[MiSTed] "CivStory" (2/2)
Mike Barklage
[Mike enters the theater. Crow and Tom are already there.]
MIKE: Yikes. That reminded me of every Thanksgiving dinner I've ever
been to.
>
> Scene: Lobby of some sorts, restroom signs are seen on the wall
> behind Riker is dressed in a simple outfit of jeans and a shirt that has a
> blue three quarter sleeves on it.
TOM: Wow! There were about 8 different sentences crammed into that one!
> Several people around him are jumping
> around, laughing and screaming.
CROW: Cool, a mosh pit.
> He looks around and sees a poster. Bette
> Midler at the Red Rocks Apitheater with a large sold out sign over it. The
> date was Sept 14, 1973.
>
> Riker: Q, where the hell am I.
TOM: Red Rocks Ampitheater. Jeez, you *are* slow, aren't you!
>
> Screaming Fan Boy #1: Come on man, Bette's about to come back on.
TOM&CROW: <snicker>
MIKE: <Riker> Thank you, Screaming Fan Boy!
>
> Riker moved with the flow of the crowd toward an open ampitheater
> door.
CROW: I guess tickets were free that day.
>
> Scene: Outdoors, near a forest of some sort. Data appears wearing a
> pair of overalls, a white shirt and a wide brimmed straw hat. He looks
> about.
>
> Data: Interesting. It would appear that I am now in the south
> France, sometime near the end of the eighteenth century.
TOM: How can he tell?
MIKE: And who is he talking to?
> Q must have
> placed me here. I believe that the best course of action is to locate some
> form of shelter and....
CROW: Thank you, Lt. Exposition.
>
> The aindroids head cocked sideways slightly.
MIKE: ...before falling off his shoulders.
>
> Data: Strange, apparently my programming cannot come up with a
> proper sequence that I should follow. I shall have to run a diagnostic on
> them when I get back to the ship.
TOM: Data, you are *such* an imbicile.
>
> Data headed away from the forest, attempting to whistle while
> doing so.
>
> -Commercial
CROW: Do you want to make more money?
>
> Scene: England 1601.
>
> Picard is wandering along the street, he approaches a large building,
> opens the door and enters.
>
> Scene: A theater of sorts.
TOM: It's only sort of a theater. It doubles as a bowling alley.
> Seats are located on the upper level
> only. The stage is several feet off the ground.
MIKE: Floating.
> The stage is not set at
> all.
>
> Actor #1: I don't think he's going to show today.
>
> Actor #2: Why not?
>
> Actor #1: He was having trouble with a scene. He probably is
> still working on it.
>
> Actor#2: Well then. If he is not going to be here, what are we
> to do.
>
> Picard: Pardon me.
TOM: <Picard> I tooted.
>
> Actor #1: There is no performance today good sir. You are not
> supposed to be here, please leave.
>
> Picard: This is the Globe theater?
CROW: <actor> No, it's the Globe Supermarket. Of *course* it's a theater!
>
> Actor #2: Yes.
>
> Picard: Ah, then would it be possible for me to see William
> Shakespeare, if it is no problem.
>
> Actor #3: He is not here yet, and we don't quite expect him anymore.
MIKE: The Writers' Guild is striking again.
>
> Picard: Do you know where I may find him.
>
> Actor #1: Have you tried him rooms?
>
> Scene: South France.
TOM: Shakespeare lives pretty far away!
> Data has taken to walking along a road. He
> sees a cottage off the road and begins heading for it. He is humming.
>
> Scene: Enterprise Bridge.
CROW: Well, *that* was a riveting scene!
> Geordi is sitting in Rikers chair.
> Wes is at the con. Troi is in her chair.
MIKE: The *comfy* chair!
> Dr. Crusher is standing next to
> Troi. Nameless ensigns are at all other stations. The captains chair is
> empty.
>
> Troi voice over: Counselors log, supplemental.
TOM: <Troi> We're all going to die.
> The crew is
> holding together well enough, considering the chain of command has been
> completely obliterated. Q has yet to resurface and offer any sort of
> explanation. I am most concerned about Geordi. The mantle of command
> has fallen to him,
CROW: And it hit him right on the head.
> and he is very inexperienced, and worried if he will
> make the correct decisions.
TOM: <Troi> It's your first time, isn't it.
CROW: <Geordi> No! I've commanded before!
>
> Geordi: Ensign Crusher, set a search pattern to search this
> quadrant. Long range sensors.
MIKE: Yeah, that always works. Just like level-1 diagnostics.
>
> Wes: Course set and laid in, sir.
CROW: But *I'm* not.
MIKE: Okay, we've used that joke enough.
>
> Geordi: Engage.
>
> Troi: Don't worry Geordi. We'll find them soon enough.
>
> Geordi: But how Counsellor. Q could have sent them anywhere, and he
> probably did.
TOM: Where you going, anyway?
MIKE: Anywhere.
TOM: Man, I wish I was going with you!
>
> Dr. Crusher: Did Q mention anything that might give us a lead to
> where they are.
>
> Wes: Well he was talking about zen, and unconscious and changing
> civilization.
>
> Dr. Crusher: You don't suppose he sent them back to change history,
> just to prove it can be done.
>
> Geordi: We don't even know if Q is capable of something like
> time travel.
CROW: After all, the Enterprise only travelled in time in every other
episode...
>
> Troi: He has seemed confidant in his omnipotence.
TOM: In his impotence?! ...Oh.
>
> Geordi: I guess we'll just have to wait this one out.
MIKE: We know how you feel.
>
> Scene: Roman Senate. Worf is making his way down near the floor.
> He walks over to Brutus.
>
> Worf: You will derive no honor from this act.
CROW: I know, but I always *wanted* to be a Senator.
>
> Brutus: What? I don't know you do I.
>
> Worf: (Shaking his head) No you do not, but I know of you and what
> you plan to do. You will suffer if you go through with this treasonous act.
TOM: <Worf> Don't vote for the Contract With America.
>
> Brutus: But it is for the good of the Empire, that is not treason.
>
> Worf: Somethings come before an Empire. Honor is one of them.
> You will be dishonored.
MIKE: Since when has that ever stopped a congressman?
>
> Worf turns and walks away. Brutus turns and raises his hand,
CROW: ...if he's Sure!
> almost
> shouting, but stopping. His head drops in thought.
TOM: He picks it up off the floor and reattaches it.
>
> Scene: Red Rocks Ampitheater. Riker has just come through the
> doors, he can barely hear the piano that is solely playing on the stage.
> The light shines off the players white outfit. He listens. Chopins'
> prelude n C minor drifts to his ears. He stops, caught up in the music.
CROW: <make Frankenstein noise>
> He looks up, the sky is a deep indigo, stars gleaming. The song changes
> from the normal one. Rikers attention is moved back to the stage.
MIKE: Riker begins swiping at the air, trying to catch the notes.
CROW: <Frankenstein noise again>
>
> Riker: Beautiful. Beautiful music.
TOM: Duh... music pretty.
>
> Scene: Cottage in S. France. Data has arrived at the cottage.
>
> Data: Odd, I do not understand how I came to come to this cottage.
CROW: You walked, remember?
> I wonder if this is more of Qs' doing.
MIKE: Only if he was moving your legs for you.
>
> He Knocks.
TOM: He paddy-whacks.
CROW: He gives a dog a bone.
>
> Data: Is there anyone in residence here.
>
> He knocks again. We hear noise from inside. The door opens a man
> with a red beard is in the door. He raises his hand to shield his eyes from
> the sun.
>
> Data: Pardon me sir,...
MIKE: Have you heard the good news about the Lord Our Savior?
>
> Van Gogh: Vincent, my name is Vincent. What is it you would be
> wanting of my. Not a portrait I am sure.
TOM: I'm not interested in any encylopedias.
>
> Data: No thank you. I would like (he is caught for a reason)
CROW: If I caught Data, I'd have a reason, too.
> somewhere I could stay for the evening. I am a...traveler from far away.
MIKE: <Jon Lovitz> Yeah, that's it, that's the ticket...
>
> Van Gogh: You can stay on my floor if that suits you at all.
>
> Data: That will be acceptable, I am sure.
TOM: Especially for someone who doesn't need to sleep.
>
> Van Gogh opens the door for Data to enter. Data goes in. Van Gogh
> closes the door.
>
> Scene: An interior room. Picard is sitting on a chair, there is
> one other opposite.
MIKE: He's on Super Password!
> A desk is in the corner by the window, a stack of
> papers on it.
> Shakespeare' voice: I hope that tea is acceptable, Jean-Luc.
>
> Picard: (laughing to himself) Yes tea will do quite nicely.
CROW: Ha ha! It's funny, because, see, he likes tea!
>
> Shakespeare: (entering, and sitting on the chair) I am sorry you
> had to go through all the trouble of finding me. It must have been hard
> for you to get here from France.
TOM: <French> English pig! I wave my private parts at you!
>
> Picard: It isn't how I got here that worries me, it's how to get
> back.
>
> Shakespeare: If you need work, I am sure the theater could use you
> for a few weeks, building or something.
MIKE: Heck, maybe you could star in a one-man version of "A Christmas Carol."
>
> Picard: No money isn't the problem, it's time.
>
> Shakespeare: I do not understand, do you have an engagement you
> have to get to.
>
> Picard: Not quite, but I'll leave it at that. I wanted to ask you
> about your plays, especially the new one, Hamlet.
>
> Shakespeare: A rather tragic tragedy.
CROW: What, are you Yogi Berra all of a sudden?
> It has the makings of a very
> good play. Love, betrayal, revenge and death. Lots of death. Almost
> everyone died.
TOM: "DOOM: The Play."
>
> Picard: But why must everyone die?
CROW: Why... must... Spock... die...
> Couldn't several live.
>
> Shakespeare: Then it wouldn't be a real tragedy. Tragedy takes
> place best when there is the most at stake and all is lost.
MIKE: Sounds like me in Vegas.
> When people
> get pulled down because of only a small commitment to a main character. If
> people believe the small characters and they suffer, the audience suffers
> along with them.
TOM: Kinda like this fanfic.
> And if their suffering causes a lead player to suffer,
> all the more it is felt by the audience. If the audience is drawn in,
> then it will be a good play. Only one or two of the smaller main characters
> can live, after all we need someone who could have told the story.
CROW: <Picard> Jeez, sorry I asked.
>
>
>
> Scene: South France. A decent sized room with several painted
> canvases in it.
MIKE: South France is a decent-sized room?
> Data is sitting at a table with some flowers on it.
> Vincent brings some wine to the table.
>
> Van Gogh: It gets terribly lonesome out here at time, but the
> quiet is good for my work.
TOM: It's gotten a lot quieter since I cut my ear off.
>
> Data: I find that your work is quiet, unsettleing to most people.
CROW: Quiet and unsettling?
>
> Van Gogh: There is a problem. People see my work as vulgar, I see
> it at a perfect chance to manipulate the world that I live in to better suit
> my needs.
MIKE: I'M THE GOD! HAHAHA!!
> My work is in based in reality, but I don't limit myself to it.
> I put down the color I think they could be.
TOM: Personally, I always thought oranges should be blue.
>
> Data: People have a great fear of the different, of the unknown.
>
> Van Gogh: True, true. If people could think like me, then maybe
> they could understand what I paint. If they lived as I have lived, or knew
> of how I have lived maybe they could understand what I paint. But they do
> not.
>
> Data: I wish I could.
>
> Van Gogh: I wish you could, also. Come sit over here, the light is
> much better.
CROW: Have you ever thought of getting your ears pierced?
TOM: We're outta here.
[They leave the theater.]
6...5...4...3...2...1...*
[Mike, Crow, and Tom are on the bridge.]
CROW: Ya know, Mike, that Data guy really gets to me.
TOM: Yeah, why is he such a loser?
MIKE: What makes you say that?
CROW: Oh, LOTS of stuff. Like the fact that he can't use contractions.
Who would program a robot not to be able to use simple grammar?
TOM: He's a wimp, too. You'd never catch *me* cowering under a desk,
let alone in a major motion picture.
CROW: What about his lack of emotions? What's problem, Mr. Data? *I*
have emotions. No prob!
TOM: Anyone who seeks out advice on humor from Joe Piscopo is lame
in my book.
CROW: Then there's his evil twin brother. I mean, how stupid is *that*?
TOM: Um... are you forgetting about Timmy, Crow?
CROW: <pause> Oh yeah. Okay, forget that one.
MIKE: Is that all your complaints about Data?
TOM: No! There's still the biggest complaint of all.
CROW: The fact that Data, for *some* reason, aspires to be a human.
MIKE: Hey! What's wrong with that?
TOM: To start with, you'd be all squishy and hairy and stuff.
CROW: And you always smell like a zoo.
TOM: And you keep leaking gross things, too.
[Crow and Tom walk offscreen, discussing the merits of being metallic
instead of human. Mike looks at Cambot.]
MIKE: <shrugging> Robots. What can you do?
[Lights and buzzers, etc.]
ALL: AH! USENET SIGN AGAIN!!
1...2...3...4...5...6...*
[They enter the theater.]
>
> Scene: Ancient Rome. The senate has conveened and Ceaser is down
> on the floor
MIKE: ...bawling like a baby.
> Several senators surround him at a distance.
CROW: Nope, we're not surrounding you. Not at all.
>
> Caesar:...with the aid of the people. We can drive the northerners
> back north, if we are united as a people.
TOM: Caesar belongs to the Redundancy Department of Redundancy.
> I have let you the people appoint
> the senators, and under their council I have decided that we must strike
> before the barbarians.
MIKE: Damn Canadians! With their snow and their hockey!
> We must keep them from our homeland, we must keep
> the Empire pure and strong.
CROW: And yes, we *can* lower taxes and increase defense spending!
>
> As he ends the croud cheers.
ALL: Sieg heil! Seig heil!
> Caeser gets down off the podium as
> the cheers subside. The croud filters out. The senators group up.
TOM: Caesar, we want to talk to you about your drinking problem...
> Worf
> can be seen walking against the crowd, towards the floor.
>
> Senator #2: See Brutus, he is bringing us into a war that we have
> no need to be in.
MIKE: Like in Bosnia?
> We must strike now, before he can cause much damage.
>
> Brutus: No, I cannot allow this. I will not betray my friend.
>
> Senator: Then you betray your country. Come fellows, we must still
> strike.
CROW: And we won't give in to a salary cap, either!
>
> They move towards Caesar.
>
> Brutus: CAESAR, BEWARE.
TOM: ...the Ides of March!
>
> Senator #1 turns around, pulls a knife from his toga
MIKE: Yowch! Where was he keeping that thing?
> and stabs
> Brutus in the stomach. Brutus falls. Caesar turns.
CROW: Crow retches.
>
> Caesar: What treachery is this. My friend Brutus, killed before
> my eyes. I swear by my soul, he shal be avenged.
TOM: Yep, I am really mad. I am so angry at you.
>
> Caesar pulls a knife from beneath his toga
MIKE: What, is this an everyday thing for him? Does he always carry
concealed weapons?
> and begins towards
> Senator #1. As he passes the other senators they form a ring around him.
CROW: Red Rover, Red Rover, send Caesar right over!
> Each pulling a knife from their toga.
MIKE: I still say that's gotta hurt.
>
> Caesar: Tis treachery most foul. Am I to be sacrificed for the
> advancement of your careers. I think not. I shall not go meekly and I
> shall not go alone.
TOM: I'm taking...
>
> He lunges toward Seantor #1
TOM: ...*Bob* out with me!
CROW: Does each senator have a number painted on his toga?
> and cuts deply into his side. The other
> senators close the circle. Worf appears and grabs one of the senators,
ALL: <Star Trek fight theme>
> throws him across the room, he lands on his shoulder, he writhes in pain.
MIKE: He uses compound sentences, he uses bad grammar.
> Several senators break off from the assault on Caesar to attack Worf. He
> dispatches them quite easily.
TOM: Now I *know* this isn't real. Worf is actually winning a fight!
> He picks up one of the knives and moves to
> aid Caesar. Caesar has held his own fairly, two senators lie at his feet,
CROW: ...licking his toes.
> he is bleeding from three places. Worf wades in to the mass of senators and
> begins slashing, hitting kicking and head butting anything in range.
MIKE: Worf's such a butthead.
ALL: <stupid laugh>
> The
> senators break from Caesar and concentrate on Worf. We see him cut several
> times. The senators begin to fall from the combiuned assault of Worf and
> Caesar.
TOM: Worf and Caesar *are*... Hard to Kill!
> When the last one falls Worf drops his blade. Caesar puts an arm
> around Worf.
CROW: It's Miller time!
>
> Caesar: Well fought. I thank you for the aid, if not for you I
> would be fallen. As is my dearest friend, Brutus.
>
> Worf: I could not allow such a dishonorable act to go unchallenged.
> I am satisfied that we both survived.
MIKE: However, it does not please me.
>
> Caesar: I will have to be more carefull who I trust in the future.
> I will have to rule with a stronger hand.
TOM: I'll pass a new crime bill. That oughtta work.
> If treachery as this is to be
> avoided.
>
> Caesar turns toward Brutuses' corpse.
CROW: Brutuseseseseses' corpse.
MIKE: How many of his corpses are there, anyhow?
> Worf disappears in a flash of
> light.
TOM: Worf's quantum leaping!
>
> Scene: Red Rocks Ampitheater. Riker is listening to the song as it
> comes to a close. He begins to applaud. He disappears in a flash of light.
CROW: Well, Riker had a busy day.
>
> -Commercial
MIKE: Zay you're in a bar...
>
> Scene: Bridge of the Enterprise. Same as before except Dr. Crusher
> is missing.
TOM: She's playing tennis with Billie Jean King in 15th century China.
>
> Geordi: I'm about ready to give up on this one.
CROW: <Geordi> I really don't know what I'm doing.
> We can find no
> trace of the Captian, Riker, Data or Worf. I don't think Q left any.
>
> Troi: Don't worry. We'll find them...eventually.
MIKE: Ah, Troi. Always the mindless optimist.
CROW: Or just mindless.
>
> There is a flash of light and Captian Picard, Riker, Data and Worf
> are all back on the bridge, in Starfleet uniform.
>
> Geordi: Captian...Riker...Data...Worf...
TOM: ...Auntie Em!
> where have you been?
>
> Captian: Apparently Q sent us back in time. I had a most interesting
> conversation with William Shakespeare.
MIKE: Well, *a* conversation, anyway.
> What happened to you Will?
>
> Riker: I went to a Bette Midler concertin 1973 where some man was
> playing a most amazing song.
CROW: And I had the most amazing pot, too.
>
> Picard: Bette Midler?
>
> Data: Accessing. Bette Midler, a preformer during the later half of the
> twentith century.
TOM: Starred in bad movies for Disney. Got all weepy with Johnny Carson.
> I believe the man in question could be Barry Manilow. He
> played on her first tour which took place in that year.
MIKE: <laughing> Barry Manilow?
CROW: This story has all the great ones: Shakespeare, Van Gogh, Manilow...
>
> Picard: Thank you Data, now tell us what you did.
>
> Data: I talked with Vincent Van Gogh, and had my portrait painted
> by him.
>
> Picard: That is spectacular, I would enjoy seeing how he painted
> you.
>
> Data: Since there is no record of it in my memory, I do not think
> that it was actually painted.
TOM: But you were just there! You saw it!
MIKE: <Data> What was I just talking about? I don't remember.
>
> Picard: That is to bad, I am sure it was beautiful. Worf?
CROW: Excuse me.
>
> Worf has taken leave of the small group and taken his post. Several
> wet blood stains can be seen on his uniform.
>
> Riker: Worf, your bleeding.
TOM: Yes, what *about* his bleeding?
>
> Picard taps his communicator.
>
> Picard: Picard to sick bay. Dr Crusher to the bridge, medical
> emergency.
>
> Worf: I shall be fine, sir.
MIKE: I'm not quite dead yet! I'm getting better!
>
> Picard: How did it happen Worf?
>
> Geordi: Where did you go, Romulus?
CROW: No, no. He's Worf. You're Geordi.
>
> Worf: I was sent back to...
TOM: ...the future?
> Sir there is an unidentified ship
> approaching us on an intercept course. Warp 7.
>
> Every one takes their normal positons at this time. The namless
> ensigns that are replaced move to the turbolift.
>
> Pircard: Estimated time to intercept.
>
> Worf: Sixteen miniutes, sir.
MIKE: A mini-ute is like a minute, except shorter.
>
> Picard: Hail them.
>
> Worf: No response.
>
> Picard: Keep hailing them, Leutenant.
CROW: Try golf-ball sized, this time.
> Sugestions Number one?
>
> Riker: Shields up and arm phasers.
TOM: <Picard> Jeez, I *never* could have thought of *that*!
>
> PIcard: Make it so.
>
> Worf: Shields up, pharsers are armed and ready.
MIKE: <Worf> Can I actually fire them this time, sir?
>
> Dr. Cruher arrives in the turbolift.
>
> Dr. Crusher: It's good to see you again, Jean-Luc. Which one is
> my patient.
CROW: <Picard> Nobody. Go back to sickbay. Ha! I love that!
>
> Picard: Lt. Worf.
>
> Dr. Crusher goes over to examine him, popping the scanner from the
> medical tricorder she carries.
TOM: Either this Klingon is dead, or my tricorder's broken!
>
> Dr. Crusher: What happened to you Worf, you have several broken
> bones, multiple cuts and quite a few abrasions.
MIKE: ...and you're missing your head ridges, too!
>
> Worf: I will be fine Dr. Crusher, please leave me to my duty.
CROW: Broken bones? No problem.
>
> Dr. Crusher: As cheif medical oficer I order you to report to
> sick bay.
>
> Picard: Go down to sick bay Worf. We need you in top condition
> A.S.A.P.
>
> Worf: ...Yes, sir.
>
> Worf and Dr. Crusher leave in the turbolift. Riker takes tactical.
TOM: <Riker> Now let's see... the big yellow button is for phasers... which
one is photon torpedoes?
>
> Data: Time till intercept is now ten miniutes forty seconds.
>
> Picard: Any respone to our hails.
MIKE: Only to the canned-ham sized, sir.
>
> Riker: None, sir. The other ship has power to weapons and shields.
> Sir, it looks like one of ours.
CROW: I got it! It's KHAN!
>
> Picard: On screen.
>
> The ship appears to be similar in design to a Galaxy class, except it
> is larger, and has a more foward tilt to it.
>
> Data: Time to intercept four miniutes sixteen seconds.
TOM: That was the fastest six minutes I've ever seen!
MIKE: Must be those "mini-utes" again.
>
> Picard: Slow to impulse.
CROW: <Riker> I'm already pretty slow, sir.
>
> Riker: Sir they are hailing us.
>
> Picard: On screen.
>
> The other ship is set just like the Enterprise. The Captian is
> seated in his chair. He is in his late thirties, short brown hair.
TOM: <Picard> Hey, how did I get my hair back?
>
> Picard: I am Captian Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise.
> What is it you want from us.
>
> Captian: I am Captian Marc Fredrickson of the Starship Guenivere.
> Either surrender yourselves to the Empire, or be destroyed.
ALL: <hum Imperial March>
>
> Picard: Empire, what Empire?
>
> Captian: The Galactic Roman Empire.
CROW: <snicker> Great.
MIKE: Hasn't this been done about a thousand times before on Star Trek?
>
> Picard: The empire fell a milenia ago. What is it you really
> want?
TOM: Is this some kind of prank?
>
> Captian: I will not repeat this again. Either surrunder your ship,
> or be destroyed.
>
> Picard: I will not give up my ship to an Empire that does not exist.
>
> Captian: Have it your way.
CROW: ...at Burger King now.
>
> The viewscreen switches back to a shot of the enemy ship. It begins
> moving. A volley of photon torpeedoes fly out from it and hit the Enterprise.
> The ship rocks violently.
>
> Picard: Evasive manuvers Alpha six. Status Number one.
MIKE: Just did number one, Captain!
>
> Riker: Shiels are at eibghty four percent. No damage.
TOM: ...except to my spelling.
>
> Picard: Fire at will,
CROW: <Riker> What did I do???
ALL: <laugh>
TOM: Ah, some jokes never get old.
> attempy to disable it before destroyong it.
>
> Riker: Aye, sir. Phasers fired.
>
> A beam of red light stabbed out at the other ship, but was absorbed
> by it's shield. The ship reciprocated the attack.
>
> Riker: Shields at fifty four percent. There in damage to decks
> thirty five and seventeen. Evacuating and sealing them off.
>
> Another volley hits the Enterprise.
MIKE: Stefan Edberg gets another point.
>
> Riker: Sir, we've practically lost shields. I propose we try warp
> out of here and repair the damage.
>
> Picard: I don't think they are going to let us just go like that.
CROW: Aren't you even going to *try* it?
>
> Riker: We cloud sepatate the saucer section, at least we could save
> some of the crew.
>
> Picard: Make it so.
TOM: <Picard> ...but I want to be the one who decides who lives and who dies.
>
> Riker taps his communicator.
>
> Riker: This is Commander Riker. All hand prepare for an emergency
> saucer section separation. I repeat all hand prepare for an emergency saucer
> separation.
MIKE: Is anybody else having a "Generations" flashback?
CROW: Unforunately, yes.
>
> Everyone begins to shuffle about,
TOM: Shuffle shuffle shuffle.
> Picard, Data and Riker head for
> the Turbo lift.
>
> Picard: Will, you stay here. You are needed.
>
> Riker: It has been a pleasure, sir.
>
> Picard: For me too, Will.
>
> The turbolift doors slide shut.
MIKE: <Picard, muffled> Suckerrr!
>
> Riker walks to the center of the bridge.
TOM: <Riker> Did I just get really duped?
>
> Riker: Ensign crusher set a course fro Starbase 125.
>
> Wes: Course set and laid in, sir.
CROW: But I'm n--
MIKE: STOP! Enough already!
CROW: Sorry.
>
> Riker: Wait for my order, then punch us out of here at Warp 9.
>
> Picard Voice over: Number one, commander Data and I are ready when
> ever you are.
>
> Riker: Initiate saucer separation seq..
TOM: Did he pronounce the abbrevation like that? "Seq."?
>
> A fourth volley of photon torpeedoes slammed through the shields
> and into the side of the Enterprise.
>
> Riker: Separate the saucer, NOW.
>
> Wes: Saucer separated.
MIKE: Milk poured. Kitty lapping.
>
> Riker: Engage.
>
> Geordi: Sorry sir, but we've lost warp engines. We're sitting
> ducks.
CROW: Sorry, but I'm completely useless.
>
> Riker: Then all we can do is pray for a miracle.
TOM: Santa Claus really *does* exist!
>
> The fifth folley cut the antimatter containment field to shreds.
MIKE: That's not a good thing, is it?
> There was a large flash of light.
>
CROW: Yes?
>
>
> The End
>
TOM: D'oh!
CROW: Not since Monster A-Go-Go has there been such a satifying ending.
>
>
>
> \
> \enddata{text,17149788}
>
>
MIKE: You gotta wonder if Mr. Art Major was taking writing lessons from
Alex "Revenge of the Romulans" Buchanan.
>
>
> =====================================CUT HERE===================================
TOM: I also wonder what grade Michael got for this.
> --
> Joseph Young Tivoli Systems, Inc
> Systems Administrator 9442 Capital of Texas Highway North
> joseph...@tivoli.com Arboretum Plaza One, Suite 500
> Phone:(512) 502-4720 Austin TX 78759 FAX: (512) 794-9929
>
>
CROW: Joe, Joe, Joe. Why can't you only archive the *good* fanfics?
6...5...4...3...2...1...*...
[Bridge of SOL. Mike, Crow, Tom, and Gypsy are there, as usual.]
CROW: *sigh* Well, that was another stinker of a fanfic.
MIKE: Yeah. But it did raise a few interesting points.
TOM: Like what?
MIKE: About hopping through history. If you had the ability to do that,
who would you see?
TOM: Hmmm... that's a tough one. I think I'd visit Jesus Christ. We'd
just kind of talk, hang out, stuff like that.
MIKE: That's nice, Tom.
TOM: Yeah. Then I'd write another book of the Bible, so it would be
John, Luke, Mark, Matthew, and Servo!
MIKE: What about you, Crow?
CROW: I'd go back to ancient Egypt and hook up with Cleopatra. Aw yeah!
It'd be a hot time in the ol' pyramid tonight!
MIKE: Huh. Gypsy?
GYPSY: I'd go to the set of the television show "20,000 Leagues Under
the Sea" and meet Richard Basehardt!
TOM: Why am I not surprised?
MIKE: Myself, I'd go back to the 1960's and convince Coleman Francis
to pursure that career in law instead of making films.
CROW: That's not a bad idea, Mike.
TOM: Go for it, big guy!
MIKE: Yeah, where's Q when you need him?
[The Mads' light begins flashing.]
MIKE: So what do you think, sirs?
[Deep 13. Forrester and Frank are there.]
DR.F: Forrester makes an angry comment at Mike and the bots' expense.
FRANK: Frank says something impishly cute.
DR.F: Forrester turns his anger at Frank.
FRANK: Frank panics.
DR.F: Forrester kills Frank.
[Forrester begins violently strangling Frank. Frank head whips back and
forth, hitting the button in the process.]
\ | /
- * - Pwoosh!
/ | \
FRANK: Expressions of extreme pain!
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its characters and situations are
copyright of Best Brains, Inc., and are used here without their permission.
Star Trek: the Next Generation is copyright of Paramount. No infringement
of either copyright is intended, and I don't have any money to give,
anyway. This MiSTing is meant in fun and games, and should not be taken
as an insult to KeijiKJ, Michael Errante, or alt.startrek.creative, no
matter how much they of them deserve it. (Okay, so maybe it IS an insult
of KJ, but with any luck he'll never see it.) This work can be distributed
freely, as long as it remains intact, please. This MiSTing is not
copyrighted by me because I think it's silly to take a work of fanfiction
that seriously.
Other MiSTings by this author:
Double Vision
Potroast
Revenge of the Romulans
Shorts MiSTing (group; edited by Petrea Mitchell)
Other fiction by this author:
3000: A Space Oddity
All of these are available at ftp.cs.odu.edu.
> Screaming Fan Boy #1: Come on man, Bette's about to come back on.
Gerbs
Colorado?
ALSO: my school doesn't show MST3K, which is a real pisser, so I too would
like to know of any videotapes of the shows.