MiSTed - "Pure Lunacy" (1/1)
Bill Livingston
[SATELLITE OF LOVE - Tom is lying on the counter amid a clutter of bottles,
cans, and several socket wrenches. Crow is nearby]
SERVO: [weakly] Meters - Liters - ow, it hurts!
CROW: Oh come on, Tom, it's easy
SERVO: [groggily] 3 and a quarter feet! 2.2 pounds! A little more than a
quart! Oh, mama!
[Mike enters, wearing chaps and a 10-gallon hat over his jumpsuit, and
gadding about in a sort of C&W manner]
MIKE: [singing softly] Heel, toe, dosi-do, come on baby let's go - Hey are you
guys ready?
CROW: Ah, we hafta to cancel the "Boot Scootin' Boogie" lesson today, Mike.
Tom's got metricitis.
MIKE: "Metricitis"?
CROW: Yeah. Somehow, he missed getting any metric conversion protocols, so he
tried to assimilate it all at once, and, well, he's a little bit gooned out
at the moment.
SERVO: [delirious] Why doesn't 100 degrees Centigrade equal one degree Grade?
Are there ten Ares in a hectare? Do a million guns make a megaweapon?
MIKE: Tom, c'mon pal, metrics are easy once you get the amounts right. I mean,
they're based on tens.
SERVO: Mike, Mike - what's a "klick"?
MIKE: Um...
SERVO: Crow - how do you convert a "pinch" to metric.
CROW: You don't. Ninny
SERVO: For decency's sake, man, what's a kiloquad?
MIKE & CROW: Treknobabble! [Light flashes]
CROW: Hey guys, HectoRamsey and MiliVanilli are calling. [MIKE hits button]
[DEEP 13]
DR.F: Greetings, Fahrenheits! Say, you haven't seen Mother today, have you?
[SOL - Crow is holding a 1-liter soft drink bottle over Tom]
CROW: Take me to your liter, heh heh heh!
SERVO: OWOWOWOW!!
MIKE: Stow it Crow. No, no sign of Mom today.
[D13]
DR.F: She's up to something. I mean, Mom's into a lot of stuff of her own, and
I respect that, but - I saw her toting a shovel and some quicklime in here a
few days ago. Then yesterday I saw her lugging around an *axe*, and now I'm
really worried.
[SOL]
CROW: Hey, how about some "Gram" crackers? BWAH-HAH-HAH!!
SERVO: [as Dr. Smith] Oh, the pain, the pain!
MIKE: C'mon, no teasing. So, you think you're trapped in some weird reverse
Menendez scenario here?
[D13]
DR.F: Well, I'm not taking any chances. That's why I bought this! [Forrester
hefts a long handled, silver-bladed axe and twirls it for us to look at.
It has "Larry" engraved in gold on one side and "Frank" on the other]
Fancy, hm? It cost me a pretty penny, let me tell you, but well worth it,
I'd say. Anyway, since I'm feeling so close to my new friend here, I'm
sending you a little piece of net.crap for your reading pleasure. It's a
stinkblossom from alt.prose entitled "Pure Lunacy", and it's written by
an Australian who also enjoys the pleasures of a freshly honed blade. It's
short, but sharp, so slice it thin, Lizzie Borden!
[SOL - Mike is holding Crow and Tom apart]
SERVO: Metricize *this*, squabbo!
CROW: C'mon, I dare ya, convert 2 miles to yards!
[Lights flash]
ALL: WE GOT PROSE SIGN!!!!
SERVO: Three Thousand, Five Hundred and Twenty!
[6...5...4...3...2...o]
SERVO: ...all variations of duodecimals anyway.
>Path:
MIKE: Over the river and through the woods
> news.Traveller.COM!news.internetMCI.com!
CROW: Are they the friends & family people, the calling circle people, or the
dime people?
SERVO: Oh, like it matters!
> newsfeed.internetmci.com!
>chi-news.cic.net!nntp.coast.net!harbinger.cc.monash.edu.au!news.mel.connect.
SERVO: The Mel Gibson server - catch a glimpse of ol' Braveheart's Oscar-winning
butt cheeks every hour on the hour
MIKE: "Oscar" is a trademark of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.
All rights reserved.
>com.au!wombat.melbpc.org.au!dialup-40.melbpc.org.au!jcollins
>From: jcol...@melbpc.org.au (John Collins)
SERVO: From the set of "Dynasty" to the pages of alt.prose
CROW: Wonder how big an advance she got for this?
>Newsgroups: alt.prose
>Subject: Pure Lunacy
MIKE: Ah, those truth in advertising laws are finally kicking in
>Date: Thu, 28 Dec 1995 06:28:47 UTC+10
>Organization: Melbourne PC User Group, Australia
SERVO: Well, g'day, eh?
>Lines: 180
>Message-ID: <jcollins....@melbpc.org.au>
>NNTP-Posting-Host: dialup-40.melbpc.org.au
>X-Newsreader: Trumpet for Windows [Version 1.0 Rev B final beta #4]
MIKE: And the final trumpet sounded, and there came forth bad prose over
all the net
>
>Ha.
CROW: Hah hah
MIKE: Hahahaha
SERVO: HahahaHAhahaHAhaha
ALL: MUAHAHAHAHAHAH!!
> You thought Dog Distortion was wierd!
CROW: We did?
MIKE: Well, we're pretty sure the dog did
> It is but a mere squashed slug
>beneath the sole of my shoe in comparison to Pure Lunacy.
SERVO: Oh boy - this is gonna be really really bad medicine
CROW: Well, at least it's short
SERVO: That just means the evil is more concentrated!
>
> The brooding, but as nobody yet suspected, sentient clouds were glowering
>ominously from above upon the house that Jack built.
CROW: Sentient clouds? We must be in Xanth
MIKE: No, just Oz
> Actually a building firm
>built the house that Jack built from materials from another firm.
SERVO: Industry: building a better tomorrow, for Jack!
> But it is
>quite likely that one of the people involved in the building of the house
MIKE: Was taking payoffs from the Syndicate
>somewhere along the line was named Jack. Whether it be the man who cut down
>the rainforest timber
CROW: I am the Lorax - I speak for the trees!
> or someone deep in the past of someone's every growing
>family tree. This is the house that Jack built.
MIKE: This is not Jack's lovely house! This is not Jack's beautiful wife!
>
> After only a brief pause for reconsideration, the clouds could stand it no
>longer
SERVO: They were sick of this story already
> and so poured it all down on the house that Jack built.
ALL: EEWW-W-W-W-W!
> The garden
>surrounding this house that the proverbial Jack built
CROW: I'm Proverbial Cherokee Jack
> was pummelled into mush.
SERVO: [as Homer] Mmmmmm - mush!
>The entire back yard turned into a rather large swimming pool of dubious
>diving depth.
MIKE: Instant pool: just add water!
> Under cracked roof tiles and through the ceiling, down the walls
>and onto the carpet.
SERVO: [announcer] Spanning the globe from coast to coast!
> This was the way of the rain -
CROW: Wax on, wax off
> for the building firm that
>built the house that Jack built was not very good.
ALL: Wah wah wah wa-a-a-h!
> Through the battering of the rain on the window and the scratching of the
>branches on the walls, Jimmy slept.
SERVO: SNO-O-O-O-O-O-ORE!!!
MIKE: Whooooooooo!
CROW: Eebeebeebeebeebeeb
> Whether it be by the horrific nature of
>the elements outside
SERVO: Friday the 13th part 9: Cesium's Revenge!
> or of Jimmy's twisted imagination,
CROW: Not to mention John Collins' twisted imagination
> another nightmare was
>unfolding within his head.
MIKE: It's the one with the dwarves and the Velcro
>
> In Jimmy's nightmare, it was a night such as this.
MIKE: It was a dark and stormy night
CROW: It was a ducky strumming knight
SERVO: He was a neat and stormy dork
>
> The driving rain moved from left to right in some streets, right to left in
>others,
CROW: [as Kevin Kline] To the left - *the left*!! DICKWEED!!!
> some had tailwinds and some had headwinds.
MIKE: Some had little bunny slippers; some had little cow slippers
> It all depended on which
>way you were facing.
SERVO: Ah, doesn't it always?
> Outside of the warm and cosy houses it was very bleak.
>The colours of these houses
CROW: "Colours"?
MIKE: [Foster's ad] Ow to speak Strine. Bad Wroiting. Beeah.
> had been intended to create a feeling of beauty,
>elegance or fun while in the sun, were now ghastly, murky hues.
SERVO: Ah, they're little pink houses for you and me
> This was not a
>good time for prospective house sellers.
CROW: But enough about the Fed's interest rate policy
> It was rare to see any moving cars on the roads on a night such as this.
SERVO: [Traffic reporter] Ah, we got a big tie up on the I-565/Memorial Parkway
exchange. There's a tanker full of mush jackknifed, and traffic's backed up
for miles
>Those cars that were moving had drivers who all had that mad look in their
>eyes of those who would rather face death at the next corner
CROW: In a chess match
> than pull over to
>the side of the road to wait out the storm. The brown, decaying leaves
SERVO: [singing] All the leaves are brown, and the skies are grey
MIKE & CROW: [counterpoint] All the leaves are brown, and the skies are grey
>from the now leaf barren trees that had littered the ground, clustered around
>porches, cars, gardens and became excellent clotting agents for drains.
MIKE: And they make a delicious stuffing for your holiday turkey
> Soon
>water overflowed from the gutters and ran across the road to where a sinister
>figure stood.
MIKE: James Carville!
CROW: Marge Schott!
SERVO: John_Winston!
>
> In Jimmy's imagination this figure stood; This figure of 190cm in height, or
>6 foot 3 inches in the imperial system,
CROW: The Imperial system: the joys of a margarine-based economy!
> a figure of ambiguous intelligence.
MIKE: Jimmy's dreaming about Doug Herzog
CROW: It *is* a nightmare!
>This is not to say that all 6'3", or 190cm in the metric system, tall people
SERVO: So do we convert inches to centipedes and gallons to flivvers, or vice
versa?
>have lost many marbles from lack of oxygen at that great height or to say that
>all ambiguously intelligent people are all 190cm in height, or 6'3" tall in
>the imperial system.
MIKE: What do you wanna bet Collins is Dudley Moore sized?
> Most of the rest of the civilised world had nothing but
>contempt for
CROW: alt.prose, thanks to stories like this
> the imperial system and only keeps the knowledge that it ever
>existed because the Americans still use it, which is their right.
SERVO: [Brooklyn accent] Hey, dat's right, pallie, an' we're gonna keep usin'
da good ol' American system stedda dat commie metric stuff dere!
MIKE: We dare defend our right to use confusing measurements!
> This person had always been 190cm tall because he'd only just come into
>existence. All of his previous life was unknown to himself and almost
>everybody else.
CROW: If he's just come into existence, he *has* no previous life
> Creation meant nothing to him.
MIKE: Philistine!
> Standing in the rain, in the middle of the road,
SERVO: [singing] It's the middle of the road, and he's tryin' to find...
> he looked more stupid than
>ever.
CROW: He's never looked more stupid, because he just came into existence!
> His lower jaw stuck out further than his upper and as he constantly
>smiled, it gave him a look of a stupid, smiling, primative caveman.
MIKE: Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer is frightened by your magic!
> Not nice.
>His long, black, matted hair fell out of place as much in the rain as out so
>it's not suprising that this person never had a good hair day.
SERVO: [Pauly] It's the weas!
MIKE: Never, never, never do that voice again
CROW: What he said
> There were
>massive cuts all over his face, half of which were still open.
SERVO: The rest had closed due to economic readjustment
> They'd appeared
>over a great deal of time from his uncoordinated and inconsistant attempts to
>shave off his beard.
CROW: But - but if he's just come into existence, then how -
SERVO: Just put it down, Crow, and back away from it nice and slow
>
> This person's drab red and coarsely knitted woollen jumper covered a grimy,
>never washed "white" t-shirt which served as a home to a family of lice - a
>rather large family.
MIKE: In fact, they're the Kennedys of lice
CROW: Insert your own Teddy joke here
> His fading, tight fitting stone washed jeans, also
>covered with mud and grime, still successfully soak up much of the downpour in
>his general vicinity.
CROW: Bugle Boys: the quicker picker-upper
> This 190cm person's under-educated brain refused to accept the fact that
SERVO: He was stuck in a piece of bad writing
> his
>velcro Trax shoes, despite the inspired and innovative name, were never and
>would be a fashion statement -
CROW: They were never and would be?
SERVO: Then whatever happens, he's right.
MIKE: Still, it beats paying $175 for Filas or Nikes or whatever
> except on people under the age of five whose
>mothers had bought them because they thought the name was inspired and
>innovative.
CROW: For someone who's 6'3", he's sure got tiny feet
SERVO: What's five years in metric?
CROW: Um, either 37 PhilGramms, or 421.8 killdozers - I think
> These particular velcro Trax runners became excellent sponges for
>the water his jeans had missed and the overflow from the gutters, but he
>didn't care.
SERVO: He's Larry Buchanan
> Any perceptive person, as does any stupid one, realises that it is raining
MIKE: Any fool can plainly see that!
CROW: I can plainly see that!
SERVO: Mendicant!
>and so during one of these frequent periods of precipitation would find a
>place of shelter to, as the word suggests, shelter behind or in.
SERVO: Thanks to John's extra expository exposition, the reader is narrowly
saved from misinterpreting the word "shelter"
> Sure, it may
>take some of them a while to work out
CROW: Well, if their health clubs weren't all the way downtown -
> that something cold and wet is falling
>on them,
SERVO: What's that tall building over there - "Urinary Institute"?!?!?
> and as cold is bad they should be getting out of it. This 190cm
SERVO: cm pigs?
MIKE: mr not pigs
SERVO: osar pigs
CROW: cm bad writing?
MIKE: mr horrible terrible bad writing
CROW: u no it!
>person had been standing there for 15 minutes with no umbrella nor raincoat
>contemplating what to do.
SERVO: [Tor] Time for go to Wal-Mart
> But this person had reason to be stupid,
CROW: Did it involve network programming?
> reason to
>stand outside in the cold, rain and wind. This was no ordinary person.
MIKE: Yeah, he's an extraordinarily *dumb* person, it sounds like!
> This
>person was an axe murderer.
SERVO: He murdered axes?
> No, he did not murder axes.
SERVO: Okay, thanks, I - HEY!!!
>
> Bob, the axe murderer,
CROW: Oh please, tell me this is *not* another Twin Peaks story!
> as he was known to all the people he had killed, all
>his victims, all his mutilated creations, continued to stand in the centre of
>the road.
CROW: Wait wait wait - he *can't* have any victims yet, he just came into
friggin' existence!!!
MIKE: C'mon, Crow, it's just bad prose
CROW: But he's violating the laws of space-time!!
SERVO: Well, he can get a job on "Voyager" then
> Needless to say, nobody had the slightest idea who he was because
>all the ones who did know were dead. Just then (about 10 minutes later),
CROW: Oooh, *that's* when that is!
> Bob,
>the axe murderer, had an idea.
SERVO: The square of the hypotenuse *is* equal to the sum of the squares of the
other two sides!
> After punching the air and shouting a bit for
>reasons he was unable to comprehend,
SERVO: He's got invisible elves
MIKE: Maybe he's really Eddie Vedder
CROW: Maybe he just can't figure out why he's in this story
> Bob, the inspired axe murderer began to
>walk. He came upon the house that Jack built which was actually built by a
>building firm.
CROW: Yes, here at Cheaply, Shaftem, & Shims, we'll build *any* house for
$79.95
>
> The aforementioned Bob
MIKE: Who was mentioned afore
> was also carrying with him a vast array of pain and
>and possibly death inflicting implements;
SERVO: Sounds like he's up for some TOR-CHAR!!
> knives, knuckle-dusters and
>thumb-screws.
ALL: Knives, knuckle-dusters and thumb-screws, oh my! Knives, knuckle-
dusters and thumb-screws, oh my! Knives, knuckle-dusters and -
> But he always left the taped episodes of "The Price is Right" at
>home for the victims he always said he was going to bring home, but never did.
MIKE: Bob's just a quiet, shy axe-murderer
>Besides he didn't want to carry the VCR and TV around with him and he didn't
>have a long enough extension cord.
SERVO: Okay, so we get the idea Bob here is a couple of French Fires short of
a Happy Meal!
MIKE: The author just wants to be absolutely sure that we don't miss any of
those subtle nuances he's carefully crafted, so he's bludgeoning us over
the head with them!
> Bob, the axe murderer, only carried these
>implements around out of habit but never used them because it might spoil his
>reputation.
CROW: Also, he'd lose his amateur standing and wouldn't be able to go to the
Olympics this summer
>
> For no apparent reason other than to get out of the rain, Bob, the 6'3" tall
>axe murderer climbed the termite molested
MIKE: "Termite-*molested*"??
CROW: [Falsetto] Arrest that bug, officer, he fondled my firs, groped my
greenery, and lingered over my larches!
> and now rotting steps in his
>squelching velcro Trax shoes on to the porch. From there he walked to the
>front door.
SERVO: [as Bob, stupidly] Uh, hey peoples, can I come in & kill alla youse?
> With practiced skill, he broke the window next to the door,
CROW: Most people have to study for years to learn that
SERVO: It's Bob's special gift.
> thrust
>his hand through the remaining shards of glass that clung to the substandard
>putty around the edges, turned the inside doorknob and let himself into the
>house that Jack built.
MIKE: [Bob] Don't get up, I got it!
>
> The house that Jack built, that a building firm built from materials from
>another firm, was deathly still -
CROW: It's quiet
MIKE: Yeah - too quiet!
> apart from the noise from the rain on the
>outside walls and roof, the trickle of water sliding down from the ceiling to
>the crumbling wall and onto the carpet where mould was sure to grow,
SERVO: Something tells me the author has a bone to pick with the Australian
housing industry
>the ticking of the grandfather clock, the snoring of Jimmy's parents and the
>whining of the cringing, but fearless guard chihuahua.
CROW: [Cheech Marin] Oh, man, I hope he goes away, like, real soon!
> Oh, and the heavy
>breathing of the axe murderer. In fact it seemed to be a fairly noisy house
>but for the purposes of this story it shall appear to be quiet.
SERVO: Okay, so it's not *too* quiet!
MIKE: Just ignore everything and look at reality the John Collins way
>
> Up the stairs climbed Bob, the stealthy axe murderer, in him impossibly
>perceivably trendy Trax runners.
CROW: He ate his shoes?
> Behind him, the blood of what was left of the
>cringing, but fearless guard chihuahua
MIKE: Oh, big axe murderer man killed the rat puppy!
SERVO: I hope you're PROUD of yourself, mister!
> showed the passage of his travel
>upstairs in the shape of Trax soles.
CROW: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Australian Moses of Trax Soul, *BOB*!!
> At each step, the rotting boards creaked
>and groaned. There was almost a premature ending
CROW: He should see a specialist about that
MIKE Thank you, Crow
> that would have only had a
>semi-good climax when one of the sodden floorboards collapsed under Bob, the
>no longer stealthy axe murderer, because of the poor construction work of the
>house that Jack built.
SERVO: [as Bob] Geez, I oughtta sue these clowns
> From the second floor landing, over the racket of the house and the now only
>semi-working grandfather clock as it went tick sproing with a knife embedded
>in its mechanisms,
CROW: Let's review: so far, Bob's murdered a window, a dog, and a clock.
SERVO: An artiste must practice
> Bob, the downgraded axe murderer,
MIKE: Downgraded man, person man
> could hear Jimmy's
>parents snoring away, blissfully unaware of Bob,
SERVO: Lucky!
> the axe murderer in their
>house. Besides, nobody knew Bob except his victims.
CROW: How could anyone know him if HE JUST CAME INTO BEING?!?!?!?
MIKE: Simmer down, Crow
CROW: You simmer - I'm bitter!
> All was well. He continued
>along the landing, stopping only when he came to Jimmy's door (which was quite
>close to the bathroom incidentally).
SERVO: Little Jimmy's incontinence was well know around the neighborhood.
>
> He peered closely at the door.
MIKE: [as Bob] How-ers 8 to 9, closed Sunday
> The "Beware of the mutated beasty thing
>inside!" sign on the door written in childish handwriting didn't frighten Bob
SERVO: Even Hank McCoy can't deter Bob!
>because he couldn't read.
CROW: R.I.F.
> Doubtless, if he could read he would have run away
>immediately, screaming.
SERVO: We would, too, if we could!
> The breathing of Bob, the axe murderer, became faster.
>His heart pumped blood around his body into the soon to be needed extremities
>of his body.
ALL: YUCK!!!
>
> Bob, the rabid axe murderer, foaming at the mouth, burst through the soggy
>door, accidentally leaving behind one of his much prized and valued Trax shoes
>but remembering to wield his axe in a threatening manner.
CROW: Well, we can give him 5.5 for style, but the shoe *will* cost him
>"Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!" screamed Jimmy as he woke up,
MIKE: At least he spelled "Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!" right - most people
forget that sixth "h"
CROW: One thing I hate is when people use "Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!" and
"Aaaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeyyyyyyaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!" interchangeably
> only just
>managing to restrain his bladder from spreading its contents all over his
>Teddy Ruxpin pyjamas. "And it was all a dream," Jimmy said,
SERVO: [dreamily] And you were in it. And you, and you, and you too,
Professor Marvel!
> "and everything is
>all right again!" before feeling the blow of the axe as it split his skull in half.
ALL: AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!
> The meticulously cleaned and sharpened blade tore through his head like it
>was a hunk of rotting wood.
CROW: No, *Collins's* head is the hunk of wood!
> Jimmy's shredded brain was thrown around the room,
>spattering the Blinky Bill wallpaper with grey and black masses.
MIKE: Club Soda'll get that right out
CROW: Mike, remember what I said earlier about being glad this wasn't a Twin
Peaks story?
MIKE: Yeah?
CROW: I changed my mind. A healthy dose of David Lynch would be such a breath
of fresh air right now.
SERVO: Yeah, even "Fire Walk With Me" would be a relief!
> More
>importantly, what was left of his almost totally diseased brain dribbled down
>his neck and onto his now soiled Teddy Ruxpin pyjamas.
MIKE: Oh, I'm gonna need a three-week shower after this!
SERVO: Geez, this guy makes Bret Easton Ellis sound like A.A.Milne!
> Downstairs, Jimmy's paralexic parents slept
SERVO: "Paralexic"?
CROW: They're John Shea and Gene Hackman
> under their ill conceived home-
>made doona,
SERVO: [singing] Don't just stand there, let's get to it,
wield an axe, there's nothing to it - Vogue!
> still in the dark about all the fun and excitement that had been
>had upstairs for which they would have been a bit miffed.
MIKE: Next time, you *knock* before coming into our house and hack-killing,
mister!!
> Being paralexic
>didn't make them deaf but being paralexic certainly adds character to one's
>persona.
SERVO: If only this guy had some
CROW: Character or paralexia?
SERVO: Whatever
> And there's a moral to this story.
CROW: Excuse me, but "moral" and "this story" are 2 phrases that don't belong
together!
> If we all let our houses go to pot like
>the house that Jack built, any axe murderers who happen to come into your
>house may fall down through rotten floorboards, snapping their spine.
MIKE: [dully] Ha ha. Stop. My sides ache.
>Of course, there are so many other morals I could mention but I can't really be
>bothered thinking them up.
CROW: So there!
>The END
SERVO: About frippin' time!
>Don't tell me you got this far.
MIKE: Hey, don't remind us!
>John Collins
>Member Melbourne PC User Group :-)
SERVO: Somehow, finding a :-) after that story just doesn't help.
CROW: Let's split!
MIKE: I wish you'd phrased that differently
CROW: Sorry
[All Leave]
[o...2...3...4...5...6]
[SOL - Mike is spraying the bots with a can of Lysol (tm)]
SERVO: You missed a spot
MIKE: C'mon, Tom, this is the third can
CROW: It's gonna take more than Lysol to rid us of that posting, Mike - you may
have to break out the flame-thrower.
SERVO: Yeah, the stench of it hangs on like rotten clams!
MIKE: It was like all three Coleman Francis movies crammed into one!
CROW: It was like being forced to read an entire year's worth of postings from
*all* the "creative" newsgroups!
SERVO: It was like watching a month's worth of alternative and "Buzz Bin" videos
from MTV at blipvert speed!
MIKE: It was like - like - like something really horribly bad!
CROW: Yeah!
SERVO: It was like a simile
CROW: It was a metaphor
MIKE: [lights start to flash] Hope your guys are happy, now - you've got us
doing allusions up here!
[D13 - Pearl is looking around furtively]
PEARL: Hello people - hi, Art, how are you?
[SOL]
CROW: Oh, hi Pearl. Except for having been killed inside and feeling empty and
hollow, I'm fine.
[D13]
PEARL: Same here. Listen, Clayton has been acting a little odd lately. Have
you seen him today?
[SOL]
SERVO: Yeah, he sent us this little poopie prosey posey.
CROW: How can you tell he's acting odd anyway?
[D13]
PEARL: I admit it's difficult sometimes, but ever since I bought my gardening
supplies, he's been acting very peculiar. He even went out and bought a new
axe, even though I've got a perfectly good one of my own [she holds up a
huge axe with the words "B. Natural" inscribed on the handle]. I just don't
know what gets into that boy!
DR.F: [walks in and spies Pearl holding the axe] AHA!! I *knew* you were up to
something, mother!
PEARL: Clayton, what are you talking about?
DR.F: Oooh, don't try to deny it! I've seen it in your eyes! [reaches under
his lab coat and pulls his axe from a scabbard] There can be only one!!
PEARL: One what?!?!?
DR.F: Um, whatever. To the death, mater!!
PEARL: [sighs] To the death!! [they begin to duel a la "Highlander"]
[SOL]
MIKE: Wow - kinda gives the term "Family Feud" a whole new meaning.
SERVO: Um, Mike, should we give the info about the dibs list and everything?
MIKE: Good idea. "Art"?
CROW: Thanks, dicky old chum. To sign up on the MiSTing Authors Dibs List,
send an e-mail message to majo...@neylonpc.engin.umich.edu with the
message "subscribe dibslist [<your name>]" in the message body. Be sure
to read the Guidelines for MiSTing, described in the FAQ, and remember to
send all your posts using the new *metric* e-mail guidelines.
SERVO: Wha - "m-metric e-mail"
CROW: Oh, yeah, haven't you heard? All Electronic Mail, Usenet, and WWW
documents have to be converted by the first of the year.
SERVO: AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!! [runs off]
MIKE: That was mean, Crow. Really cool to watch, but mean.
CROW: Wait'll I pull the old metric alphabet trick on him [they wander off]
[D13 - Pearl has Dr.F pinned to the console]
PEARL: Yield!
DR.F: Never!!
PEARL: *Yield!!!*
DR.F: *Never!!!!*
PEARL: YIELD!!!!!
DR.F: NEVER!!!!!!
PEARL: Break for lunch?
DR.F: Okay [they get up and walk away as Dr.F Pushes the button]
[FWOOSH!!!]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DR.F: [over the fadeout] Just like old times, eh mother?
"PURE LUNACY ": by John Collins
MiSTING OF "PURE LUNACY ": by Bill Livingston
MiSTING DIBS LIST MAINTAINED: by Michael K. Neylon
ROSE IS ROSE: by Pat Brady
FALLEN: by the Wayside
STAR TREK: Deep Space Nine
THANKS: to MiSTies, MuSTies, the teachers of America, the authors of
all the Amendments (except the 22nd), and whoever invented peanut butter.
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and situations are
trademarks of and (c) Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved.
All characters used here are copyright their respective creators and/or
owners. In spite of what anyone may say. Use of copyrighted and trade-
marked material is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement on
the original copyrights or trademarks held by others is intended or should
be inferred.
No personal insults to author(s), character(s), or situation(s) are or should be
implied; really. No, really.
Find out how you can help save "Mystery Science Theater 3000"! See the
"Save MST3K Page" at http://faraday.clas.virginia.edu/~jcp9j/canceled.html
Soundtrack available on RCA Gramaphone Records, Tapes, and 8-Tracks
Keep circulating the posts.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Doubtless, if he could read he would have run away
>immediately, screaming.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
bi...@Traveller.COM http://www.Traveller.COM/~bill
Best if Used by Date on Label