'm cool. Crow?
CROW: No more than usual.
TOM: Excellent. [To Fic] Carry on, then.
> "Ms. Lang," Dr. Bergle tried to calm the fuming Lana
>with an out-stretched arm (which she duly dodged),
JOEL: Oh, she must have interned with Bill O'Reilly.
>"these
>men and women aren't 'perverts' at all,
TOM (as Bergle): Well, *he* is and I am, but that's the extent of it.
>they're very
>troubled individuals deserving of your respect and
>patience
JOEL (as Bergle): And a few rounds of jumping jacks, if it's not too
much trouble.
>who happen to be best served by my own unique
>brand of therapy."
CROW: Which means chocolaty Klondike bars, and lots of 'em!
> Lana raised an eyebrow. "Your brand of therapy? You
>get total strangers to sit in a circle and masturbate;
>that just isn't normal."
TOM: Kept "Baywatch" on the air for ten years, though.
CROW: To say nothing of Dead Or Alive.
> "Ms. Lang," Dr. Bergle again tried to defuse the
>situation,
JOEL: But he cut the wrong wire and the whole room went down in flames.
>he knew being verbally abused by a young woman
>as beautiful as Lana would be emotionally crippling to
>his patients, he even feared some of them might never
>masturbate again.
TOM: And where will *that* leave the editors of Maxim?
JOEL: Andy Sedaris is called in.
> "Dr. Bergle," Lana said, regaining some of her
>collection.
CROW (as Lana): Thank God I have these back! I never should have sold
my back issues of "Groo the Wanderer!"
>She had always been a sweet, understanding
>girl,
JOEL: Like a Savoy truffle with the Dalai Lama in the center.
>but the years of weekly bouts of being knocked
>unconscious
TOM: Ah, that ancient mystery that all girls must cycle through as they
grow into women.
JOEL: Um... not quite, Tommy.
>by various meteor- born freaks had proven
>severely draining to her bullshit tolerance.
CROW (grimly): Now she was out for justice.
TOM (as Lana in the kind of voice Frank Miller probably thinks in):
Smallville's a hideous bitch goddess that gets you down on your knees
begging for mercy or you're begging for more, more, more... then she
takes you out back and kicks your skull in while her new boyfriend Tony
laughs at you and calls you a puss.
JOEL: Still bitter, Tom?
TOM: Not really.
>"I don't
>mean to disrupt your... session, but I need answers.
TOM, rapid fire: 37!
CROW, ditto: The Teapot Dome Scandal!
JOEL, ditto: Who is Ben Stein?
>Yesterday, Lex Luthor was in his room with no signs of
>going anywhere any time soon.
CROW: He just broke out all his old ColecoVision games and his
all-Pavement mix tape.
TOM (shaking his head): We won't be seeing *him* for a while.
>Today, he's vanished
>without a trace. Tell me where he is."
JOEL (as Bergle): Fife, Alabama. Nobody knows why.
> Dr. Bergle gave Lana what he hoped was a sincere look
>of remorse, but he suspected such gesture was somewhat
>hurt by the extend
CROW: Now, *there's* a telling typographical error.
>to which he memorized her every petite
>curve for later session work. "I can honestly tell you
>that I have no idea.
TOM (tour guide): And here on the right you can see where the fic is to
make the Porno Leap, but hasn't quite got the guts.
JOEL and CROW: Ooohhh... Ahhh...
>No one broke into the hospital,
TOM: Two killer robots, a drunken wino, and some big Native American
guy broke *out* the other day, but that's another story.
>no
>one signed Mr. Luthor out, and I can hardly imagine he
>walked out of his own accord."
CROW: We replaced him with Professor X a few weeks ago. So far no
one's noticed!
TOM: Oh, it's going to be a good long while before anyone goes looking
for *him* again.
CROW: Still, the Juggernaut line was cute.
TOM: Nah, it was just too easy.
>Lana's eyes flared,
CROW: Reducing Bergle to ash in seconds.
TOM: Did we do that one already?
CROW: I don't think it matters.
>but she kept her cool and managed
>to curtly thank Dr. Bergle before ruefully slamming to
>door on him
JOEL (as Bergle): My hand! My hand!
>and his whole crew of wankers.
ALL: Our hands! Our hands!
CROW: Talk about a vital loss!
>"How am I
>ever going to explain this to Clark," she thought.
TOM: Well, I guess start with the masturbation and sort of work your
way back from there.
CROW: Mm-Hm!
>
> For the first time in months Lex Luthor was being to
>gain some measure of awareness of his surroundings.
JOEL (as Lex, thinking): Let's see... rivers of hot butterscotch,
chocolate chip mountains, vanilla-blue sky... It's the Land of Dairy
Queen, all right.
>Four
>walls, grey, this time, not white.
CROW: Someone must have snuck in and painted the walls!
TOM: Gasp!
>The scent of
>industrialization
CROW: Easily recognized by the accompanying scent of throat and lung
cancer.
TOM (gasping seductively): And globules the color of tomato ketchup.
But it flows...
>(he knew it well, it was as integral to
>his role as a captain of industry as his million dollar
>suits and youthful indiscretions)
JOEL: There were indiscretions in your golden and middle years to hush
up as well.
TOM: Not to mention politicians to buy, lobbyists to fund,
environmental reports to shred...
CROW: It's the hardest job you'll ever love.
>was all around, and he
>was being monitored.
TOM: Forcing him to recall the shameful incident that lead to his
lifetime barring from Lord & Taylor.
CROW: And the awful truth that rating weren't what they had been in
previous seasons.
> In each of his hands he held six Lego men, each a
>different of race, profession, and appearance, at least
>so far as the limitations of their maker allowed.
TOM: Dear God, he's been kidnapped by Tron Bonne!
CROW: You know, she really is my ideal woman.
TOM: Yeah, whatever, Crow.
>His
>eyes wide with child-like wonder,
JOEL: Oh, he's been, um, sniffing the paint thinner again.
TOM: Clearly *someone* has.
>Lex named them each in
>turn: Matthew, Thomas, Peter, and the others.
JOEL: Alvin, Simon, Theodore...
>Finding an
>open drain in the floor, Lex
TOM: Soon found himself slashed to death by an irate Man-Thing.
>delighted himself by
>dangling the little Lego men above the gaping void,
CROW (as Data): Guys! I was saved by my Pinchers of Peril!
>frightening some with the prospect of their own mortality
JOEL: Others were more well adjusted and accepted their death as an
inevitability.
>and dropping only those he deemed fit. Others he
>beheaded with a flick of his thumb,
CROW: Or took them to Taco Bell and made them order off the dollar
menu.
JOEL and TOM wince sympathetically.
>or ripped to their
>component parts, only to build new, hybridized Lego men
>out of the bits of the fallen.
CROW: Kind of like Marvel in the early Nineties.
TOM: Oh, you mean Image?
> If Lex still had access to his memories, he would find
>that this was the happiest he had been in his life,
TOM: What, better than the trip to the fudge factory?
CROW: Better than the day he found the keys to the jam cupboard?
JOEL: Guys, it was even better than the day he got fifty percent off on
Mentos!
BOTS: Wow...
>looking down on these men over whom had been given
>dominion. They were Legos in the hands of an angry god.
TOM: Um. Yeah.
> Presently, one of his captors turned to speak to the
>other. "How long has he been like this?"
JOEL (as second captor): Every since the *tractor accident.*
>
> All the way back to the barn, Lana had tried to think
>what she would say to Clark about Lex's disappearance.
CROW: And how she could subtly encourage him to use mouthwash. Yeech!
>Obviously he would be devastated,
TOM: As would the city shortly thereafter.
>it would be a safe bet
> that he would try to find Lex as he always had before in
>such cases,
TOM: Leading, as it often did, to bawdy French farce.
CROW: Oh, I love bawdy French farce!
TOM: Of course you do! Everybody does!
>frequent as they once had been. But Lana
>knew that it would be different this time. Clark was
>above Lex right now
CROW: I *knew* this would all end in slash.
TOM: At this point, I'd be happy just to have something *happen*.
>in terms of mental and physical
>health, but just barely. Even if he found Lex, Lana had
>serious doubts he could go toe to toe with his captors,
>whatever they may be.
CROW: Yeah, old Clark's always having his ass handed to him.
TOM: In *this* show he is.
>By the time Lana was in visual
>distance of the farm, she knew she had other things to
>worry about.
JOEL: Her printer just died on her and the big essay contest is
tomorrow!
TOM: Eh, Jimmy's got that sewn up, anyway.
> Red light like Amsterdam in the New Year poured out of
>every window in Clark's loft;
JOEL: Then she heard the music and realized they were filming a
Smirnoff commercial.
>that weird, rushing steam
>that somehow only exists in old horror movies burped and
>gargled out with it.
JOEL: Oh, she's wandered into George A. Romero's Fright Nights.
TOM: Okay, *now* this is making sense!
>Lana ran into the barn, not fully
>knowing what to expect, completely unprepared for what
>she was about to see.
JOEL: Plate after plate of delicious, healthy meals for the whole
family! Rachael Ray had done it again!
BOTS: Yum-O!
>Clark, naked as a Greek Olympian,
TOM: Was fondling a pre-pubescent boy.
JOEL: Um... standards?
>stood a full foot above the ground, his face contorted in
>pure hatred. His eyes, burning like twin nuclear pylons,
CROW: Guest writer: Rick Veitch.
TOM: And Alan Moore.
CROW: And J. Michael Straczynski.
TOM: And... hell, this image has been ripped off more than Gwen Stacy
on the Bridge.
>were the source of the red light,
JOEL: Although the soundtrack by Interpol remained a subject of much
bafflement.
>and, though this light
>brought the request heat with it, it was a heat that
>burned Lana like ice.
JOEL: And strangely had a soothing vapor action! Action! Action!
>Involuntarily, Lana's eyes drifted
>downward
TOM: Facing dog.
CROW: *I'll* say she was!
>and she was shocked and even a bit frightened to
>find that his penis
CROW: Was make entirely out Nestle brand chocolate!
ALL gasp.
>(a schlong of REMARKABLE girth) was
>granite hard and pointed straight at her.
TOM: Don't make any sudden movements! It could go off at any second!
> She wondered if Clark was aware she was in the room with
>him.
CROW: Oh, I think *that's* a safe bet.
>She wondered if he could see her with his burning
>eyes or if he could somehow see everything.
TOM: Oh, then could you ask him to help me find my keys?
>Clark
>brought such concerns to a close when he finally spoke.
> "I know what's happening, Lana."
CROW: Glad to see someone does.
>It was all too much for Lana to take in.
ALL: Mm-hmm. Yeah.
>"Clark?"
> He nodded. "I am power itself, Lana." He said in a
>voice that sounded like mountains a universe away. "I am
>Superman."
ALL, singing: And I can do anything!
>
CROW: Should I feel cheated that we're this far into the fic and the
only thing I really know so far is what music the authors have in their
iPod?
JOEL: Don't worry about, Ralphie-honey.
CROW: Okay, daddy.
TOM: C'mon, let's get out of here. Pick me up, Joel.
ALL exit.
1...2...3...4...5...G
The Bridge of the Satellite has been completely covered with Superman
memorabilia: everywhere there are stacks of comic books, toys, posters
for the various movies, and, in a place of honor, a shrine to the baby
Jesus that has been repainted so that he appears to be wearing
Superman's cape and emerging from his spaceship. Tom and Crow, dressed
like the Kryptonians from Superman II, do homage to the statue.
TOM, bowing and chanting: OoooOOOOoooo... Chant with me, Crow.
TOM & CROW: O, Man Of Metropolis, steal our hearts... O, Man of
Metropolis, steal our hearts...
Joel walks in, drinking a FayGo Red Pop and eating sammich.
JOEL: Hi, Tom, Hi, Crow.
CROW: Hi, Joel.
TOM: Hokay hey.
Joel continues walking for a bit, takes a long sip of his soda,
realizes what's going on around him, pauses, then does the king of all
spit takes.
JOEL: Jumping Jebus on a pogo stick!!! What's going on here!?!
BOTS, a little guilty: Nothing.
JOEL: You two are worshipping Superman, aren't you?
TOM, not at all convincing: No.
JOEL: Yes, you are! [He gestures all around] Look at all this! You
two are clearly worshipping Superman!!
CROW: Well, it just makes sense doesn't it? I mean, people worship
Jesus and he can't even fly!
Pause.
CROW, uncertain: Can he?
JOEL: You can't compare Jesus to Superman!
TOM: Oh, c'mon, Joel, Superman and Jesus are two peas in a pod!
Superman was sent down to Earth to by a loving father from beyond the
stars, he lives a life of self-sacrifice and courage, he died for our
sins and then he rose up again more powerful than ever...
TOM: ... Only he had the remarkable good taste to it in a 38-issue,
multi-book, crossover event. And now Crow and I have turned to his
teachings to fill the vast, vast, cavernous voids of apathy and despair
in our meaningless little lives that would otherwise devour as whole.
CROW: Now we dedicate our every waking moment to studying the sacred
texts of our newfound faith, trying to unlock the hidden secrets weaven
therein.
JOEL: So you have... what? The Siegel Code? The John Byrne Code?
Tom and Crow share a conspiratorial glare.
BOTS: The Kirby Code!
JOEL, understandably confused: The Kirby Code?
TOM, in the hushed tones of awe: Joel, as you may well remember, in the
early 1970s Jack "The King" Kirby, the man who single-handedly created
every Marvel Comics character worth mentioning took over the Jimmy
Olsen comic book series.
JOEL, unsure: Um... okay?
TOM, as before: And, in each and every panel of those sacred volumes,
Kirby hid part of a secret code. A code that, if revealed, could bring
every government in the world crashing down to its knees.
JOEL: Okay...
TOM: Yes, and I have given over my life to study, prayer, and
meditation on this sacred mystery, that the secrets may be revealed and
that Kal-El may see my faith and devotion and love me above all others.
Pause.
JOEL: And why did you join this cult, Crow?
CROW, chipper as ever: Oh, I just like the uniforms.
JOEL: They are cute.
TOM: Infidels.
Movie sign commences, chaos ensues.
JOEL: Weeeee've got Moooooooooovie Siiiiiiiiiigggnnn!!!
G...5...4...3...2...1
It's an orgy of bloody and gore as Joel and the Bots jockey for
position... or else they politely file into their respective seats.
One of the two.
JOEL: Tom, if it makes you feel better, most religions fail in the
first year.
TOM: I don't want to talk about it.
JOEL, trying to change the subject: So, uh, what you think of the fic
so far?
TOM: Worse than "The Wild World of Batwoman," but better than the
"Universe X."
JOEL: Fair enough.
> Chapter Three:
CROW: "Descent Into The Forbidden Liar of Lust!"
JOEL: "The Mystery of the Lace Stocking."
TOM: "The Death Dance of Marlius Atrophy."
>
>
> "And I have not yet begun to fuck with people!" Clark
>Kent roared from high above the small farm town.
TOM: Silent years of frustration against John Cougar Mellencamp finally
catalyzed.
CROW: Hey, who can blame him?
> It had been three days since he rose into the sky from
>his loft, his eyes burning so brightly he had been
>enveloped in the light.
JOEL: But now the lights were gone and we would not see their kind
again.
TOM: As usual, it was all flash and promises, only to end up leading
back to square one.
>In that time, his powers had
>only seemed to grow with his increasing rage;
ALL, bored: Now Clark crush.
>great red
>clouds had formed around the last son of Krypton, his
>power radiated out in vast crashing winds:
JOEL: Oh, he's having a "Highlander" moment.
TOM: Either that or filming any music video from 1987.
>to the
>outsiders,
CROW: It was clear another rumble with the Socs was in the offing.
>it might have seemed that all of Smallville
>had been devoured by round, spherical tornado.
CROW: Or that Smallville had been absorbed by a giant jell-o mould.
TOM: I hate jell-o.
JOEL: Oh, come on, there's always room for jell-o.
> Clark knew that the damage was he doing was doing was
>mainly property, all the citizens of the town had long
>since gone underground,
TOM: Where they immediately came into conflict with several dozen races
of tunnel-dwellers.
>to shelters built after the
>meteor showers or twisters,
JOEL: As well as wedgies, purple nerples, and even "the dreaded rear
admiral."
>some even left over from the
>Fifties;
JOEL: Easily recognizable by the big, Drew Carey glasses over the front
of the building and the super-rise chinos.
>but all that did little to placate his rage.
TOM: This is where the rabbit from the commercials would mix up some
chocolaty Quik and send him on his way.
CROW: What a plot twist that would be.
>He
>would find who had taken Lex Luthor and he would punish
>them.
CROW: He had his flyswatter and nipple clamps at the ready.
>It was his fault Lex was in his current state,
JOEL: Wisconsin.
TOM: No wonder he blames himself.
>anything
> else that happened to him from here was also on Clark's
>head.
JOEL: At least it was until he switched to Head and Shoulders.
CROW: Guaranteed to strip the paint of a boat or you money back!
> Clark knew this wasn't going to end well.
TOM: Smart money was it wouldn't even end.
>He could
>feel it. Privately he made a wish that Lana would get
>out of this alive,
CROW: And that the local Kroger still carried that pizza with the sauce
in the crust.
>and he kept storming.
TOM, hammy: Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the...
JOEL: That's plenty, Tom.
TOM: But... but... okay.
>
> Chloe Sullivan sat on the floor in her underwear amidst
>spend bags of Fritos and crumpled magazines, PlayStation
>control in her left hand, rancid pizza in the other.
JOEL: That reminds me, I have to call my ex-girlfriend.
>Her room stank of stale female musk and marijuana and Lana
>was starting to have serious concerns about her friend's
>current daily hygiene regime.
CROW: Hey, Joel.
JOEL: Yeah, Crow?
CROW: Who do you think the authors of this fic like better: Chloe or
Lana?
JOEL: You know, little buddy, I'm not sure.
CROW: Hmm, me either.
JOEL: If only there were some little clue.
>"Did you find anything out
>about Lex?"
TOM (as Chloe): Yeah, apparently he can recite the whole script for
"Monster Squad" from memory! How cool is that?
CROW (as Lana): I meant anything *relevant.*
TOM: Oh. Then, no.
>Lana asked, already suspecting the answer.
JOEL: "Reply hazy, ask again."
CROW: No, it was "Julie Meadows," oddly enough.
> Chloe shook her head, eyes not even leaving the game as
>the squeals of death blasted out of the screen,
CROW (as Chloe, stoned): Hey, we got about twenty minutes until the
Kung Pao gets here, wanna make out a little?
>"Well, no
>one's made any ransom demands and there's always
>disgruntled LuthorCorp employees out for blood. They
>probably had someone on the inside."
TOM: In a surprise plot twist, the calls turned out to be coming from
inside the house.
CROW: Wow, I never would have seen that coming.
JOEL: Worthy of the remake of "the Outer Limits."
> Lana nodded, noting that Chloe talked about the
>situation as if it were just another one of her games,
TOM: When will the government crack down on online role-playing? How
many more young lives must be ruined before they step up to the plate?
>so
>Lana did the polite thing and asked her "what are you
>playing?"
CROW (as Chloe): Virtual Valerie 3. And be quiet, I've almost beat the
high score.
> "Lego Star Wars,"
TOM: So, do we rule it as a leitmotif or just more meaningless
symbolism?
JOEL: I say we let the folks at home decide.
>Chloe told her as a Lego
>approximation of Ewan McGregor exploded into a pile of
>Lego guts,
JOEL: Oh, Begbie must have finally caught up with him.
>only to respawn unscathed a second later.
> "You realize that's Clark in there,"
TOM (as Chloe): Really? I thought it was supposed to be Ewan McGregor.
>Lana said,
>gesturing to the storm roiling outside.
TOM: We got another Apocalypse rolling into the plain states. Expect
rivers of lava, temperatures upwards of 451 Fahrenheit, and the
collapse of civilization as we know it. If you're planning on going
out tonight... you might want to reconsider as the Rapture is upon us.
We'll be providing updates on the situation as they come; now, here's
Bill with the Sports.
> Then, for the first time, Chloe paused her game and
>spun round and looked at Lana with the deepest, most
>serious eyes Lana had ever seen in her quirky little
>friend's head.
CROW (as Chloe, stoned): Do you mind if I really open up to you?
>"I know that, Lana," she said, "I think
>I'm being to understand everything that happening,"
TOM: If there's one thing I've learned in all my years orbiting this
planet, it's that the more characters who claim to understand the plot,
the less the author knows where the story is going.
>she
>said in a tone that Lana could help but believe, then she
>threw Lana a pile of papers.
TOM: Nude photos of Anne Hathaway? But why?
> "What's all this?" Lana asked, sifting through the
>print-outs.
JOEL (as Chloe): Oh, these are just lyrics from Grandmaster Flash and
The Furious Five. I thought they might prove important later.
> "I've been doing a little research on you friend Hans
>Bergle,"
TOM (as Lana): And?
CROW (as Chloe): I feel dirty.
>Chloe said, the old fire for snooping back in
>her eyes for the first time in years.
TOM: Or else she's been possessed by the old lady from "Murder, She
Wrote."
CROW: Honestly, who could tell the difference?
> "And what did you find out?"
TOM: It seems we are all one consciousness experiencing itself
subjectively and death is a dream. By the way, have you tried these
mushrooms? They rock!
>Lana found it hard to
>believe a slimy worm like Bergle could be at all integral
>to all this,
CROW: But, much like the conquering Gummy worm is invariably raises to
the top of the cup of Oreo crumbs and chocolate pudding, so too is the
most inept-seeming pervert always host to unimaginable power.
TOM: If we've learned nothing else from Japanese Animation...
>but she had to admit Chloe was better at
>seeing connections like these than herself.
TOM: Which is to say, Lana was rock stupid.
> Chloe gave her patented Chloe smirk. "Until about six
>months ago, 'Hans Bergle' went by the name 'John Byrne.'"
TOM: So long as he's not Bendis.
CROW: Or Brett Ratner.
> Lana's eyes went wide.
TOM: God, if her eyes went any wider in this thing, they'll fall right
out of their sockets!
>"And before that?"
JOEL: He played weddings and birthday parties under the name "Dr.
Funke's 100% Natural Family Band Solution."
TOM: But that's a story for another day.
>
CROW: Meanwhile, in the secret underground flying battleship
headquarters of Christian Science Ninja Team Gatchaman, Hig Hurtenskank
and his monkey legions were hard at work planning their next assault
against Tsung Tsi Tsung and his all girl army!
> Dressed, once again, in a wicked-cut black-on-black
>suit, Lex Luthor might have seemed to have returned to
>his former glory,
JOEL: Or else he's finally learned the value of a good stealth mission
under cloak of night.
TOM: Personally, I'm praying he's going for a late night jog.
>but the blank expression would more
>likely indicate the presence of a Lex mannequin than the
>genuine article.
CROW: The absence of Kim Cattrall, however, quieted that fear
instantly.
>Dr. Bergle hovered over Lex,
ALL make flying saucer noises.
>straightening his collar and wiping the smudges from his
>cheeks as Lex were his four-year-old son.
TOM: Instantly recalling Lex's years as an altar boy.
JOEL: And here I thought I programmed you two with the boundaries of
taste.
CROW: Mm... no, I don't think so.
> "Well, Lex," he said, cooing over him with real
>affection, "you've made some real progress since I took
>you in as my own personal project.
JOEL (as Bergle): I think the elbow glue and macaroni sprinkles made
all the difference in the world!
>I think we'll be
>ready for your big coming out party very, very soon."
TOM: Dialogue sparkles with the searing orange freshness of Scope!
> Dr. Bergle took a step back. There was something off
>about Lex. Mentally
TOM: Lex Mentalli: Man of Muscle Mystery!
CROW: Now with Kung Fu Grip!
>slapping himself on the forehead, he
>went in to adjust Lex's left cufflink.
JOEL (as Bergle): Now, the poisoned gas is in this cufflink, 007...
> "Yes, Lex," he continued, "I truly think that you're
>very nearly cured."
CROW (as Bergle): In the sausage sense, I mean, of course.
> Suddenly, Lex's arm wrapped itself around Bergle's neck,
>choking him.
TOM (as Bergle, choking): Safety word... safety word... What was the
damned... safety word?
>Bergle struggled, tried to break free, but
>Lex's arm was too strong, far stronger than it should
>have been.
CROW: And so Dr. Bergle was doomed by the fruits of his own training.
JOEL (shaking his head): He scampered with God's restraints.
>All that time in the hospital, Bergle
>thought, Lex's muscles should have atrophied from disuse,
>he should be weaker, barely able to move;
CROW: ...Snickersnagged by the older boys and laughed at in the locker
room after Gym Class.
>as it stands,
>he's stronger than any man Bergle had known before.
TOM: A-HEM.
CROW: And twice as fragrant!
>Finally, Bergle lost conscious from being deprived of
>oxygen,
TOM: Just like Gojira!
>Lex slammed the therapist to the ground, hard,
>then brought his foot down, crushing Bergle's face.
TOM: No more soccer!
>He
>smiled. "Oh, I was cured all right."
CROW: Odd, I thought this fic had more of an "Eraserhead" feel to it.
TOM: Well, it's over, in anyway.
>
CROW: What, so all that build-up was for nothing?
TOM: Hey, it's the only way they stayed true to the source material. I
say enjoy it.
CROW: But what about the mutants from the first part and Clark and
Lex's big, stupid, final conflict that will last until their next big,
stupid, final conflict and...
JOEL, picking Servo up and slowly leaving his seat: Just let it go,
sweetie; the bad men are gone now.
CROW: But...
TOM: Come on.
Joel and the 'Bots all file out of the theater.
ALL exit.
1...2...3...4...5...G
The Bridge. Joel and Tom are huddled sympathetically around Crow, who
holds a cup of cocoa and has a beat-up blanket wrapped around his
shoulders.
JOEL: It's okay, Crow, just push it away. We've dealt with worse
before and we will again.
CROW: But, it's just so unsatisfying, Joel. There was no conclusion,
no conflict, no plot! And that whole thing about the Legos, I mean,
what did any of it actually *mean*?
TOM: It meant a bunch of guys got together, decided to write a
Smallville fanfic, posted it before it was anywhere near done, then
forgot about it. Case closed.
CROW: But what about Lana and the tornado, and Doctor Bergle's secret
identity and Scarecrow's brain and...
Crow is interrupted by a sharp pounding sound on the hull.
TOM: Now what do you suppose that is?
Enter Gypsy.
GYPSY: I've been hearing that sound for a while, Joel. I think
someone is knocking on the hull.
JOEL: What? Cambot, get me Rocket Number 9!
Floating outside the Satellite we see an idealistic young superhero
from the Midwest with a twinkle in his eye and something to prove
(our very own Mike Nelson.) He carries a clipboard and takes periodic
crunches of an apple.
GRAVITY: Hi, guys. I'm Gravity, your local representative of the
Marvel Universe.
TOM: Uh, hi, Gravity.
GRAVITY: I'm just going from satellite to satellite taking a brief
survey. Can I have a moment of your time?
JOEL: Um...
GRAVITY: If the election were held tomorrow, would you vote for or
against the Superhero Registration Act?
CROW: For?
JOEL: Um, against... I guess.
TOM: I have no strong feelings one way or the other.
GRAVITY making a note: Okay... On a scale of one to ten, how would you
rate Joe Quesada's performance in office?
JOEL: Um...
TOM: Who the hell is Joe Quesadilla?
GRAVITY starts laughing uncontrollably: Hey, do you guys like "Napoleon
Dynamite?"
CROW: No.
GRAVITY, sheepish: Oh, okay. How likely are you to see a major motion
picture based on the Power Pack? A. Very Likely, B. Somewhat Likely,
C. ...
TOM: What's the lowest option possible?
GRAVITY: Um, "H."
TOM: Put us down for two under that.
GRAVITY: Um, okay. [Makes a note.] Well, thanks for your time,
remember to make yours Marvel.
Gravity flies off, a little wiser and a little less naive from his
experience.
CROW: Joel, can you promise me that this will be it for super heroes
for a while?
TOM: Yeah, I'm yearning for the craft and subtlety of a good Godzilla
flick about now.
JOEL: Well, our karma's pretty good, but let's not forget our fate is
the hands of a lower power. What do you think, Sirs?
Deep 13
Frank wanders from the left side of the screen to the right, pumping
into several objects along the way.
Dr. F: I must admit, I would have thought your brains would be so much
gooey nougat by now. This one had absolutely nothing going on and lots
of it. My triumph should have been total.
Frank gropes blindly from the right side of the screen to the left,
nearly tripping over the coffee table, his dirty laundry, and Dr. F
along the way.
Dr. F: But rest assured, peons, the next experiment will make Ray
Dennis Steckler look like Orson Welles! Bwa-ha! Bwa-ha!
Bwa-haheheh...
Once more, Frank stumbles across the screen, disturbing virtually
everything in his path while simultaneously not drawing any reaction
from our boy Clayton whatsoever.
Dr. F, awkwardly: ...I mean in artistic merit, not, you know, mass...
Suddenly, Frank, wearing a Daredevil mask, drop down from the ceiling
and crushes Dr. F. After giving Dr. F a few good "whaps" with his
billy club, Frank raises to his feet and stares directly into the
camera.
FRANK: "And a blind man shall lead them..."
Dr. F slowly and painfully reaches his hand up and presses the button.
*
Pwooooo...
Lord Xenu
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"Angry Johnny" <jstan...@gmail.com> wrote in message
>TOM: Ahem. "Archie Andrews stood alone as he watched the only girl
>he'd ever loved was lowered slowly into cool, damp earth. The
>thick, black clouds reflected his thoughts even as they urinated
>what felt
>like septic tanks full of foul-smelling rain through his coat and
>into the very core of his being. Jughead. Every muscle tensed at
>the mere thought of the name. Jughead. Archie wasn't sure which he
>hated more, the fact that Veronica had gone to her grave before
>Archie could really touch her or the fact that same couldn't be said
>of Jughead, but he
>knew one thing: Jughead would die. Even if it killed him, Jughead
>would die." [Breaking pace] So, what do you guys think so far?
>Moved yet?
ROTFLMGDAO!!!!
I only got that far before collapsing from laughing so hard. I am
going ot try and stop guffawing and read the rest of it!
Yours in Jeebus,
¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·-> Lord Xenu © <-·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯
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