Season Premiere! MiSTed: "Space: 2599" (Crossover from a.s.c)

[Michael Sensor [KD3LR/AFA1UP]]

Here it is, finally -- my season premiere MiSTing!

* * *

Mystery Science Theater 3000 Show M101 Reel 1

[Opening sequence.]

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - *

[Interior, SoL -- of course. Mike and the 'bots are lying down on
comfy chairs with masks over their eyes. Calm, peaceful, Windham Hill-
like music is playing. Lighting is soft and subdued.]

[Eventually...]

CROW: Ahhh... hello. Or goodbye, I don't care.

TOM: Yeah, go away. Or stay. We're equivocal.

MIKE: Welcome aboard the Satellite of Love. Or it could be Skylab.
Doesn't make much difference to me.

CROW: 'Cause after last week's escapade with the Kids' Crew, we're just
a little... tired. [Sighs.]

[Editor's note: Chronologically this is only a week after my *last*
MiSTing, which was actually something like 3 months ago.]

TOM: Yeah... ahhh... yes... right there... yeah, it was real stressful
lasing I LOST TO A BUNCH OF 'BOTS on their hull.

VOICE: Ahhhhhhhhh. Commercial sign in thirty seconds.

CROW: And if we want to avoid anything, it's stress.

MIKE: So, please excuse us while we just relax...

ALL: Ahhhh.......

[Jarring whine. In fact, it's REALLY annoying. Mike bolts out of bed and
runs to the bridge table.]

MIKE: Quick, Cambot, give me Rocket Number Nine!

[Cut to exterior, SoL. A middish-sized, shabby house is smashing against
the SoL, a la Hugh Beaumont/Cleaver's House.]

[Crow and Tom now at Mike's side]

CROW: Looks like they want on -- or in.

[Cut to interior. HexField(tm) sign is blinking.]

[Mike hits it.]

[HexField(tm) opens... revealing cartoon images of... Beavis & Butt-Head!]

BEAVIS: Heh heh heh... what's this crap?

VOICE: What's THIS crap? Commercial sign in fifteen seconds.

BUTT-HEAD: Huh huh huh... you said "crap", huh huh huh...

TOM: What the hell is that?

MIKE: Who *are* these guys?

BUTT-HEAD: This sucks. Huh huh huh huh uh huh huh.

GYPSY [entering]: Hey, guys, Happy Easter!

TOM: Uh, Gypsy, what's this crap?

BEAVIS: The penis said "crap". Heh heh heh heh eh heh heh.

VOICE: Commercial sign in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Commercial sign now.

[Commercial sign flashes. Mike hits it.]

MIKE: We'll be right back.

[During rotating planet/theme sequence...]

BEAVIS: He said "back". Heh heh heh eh heh heh.

[Different colors. Different fears. Different backgrounds... different
two-syllable terminal words. What the... his tongue! Wha... OW! Was that
in the NIPPLE? Shees. Bugle Boy -- A common thread, especially for
S&Mers.]

[Return. B&B are cackling at a high rate of speed. Crow and Tom are
arguing with them.]

MIKE: Okay, Gypsy, go over this one again.

GYPSY: Remember you told us about how when you were a kid they used to have
improbable pairings between cartoon shows, like "The Jetsons Meet The
Flinstones"?

MIKE: Yeah...

BUTT-HEAD: Shut up! Huh huh uhhh uh huh huh huh.

BEAVIS: Yeah! Heh heh heh ehhhh heh heh.

GYPSY: Well, I thought I'd try it with TV shows that mock other shows...
"Beavis & Butt-Head" and something called "Mystery Science Theater 3000".

CROW [turning around from screen]: Isn't that something about this guy
who makes fun of films with some robots?

MIKE: I dunno. Never heard of it. [to Gypsy] Okay, so now what?

GYPSY: Who knows? You never told me about how the improbable shows got
back to where they were supposed to be.

[Mads' Sign flashes.]

BEAVIS: Heh heh heh ehhh heh heh. I'm trippin', dude.

BUTT-HEAD: Uhhh.... huh huh uhhh huh huh huh. Yeah. Huh uh huh huh huh huh.

MIKE: What is it, Sirs?

BUTT-HEAD: He said 'urs'. Huh huh huh huh uhh huh huh.

[Mike hits button.]

[Cut to Deep 13. Dr. F. and Frank are sitting in the foreground surrounded
by a pile of books looking studious. Frank notices the camera and stands
up.]

FRANK [quietly]: Hey, Mervyn. It's final exam time here in Deep 13, you
know. Yeah. Our exams have to be at ICS by noon on
Thursday, so we're cramming and trying to finish them up.

DR. F. [without looking up]: Yes. So, we've invented the Krammer to help,
uh, shall we say, speed things up.

FRANK: Since Dr. F. is busy preparing for his Home Finance Career Diploma
exam, I thought I'd demonstrate.
DR. F.: You go ahead and do that, Frankie dear.

FRANK: Gee, thanks, Doctor F.!

DR. F.: Don't mention it. Now leave me be!

FRANK [whispers]: I think Clay is wishing that he'd decided to specialize
in Animal Care instead. [normal tone] Anyway, you take the Krammer,
put it on your head...

[puts a ridiculous-looking gadget on his head]

...put the text you want to learn in it...

[does so]

... push the button -- that's something even *I* can do! ...

[does so, and a horrible squishing/crunching sound emanates from the
device]

[weakly] and... voila. I know everything I wanted to know about
Small Engine Repair.

[Cut to Deep 13. On the HexField[tm] Beavis & Butt-Head are cackling;
the 'bots are hanging upside down.]

BEAVIS: Heh heh heh heh heh heh. He put that book on his head. Heh heh heh.

MIKE: That's great, TV's Frank, but how does it work?

[in the background:]

CROW: They don't look much better this way, do they?

[Cut to Deep 13.]

FRANK: Uh... skyhooks.

DR. F. [getting up]: Don't listen to him, Malvinas. It works by osmosis.

FRANK: Yeah! The book's actually *in* *my* *head*!

[touches head gingerly]

But it sure does hurt. Doctor Clay, would you make it all better?
DR. F.: Certainly, young Francis.

[takes out a large scimitar]

This'll be a while. Why don't you go ahead, Marshall Tucker.

[Cut back to SoL. The HexField(tm) is going crazy, dilating open and
shuttering closed over and over again]

['Bots are still in the rear looking at the HexField(tm), behind which
the saturnine visages of Beavis & Butt-Head may still be seen. 'Bots are
getting rather consterned by this point.]

TOM: Mike, at this point we're getting rather consterned.

GYPSY: Yeah, somehow those creeps managed to set the HexField(tm) on
fire and screw it all up!

BEAVIS: She said 'screw'. Heh heh heh heh ehhh heh heh.

TOM: Grrrrrrrr.................

[to Crow]

C'mon, Crowdaddy, let's show them the invention. Mike, would you be
so kind as to...?

MIKE: Certainly, my liege.

[Mike takes out a large dictionaryesque book.]

TOM: This, sirs, is the Fanficspeak Dictionary. For those times when you
are faced with incomprehensible dialogue...

CROW: ...or can't figure out what the HEY Ratliff meant when he misspelled
that critical word...

TOM: ...just pull out the Fanficspeak Dictionary and let your fingers do
the walking, heh heh heh! Uh... if you *have* prehensile fingers, which
I don't.

CROW: Hey, Mike, look up 'arrers' for us, will ya?

MIKE: Sure... [pages through book] Ah, here we go. "Arrers, n. pl.
1) Plural form of 'arrar', corruption of High English 'error'.
2) Hyperbolic term used to refer to plot/continuity inaccuracies
that a fanfic writer wishes to divert the reader's attention from."

TOM: Nice dangling participle there, Crow.

BUTT-HEAD: He said "dangle". Huh huh huh uhhh huh huh huh.

TOM: *Mike*, I just *can't* perform with those lunatics behind us!

CROW: Aw, can it, Eraserkopf, the Mads are sure to send us the experiment
soon, so we'll be rid of them in a jiffy!

TOM: Yeah, but until then... the hair on the back of my neck just CRAWLS
knowing that they're looking at me -- uh, if I *had* hair, that is.
Heh heh heh.

MIKE [looking behind him nervously at the cretins on the HexField(tm)]:
Whaddaya think, sirs?

* * *

[Cut to Deep 13. Dr. F. is hunched over something in the near foreground,
hacking at it. He notices the camera and suddenly composes himself.]

[Dr. F.'s scimitar is all bloody and has chunks of hair on it. Eeew!]

DR. F.: Uh, sorry, Myrtle. What a coincidence. Your, er, experiment
-- and I use that term loosely -- is a sad little bit of Vienna
Sausage from alt.startrek.creative, called "Space: 2499". Looks
like you'll be putting that Pictionary or whatever that was to
some use today, no? Anyway, your experiment seems to be a sort
of crossover between "DS9" and "Space: 1999", and I disclaim all
responsibility for its effect on you! Muhahahahah!

[looks down]

Push the Button, Frank.

FRANK [weakly, off screen]: But, Doctor F., I don't have any hands left!

DR. F.: I'll give you a hand, then.

[picks up a bloody hand from the ground]

En-joy, me hearties!

[slaps the Button with the severed hand]
[Cut to SoL]

[Mike has a remote control in hand. With it, he zaps the HexField(tm)
which turns to static, thus removing B & B.]

ALL: Got it!

[Almost simultaneously:]

[Movie Sign!!]

Aaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We got Movie Sign!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[In the confusion, Crow's headpiece is knocked off]

* - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1

[Theater.]

MIKE: Time for *you* to lose your head today, lil' buddy.

[Mike replaces Crow's headpiece]

CROW: Thanks. I needed that.

> S P A C E : 2 4 9 9

TOM: Spaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace Ghoooooooooooooooooost!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

> A crossover by Alan Smithee

MIKE: From the director of "Dune" comes another SciFi classic...

> Posted to alt.startrek.creative

TOM: Well, DUH.

> By Alan smithee

CROW: Capital letters optional.

> <smit...@iridium.cc.earlham.edu>

MIKE: Terminate with prejudice.

> This is my first atempt at a fan-fic. Please, dont be too harsh on me.
ALL: [laugh evilly]

> I liked the other fan-fics here like Enterprised so I figure I'd
> try my own.

TOM: Kids, "Enterprized" is a dangerous thing. Please don't try it in
your own home.

> So, here goes.

CROW: We're on a collision course with wackiness. I can feel it!

> * * *
>
> It was an averag watch on deep Space 9. Dax was lounging in front of her
> station, half aslep because the lights were Dimed.

MIKE: So I said to her, "That damned bank nickel and Dimed us to death!"

TOM: Suddenly, she felt a strong hand run up her...

MIKE: That's enough.

TOM: What? What?

> Sudenly all the ligths and sirens blared.

CROW: It's Suddenly Siren, the new easy-make disaster from Betty Crocker!

> 'Status report Dax' Sisco barked.

MIKE: Where the hell did he come from?

TOM: Where the hell did anyone come from? Seems like only one person was
on bridge anyway.

CROW: Guys, guys, you're expecting *consistency*!

TOM: Oops, sorry.

> "Whats goingon."

MIKE: The sheer number of errors contained in that one little sentence...

> Sir there is a large object on a direct collision course with us", Dax
> panted.
TOM: Wowie!

CROW: Mamajama!

MIKE: It does make you wonder, doesn't it?

> 'Put it on view"screen, Cicso shouted.

TOM: Mike, I thought I had seen it all with Ratliff...

CROW: This is bad.

> The Screen showed a huge, huge huge body

TOM: Walter Hudson?

CROW: Is that a huge, huge huge body or just a huge huge huge body?

TOM: Or even a huge huge, huge body?

MIKE: Perhaps it's just huge, huge, huge.

ALL: It's a huge, huge, huge, huge, huge world!

> bearing on DS9.

CROW ["Batman" announcer]: What's THIS? Our heroes about to be VAPORIZED?
Is this the END? Tune in next...

> Defensive manoeuvering", sisCo shouted

TOM: What, is he a software company now?

> But it was too late.

MIKE: They were all icked!

> "Commander Koenig",

ALL: [general sounds of consternation and alarm]

TOM: The hell? How'd we end up HERE?

CROW: I detect a poorly-fleshed out plot.

> "we are bearing on a large spaceborne object"
MIKE: The hell they think they'd be heading towards, the Mall of America?

> and its closing in repiddly."

CROW: Bo Repiddly... in concert, tonight only.

> 'Well what can we do' Koenig queried?

TOM [Chekov]: Keptin, I'm queryink her jist the bezt as I can!

> But his quesition came all too late as Moonbase Apha careened directly
> into DS9.

ALL: [cheering]

TOM: Finally, some action.

> As the debris from the explsion scattered, the minds of Koenig and Sisco
> met in the next dimension.

CROW: Hey, didn't I see you on the set of "Spencer for Hire"?

TOM: Yeah, and didn't *I* see *you* with "Mission Impossible"?

> Koenig, said sisco, why did you do this to us?

TOM: Like he really had a choice in the matter.

MIKE: Who hit who here, huh?

> sisco? who are you?

CROW: I'm yer worst nightmare.

> Meet with my mind. Be one with my soul. Share

[suddenly the screen goes blank.]

TOM: The hell?

MIKE: Aw, geez, just when it was getting good.

[They sit in darkness a few seconds...]

CROW: Uh... Hello?

TOM: Yo! Mads! How about some fanfic here!

[pause]

MIKE: Uh, evil mad guys, the fanfic?

[The screen lights up, revealing a Unix system prompt and a blinking
cursor.]

Deep 13% _

TOM: Now, *this* is interesting.

[As they watch, commands are typed in.]

Deep13% pwd

/usr/people/TVs_Frank/torture/SoL/experiments/1994

MIKE: I don't like the looks of this, guys.

Deep13% cat > Experiment_3.19.94

TOM: Wow, so *that's* how they do it!

Deep13% finger xy...@panix.com

CROW: [sings] I put the finger on... YOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

MIKE: Ladies and gentlemen, Bon Scottbot!

>[panix.com]

TOM: Uh... Do I detect a bit of a glitch on their end?

>Login name: xyzzy In real life: Daniel Drucker

MIKE: Nothing happens.

>Directory: /net/u/4/x/xyzzy Shell: /usr/local/bin/bash

CROW: Heh, he's using bash. How appropriate.

TOM: Yeah, 'Bored-Again Shell'

>Last login Wed Feb 9 16:37 on ttyr9 from panix2.panix.com
>New mail received Sat Feb 19 21:16:01 1994;
> unread since Fri Feb 18 22:37:09 1994

MIKE: Um, there's a little time dilation problem here...

>Project: Yearbook, FIW, Forever, Green Socks, Odd Parity.
>You know who you are.

TOM: And you get the negatives when you leave the suitcase by the phone
booth.

>Plan:

CROW: This is gonna hurt.

TOM: It's a continuation of Hypno Helio Static Stasis!

>AKT/#teens: If you have not sent your photo yet, you can still send
>it by express mail or special delivery, or any other method that will
>get it here on the 7th.

MIKE: Rush delivery only $5.00 extra.

CROW: Courier pigeon accepted.

>----

TOM: Tonight, on a very special "The Thin White Line".

>[Excerpts from a letter to Amanda Kress, blue-eyes. You can thank
> her for this. ]

CROW: Paging Amanda Kress... Paging Amanda Kress...

MIKE: Or you can send hate mail, too. I don't care.

> D A N I E L D R U C K E R

MIKE: Died of CHOLERA.

> Well... me?

CROW: Not you, kid. Don't call us, we'll call you.

>I don't want to describe myself physically, because 1) it's
>not relevant,
MIKE: 2) I'm actually a child of Lucifer,

>and 2) that'll put an image in your mind which is incorrect,
>as I couldn't possibly describe myself.

CROW: Because I can't speak in terms of n-dimensional space.

>Anyway you'll see me in the yearbook soon.

TOM: To a real sweet guy. Take care. Your gonna go far. RMA, Servo.

>Suffice it to say that most girls think I'm good looking,

CROW: But some are kinda grossed out by the extra eyes and tentacles and
stuff.

>but incredibly strange, weird, spaced-out, and things like that.

MIKE: You know. Teratogenic. Hyperthromboid. Things like that.

>Spaced-out?

CROW: [Cockney accent] So 'e said, "Spaced-out? Moi?"

>That's probably because in order to maximize my time doing
>interesting things,

[All make porno-soundtrack "Wacka-chicka-wacka-chicka" sounds]

>I tend to do the uninteresting things whilst other
>uninteresting things are going on.

MIKE: Like reading this .plan, for instance.

>For instance, I tend to memorize the
>homework questions for various classes, and work on them while walking
>between classes.

TOM: I even manage to solve *hewww-ge* diff E-Qs in my spare time! What a
blast, huh?

>So sometimes I bump into people :).

MIKE: And sometimes they try to bump me off, too.

>Also if a good idea
>comes to me for a program, a piece of music, anything, I tend to take
>a pad out of my backpack and write it down,

CROW: Lookout, he's got a gun! Aaaaaaaaaa!

>even if I'm talking to
>somebody or answering a teacher's question or even walking in the hall.

TOM: Or going off the diving board during gym class, or getting stuffed
in my locker by Thad and his gang, or while chasing after the schoolbus
after class 'cause my English teacher held up the class just long
enough so we'd miss the buses.

>So, have I established that I'm weird?

MIKE: Not yet. Please, do go on.

TOM: Oh, no, Nelson, *now* you've done it.

>I live in a smallish town, not really small, but small enough.

CROW: [John Cleese] Well, he's, er, cheapish. Not cheap, but cheap-ish.

MIKE: This is too confusing, guys. The town is smallish, not "really"
small, but small enough? So is it small or what?

TOM: I think he's studying to be a lawyer.

CROW: The unbearable smallishness of small.

>As in, I can walk to all of my friends' houses easily.

MIKE: So it's small. I think I get it now.

TOM: No, it's small-*ish*. Didn't you pay attention?

MIKE: But he said it wasn't really small!

CROW: Will you guys give it a rest, already! Danny boy CLEARLY said that
was small enough!

TOM: But small enough for WHAT?!?!

MIKE: For, uh, *something*.

>(Although, I rarely do.
TOM: Never.

MIKE: No, never?

CROW: Well, hardly ever.

>It's usually easier to phone them or talk to them on the computer.)

TOM: [falsetto, sultry] That's one-nine hundred-HOT-HOTT. Call now!
Only $47.95 per minute!

>It has waterfront on 3 sides.. theres

CROW: Oh, the pain! The horror!

MIKE: The missing apostrophes!

TOM: In short:

All: It's Deep Hurting!

>a lot of yacht clubs and stuff like
>that, and waterfront stuff. I don't really do much of that though.

CROW: On the Waterfront - with Danny Drucker as Marlon Brando!

>I'm sitting at a big nice wooden desk that creaks every time I put my feet
>up on it.

TOM: And every time I put *other* things up on it, too!

[Mike points to Tom]

Well, *I* thought it was funny.

>My feet are always up on it,

CROW: ['Satan'-like voice] Hey! Drucker! Yer feet STINK, man! Give a poor
desk a break! Sheesh!

>and the keyboard in my lap,

[Crow and Tom snicker]

MIKE: Watch it, guys.

>unless my mom comes in, in which case I have to put them down because
>this is supposedly a very old expensive desk.

TOM: Colonel Sanders himself had it at one time.

>There's a 21 inch ALR monitor in front of me with two really bad
>speakers on top.

MIKE: Yeah, man, I busted out the cones when I blasted "YYZ" the other day.

>To the right of the
>monitor are a 386sx, a 486-dx-66, and a 486 laptop.

TOM: The 80C88 is hidden in the closet. I've actually rigged it up to
run NT as a server for everything else.

MIKE: Of course, the ZX/81 is also in the closet running client/server
applications, you know.

TOM: Oh, yeah, and I forgot to mention the PET that's running those
bignums. I have it stuck out in the garage.

MIKE: Oh, did I mention the TRS80 Model 100 behind the dustbin that's
effectively runing as an Alpha box? Yeah! I can shell out to
DOS, Un*x, OS/2, or Windows at my leisure!

TOM: Unfortunately, I can't seem to find the mouse for my Amiga, else
I'd be able to run this great new X host software on it!

>They share the dx's
>600 Megabyte SCSI hard drive, though every machine has at least
>50 megs of its own.

CROW [snobby voice]: I'm just *fabulously* well-endowed with computing
power, so don't even *try* to match me.

>On top of that is another monitor, an amber text only monitor,

TOM: It's a Roger Zelazny-only monitor!

>whose main function is to let me be on the net even when
>the main computer is doing something else.

MIKE: Aw, get a life, man.

>(I like full-screen terminals... can't stand having it in a window.)
>There's about ... 150 pounds on the right of the monitor,

TOM: Danny Drucker presents: William Shatner Tonight!

CROW [Kirk voice]: Why ... must ... Spock! ... die ... ?

>and on the
>left is about 5 pounds (a lamp). So why does my mom get angry at my
>putting my feet up? I'm just balancing the weight! :) <grin> <grin>

CROW: <ouch> <ouch>

TOM: Why doesn't he just give us a stress analysis of the desk while
he's at it?

>Out of the back of this comes a horrible tangle of wires. Theres ...

MIKE: Oh my god, a grammar error! Call the grammar police!

>counting... 31 wires coming up from the back into a neat cable-clip.

CROW: [Stoner voice] Hey, man, like, pass me the cable-clip.

>I don't know what any of them are, except the green one and the white
>one and the yellow one. Green is telephone, white is network, and
>yellow is sound.

CROW: I think one of them is hooked to the detonator, but I'm not sure.

TOM: [Fake P.A. voice] Listen, brothers and sisters! Avoid the brown
wire! It's real nasty stuff! Don't hook up the brown wire!

>Behind me is a wall, with a bulletin board on it. It has:

MIKE: Is this something we really need to know?

> a map from ANS, showing the United States routing pattern for ANS's
> network of T3 links

CROW: 14-year-old Network Wizard, that's me.

> a map from UUNET, this one's really big, of the whole world, with
> lines between computers.

CROW: The only thing that's complex here is why this .plan is so friggin'
long.
> Lines are only drawn between very large
> or important sites, but you can still hardly see the map cause of
> them.

MIKE: Can... hardly... see... map... must... get... to... my... utility...
belt...

> a poster of Garfield the cat with "MR. CHAINSAW" and a computer
> (appropriately saying ERROR ERROR ERROR), and Garfield's saying
> "compute THIS, sucker!"

TOM: Mike, one time we did this Invention Exchange when the other guy
was here... it involved merging unfunny newspaper cartoons...

CROW: Yeah, basically, Ziggy had Garfield neutered.

TOM: Now, that was funny.

MIKE: Sounds that way.

> a Certificate of Abnormality, printed from Print Shop,

[All snicker and guffaw]

TOM: With crisp sharp CGA graphics!

CROW: It's new, from Broederbund.

> attesting to my abnormal mind. It reads:
> "Let it be known that Daniel Drucker and Nathaniel Hodes
> (gn...@musenet.bbn.com) are duly appointed Gurus of the
> Abnormalities of Reality"

MIKE: I'm ready to offer an incantation to Eris, if only to get this .plan
off the screen.

CROW: You never know, Eris just *might* be responsible for this.

> a cartoon showing two homeless guys exchanging hard luck stories: one
> of them says "I got fired because I wouldn't use standard flowcharting
> symbols"

TOM: Yeah? How about that. Me, I got fired for spending too much time
working on my .plan file.

> a cartoon showing a seance with people and one computer gathered
> holding hands around a table, saying "we shall now access our
> departed data"

CROW: They must have had one of those Seagates that you had to whack on
the top to get it to spinup.

MIKE: Next time, try a Caviar.

> a cartoon: in frames 1-3, theres

TOM: On May 4, 1994, Danny Drucker was convicted in Los Angeles Superior
Court for failure to use an apostrophe where mandated by law and
for aggravated boredom. Danny was sentenced to death by mirthful
injection.

ALL: [do 'Dragnet' theme]

>a guy surfing, driving, and skiing,
> saying how he's a cool cybernaut cruising the information highway, and
> in frame four a guy walks up to him and says "you know, you're really
> just sitting on your butt in front of a terminal"

CROW: Sounds like that Aerosmith video.

> a list of phone numbers



> a list of 'things to do'

TOM: One. Obtain new PGP key. Two. Get some more cable clips. Three.
Go to junkyard and root around for old computer parts. Four...

>Whew!

TOM: My sentiments exactly. Let's go. [All get up and leave]

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - *

[Interior, SoL. The bridge has been trashed -- it looks like there was
an explosion. Gypsy comes running into the bridge.]

GYPSY: Guys, guys, it was horrible! Those two little cartoon creeps came back,
set the bridge on fire and left!

CROW: Mike, you know, we better hope that there's never a "Beavis and
Butt-Head" movie.

TOM: Yeah, just *imagine* the marketing tie-ins.

CROW: Something on the level of all the "Flintstones" garbage?

TOM: No, I imagine something a bit more *profound*... something, well,
lifechanging. I mean, while "The Flintstones" may have RocDrops(tm)
candy, Bedrock Boulder(tm) candy, free posters on Fruity Pebbles(tm)
cereal, RocRing(tm) erection enhanc...

MIKE: Tom... watch it. Want a time-out?

TOM: Wha? Sorry. Ahem. As I was saying, while this summer's blockbuster
film "The Flintstones", starring John Goodman and Rick Moranis, may...

CROW: Will you CAN the drivel and get on with it, Mushmouth?

TOM [thru gritted teeth]: I'm just doing it, dear... [normal Tom voice] I
think that such a life-changing and trend-setting film such as "Beavis
and Butt-Head" deserves some unique tie-ins of its own. Thus, I present
to you: My Tie-Ins!

[A large array of, uh, things on a platform is trundled in by forces unseen.
Just pretend the camera is panning on each of them as Tom describes it...]

[Each item has some sort of "Beavis and Butt-Head" logo or picture on it,
a la your average movie tie-in]

TOM [in his Announcer Voice]: Okay. First, we have the "Beavis & Butt-Head:
The Movie" intravenous solution -- simply *perfect* for those low-
electrolyte days. There's also a complimentary "Beavis & Butt-Head:
The Movie" IV Bag and Catheter included with every solution purchase.
To its right we have the "Beavis & Butt-Head: The Movie" Official Trocar,
for those times when ordinary embalming apparatus isn't enough. Don't
forget to pick up a "Beavis & Butt-Head: The Movie" Armored Personnel
Carrier for each member of the family -- makes getting through those
*long* movie lines a breeze! And, for you dog lovers out there, we have
"Beavis & Butt-Head: The Movie" doggie sweaters -- but the catch is that
they *explode* into firey masses after prolonged exposure to sunlight!
And then there's the Official Underw...

[Movie Sign]

MIKE: We gotta go, because it's MOVIE SIIIIIGGGGGNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!

[As they exit, Tom's table is knocked over, and Tom can still be heard
babbling...]

TOM: And the Official Mercurochrome, too... whoah!!!!!!!!!!!

* - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1

[Theater -- Mike and 'bots enter.]

TOM: But I didn't even get to the good stuff!

CROW: That was the *bad* stuff?

MIKE: Alright, guys, can it.

> I'm wearing blue jeans and a dark green tee shirt,

MIKE: And a sikly black negligee.

> and my eyes are
> closed, cause I'm trying to see how long I can type before making a
> mistake.

TOM: Kinda hard to SEE if you're making a mistake when your eyes are closed,
isn't it?

> The fan is on in the corner, and the windows are open, cause
> otherwise it gets really hot in here. I'm probably the ideal power
> company customer... at least from -their- point of view.

CROW: What are you from -your- point of view?

> The floor is covered with magazines, brochures, invitations to various
> expos and shows and conferences and such,

MIKE: What's this one say? ... Huh! "Smallish Town RenFaire, August 1-30,
1994, special on leather mugs"?

> email (I print it in the
> morning to take to school. I answer my morning email during math
> class),

TOM: Guys, guys, guys, I'm just getting such a *cavalier* feeling from
Danny here...

> scissors, a box of cd's, some blank disks, my bathrobe,
CROW: Robin, get the Bat Robes.

> a Far Side cartoon book, another one, another one,

MIKE: And there's another one, and another one, and... ladies and gentlemen,
they're coming over the Jersey Palisades now, wading across the East
River... The smoke's coming now... I can see it... Don't think I can...
Urgh!

TOM [softly]: *Very* nice, Mike. *Very* nice indeed.

> a microphone,
> my Latin book (untouched...), a box of index cards

TOM: Getting that 'devil-may-care' attitude again, guys?

MIKE ['Mom'-like voice]: Danny, are you *ever* going to pick up your room?

> The index cards are very important. Every card has exactly ONE thing
> on it.

CROW: Hey, it's Arnold J. Rimmer incarnate!

>These are things that I feel I'll want to remember, or notes to
>myself, in the LONG term, where the long term is at least 10 years.

CROW: Note... to... myself... clean... up... room. There! All done.

> People I want to contact, relationships I might someday want to
> restart, things I want to see if they ever got done, etc.

MIKE: Atoms to smash, elements to discover, you know.

> Anything
> that might be important in 10-80 years. (Yay... aren't I optimistic?)

CROW: You know -- plagues, rampant AIDS, nuclear war, global warming,
international financial crisis, national default -- things like
that.

> Personality? Me? Actually, yes.

CROW: Actually, no.

>I'm very quiet. Not shy - quiet. I
>never talk unless there is something to say.
ALL: [cackle with laughter]

TOM: Then what the hell have we been reading for the past three eternities?

> I don't answer rhetorical
> questions (unless it's something you're not supposed to be able to
> answer, and I can.

MIKE: Mister Drucker, what is the sound of one hand clapping?

> Like rhetorical questions in math.. i love making
> the teacher angry because I show easier ways to do things when he's
> trying to show that you CAN'T do something any other way.).

CROW [British accent]: Oh dear, said Man, that was easy, and went on to prove
that black was white and got run down at a zebra crossing.

TOM: He'll be the first person to disprove the identity theorem.

> I generally only talk to interesting people. I dislike talking to
> stupid people. My phone bill is therefore high.

CROW: I'm lost here... does this mean there's a causal connection between
interesting people and high phone bills?

TOM: Maybe it just means that talking to stupid people makes your phone bill
low.

> If I feel like talking to somebody, I call somebody up who I'd like
> to talk to and talk.

MIKE: If they don't die of boredom, I'm all set.

> I have a list (am I being elitist or what?) of people who I think are
> interesting/intelligent/curious/fun.

TOM: Just like Nixon's Enemies List, everyone wants to get on Drucker's
Interesting/Intelligent/Curious/Fun List.

> Most of them I met at TIP, the Talent Identification Program

CROW: And it's the tipoff... Bucks get the ball, lateral down the line to...

> this past summer at Duke University,
> which is a 3 week summer program for gifted students. Kind of like
> 2000 people like me in one place,
ALL: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

> though most people there know
> nothing about computers.

TOM [French voice]: Humph. Steyoopid Americhan pigs know naw-theen about
compewters.

> But it's the kind of place (this happened!)
> where it's socially fine to wake somebody up in the middle of the
> night for a tennis game

MIKE: Where I come from, that's justification for homicide.

> and a discussion of the application of Plato
> and Aristotle's philosophies to the proper way of eating a pizza.

CROW: While playing tennis?

TOM [breathless voice, sort of like in the final scene in 'Manos']: Well,
you see, this is really only a Shadow of a Pizza. Now, as I
lob the ball your way, striking you in the eye, you become
temporarily blind, thus inuring you to the sight of the Shad...

> Also
> we all got sick because somebody had the great idea to go swimming in
> the tennis court when it flooded when it rained. (Don't swim in
> standing water. You get sick.)

TOM: [falsetto] Oh, honey, just *look* at the *beyootiful* fecal coliform!

CROW: Computer wizard, but he doesn't know not to play in ooky standing water.

TOM: But he has a 486-dx-66! And a 486 laptop!

>But don't let me get started on that
>topic. That place is my home... and I'm homesick.

MIKE: I can relate to that.

CROW: Yeah, but are you homesick for a bunch of fecal coliform?

>The rest of them I met on the net.

MIKE: So, fecal coliform have Net access now?

>Daniel Drucker
>1234 Anywhere Street
>Anywhere, Anystate 00000

CROW: 49 Quack Street, Duckburg.

TOM: Guess the Mads don't want us sending him hate mail.

>(000) 000 0000, Eastern Standard Time 4pm to 9pm best. (GMT-8, I think.)

TOM: Isn't that GMT -5?

CROW: Ssshhh, Servo, don't impinge on the solitude of the Net Wizard!

TOM: Sorry.

>xy...@panix.com

MIKE: True to form, nothing happened.

TOM: But what's gonna happen is that we're gonna go. [gets up] C'mon,
guys.

MIKE: Hang on, let's see if that was it.

[pause]

[screen stays blank]

OK, let's boogie.

CROW: But I wanna see the credits... aaaaaa!!!!!!!!! [Is yanked out of his
seat by Mike]

6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - *

[Interior, SoL. The bridge is somewhat darkened. Crow is tied up against
a wooden post, looking off to stage left. We're looking over his shoulder
at the wall. Tom is standing behind him.]

TOM: Okay, Cambot, give me the light.

[A bright light shines from behind Tom. Tom holds -- well, uh, I know his
arms don't work, uh, you should really just relax! -- up a wedge-shaped
object on a stick. He positions it in front of the light so that its
shadow is projected on the wall for Crow to see.]
Now, Crow, what do you see?

CROW: Well... a slice of pizza.

TOM: Are you so sure?

CROW: Pretty sure.

TOM: But it could be a Trivial Pursuit gamepiece.

CROW: Or a hunk of swiss cheese, wowie!

TOM: Or a tricorn hat.

CROW: Yeah, but I'm pretty sure it's a slice of pizza.

TOM: Or do you just THINK it's a slice of pizza?

CROW: Well, it looks pizzaesque...

TOM: But can you smell it?

CROW: Uh... no.

TOM: Can you feel it?

CROW: Nope.

TOM: Then how can you be sure what it REALLY is?

CROW: Okay, I get the point. So I can't be sure what a piece of pizza
really is. Next?

TOM [holding up a tennis racket to the light]: How about this?

CROW: Easy. It's a tennis racket.

TOM: Not a badminton racket? Or a squash racket?

CROW: No way, Servoroni. Or is it just the Form of a tennis racket?
And when the heck are you going to tie this all together?

[Mike walks in]

MIKE: Uh, guys, is this the latest thrill from the streets?

TOM: No, no, no, Nelson, I'm exploring Plato's Allegory of the Cave with Crow
to figure out just what the connection between Plato, pizza eating,
and tennis is.

CROW: Yeah, O Unenlightened One, so buzz off!

TOM [holds up a giant mushroom and a giant olive slice]: What's this?

CROW [rapid-fire]: A lawn ornament! A plaster garden gnome! A vole
warder! A rabbit hutch! Starsky and Hutch! Uh, Tom Bosley's dinner!
Ross Perot's ears! A team of copyright lawyers! The set of the film
version of Roald Dahl's James and the Giant Peac...

[Mads' sign flashes]

[cutting off Crow]

MIKE: Whaddaya think, sirs?

[Cut to Deep 13. Dr. F. has a large bamboo cane in his hand, and Frank is
behind him tied to a post.]

DR. F.: Well, Maude, I must apologize for today's Experiment. I'm saddened
and hurt that you were given that unauthorized tour of the deepest
recess of Deep 13. But never fear! You see, young Frankie here
really wasn't hacked to pieces with my scimitar. We were just trying
out my, uh, new invention, the Soft Snuffer. Sorry for all the blood
and stuff.

[glances back to Frank]

But in exchange for his ripping open the Deep 13 system for you
noodniks to see, I've come up with a lee-tle bit of pain for
Frank to endure.

FRANK: Doctor F., can I have the leather jammies?

DR. F. [To Frank]: Quiet, you. [Back to the screen] Until next time,
Uncle Miltie...

[to Frank]

Push the Button, Frank.

FRANK: I'm sort of all tied up now.

DR. F.: Ooooh.......

[smacks the Button with his bamboo cane]

*BLIP*

[during fadeout]

FRANK: You know, that would make an *excellent* fishing rod!

SOUND F/X: *SMACK!!!!!!!!*

FRANK [weakly]: Thanks, may I have another?

[Roll credits]

Mike Nelson.............................Crow T. Robot
Crow T. Robot...........................Tom Servo
Tom Servo...............................Gypsy
Gypsy...................................Mike Nelson

Beavis..................................Bill "Billvis" Clinton
Butt-Head...............................Al "Al-Gor" Gore

Danny Drucker...........................Alan Smithee

Head Writer.............................Michael L. Sensor
Writers.................................Ben Cardozo
Ez Pound
"Lord" Mansfield
Rule N. Shelleys-Case
Assistant Writers.......................Inspector Theresamanbehindyer of the
Yard
Inspector Fire of the Yard

Producer................................Mr. Whipple

Host Segments Directed By...............Pez D. Spencer

Bamboo Cane Provided By.................Government of Singapore

Mr. Nelson's Wardrobe By................Botany 500(tm)

Botany Bay?.............................Botany Bay, oh no, come on, Captain,
we have to get out of here!

DISCLAIMERS

Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and situations are
trademarks of and (c) 1994 by Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved.
The use of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and
situations is done so for entertainment purposes only and no infringement
of those trademarks or copyrights is intended or should be implied. Geez,
guys, it's only a fanfic; you should really just relax. It's not like I'm
going to deprive you of your hard-earned profits by posting this one
weensy FANFIC, eh? I mean, you can go after Hypercard programs, but stay
out of my MiSTings! After all, God, Guts, and MiSTings made America great.
Available on a pewter belt buckle for $24.95 plus shipping & handling, so
order now.

Beavis and Butt-Head are trademarks of and (c) 1994 by MTV Networks, Inc.
All rights reserved. The use of Beavis and Butt-Head is done so for enter-
tainment purposes only and no infringement of those trademarks or copyrights
is intended or should be implied.

This is a work of fiction and of entertainment. Any references to persons,
entities, governments, food products, or companies in this work are not done
so in malice and is not intended toA impune, slander, defame, or libel anyone
or anything, so chill.

* * *

> (Don't swim in standing water. You get sick.)

AN ADEQUATE PINEAL GLANDS PRODUCTION
--
Michael Sensor KD3LR - Duquesne University Communications Research - Pgh, PA
Mike has a cause of action against the Mads for false imprisonment, assault,
battery, intentional and negligent infliction of emotional distress, negligence,
and maybe strict products liability -- if the SoL ever goes on the blink.
(Oh yeah, I'm a law student here at Duquesne too.)

[David DeLaney]

Just a note to those that want to finger net.legend Daniel Drucker for
themselves - he (and his .plan) are no longer at than e-address, and his
new plan is very short - it does have a .gif and a .jpg in it, but only as
hypertext references...

Dave "saving the load on panix.com's computers-o-doom" DeLaney
--
\/David DeLaney: d...@utkux.utcc.utk.edu; "It's not the pot that grows the flower
It's not the clock that slows the hour The definition's plain for anyone to see
Love is all it takes to make a family" - R&P. Disclaimer: IMHO; VRbeableFUTPLEX
http://enigma.phys.utk.edu/~dbd/ for net.legends FAQ+miniFAQs; ftp: cathouse.org

[Michael Sensor [KD3LR/AFA1UP]]

On Wed, 8 Jun 1994 11:41:13 GMT, d...@martha.utcc.utk.edu posited thus:
->Just a note to those that want to finger net.legend Daniel Drucker for
->themselves - he (and his .plan) are no longer at than e-address, and his
->new plan is very short - it does have a .gif and a .jpg in it, but only as
->hypertext references...

This is true, and I should have mentioned it at some point in my MiSTing.

He does have multiple addresses, but the giant .plan-O-Doom(tm) is no
longer to be found anywhere.

Good thing I caught it when I could.