MSTed: Different World (Part 1)
T-Bone
waitress says good night to Tubby the bartender, who's sweeping the floor
before heading home. Camera pans right to the small stage, where two people
sit on stools. One is a thin, short, dark-skinned African American man with
short hair in his late twenties. He is dressed in jeans and a dark blue
shirt, with an old grey fedora. He wears a harmonica rack and is tuning his
acoustic guitar and starts warming up by playing Mississippi John Hurt's
"Sliding Delta". The other man is also in his late twenties, with longish
brown hair. He is tall, has a beer gut, and as homely as Christopher Lloyd
after a combine accident. He wears faded jeans and an old black Muddy Waters
t-shirt; next to his stool is a steel guitar. He is filing down the neck of
a bottle, finishes, and puts the file in his back pocket. He slips the neck
over the middle finger of his right hand and picks up his steel guitar. At
this point the black guitarist stops playing and makes a series of gestures
to the white musician.]
Yeah, ready when you are. What's the first song?
[The black musician makes more gestures.]
Okay, let me get my Johnny Shines voice.
[The white guitarist reaches into his other back pocket, pulls out a hip
flask, and takes a swig. He offers it to the other guy, who takes a swig and
sets it down. They begin to play a version of "Trouble in Mind" which sounds
suspiciously similar to the version Johnny Shines and Snooky Pryor did for
their "Back to the Country" album. (It's available on Blind Pig cds and
cassettes; look for it at a store near you. I highly recommend it). The ugly
white guys "sings" the following lyrics:]
[singing, but not too well]
Trouble in mind, am I blue
But I won't be blue al-ways
Because the sun's gonna shine
On my back door some day.
[They continue to play, with the other guitarist now taking the lead on the
harmonica.]
[White Devil speaks]
Hi, [looks up] Sorry, I watched _Jungle Goddess_ yesterday. I'm T-Bone, and
this is my good friend Jerome. [Jerome nods to the atm/ratm crowd; he peers
closer, then makes some gestures to T-Bone.] Oh, come on. At least they're
not Trekkies. [T-Bone turns back to the camera.] Jerome's in town for a bit
before moving back to England, so I thought that he could help me introduce
my latest MSTing. (Turning to Jerome) Exciting, huh? [Jerome just rolls his
eyes.] Oh, please. He's actually a fan of the show, folks. I'm taping all the
episodes and mailing them to England, then he'll convert them to PAL. All
because the tough, mean blues musician likes to watch tv with puppets.
[Jerome gives T-Bone a look usually associated with axe murderers, harp seal
clubbers, and militant feminists who are called "Sweet Mama", but T-Bone
ignores it.] Anyway, here's my MSTing of a fumy little pile of head cheese
that was on alt.startrek.creative. It's written by someone in The
Netherlands, so I didn't use any grammar, spelling, or punctuation errors for
fodder, though I did have some good ones. [Jerome shoots the audience a look
that says "yeah, right".] Hope you enjoy it.
[singing]
I'm gonna lay... my head....
[Thankfully we fade out of that and run the opening for the show.]
[In the not too distant future, yadda yadda yadda.]
[Interior of SOL. Mike is wearing a long, dark, curly-haired wig, comedic
false breasts, and a lycra jumpsuit about 4 sizes too small. Crow has
horn-rimmed glasses (with the obligatory tape) perched on his nose, Spock
ears, a cheap polyester shirt with a pocket protector, and his good pants
are hiked up over where his bellybutton would be, revealing white socks and
black shoes on his feet. An HP calculator is attatched to a belt loop. He is
carrying a clipboard and a pen. Tom is wearing a cheap toupee to represent
over-short, unwashed hair; his "face" is covered with some zits and some
sort of oil. He is wearing a Spock t-shirt, and has an autograph book
attached to his hand.]
MIKE: Hi, all you loser MiSTies whom I'm loathing meeting! Welcome to the
Sat'O'Love. I'm getting ready for the upcoming Convention-Con-O-Rama
Thing, and I am building up my tolerance for geeky losers by pretending to
be Marina Sirtis and having Tom and Crow pretend to be Star Trek dorks.
TOM (nasal, nerdy voice): O Deanna Deanna Deanna! Can I have your autograph
and a hug and then we can get married?
MIKE (falsetto): Well, ServoFina, I'll give you an autograph, but that's all
you little scamp. [Takes autograph book from Tom's hand]
TOM: Make it out to "My dearest Tommy, the love of my life"!
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign in 15 seconds.
MIKE: Do you have a pen?
TOM: No, that would be considerate; why would I do that?
CROW (crackly nerdy voice): Miss Troi, I will loan you *my* pen, but only if
you ask a couple questions.
MIKE: Okay. [Takes pen from Crow.]
CROW: Now, am I correct in assuming that your powers work similar to gravity
and electromagnetism, ie their effectiveness decreases with distance as an
inverse square law? Is there any anisotropy in the horizontal directions,
as one would have rarely needed to sense emotions in the vertical
direction in the aboriginal environment of Betazed? Also, are your hooters
real? [Takes a grope.]
[Lights for Commercial Sign.]
TOM (screaming): Cut it out! Stop it! She's my woman, do you hear, MINE!
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign now.
MIKE (to camera): We'll be right back. [Hits button as Crow bites one of the
comedy breasts]
TOM: GET AWAY! GET AWAY! I HATE YOU! IHATEYOU!IHATEYOU!
[Commercial featuring two besuited Ivy League Weenies [TM], apparently
lawyers, in a bar, talking about how real life is while anorexic models ogle
them, obviously for the ice draft light beer they drink. These guys spent
the whole week destroying America's infrastructure at $200 an hour. It's
Miller Time.]
[Back on SOL. Mike, Crow, and Tom are now out of costume.]
MIKE: You know, that was great, guys. You played those roles perfectly, and I
didn't feel the slightest bit of revulsion.
CROW: None?!?!
MIKE: Not a bit. I think I'm ready.
TOM: Look, Nelson, I can understand your confidence, but there were only two
of us, not a teeming horde. And, MiSTies not being Trekkies, thankfully,
there are gonna be *other* dangers that you have to be ready for.
MIKE: Oh, come on, guys, I think I know how to handle any sort of person who
would go to a Con. There isn't a lot that could throw me.
TOM: Oh, poor Mike; suffering from hubris and overconfidence.
CROW: Hey, you aren't a Michigan football fan, are you, Mike?
MIKE: No, Crow.
CROW: Notre Dame?
MIKE: No!
CROW: Duke basketball!
TOM: Mike, we know that you're stranded here in space, all alone except for
us. Let's face it, after seven years, Crow is even starting to look good
to ME.
CROW: That does it, Servo. You have been really wierding me out for about
three years now. I'm putting a shower curtain in the load pan bay. [Exits]
MIKE: Come on, Tom, what possible problems could I have?
TOM (calling off-stage): Could you lend me a hand, Gypsy?
GYPSY (off-camera): Roger!
TOM: Mike, it's something that has brought down better men than you: Fatty
Arbuckle; Bob Crane; Eddie Fisher; Sam Cooke; Ted Kennedy; those guys from
The Platters; the list goes on.
[Gypsy enters with a manila folder in her mouth.]
MIKE: What are you talking about?
TOM: Women. They are devil-spawn, you know. Thanks, Gypsy.
GYPSY: Glad to help.
TOM: Take a look in that folder, Nelson, and tell me what you see.
[Mike, looking confident, opens the folder, and his expression changes to one
of many mixed emotions, even some we have seen on Kathy Ireland's face. He
keeps flipping through the contents.]
MIKE: The hell ... ?
GYPSY: I tricked Frank into sending those up.
TOM: You see, Mike, for years certain female MiSTies have been sending
pictures just like these with their letters. You and the other guy never
saw these, because the Mads have been screening the letters they send up
for some evil reason. Now, if these young ladies send photos of themselves
in skimpy nighties and other uncomfortable albeit exciting clothing, just
imagine what they might do in person.
MIKE (grinning, holding a photo up to get a better look): Yeah ....
GYPSY: Woah, Mike, that's what we're talking about! I know for a fact that
the picture you are seeing was taken before she was in college!
MIKE: What?!
TOM: Yep! Petrea may *look* older than her age, but if you started thinkin'
with yer lincoln, you could wind up in some SERIOUS trouble!
[Lights flash.]
GYPSY: We'd hate to see you die at the hands of a rifle-toting father
hellbent on revenge.
MIKE: Wow, thanks for the warning! Oh, Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Clinton are
calling. [Hits the button.]
[Down to Deep-13. Dr. F is behind the counter, Frank is hanging upside down
from the ceiling, gagged with his hands tied behind his back, suspended over
a boiling cauldron. To say Dr. F is angry is like describing the Pacific
Ocean as a bit damp.]
DR F: I'm busy punishing Frank for sending those pictures. Get on with your
invention while I continue the TOR-CHAR!!!
[Interior of SOL. Mike and the bots are standing around a vat, looking at
more photos. There is fruit all over the place, and some cups on the brim of
the vat.]
TOM: I do like that nightie, though ...
MIKE: I bet she'd be fun to wrassle with.
[Mike peers closely at the picture]
GYPSY: What kind of a name is Cybermuffin?
CROW: Welsh, I think.
MIKE: You can't even SEE the pencil!
[Crow looks up and, realizing they are on camera, nudges Mike.]
MIKE: Huh? Oh, sorry sirs! Our invention this week is based on those 10%
fruit drinks you see all over the place. They keep advertising themselves
as healthy, natural drinks, when only a tenth of the drink is actual fruit
juice! Seems pretty deceitful, if you ask me.
TOM: So, what we've done is make our own drinks made of nothing BUT real
fruit juice.
CROW: No additives. No preservatives.
GYPSY: No hypodermic needles.
TOM: Ummmm, true.
CROW: Here's our latest one. Mike, would you be so kind?
MIKE: Sure thing, guys. What kind is this?
GYPSY (checking clipboard): Pineapple, guava, and tomato.
MIKE: Tomato?!?!
TOM: Hey, a tomato's no less a fruit than Charles Nelson Reilly; look *that*
up in your Funk & Wagnell's.
MIKE: Okay, let's see how it tastes. [He takes a sip; obviously it sucks.]
GYPSY: How is it, Mike?
MIKE [making OK sign]: It stinks!
CROW: Let me smell that. [Sniff sniff] Ah, no wonder. It's spoiled.
GYPSY: Spoiled? But I made that only ten minutes ago.
TOM: Hm, you know, maybe THAT'S why they put in preservatives.
GYPSY: What do you think, sirs?
[Back in Deep 13. Frank is still over the cauldron. There is fruit all over
the place. Dr F is now ready for a conniption.]
DR F: Right. That does it. That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more!
Just for that, you are going to feel pain, do you hear me, PAIN! Here
comes Star Trek fanfic by someone who doesn't speak English as a first
language! I hope you die ...
[Back on SOL]
MIKE: Oh no! Trekkie sign!
[Door sequence; Mike, Tom and Crow enter the theater.]
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
TOM: Oh, *this* bodes well ...
>From: hof...@cs.utwente.nl (Albert T. Hofkamp)
CROW: Mein Hofkamp!
MIKE: Uh, Crow, no jabs that make us look like ugly Americans.
CROW: None?!
MIKE: Well, no more than usual.
>Subject: STORY: Different worlds
TOM: Starring Jasmine Guy, Simbad, and Robin Williams as Mork!
>Message-ID: <CuBoI...@cs.utwente.nl>
>Sender: use...@cs.utwente.nl (News System)
>Nntp-Posting-Host: utis151.cs.utwente.nl
CROW: What's "nl"?
MIKE: Netherlands, I think.
TOM: Ah! A post from the land of dikes!
CROW: Frisco?
TOM: No, no, ...
MIKE: It's from the IU Music School!
>Organization: University of Twente, Dept. of Computer Science
TOM: It's The Seven Samurai meet Five Easy Pieces on the set of Eight is
Enough!
CROW: Showoff.
>X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL9]
MIKE: Ah's never did give nothin' to the TIN-reader.
>Date: Wed, 10 Aug 1994 14:06:18 GMT
TOM: GMT?
CROW: Gump Means Trite?
MIKE: Garcia Mangles Tunes?
>Lines: 685
>
>Below is my first star trek story
TOM (Stimpy voice): Joy!
>(my first story of anything, as a matter
>if fact).
CROW: I feel ill, guys
>I tried to get hold of the FAQ of this group,
MIKE: But I didn't come with Kung-Fu grip.
>in order to figure
>out how things work here,
TOM: Things working in alt.startrek.creative? That's a leap of faith.
>but failed :-(
CROW: You have let down the family ...
>The story is short,
MIKE: Just like a lawyer's trouser trout
>and I have not attempted to be accurate with respect to
>st:tng,
TOM: So it should fit in with Treklander.
>because I just don't know enough about it.
CROW: Yeah, like that's ever stopped an alt.startrek.creative poster
before...
>Have fun.
MIKE: Eat out more often. We'll be back with Terri Garr and the Top Ten list
after this.
>
>-------------- BEGIN OF STORY ----------------
TOM: Start of pain.
>This story is written by Albert Hofkamp.
ALL: Hi Albert!
>This story may be copied,
>transmitted, or archived,
CROW: But not folded, spindled, or mutilated.
MIKE: These fanfics are pre-mutilated by the authors for you convenience.
>provided that this copyright information
>is included, and that the story is presented in complete form.
TOM: Hey, does our MSTing count as the complete form?
MIKE: Hush boy, The Supreme Court said parody is protected by the law.
>The story
>may not be sold,
CROW: [Snicker] Like anyone would buy fanfics ...
>nor included in any sold material without express
>permission from the author.
MIKE: Any broadcast or retransmission without the expressed written consent
of Major League Baseball is strictly encouraged.
CROW: Because baseball is manned by complete booger-heads.
>Title: DIFFERENT WORLDS
>Patchlevel: 4
TOM (singing): I'm countin' on ya, son, to pull the software through ...
>
>Captain's log,
CROW: Hey, who booted?
TOM: Picard, obviously.
>stardate 2341.1, Commander Riker reporting.
MIKE: Why is the Commander writing in the Captain's log? Is he reading his
personal journal?
CROW (imitating Riker): "'Dear Diary: Doctor Crusher wore that leather bikini
under her lab coat ... ' Boy, this is hot."
>We are on our way to the kashicks system,
TOM: Named after the sounds associated with Breughel paintings.
>in order to determine whether a
>planet in that system can be used to build a base.
MIKE and TOM: Jen-ga! Jen-ga!
>
>(Bridge of the enterprise)
>Persons present:
> Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Worf, Commander Data,
> Cadet Wesley Crusher.
CROW: Wesley! No!
MIKE: Oh brother.
TOM: Just when I had hope.
>Everybody is sitting in his/her chair, and quietly waiting until the
MIKE: ... cows come home.
>destination is reached.
>
>Suddenly, Troi grabs her head with both hands,
TOM (falsetto): This hairdo is all wrong!
>shouts a painful "No!", and
>falls on the floor in pain.
MIKE: Hey, who left all this pain on the floor? Wesley, get a mop!
>She becomes completely unaware of her
>surroundings,
CROW: So things are back to normal, right?
>and keeps on moaning and saying "no" softly.
TOM: Will, not the cattle prod! I'll get in the clown suit! I'll be a bad
girl!
>Riker sees her falling, gets up immediately, and
MIKE: Laettners her, right in the chest!
>kneels down beside her.
CROW (as Riker): Worf, you do the voice, I'll move the jaw. 'Say hello to the
folks, Bobby.'
TOM: Hello, folks!
>He
>then tries to get her back to reality,
MIKE: Back!?
CROW: I never knew she was here.
>by shaking her a bit, but in vain.
TOM (Singing): All my shoves in vain, all my shoves in vain.
>Riker: (taps on his communicator) "Doctor Crusher to the bridge, medical
> emergency."
MIKE: Bring you tap pants and whip. Picard's being a naughty boy.
>(voice of Doctor Crusher) "On my way, commander."
TOM: We're on our way!
>Riker: (gets back on his feet) "Lieutenant Worf, do our sensors show any
> other ships ?"
CROW: No, but they do show that it's six minutes to the big green thing.
>Worf: "Negative, sir, we are the only ship in this area."
MIKE: What about this region?
>At that moment, Doctor crusher rushes in from the elevator.
CROW (falsetto): Light a match. Geordi was in there.
>kneels down
>besides Troi, and examines her briefly.
MIKE: Hey, I think my fantasies may be coming to the small screen!
>She then grabs her injector,
TOM: Hey, this is a family group!
CROW: Knock it off, fem-bot, this is getting good!
MIKE: Yeah!
>and puts Troi into sleep.
TOM: Booka-Wow!
>Riker: "Well, Doctor ?"
MIKE (falsetto): Now I sing her to sleep, after the lovin'...
>Crusher: "I am sorry, commander, but there is nothing I can tell you now.
> She has no physical damage, but something is causing her great pain.
MIKE: Possibly the script.
> I will have to examine her in sickbay. "
TOM (whiny, nasally voice): I want to examine her too!
CROW (as Riker): Shut up, Wesley.
>Riker: "Thank you, Doctor."
> (taps on his communicator) "Commander Riker to Captain Picard."
MIKE: Time to take your protein pills and put your helmet on.
>(in the room of Captain Picard, he is sitting behind his desk, reading a
>book)
TOM: "'Stately plump Black Morgan' ... My, that *is* a big one."
>Picard looks up from his book, when receiving the call.
>
>Picard: "Yes, number one ?"
CROW (as Riker): Getcher froggie butt out here, sir, we got trouble.
>(voice of Riker) "Counselor Troi has suddenly become unwell, sir, she is
> currently brought to sickbay. Her condition has not yet been
> determined, sir."
MIKE: Though Doctor Crusher is leaning towards diagnosing her as "clueless".
>Picard: "Thank you, number one, Picard out."
CROW: bringing Kirby Puckett to the plate with two down and one on in the
bottom of the sixth.
>He briefly thinks about the message, then continues reading.
TOM: "Bob and Doug are two metropolitan policemen with a difference..."
>(On the bridge)
MIKE: I bid four spades.
>Persons present:
> Commander Riker, Lieutenant Worf, Commander Data, Ensign Wesley Crusher.
>
>Commander Riker is seated again.
CROW (as Riker): Worf, quit giving Wesley a Melvin.
>Data: "Commander, something strange is happening."
MIKE: Michael Jackson got married to a woman.
>Riker: "Data, what are you talking about ?"
TOM: Happenings, strangeness, things. What part don't you understand?
>Data: "It appears, that a kind of black spot is following us, sir."
CROW (as Riker): Data, you fool, that always happens when we give Wesley a
chocolate swirly.
>Riker: "A black spot ?"
MIKE: Actually, it's "an African-American spot".
>Data: "Yes sir, this spot is traveling in the same direction and with the
> same speed as us, sir.
TOM: Preliminary analysis indicates it is a piece of grit on the screen.
> It emits no radiation at all, even the normal
> background radiation is absent. That's why our sensors didn't spot it
> before."
MIKE: The only reason we know it exists is the bad feeling everyone gets when
it enters the room.
>Riker: "Put it on screen."
>
>On the screen appears a moving star field, stars move from left to right.
TOM: Wait, you said it was behind you, not to starboard! Data, you're a
disgrace to all robots!
>However, the middle of the screen remains black; stars on the left
>disappear, then reappear later on the right of the screen.
CROW (as Riker): Mr. Worf, flood torpedo tubes with Windex. We'll clean our
way out of this.
>Data: "The spot can be seen better by showing background radiation, sir.
> I'll put that on the screen."
MIKE: More efficient than humans, my sweet fanny ...
>The moving stars disappear,
TOM: It's the magic of Data Copperfield!
>and the screen now emits a dim, red light.
CROW: Fries are up!
MIKE: Hey, when did space become red? Are they orbitting Mars? Background
radiation is in the microwave and infrared.
>In the middle, a black ellipse appears.
TOM: Oh no! It's a new spacecraft from Mitsubishi! Run!
>Riker: "Lieutenant Worf, what do our scanners tell us ?"
MIKE (as Worf): Nothing, sir, we have to read them.
>Worf: "Scanners are functioning normally, sir, but show nothing, entirely
> nothing."
CROW (as Riker): Well, doesn't sound like they're functioning normally after
all, does it, Turtle Boy?
>Riker: (taps on communicator) "Commander Riker to Captain Picard."
TOM: When he thinks of his superiors he touches himself.
>(voice of Picard) "Yes, number one."
MIKE: This better be good, dammit, I'm on the holodeck with Emma Peel.
>Riker: "Sorry to bother you again, sir,
CROW (as Riker): But I'm just too inept to make my own decisions.
> but we have company.
TOM: The Swensons are coming over to play bridge.
> An unidentified black spot is following us."
MIKE: Riker, you twit, that's the Englemeyers' doberman!
>(voice of Picard) "On my way, Picard out."
CROW: .. and cavorting like Mr B!
>
>(in the room with Picard, he is still sitting behind his desk, holding the
>opened book in his hands).
TOM: As opposed to his navel.
>Picard: (sighs) "Well, so much for this easy mission."
MIKE: Oh, reading Bev's love letters, eh?
TOM: No, that's MMission, MMMMMMMMmmission; no 'e'.
>He inserts a piece of paper between the pages of the book, closes the book,
>puts the book on the table, and gets up.
CROW: My, what a heart-stopping action scene!
>
>
>
>
>
TOM: Oh, to tell a Dolly Parton joke ...
>SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER, THESE ARE THE VOYAGES ....
MIKE: Stupidity, the final frontier. These are the fanfics of the newsgroup
a.s.c. Its interminable mission: to seek out strange new crossposts; to
explore new life in stale, hack plots; to reduce flat, boring characters
to one dimension; to boldly post bad writing like it's never been done
before.
[Commercial: A blonde Euroteen, in an attempt to woo a naive American girl,
in a convoluted circumstance accidentally drops a Mentos into a computer at
Cheyenne Mountain. World War III and the end of mankind are here, but the
generals all smile when the punk holds up his Mentos tube.]
>
>
>
>
>
CROW: I can see the Rockies from here!
>(on the bridge)
>Persons present:
> Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Lieutenant Worf, Commander Data,
> Cadet Wesley Crusher
TOM: Not more Wesley!
CROW: Game over, man!
MIKE: Easy guys, he didn't even have a line last time.
>Captains log, stardate 2341.2 .
>On our way to the kashicks system,
TOM: which became our destination when I sneezed during an order.
>counselor Troi has suddenly become very
>sick. The cause of this illness is not yet clear.
CROW: It's the salmon mousse!
>Also, we are followed by a mysterious black spot, which absorbs all
>radiation.
MIKE: Gosh, y'know, wouldn't it be the goldarndest thing if that spot was
making Troi sick?
>(voice of Doctor Crusher) "Doctor Crusher to bridge."
TOM: Help! I'm stuck in the air duct!
>Picard: "Doctor, do you have any good news ?"
MIKE: The show's been cancelled! What could be better?
>(voice of Doctor Crusher) "Unfortunately not sir, the nerves in counselor
> Troi's head are constantly activated by an exterior force, in a random
> pattern.
TOM: Then tell Worf to quit clubbing her!
> This causes her great pain.
> I have put her to a deep sleep, to free her from the pain.
CROW (singing a VU classic): 'Cause when I put a spike into my vein ...
> Her condition is stable,
MIKE: We're feeding her hay and oats and training her for the Belmont.
> but there is nothing I can do to improve her
> situation.
TOM: She can't get out of her contract.
>Picard: "Thank you doctor, Picard out."
>
>Picard: (to Data) "Could it be a natural phenonemon, Data ?"
CROW: No, someone just spilled ink on the matt painting.
>Data: "Negative sir, the only known natural phenonemon which absorbs all
> radiation is a black hole,
TOM: Though the soul of Richard Nixon came damn close...
> but if this is a black hole, we would not
> be able to continue our present course."
MIKE: We'll have to switch to Shady Pines.
>Picard: "Thank you, Data."
CROW: Yeah, bite me, Baldy.
>Data: "Sir, our records show that the spot appeared less than a minute
> before counselor Troi became unwell."
TOM: Oh, that's a shock ...
>Picard: "That is interesting,...
MIKE: You must lead an amazingly boring life, even for a Frenchman.
> Let's see if it is after us.
> Ensign Crusher,
CROW: Climb inside the anti-matter containment field.
> change course to the nearest starbase."
>
>Wesley: (while pushing some buttons) "Aye, sir.
> Changed course to starbase 724."
TOM: You know, even in an innocuous appearance like this, he's still
amazingly annoying.
>Worf: "The spot has changed course too, sir, it is still following us."
MIKE (as Worf): Request permission to blast it back to the Stone Age.
>(voice of La Forge) "Engineering to bridge."
TOM: Oh, great, here comes Zeppo.
>Picard: "La Forge, what is the problem ?"
CROW: I'm flowing.
MIKE and TOM: Hey!
>(voice of La Forge) "Engines go wild, sir.
MIKE: For the rich taste of Sampo.
> I need to increase power
> constantly in order to maintain our speed.
MIKE: What, are they going up a space-hill?
CROW: I *told* you to fill up with high octane, but nooooo...
> In a few moments, I will have insufficient power to maintain our
> speed, sir."
TOM: And it's ALLL YOOOOUR FAAAAULT!!!
>Worf: "The black spot has changed into a ship, sir."
MIKE: What? Out in the open, in front of everybody? Doesn't it know there are
children present?
>(voice of La Forge) "I have insufficient power, sir.
TOM: I dribbled on the seat.
MIKE: Hey!
> I have run a cross check on the engines,
CROW: But they aren't possessed by a devil or alien presence. Which is odd,
since this *is* a Star Trek story.
> but all systems are
> functioning normally. We should go warp 9, instead of warp 3."
MIKE: Boy, what does it take before something is referred to as
"malfunctioning" on this ship?
>Wesley: "Speed is decreasing, sir."
TOM (sarcastically): Thank you, Mr. Obvious.
>Picard: "It seems, they don't want us to leave."
CROW: Duuuuuuh ...
> (to Worf) "Sensor readings, lieutenant Worf ?"
MIKE (as Worf): Sensors indicate Wesley has a woody, sir.
>Worf: "It is a very small ship captain, it is very small,
CROW: You are demoted for redundancy.
> contains one
> lifeform, and is unarmed."
TOM: Oh no! The drummer from Def Leppard escaped!
>Picard: "Thank you, lieutenant.
> Ensign, return to previous course and speed."
CROW: And quit looking in my duffle bag.
>Wesley: "Aye, sir, returning to previous course and speed."
>
>(voice of La Forge) "Engines functioning normally again, captain."
MIKE: Shocking, what with their returning to the previous speed.
>Picard: "Thank you engineering, Picard out."
CROW: Oh, that explains his reading Oscar Wilde.
>
>
>
>
>
TOM and CROW: Honk! Honk! Honk!
MIKE: Plop! Oh no! Cover your head!
TOM: Let's go.
[They start to leave.]
>INTERMEZZO
>(Enterprise flies through the screen)
TOM: New from Windham Hill, on cassettes and compact disc.
[Door sequence]
[Tom and Crow are standing beind the Sat-O-Love counter. Some hot debate is
going on.]
TOM: But Crow, Star Trek has always been one of the most enlightened and
advanced tv shows of its time, no matter when ...
CROW: Servo, if you use any popular mass medium as a guideline, [Mike enters
from the left] then any work reflecting anything other than conservative
middle-class American values that still dominates the pop psychology of
the alleged liberal humanist mass media will SEEM innovative whether it is
or not.
TOM: But you are forgetting the business side of the equation! Sometimes one
can only be innovative when the ...
[Mike grabs the two bots.]
MIKE: What are you two yard-apes doing?
TOM: I say that Star Trek is an innovative, open-minded show, and Crow keeps
blithering ...
CROW: *I* say that it merely wraps a traditional set of values and roles in a
fancy space and quasi-liberal mantle to make it LOOK like it's innovative.
MIKE: Okay, I see the problem. Tom, what is one reason you think that Star
Trek is innovative?
TOM: Simple, Mike. Women and minorities. There have been shows TARGETTED for
markets consisting of women or minority groups, like _Sanford and Son_,
_Chico and the Man_, _Designing Women_, _Good Times_, and so on. But these
characters are rarely as well-featured as they are in a mainstream show
like the Star Trek series. There's Worf, Tasha, Cisco, Dr. Bashir, ... The
list goes on.
MIKE: Crow?
CROW: Admittedly, Tom, it may *seem* that way to one so confused as to think
of Mr. B Natural as a man, ...
TOM: You're treading on thin ice, Phallus-Beak!
MIKE: Servo! Let him finish!
CROW: Thank you, Mr. Brinkley. >AHEM< As I was saying before I was so
*rudely* interrupted, while Star Trek puts on a good front in its use of
women and minorities, when one takes a closer look at the roles these
characters play and at their characterizations, one sees that they are not
really so different after all.
TOM: Oh, come on, ...
CROW: Well, just look at the first series. Kirk sleeps with anything that
moves. The women and minorities are: Uhuru, who is basically a hi-tech
operator; Chappel, who is a nurse in support of Dr. McCoy; Yoeman Rand,
who kept passing love notes to Kirk the Studmuffin; and Sulu, who is
basically a chauffeur, much like Bruce Lee in The Green Hornet. Granted,
in the movies, these characters tended to be less one-dimensional, but
that was 15 or so years after the original series.
TOM: Okay, granted, the first series is an embarrassment in many ways, but
what about The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine?
CROW: Oh, I defy you to name a woman or minority in a non-traditional role in
either series.
TOM: Okay, what about Worf?
CROW: Doesn't really count. He's portraying an alien race, not a human of
African American descent. Besides, his character is big, threatening, and
prone to violence, reinforcing the suburban middle-class' perception of
black males in our society.
TOM: Alright then, Geordi LaForge. A brilliant person AND an African
American!
CROW: True, but let's not forget that he reinforces a nerd stereotype,
especially with that Lhea Brahms situation: kind of the future equivalent
of Cindy Crawford .gifs. Also, he has a French name, so he can be fit into
something of an "exotic" category; and besides, he can't see without the
aid of bio-electronics, so he comes off as someone VERY different!
TOM: I'm not even going to bring up Troi: a woman who deals entirely with
emotion and not intellect. But how about Tasha?
CROW: She certainly had potential: chief of security, survived a rough
childhood, she was a survivor ... until she got killed by an oil slick
from the Exxon Valdez in a death that was meaningless, so she wound up
posing in Playboy, then returned only occaisionally in flashbacks and as a
Romulan!
TOM: Well, Cisco, then! You can't deny him!
[Lights begin to flash.]
CROW: Okay, I will give you Cisco, but it took three series to come up with a
main, featured character in the command structure who's a minority.
MIKE: This could go on a while. We'll be right back. [Hits the button]
[Commercial for Oliver North for US Senate. If you don't vote for Oliver
North, God Himself will smite you and turn your children into hamburger, or
worse, people with free will.]
>
[Mike and the bots re-enter.]
CROW: Hm, you got a point there, Tom. I'd forgotten about Cisco.
MIKE: Okay, guys, back to earning a paycheck.
>Captain's log, stardate 2341.4
CROW: To the second power.
>The black spot appears to be a ship containing one lifeform.
MIKE: Some robot named Marvin.
>Attempts to change the course of the Enterprise result in an unexplained
>drain of energy from the engines.
TOM: It's called Newton's Laws. You see, an object in motion ...
>Counselor Troi is still in sickbay.
MIKE: Sleeping off her methadone.
>Picard: "Put the ship on screen."
TOM (whiny, nasally voice): But our screen door isn't that big!
MIKE (as Worf): Shut up, Wesley.
>A gray, glittering ship appears. It has no edges, and is completely smooth.
CROW (as Picard): Hey, that looks like my head!
>Picard: "Open hailing frequencies."
TOM: Darn, they're locked. Who has the key?
>Worf: "No response, sir."
MIKE: Recommend we blast the crap out of them.
>Data: "The alien ship must contain technology, unknown to us, sir."
>
>Picard: "Why is that, Data ?"
CROW: Sensors indicate a toupee that wouldn't generate big laughs.
TIM: Definitely beyonds Humanity's powers.
>Data: "We would not be able to build a ship that small, which can go this
> fast."
MIKE: Not with that kind of mileage, anyway.
>Riker: "Does the ship emit radiation, which may cause pain with
> counselor Troi ?"
CROW: No, but its stereo system does emit bass notes that can explode a
squirrel at thirty yards.
>Data: "Negative, sir, the ship emits no radiation at all.
TOM: But bad vibes are everywhere, man.
> Even the engines
> of the ship leave no traces."
[Tom and Mike turn to Crow; Mike turns to face Tom and shrugs. They look back
at the screen.
>Worf: "Something is materializing in sickbay, sir."
MIKE: It's Troi's lunch.
>Data: "The lifeform is no longer in the alien ship, sir."
TOM: Preliminary analysis indicates he stepped out for a Leinenkugel.
>Picard: "Picard to security, emergency in sickbay."
CROW: Put down those doughnuts and grab your phasers.
> "Lieutenant Worf, come with me."
MIKE: And put on that frilly pink tutu I really like.
> "Number one, you have the bridge."
TOM: Mr. Data, you have the coda.
>Picard and Worf leave for the elevator.
>
>(In sickbay, counselor Troi is laying on a bed, sleeping. A girl in her
>late twenties is standing next to the bed, looking at Troi.
MIKE: "I like this one; such pretty eyes."
>In her right
>hand, she holds a helmet.
CROW: Hey, Lorena Bobbit.
>Doctor Crusher is entering the room from the left, holding some medical
>samples.
TOM: Hm, I guess Sinatra *does* have chunks of guys like him in his stool.
>She sees the girl and is completely surprised by the appearance.
ALL: Gasp!
>In the background, the door opens, and two guards rush in.
CROW: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!
>They see the girl,
>grab their guns, and take shooting position.
MIKE: No, you fools, don't aim for each other!
>The girl feels the threat. She turns around, and waves her left hand to the
>guards.
TOM: Flirt.
>Both guards are swept off their feet, and land on the floor,
>unconsciousness.
CROW: "If this is foreplay, I'm a dead man."
>Doctor Crusher walks to a nearby table, and puts down her samples.
TOM (southern accent): Just call BR549
>She
>carefully walks to the guards, kneels down, and examines them.
MIKE: Nice to know her job lets her indulge in her fetishes.
CROW: Who's the coroner, Thomas Negucci?
>At that moment, Picard and Worf enter sickbay. Worf sees both guards, and
>is busy pulling his gun.
MIKE (as Worf): Hi, I'm Long Dong Silver.
>Picard: (moving a hand towards Worf) "Stop Worf !"
TOM: You do it, Baldy, you're the one next to him.
>Worf freezes, keeping his hand near his gun.
>
>Picard: "What is happening, Doctor ?"
CROW: No, me doctor, she nurse, you Mr. Burtonshaw.
>The girl returns her attention to counselor Troi.
MIKE: I'd like my money back, please. I have the receipt.
>Crusher: (Rising from her kneeling position) "I came into the room with
> some samples, and she was suddenly there.
TOM: And there, on her end, was a hook!
MIKE: Moulty goosed her?!?!
> Both guards rushed in, took their weapon, and were knocked out by a
> single gesture of one of her hands."
CROW: Dare I even ask what that gesture was?
>Picard: "How are they."
MIKE: Why they're ...
ALL: FAAB-U-LOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUSSS!!
>Crusher: "They will awake in a few hours, with a severe headache."
MIKE: It was the rum crullers; you know these wacky security guys and their
pastry shooters.
>Picard slowly walks in the direction of the girl.
TOM: Her breathing quickened as his rough hands ...
>Doctor crusher is
>following him closely, Worf also comes a bit closer, still ready to pull
>his weapon.
CROW: Not very subtle, is he?
>Picard stops when he is on talking distance.
MIKE: Hi, could I speak to you about your insurance needs? You know, caring
for our loved ones ...
>Picard: "Hello, my name is Captain Picard, I am the captain of this ship.
> Who are you ?"
TOM: Bart Simpson, man; who the hell are you?
>While Picard talks to the girl, Doctor Crusher walks around Picard, and
>starts scanning her.
CROW (falsetto): Hm, slim-hipped and willowy; just my type.
>The girl senses that, and turns to Doctor Crusher, a bit startled.
MIKE (falsetto): Bev, quit looking at my butt!
>She
>looks at the doctor for a moment (Doctor crusher does not notice this, she
>is busy watching the scanner), then at the scanning device used by Doctor
>Crusher, then returns her attention to counselor Troi.
TOM: Let's see, I'll serve her with a garden salad, some truffles, turtle
soup, and round off the meal with a charbroiled hamburger sammich and some
french-fried potatoes.
>Crusher: "It is no use, captain, she cannot hear nor talk."
MIKE (as Worf): Does she know interpretive dance?
CROW: Is she known for her show with Mark Harmon?
TOM: Is she portrayed by Patty Duke?
>The girl reaches out with her left hand towards counselor Troi. She keeps
>her hand just above Troi's forehead.
CROW: Does this bug you? I'm not touching you. Does this bug you?
>Nothing happens.
MIKE: Hey, this *is* like Star Trek.
>The girl takes her hand back, and tries to reach the forehead of Doctor
>Crusher, but crusher moves back a few steps.
TOM (falsetto, nervously): Um, I don't have a fever, thank you.
>The girl gives up, takes her hand back, and returns her attention to Troi.
>
>Picard: "She seems not too concerned about our presence."
CROW: Oh? And what would you have said if you HADN'T spent all those years
learning at the academy? Sheesh!
>Crusher: "Yes, and she wants something from counselor Troi."
TOM: Her strapless evening gown.
>(voice of Riker) "Riker to captain Picard."
CROW (as Riker): Data and Wesley keep making fun of my beard! Make them stop!
>Picard: "Yes, number one."
>
>Riker: "Captain, we have just completed our first scan of the kashicks
> system. There is a class M1 planet,
MIKE: By some amazing coincidence ...
TOM: By some amazing plot convenience ...
> but readings show artificial
> sources of radiation.
MIKE: You interrupted me to tell me about street lamps?
> These sources are not on the planet."
CROW (as Riker): They're in my heart, telling me of my love for you. Sir.
>Picard: "Thank you, Picard out."
>
>Picard tries to get into contact with the girl by touching her on the
>shoulder,
TOM: Slug bug!
>but she does not react. He withdraws his hand.
MIKE: Pot's too rich for me; I fold.
>Picard: (to Crusher) "Time is running out, Doctor, awake counselor Troi."
TOM (singing): Time has come today!
>Crusher: "Ok, captain."
CROW: Deanna, getcher shoes on, we're at Grandma's.
>Doctor Crusher slowly walks to the other side of the bed,
TOM: Niagara Falls! Slowly I turned, step by step, ...
>keeping an eye on
>the girl all the time.
>The girl senses the activity, and turns her attention to Doctor Crusher.
>The doctor slowly takes her injector out of her pocket, her eyes still
>focused on the girl.
MIKE (falsetto): Okay, it's just you and me now, babe-o - a - babe-o!
>The girl watches doctor Crusher closely, but makes no attempts to stop her.
>Doctor Crusher, now sure that the girl will not stop her, turns her
>attention to counselor Troi,
CROW: Ew, combination skin!
>brings her injector to the shoulder of Troi,
>and injects counselor Troi with an anti-dote.
TOM (singing): And mersey dote and little lamsey divey
ALL (singing): And skiddley-ivy too, wooden chew!
>Then she moves away from the
>bed.
>Counselor Troi slowly awakes. She starts turning with her head, and moans
>softly.
MIKE: As God is my witness, I'll never drink again.
>The girl, aware that Troi is awakening, quickly places the helmet on Troi's
>head.
CROW: It's a hat party!
>Worf does not like that, and pulls his gun.
MIKE (as Worf): Dammit, my turtle helmet was the grandest of all ... until
YOU came along.
>The girl senses that, turns around, and freezes when she sees Worf with the
>gun in his hand.
TOM: Ooh, Senator! Now *that's* what I call a monument!
>Troi, now fully awake, sits up on the bed, feeling the helmet. She then
>realizes what Worf is about to do.
>
>Troi: "Worf ! Don't shoot ! She means no harm !"
CROW (falsetto): She's just here to deliver my Avon order!
>Picard nods to Worf, and he puts his gun back into his belt.
TOM (as Picard): Worf, put your phaser in your own holster.
>The girl is still frozen,
CROW: Aniki!
>looking at Worf.
>Troi notices this, and touches the girl. The girl snaps back to reality,
>and turns her attention to Troi.
>Troi smiles to the girl.
MIKE: You know, I think I saw this in one of the _Penthouse_s that my dad hid
behind the workbench in the garage.
>Crusher: "How are you, Troi ?"
>
>Troi: "Fine, thank you, doctor."
TOM: Bullcrap! *Hair* is fine. "How's your hair?" "Fine." Makes a lot more
sense to me.
>Crusher: "And your headache ?"
>
>Troi: "Completely gone."
>
>Troi: (to the girl) "My name is counselor Troi, who are you ?"
MIKE: There are some who call me ... Tim.
>Troi: (after a while) "Nice to meet you, where do you come from ?"
TOM: Everywhere and nowhere. Dad was in the Air Force. We moved a lot.
>Troi: (after a while, to picard) "Permission to leave, sir ?"
CROW (as Picard): You can jump into space for all I care.
>Picard: "Doctor ?"
MIKE: No, me doctor, she nurse, your wife patient. Be patient, she nurse your
wife.
>Crusher: "No problem sir."
> (to troi) "I want to examine you more closely later."
TOM: Booka-Wow! I never knew these two had a thing going.
>Troi: "Thank you Doctor,
> (to Picard) Captain."
>
>Troi gets on the floor,
MIKE: Nobody move, she lost a contact.
>and leaves sickbay. The girl follows Troi. Worf,
>Doctor Crusher and Picard watch them leaving.
CROW: I must get my watch fixed.
>
>
>
>
>
>INTERMEZZO:
MIKE: The game for the whole family!
>(Enterprise flies through the screen)
[A commercial in which Penn says "Comedy Central is proud to present the Are
You Being Served? marathon, 96 straight hours of jokes about Mrs. Slocum's
pussy."]
>
>Captain's log, stardate 2341.5
TOM: How long since we left Goshen?
>We are a few hours away from our destination, the kashicks system. The
>planet, which we could use to build our base, shows unusual radiation
>levels.
CROW: Oh, they still have an ozone layer.
>The lifeform in the alien ship is a girl.
MIKE: I knoooowwwwwww......
>She cannot hear and
>talk, but counselor Troi seems to be able to communicate with her.
MIKE: All these highly-trained, brilliant minds on the ship, and no one knows
sign language.
>(In meeting room)
>Persons present:
> Lieutenant Worf, Doctor Crusher, Commander La Forge, Counselor Troi
> (still wearing her helmet), Commander Riker, Captain Picard and the
> alien girl.
TOM: Hey, this is one of those underground study cells, isn't it?
>Everybody is sitting in a chair at the table, the girl has her eyes closed,
CROW (falsetto): Are you sure the replicator can't make Ex-Lax?
>fully concentrated.
TOM: New from MinuteMaid!
>Picard: "Counselor, what can you tell us ?"
MIKE: Well, nothing useful that isn't obvious.
>Troi: "Her people have been living peacefully on the M1 planet for
> centuries. They have no ability to speak or hear,
TOM: Hence the centuries without war.
> and communicate
> through thought, in a manner similar to betazoids.
MIKE: But not as annoyingly.
> My accident on the bridge was caused by
CROW: Bean burritos.
> receiving many thoughts into
> my mind, without being prepared for that.
>
>Riker: "Causing a kind of overflow."
TOM: Hey, Will, I know you two share a history, but a little discretion, huh?
>Troi: "Yes, exactly, but not enough to loose all my spiritual powers, as
> would happen normally.
MIKE (snapping fingers): Darn.
> With this helmet (she points to her head),
CROW: Gary Busey sold it to me.
> I can use their network,
> and communicate with them.
TOM: But I still can't telnet or FTP.
> However, she can do it better.
MIKE: Well no kidding! She's one of their species and has a lifetime of
experience.
> She has now contact with her home
> planet, I cannot read thoughts that far."
>
>Picard: "What does she tell us about the planet ?"
CROW: Well, it's round, divorced with two moons, enjoys bicycling and
romantic dinners, ...
>Troi: "A short time ago, people came from space, and started building a
> base on the planet.
TOM: At the time, home plate was just a pipedream.
> They have tried to stop them, but everybody who
> gets in sight of the builders gets 'flashed', as she calls it.
MIKE: Oh, so their leader is Paul Reubens.
> I
> think, she means death."
>
>Picard: "What builders ?"
CROW: Kevin Costner, James Earl Jones, that red-headed dork from
thirtysomething, ...
>Troi: "She just says builders. She can only tell me, that they have
> different thought patterns than we have.
TOM: Oh, they're logical and interesting.
> I asked her specificly about
> Worf, but Worf has a different thought pattern as well."
MIKE (as Worf): Darn, for a second I thought I had a chance to score. Well,
maybe I'll get to kill something.
>Crusher: "That leads to the conclusion that neither the human race, nor the
> klingons are involved."
CROW: Could be Tobacco Institute lobbyists, though.
MIKE: True...
>Picard: "Data, what do we know about the planet ?"
TOM: Well. It's got fluffy white clouds and little pink bunnies, ...
>Data: "According to our records, the planet is uninhabited,
MIKE: So just ignore our guest.
> but sensors
> indicate several energy sources on and around the planet.
CROW: All emitting ... radar!
> We also
> have strange radiation readings around the planet.
> Something is definitely happening there."
TOM: But what it is ain't exactly clear.
>Troi: "She has pleaded to hurry, several times, and ...."
>
>Troi looks at the girl. Everybody follows her look. The girl is sitting
>with her head between her hands.
MIKE: Excedrin Headache #437.
>Troi: "A large number of her people just got 'flashed'."
CROW: That Madonna concert must be on HBO.
>Everybody is silent for some time.
>
>Picard: "We have no time to loose.
TOM: Check the fetters on your watches.
MIKE: Hey, no grammar or spelling riffs!
CROW: Actually, Mike, that's a pretty common mistake among Americans make.
MIKE: Okay, okay.
> La Forge, get me everything you can squeeze out of the engines.
[TOM and CROW make straining and grunting sounds.]
> Data and Troi, I want her ship in our hangar, before we approach the
> planet.
> Worf, inform starfleet about our situation."
MIKE: Bev, put on that green silk teddy and those thigh-length boots.
TOM: We gotta go.
[They start to leave.]
>
>
>
>
>
>INTERMEZZO:
TOM: New from Prince Match-a-Belly!
>(Enterprise flies through the screen)
>
[Back in the smoky bar. Jerome is now playing a mandolin, T-Bone is no longer
using a slide. Some Zeppelin fans may know the song that T-Bone is
"singing".]
[T-Bone, singing]
I got a woman, stay drunk all the time...
I said I got a little woman and she won't be true.
[speaking]
Well, I hope you enjoyed part 1. Part 2 will be along in a few days. Right
now I'm kinda busy. Anyway, enough of this, Jerome, let's play some blues.
[They start playing a Sleepy John Estes song, "Clean up at Home".]
[T-Bone, singing]
Where's my coat? Hangin' by the fire.
..
[fade out]
T-Bone
[SNIP]
Woops! Forgot the disclaimer:
MSTed by Richard Burton (aka T-Bone; bur...@lobster.gsfc.nasa.gov)
Disclaimer: MST3K and related situations/characters/settings/scenarios are
the property of Best Brains; they had nothing to do with my writing this up.
This MSTing was done for the sole purpose of entertainment and is not meant
to be a personal attack on the original author(s) in any way. I intended no
flames on any organizations, characters, products, people, or ideas which I
referenced in my MSTing. I also have e-mail from Cybermuffin and Petrea, in
which they agreed to my using their names in this MSTing hafter having been
forwarded an advanced copy of the appropriate section. This MSTing reflects
my own personal viewpoint, and does not necessarly reflect the views of NASA,
Goddard Space Flight Center, or my employer.
Erin Cash
Kate.
--
_
(_ * \ Wow, 7 months and I'm already out of quotes.
(_ |~ | |) \