MSTied: Unto the Next Gen.
Dave Van Domelen
a plot, this fanfic wasn't all that bad, making the MSTing seem kinda sad,
really. We should all try to stick to the truly horrid stuff, eh?
Second, this MSTing demonstrates very clearly the danger of grammar and
spelling flames. Not only did the MSTer make many times more mistakes than the
original writer, but the few grammar/vocabulary comments he made were wrong.
The original writer was in the right just about every time he was slammed. For
example, 'funereal' is a valid word, not something the guy made up. So unless
you're rock-solid sure of your command of the English language, omit language
usage flames whenever possible...unless it's Ratliff, who seems incapable of
even approximating the language. }->
Besides, grammar flames get boring really fast, as I found out while
MSTing "Breaking into Print."
Dave Van Domelen, grammar monkey....
Michael K. Neylon
Share and enjoy!
---------
(Bridge of the SOL...Tom is in front of a computer monitor (the monitor
is facing away from view), and is using his mouth to tap out stuff on the
keyboard)
Tom: D...E...A...R...space...M...R...period...space...R...A...T...L..
I...F...F...comma...
(Crow comes into view)
Crow: Hey, Tom, watcha doing? (tries to look at screen, but is blocked
by Tom)
Tom: If you *must* know, I'm trying to write a letter to that...that..
..oh, you know, the guy who writes really BAD Star Trek fanfics...
Crow: Oh, you mean Mr. Ratliff.
(Tom shakes for a while, then holds still)
Tom: You know I can't stand that name, Crow. Anyway, I hope to persuade
him to either stop writting the fanfics, or to buy a spell checker...
Crow: Hey, now thats a GREAT idea. Can I help?
Tom: NO! Now go away and play in a vat of sulfuric acid.
Crow: At least let me see what you got so far..
Tom: No! Leave me alone.
(Crow and Tom manevuer around each other, Tom blocking Crow's view.
Finally...)
Crow: What's this?! WordPerfect for DOS!!! Tom, get out of the Stone Age
and into these WYSIWYG programs.
Tom: (angry) But Crow, I can't.
Crow: And why not?
Tom: (VERY angry) Because I can't use a mouse...
Crow: (sarcastically) And why is that? Hmmm?
Tom: (furious) BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANY HANDS, YOU FOOL! (breathes heavily
for a while, then calmly) At least any functional ones.
Crow: (smuggly) Aww, come on Tom. I was only fooling you. I mean, just
think of all the things you don't need hands for...
Tom: (softly) Crow...
Crow: You could play volleyball with just your head,...
Tom: (a little louder) Crow...
Crow: You can pretend that you are one of those drinking glass birds that
bob up and down,...
Tom: (a little louder) Crow...
Crow: You can be a stand-in for that Venus De Milo statue,...
Tom: (very loud) Crow...
Crow: You can probably even get a part on Deep Space 9 as the 'New Alien
of the Week'...
Tom: (very loud) That's it, Mr. T. Robot...I'm taking you down right now!
(Red light starts to flash as Tom rushes Crow. Mike rushes in and pulls
them apart).
Mike: Hey, you two. Stop that.
Tom: Well, he started it!
Crow: Well, you didn't have to get so angry....besides, how did you expect
to win without any arms?
Tom: (crying) Mike, make him stop...he's been doing that to me all morning.
Mike: Crow, I've told you before...don't make fun of the fact that Tom
doesn't have arms.
Crow: I'm sorry, Mike...and Tom. It won't happen again, scout's honor.
Tom: (sniffing) I accept your apology..(sternly) but you better not try
that again.
Mike: That's better. Besides, you don't need arms...See (points to
monitor), you're still using WordPerfect for DOS, and you can keep
on pecking away at that.
Tom: OOOHH!!
Crow: (laughing) Good one, Mike!
Mike: Thanks, Crow...Hush, Tom, the Big Blues are calling (hits button)
(Deep 13)
Dr. F: Good morning, Mr. Gates...Well, for this week's invention exchange,
we've pulled out all the stops!
Frank: Oh, that is correct, Dr. F. You've read how cyber space is coming,
everyone's talking about it, but no one is doing anything about it.
Dr. F: That's why we've invented the first *real* cyber space interface.
(Holds up a modified football helmet, with lots of wires coming from it
to a computer) This interface is easily worn on the head, and requires
absolutely no other equipment to enter the growing world of *cyber space*.
Frank: (holds up a similar helmet) Yes, virtual reality can be yours, for
a small price, of course, but you'll be light-years ahead of the present.
Even the Information Superhighway will be a one-way street compared to
this baby.
Dr. F: And, of course, we have a simple demonstration for your enjoyment.
Frank, the helmet.
(Both put on the helmets. There is no visibility out from them.)
Frank: Oh, wow...a race car simulation.
Dr. F: Yes, Frank. I knew you'd enjoy it...Watch out! (Both duck left)
...and down (both duck down) ...and around the turn (both lean right)
Frank: This is *so* cool!
Dr. F: Ok.....ready....ready...now pass this sucker...
(Both lean into each other, emitting an audible bonk from the helmets.
Dr. F removes his)
Dr. F: Frank! I told you to lean left when I said 'sucker'...
Frank: (trying to get the helmet off, but can't) But then I asked you
"So you want me to go left, right?", and you said "Right", so I went
right....
Dr. F: (irriated) Ooohhhh, Frank! (more calmly) So, what's your invention,
pink boy.
(SOL)
Mike: Well, we've developed this new pen computer. (Holds up a frame, about
10" x 12", with (obviously) a piece of notebook paper in it).
Tom: Yes, now you can have the power of the pen in your hands. Special
character recognition and micro-screen technology has shrunk those
massive mainframes down to this hand-held device.
Crow: Just simply write anything...and that is ANYTHING...on the pad
(Mike writes 'Get me out of here!' on the paper with a pen), then
you can walk away, (Mike walks off screen), come back latet (Mike walks
back in screen), and read the message you left to yourself (Mike picks up
pad, looks at it, then gives a thumbs up to the camera).
Mike: Now, of course, not all the bugs are out yet...
Tom: Yes, like we don't have a programming language for it yet.
Crow: Or any fancy business appilcations...
Mike: And it still can't do anything like e-mail or Usenet..
Tom: Errr..and we're still working on getting a windowing system for it...
Crow: (unethusiastically) And it still won't add numbers for you yet...
Mike: (after a pause) What the heck, it was a stupid idea anyway (those the
device over shoulder).
Crow: Yea, but at least we didn't TRY to fake it...
(D13)
Dr. F: Watch it, Mr. Robot, or we'll send you a Ratcliff fanfic!
(SOL)
All: AAAAUUUUGHHH!
(D13)
Dr. F: Your experiment this week, Mike, is yet another Star Trek fanfic.
Frank: (helmet is still stuck on) Yes, we..(grunt)...searched far and ..
(grunt)...wide...for this one.
Dr. F: Frank, some soap might help with that...Anyway, its called
'Unto the Next Generation'...and as Jack Perkins would say, 'Bon
Appetite!'
(SOL)
Mike: Umm, I think you mean Julie Child, right?
(D13)
Dr. F: Whatever...send them the fanfic, Frank!
(SOL)
All: We've got fanfic sign!! AAAAHHHH!!
.6...5...4...3...2...1...
>-------------------------------------------------------------------
>- This story came from the alt.startrek.creative archive on -
>- ftp.cis.ksu.edu (129.130.10.80) -
Tom: Thank you, KSU, for maintaining such a large database of fanfics.
>- -
>- If you have any submissions for the archive, please either -
>- upload them to the /pub/upload directory on ftp.cis.ksu.edu -
>- or mail them to j...@cis.ksu.edu INTERNET (preferred) -
>- rutgers!depot!jfy UUCP -
>- CBM2064@KSUVM BITNET -
>- 72427,1641 COMPUSERVE -
Mike: But preferrably, send them to /dev/null.
>-------------------------------------------------------------------
> Exploding: UntoTheNextGeneration.scenes
All: Yaaaaa!!!
Mike: Oh, wait, that just the header.
Crow: Way to go, Mike...ruin it for the rest of us.
>Path:
>newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!spool.mu.edu!umn.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!netcomsv!matrix!scott.hollifield
>From: scott.ho...@the-matrix.com (Scott Hollifield)
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>Subject: Unto The Next Generation
>Message-ID: <181.143...@the-matrix.com>
>Date: 25 Aug 93 22:55:00 GMT
>Distribution: world
>Organization: The MATRIX BBS - Birmingham, AL - 205-323-2016
>Reply-To: scott.ho...@the-matrix.com (Scott Hollifield)
>Lines: 395
>(The following is a brief collection of scenes I wrote some time ago
>that were intended to be part of a larger story,
Tom: But the larger story didn't want any part of them, so I left them out.
> taking place six years
>prior to "Encounter At Farpoint".
Crow: Hey, that means Wesley's still in diapers! This might actually turn
out to be a good fanfic!
Mike: Calm down, Crow. There's no such thing as a good fanfic.
> A year later, it's still simmering
>on my hard drive.
Tom: (country voice) Eggs 'n bacon, acoming up!
> Since our area just got Usenet access,
Crow: And whose idea was that anyway?
> I thought
>I'd throw this up on a.s.c.,
Tom: I'd just like to throw up.
> having not done anything else with it.
Mike: Including any proofreading.
>Comments are quite welcome at scott.ho...@the-matrix.com.
Tom: The Matrix? Like in Doctor Who?
Crow: Yea, its gone commerical now.
> Please
>note: I realize that the Riker/Troi scene does not jibe with Peter
>David's IMZADI continuity. :-> )
Crow: Oh great. It's completely ruined now. Let's go. (trys to leave)
Mike: Um, Crow..stay here.
>====== UNTO THE ======
>==== NEXT ====
>======= GENERATION =======
>Scott Hollifield
Tom: Any relation to Evander Hollifield?
>Stardate 35017.6
>"I appreciate you taking the time to see me, sir," said Picard
>graciously. "I realize you're quite busy."
Mike: No, I only got about half a million things to do, but ANYTHING for
you, Picard.
>"Any time, Captain," replied Admiral Cereia. Her turquoise eyes
>glittered, bright and glassily opaque, even in the harsh light of the
>office.
Tom: The rest of her body was repulsive, but, ohhh..those eyes.
> "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard much about you."
Crow: (falsetto) Is it true that you can use it as a...
Mike: (sternly) Crow!
>"Not all bad, I hope," said Picard, hoping to sound convivial. The
>words stung in his heart; he realized that it was quite likely that the
>admiral's foreknowledge of him might well be all bad.
Tom: And if there was some puncutation, that sentence may have made sense.
>"Not at all," said Cereia, either not catching the irony or being
>professional enough to bury it.
Crow: She hasn't got a clue, man.
> "I understand you've just come from a
>six-month leave. Visiting family on Earth?"
Mike: Actually, he was hiding out from the mob.
>"Er, no." Another sore spot.
Tom: He's breaking out into sore spots as he speaks? Maybe he'd better
see a doctor about that.
Crow: Of course, he could always ask the admiral to kiss them to make them
better...
Mike: Crow!
> "I took a tour of the Halesta
>quadrant on a cruise ship. Very beautiful."
Mike: The quadrant or the ship? With Picard it could be either.
> Picard had loathed every
>minute of his "holiday";
Crow: Then it's not a holiday, is it?
> every morning, he had awoken anticipating this
>very day, the day that, hopefully, a new assignment would fall into his
>lap.
Mike: *That* could be painful.
> His holiday had also been a lonely one.
Tom: Well, he should get out more, then. There's a whole *universe* of
babes waiting for him.
>"It certainly is," replied Cereia, without much feeling. Picard
>wondered if Cereia had in fact ever heard of the place.
Crow: Of course she has. It's right next door to Alpha Beta Gamma I.
> "Well then.
>Let's talk about why you're here. I believe you're seeking a new
>assignment."
Mike: (deep) Your assignment, if you choose to accept it, ..
>Picard allowed an small appreciative smile. "That is true."
Tom: (as Ed McMann) You are correct!
>In the four years since the Stargazer debacle, Picard had become a
>near-ghost of a man.
Crow: It's Patrick Swezye! Maybe this will turn into 'Roadhouse'!
Mike: I don't think so, Crow.
> Moving from one occupation to another--diplomatic
>assist team, temporary teaching, a two-month observation stint on the
>Conestoga
Tom: Flipping burgers at the Starbase 45 McDonalds'...
> --gods, he even half-heartedly tried putting together some
>research papers based on the Stargazer's explorations, knowing that the
>work would be scoffed due to Picard's non-scientific background.
Mike: Rule #1 of research: Always have an advisor.
> One
>thing remained clear, though: he had to get back in command, no matter
>what. Being trapped elsewhere was a living death.
Crow: You think that's bad? Try reading this fanfic.
>The obvious lack of starship assignments coming his way was
>unmistakably uncoincidental, however.
Tom: Ah ha! Double negative! Grammer Alert!!!!
> The taint of Maxia Zeta still
>hung on Picard's record like a gray mist.
Mike: Or like smog over L.A.
> Starfleet was unwilling to
>trust Picard with another captaincy, not when there were a great number
>of young captains with unspotted records pining for the precious open
>slots.
Crow: Yea, don't spill tea all over your records next time, Picard.
> Not until Picard had reproven himself. The problem was, as Picard
>constantly told himself--and in his fantasy imaginings, some sympathetic
>senior officer--it was impossible to prove himself fit for command
>without being given the chance to command again.
Mike: And he couldn't get a command until he proved himself fit for
command...why does it sound like this is going to go nowhere?
>Stargazer should have been the cherry on the top of Picard's command
>career,
Tom: Along with the whipped cream, chopped nut, hot fudge topping, those
little sprinkles, those...
Mike: Calm down, Tom...it was only a metaphore.
> and in fact it was, for a long while. Twenty-two years was a
>long time for any command,
Mike: In fact, they rotated the captains every three minutes to keep things
in tip-top condition.
> and Picard suspected that it was where the
>Fleet had planned to keep him. Now it was taken from him.
Crow: (evilly) Hehe...easy as takin' candy from a baby...
> Phillipa had
>been sympathetic but unhelpful. You'll get your shot, she told him. You
>just have to be patient. Patience was Phillipa's forte as an attorney;
Mike: Awww..they still got lawyers in the future...what type of future
is that to look forward to?
>it wasn't a trait found common in many starship captains. Not many that
>Picard knew, at any rate.
Tom: Out of the 2 he did know...and Captain Kirk didn't count.
> Not many that made it.
Crow: Made it? To where?
>"I believe I have something for you," said Cereia.
Crow: As she removed all her clothes.
Mike: Crow!
> "We've just
>finished construction on three new starbases out in the Rea cluster.
>They need commanders.
Mike: Awww...its Deep Space Nine - The Early Years.
> It's out on the fringe, not too far from the
>Neutral Zone, so you'll probably even see some action once in a while.
Tom: (as Picard) Gee, how'd she know how my sex life is going right now?
>I happen to think it's an ideal assignment for someone with your
>qualifications, Picard."
Crow: Such as: complete loser, complete failure, and balding. Yep, you
fit those qualifications exactly.
>I'll just bet you do, thought Picard, seething inside. Or rather,
>I'll bet Starfleet does. Out on the fringe indeed--out on the fringe
>and standing dead still.
Mike: Well, actually if you account for the rotation of the galaxy, you
aren't really standing *dead* still...
> Some action.
Tom: Some plot.
> Standing still where Picard
>couldn't hurt himself or anyone else.
Crow: (falsetto) And don't you EVER play with matches again, young man!
> A starbase assignment wasn't at
>all what Picard had been expecting. According to what he had heard,
>there were five vacant starship assignments waiting for captains, and
>here he was being forced to pass them over for a starbase out in the middle
>of nowhere.
Mike: No, its not...its right in the middle of the Rea cluster!
> He also knew it was common knowledge that only the thirty
>or so biggest starbases rated officers with ranks higher than Commander.
>He might even have a grade demotion coming, should he accept.
Crow: How can one demote an 'F'??
>The thought of becoming Commander Picard again
Tom: 'Commander Picard'....it has a ... a 'je ne sais pas' to it...
> jolted his sagging
>resolve into making a last-ditch effort at resistance.
Mike: Picard threw himself to the floor and had a temper-tantrum.
Crow: (whiney) IF you don't give me a starship, I'll hold my breath
until I turn blue.
> "Admiral," said
>Picard a bit weakly, "quite frankly, I was truly expecting a starship
>assignment.
Tom: Talk like that's going to get you demoted, Picard...
> I mean, I don't wish to sound discriminate--I wouldn't
>expect another premium assignment like the Stargazer.
Crow: (as Picard) Yea, let someone else have that hunk o' junk.
> But surely I can
>make myself more useful to the Fleet in space.
Tom: How about as a photon torpedo...to blast this fanfic into pieces!
> On a ship of any kind."
>It was unabashed, desperate grovelling--a final chance.
Mike: Ah..but he wasn't on his knees, so they know he's not really THAT
interested.
>Cereia eyed Picard with a chilly and unrevealing gaze. "Captain,
>I... well, did you have a particular ship in mind?"
Crow: How about the U.S.S Minnow?
Mike: Was there ever a USS Minnow?
Crow: Well, once, but it was missing after a routine 3 hour patrol route..
>"I happen to know that there are several captaincies open, sir,"
Tom: We are certainly learning the number of ways to say 'the guy that
runs the ship', aren't we?
>said Picard quickly, a little too hurriedly. "The Ares, the Kyushu...
>the Zhukov..."
Mike: The Satellite of Love...
>"Paul Gleason's got the Zhukov,"
Crow: Any relation to Jackie Gleason?
> answered Cereia quickly,
>automatically. "Just came through this morning."
>"I see," said Picard. There wasn't anything else he could say.
>Cereia was saying more than that just one ship was unavailable; she was
>telling Picard that, as far as her office was concerned, the door was
>closed.
Tom: I would hope her office would have a closed door. I meant, think
about what robbers could take if they left the door open all the time.
> All of the ships were destined for younger men who hadn't made
>mistakes yet. Picard's day was done.
Crow: (falsetto and singing) Tomorrow...Tomorrow..!
>"Captain, are you going to be on Earth for the next few days?" the
>admiral asked him.
>"I, er... yes I am," he answered uncertainly. So hopeful had Picard
>been, no plans were made in the event of a rejection.
Mike: Wait a sec...did Picard expect to be rejected by this admiral, or
what?
>"Good," said Cereia. She smiled for only the second time in the
>conversation, bookkending her first hello smile. Picard understood the
>meaning: time to go now.
Tom: Time to make the donuts!
> "I may try to get in touch with you sometime
>this week,"
Crow: In more ways then one.
Mike: Crow!
> she said. "There's a lot of traffic going through the
>office lately
Tom: You know, because of that detour from Interstate 19...
> --perhaps something will turn up." She stood up; Picard
>followed suit.
Mike: Oh, come on Picard...you should have trumped her ace.
>"I hope so," replied Picard, smiling warmly at her. I need
>something, he was telling her; I won't begrudge you for standing in my
>way. Just give me something.
Crow: Like a phaser to get me out of this fanfic.
>The two officers shook hands. "Thanks for coming in," said Cereia.
>"Say hello to Mrs. Crusher for me."
Crow: Wink Wink Nudge Nudge
>Doctor, corrected Picard silently. He wondered what Cereia's
>connection with the Crushers could be.
Tom: She the sister of her cousin of his father of their friends of
her son of his neice of her brother. What else do you expect?
> "No, thank you for seeing me."
>Picard left the office and walked on in a deep thoughful haze,
All: Focus!
>letting the sub-conscious mental map of Starfleet headquarters
>possessed by every veteran officer guide him out of the Personnel wing.
Tom: Wow! What a complex sentence! It took me two readings to get
the full meaning of it.
Mike: Yea, normally with these fanfics, you expect your simple "noun verb
noun" structure, or no structure at all.
>Now where to, he wondered?
Crow: How about the disposal chute?
Tom: Better yet, how about straight to the end of this fanfic.
> He briefly considered calling upon Phillipa
>again, but he could instantly call to mind three or four reasonably good
>reasons for not doing that.
Crow: For one thing, it was Riker's turn in bed with her.
Mike: Crow!
> The most compelling one was the memory of
>their last conversation, whose bitter overtones still hung in the
>backdrop of Picard's thoughts. Another one was that Phillipa had
>mentioned something about possibly shipping out soon;
Mike: I didn't know UPS delieved people now.
Tom: Of course they do...now they got overnight service as well.
> lawyer that she
>was, it was likely that calculating Phillipa
Crow: Involved square roots of negative numbers, infinites, and the
proof of Fermat's Last Theorem.
> had told him that in order
>to shake him loose.
Tom: How else do you get a grovelling man to get off your leg?
>Then an idea occurred, and Picard gave Admiral Cereia a wry mental
>thanks for the inspiration. Checking his chronometer first, he walked
>to the nearest public communications booth and inserted his card.
Mike: Stop wasting words! You could have just said "He checked his watch
and made a phone call."
>"Hello, the Crusher residence, please, Trainor College Park, Old
>Sausalito."
>Several seconds of waiting; a female voice answered.
>"Hello, Beverly! It's Jean-Luc Picard.
Crow: *This* is the female voice?!! I think there's something about
Picard that we don't know.
> How are you? I'm fine,
>thank you. Yes, quite a while. No, I'm actually in San Franscisco
>right now. Yes, right! Well, to be honest, Beverly, I was thinking:
>since I *was* in town and everything,
Tom: How convienent.
> I thought I might give you a call
>and ask you to have dinner with me tonight. Fine, that's splendid.
>How about nineteen?
Crow: What about 27?
Tom: Or 235?
Crow: Or 6.62?
Tom: Or 10 to the power of 42?
Mike: Ok, thats enought, boys.
> Wonderful, see you then."
>Picard walked off, and though nobody was paying him any particular
>attention,
Mike: As through the rest of his life.
> someone who had would have noticed a significant improvement
>his posture and speed.
Tom: He's looking forward to being nagged out by Beverly? Gee, I wish
I was that brave. Ok, Mike lets go..
(They leave the theater)
.1...2...3...4...5...6..
(Bridge)
Crow: Wow, that was such a deeply motivated scene...
Tom: Definitely Emmy winning performance by Picard there.
Mike: Umm, guys, are we talking about the same fanfic here?
Crow: What fanfic? We were just watching some of our tapes of
the third season of The Next Generation...Oh, Picard as Locutus
of the Borg...WOW, I am impressed...
Mike: That's enough, Crow.
Magic Voice: Ummm, Mike?
Mike: Yes, what is it, MV?
MV: I just got a message from Frank...he's saying that the next part
of the fanfic is PG-NC..
Mike: Well, that's ok...I think we all qualify as adults by now.
MV: No, not PG-No Children....PG-No Crow.
Crow: WHAT!?!
Mike: Oh, I see. It's that bad, right?
MV: Yep.
Mike: Thanks, MV. Ok, Crow, you know what that means...
Crow: Actually, no, but I know I wouldn't like it.
Tom: This is going to be *fun*!
Mike: Come on, Crow (grabs Crow by the head, pulls him off screen)
Crow: (from off) Stop it Mike! OUCH! Hey, thats no fair! This
better not be permentant.
(Mike and Crow reappear...Crow's eyes are out, and a device is sitting
in the middle of his head.)
Crow: What is all of this? And why'd you take my eyes?!
Mike: Well, me and Tom constructed it after that last fanfic. If you
attempt to say something lucid or vulger, it'll recognize it before
you can say it, and send an electrical pulse through your body, making
you forget what you were going to say.
Tom: In other words, its our way of washing your mouth out with soap,
Crow. Heh heh!
Crow: (seething) Yes, but why did you remove my eyes?!
Mike: It's for your own good, Crow. This way, you won't shock yourself
as much if you can't actually see what is going on.
Crow: No fair! How am I supposed to have fun?
Mike: Trust us, Crow, its for your own good.
Crow: Oooohhh...I'll get even with you, *Mister* Nelson!
(Tom starts laughing)
Crow: And don't think I'll forget about you, *Mister* Servo. Oh, no,
you're going down man, straight down...
(Fanfic sign)
Mike: Stop it, Crow, we got fanfic sign!!
.6...5...4...3...2...1..
(theater)
Crow: But Mike, it's uncomfortable... I think I'm getting a rash from it.
Mike: No you aren't...now just watch the fanfic comfortably.
>"Alright, Mr. Worf, come at me," growled Tasha Yar.
Crow: Hey, cool, a...(jumps up, a quick buzz is heard)...Hey that hurt!
Mike: You have to learn a lesson, Crow.
Crow: Yes but does it have to be painful?
>The Klingon ensign blinked.
Tom: For the first time in 20 years.
> "But you are a woman," he said, matter-
>of-factly, as was his nature.
(Crow jumps, buzz)
> He stood firm. "I will not attack you."
>"Come on," said Yar irritably. "This training cruise has been a
>great big bore so far. I was hoping I would find someone interesting to
>practice my moves on. Charge at me!"
(Crow jumps, buzz)
Crow: This is getting annoying, Mike.
Mike: Shhh....
>"I am sorry," said Worf, looking as if he didn't mean it a bit. "If
>you were inadvertently injured, then *I* would be held accountable." He
>could hear his father already. Beating up on girls, Worf? Did I raise
>my son to be a ruffian?
Tom: No, you raised me to be a pirate!
Mike: No, Tom, that's 'pilot'.
Tom: Oh.
>Yar narrowed her glance dangerously. "I'll take the
>responsibility," she said, repositioning her legs on the mat.
All: Shaaaawing!
> "Come on,
>Worf, show you're a man. Or a Klingon anyway."
(Crow jumps, buzz heard)
> Worf didn't move. "Are
>all Klingons like you?" she asked, with a new sly tone to her voice. She
>noticed Worf's teeth bare just a little.
(Crow jumps, buzz heard)
Crow: I'm telling you, Mike, this is really hurting me.
Mike: You're lying, and you know it. Now watch the fanfic.
> "Are they all as afraid to
>fight women?"
>That did it. Worf lunged at her, and whether or not he was
>purposely restraining himself, she couldn't tell. Regardless, it didn't
>make any difference. From Worf's perspective, Yar simply stuck her arm
>in a direction where it didn't belong during a routine combat maneuver.
(Crow jumps several times, long buzz heard)
Crow: Mike, it's screwing with my mind! Stop it, stop it!
Mike: Hush, Crow. Me and Tom are trying to watch.
>Worf felt his midriff tug and suddenly he was in the air, then on the
>floor. On his back. He huffed slightly. Yar's face came into view.
>"Oh no," she said. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Tom: Would 'complete humilation' count as hurting?
>Worf snapped to his feet like a video image in reverse.
Mike: More cheap special effects.
> "Of course
>not," he said, but his words disagreed with his ribs.
Tom: What do his ribs have anything to do with what he says?! They're only
a couple of lousy bones.
> "However, you are
>a formidible opponent, Ensign Yar."
>"Cadet," she corrected, mopping her neck with a towel.
Crow: CCAAAAABBBBBOOOOTTTT!
Mike: No, no, Crow...that's 'cadet', with a 'd', not a 'b'.
Crow: It's this stupid device, it's screwing up my programming.
>"What?" said Worf, wondering if he heard correctly.
Mike: Time for a hearing aid, don't you think?
>"That's Cadet Yar," said Tasha. "I'm not due to graduate for
>another seven months."
Tom: (surfer-like) Like, man, I gotta try to pass remedial english again.
>"I see," said Worf, wondering what kind of fighter Yar would be like
>when she received a commission. "I had assumed that you were an ensign,
>like myself."
Mike: Well, just look at the pips, man. You got one, she's got none,
so there.
>"We can talk in the break room," she said, beckoning him to follow.
>"I'm starving."
Crow: For ... (jumps, buzz heard)... TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!
>A minute later, Tasha was wolfing down her third container of gym
>food,
Tom: There's a quick turn-off for men.
> as Worf sat and watched her.
>"So how long have you been stationed on the La Gloire?" she asked
>him, pausing between munches.
>"Eleven months," replied Worf. Eleven long ruthless months.
Tom: You don't know *PAIN*, mister.
>"And you haven't made chief of security yet?" she inquired,
>grinning.
Mike: From ensign to chief of security? That seems like a *bit* too large
of a promotion at one time.
>Worf frowned even more than he was already. "I am not a part of the
>La Gloire's security personnel," he said. "I am an operations officer."
>Tasha burst out laughing.
Tom: Launching food all over the place.
> "You're kidding me, right?" she asked,
>incredulous. "Why would they put a Klingon in Ops?"
Mike: Well, for the same reasons they put balding men as captains.
>Worf was silent. Tasha gave him a friendly push, at which he
>flinched slightly.
Mike: Hey...that hurt!
>"Come on, you can tell me," she said.
Mike: Wink wink nudge nudge.
>Worf sighed. "I *was* a security officer for a time," he said.
>"But Captain Bosqui decided that I would be better suited in
>operations."
Tom: Actually, I look better in yellow than in red.
>"Uh-huh, I get it," said Tasha. "You must have done something.
>Come on, what'd you do?"
>"My transfer was recommended on the basis that my security training
>was incomplete--that I was... unrefined. Undisciplined."
Mike: And still not housetrained.
>Tasha snorted. "Well," she said coyly, "when *I* become a security
>chief, I'll be sure to recommend your transfer into my team, Worf."
Tom: Boy, she's headstrong, ain't she?
>"You?" said Worf, feeling an odd urge to laugh. "You are my junior
>in rank. More likely, *I* will be in the position to recommend *your*
>transfer." He paused. "Which I may or may not do."
>"I wouldn't be so sure, Worf," she said, taking another bite. "I'm
>already scheduled to graduate from the Academy a year earlier than I'm
>supposed to."
Mike: But you can do that when you are going for a business degree...
*real* degrees take the whole four years.
>"Impressive," admitted Worf. He had only known one other third-year
>Academy graduate in his life, a Vulcan girl who could fly a ship like a
>veteran navigator.
Tom: Is that supposed to be good or bad? I mean, if the guy is *old*,
how the heck to you expect him to keep the ship steady or not?
> "Are you hoping to serve on the La Gloire when you
>receive your commission?"
>"Anywhere they put me," she said, shrugging. She folded her arms
>and rested her head on them. "Somewhere peaceful," she murmured, with a
>small sigh.
Mike: Like in the deep dark reaches of space.
>"Indeed?" said Worf, taken even further back. "You do not strike me
>as one who turns away from conflict."
>"I've had plenty of conflict in my life already. Not the enjoyable
>kind. You know?" Chipper a moment ago, Tasha Yar seemed downright
>funereal now.
Crow: Hey! You just can't change any old noun into an adjective!
>Worf felt the urge to avert his eyes, but something stirred inside
>him, some kind of kindred spark. "Yes," he said. "My adopted parents
>are human. The relationship between us has been the source of much
>conflict."
Mike: (as Worf) Ever here of the Menendez brothers?
>Tasha nodded. "I never knew my father. And my mother died when I
>was very young. How did you end up with a family of humans?"
Tom: They probably found him as an abandond babe on their doorstep.
Mike: No, Tom. They picked him out of a litter...too bad he was the runt.
>Somehow, Worf didn't feel the same taciturn impulse, the urge to
>bury his personal pain that occurred whenever someone asked about his
>past.
Tom: Big Klingons don't cry...
> "My Klingon family was stationed at the Khittomer outpost. They
>were killed in a Romulan attack. A Federation officer rescued me, and
>later adopted me as his son."
Mike: You know, I bet he's been lying to us...he probably killed off his
own parents, and forced the officer to relocate him under knife-point.
>"Wow," said Tasha with a far-off look in her eyes.
Tom: Yep, she's paying lots of attention...
> "That sounds
>like my dream. From when I was a little girl."
Mike: Really wierd dreams, there, Tasha.
>"I do not understand," Worf grumbled after a slight pause.
>"It was my fantasy," she said wistfully. "To have someone come and
>rescue me from the colony I grew up in. To take me some place far
>away."
Tom: (singing) Over the rainbow...
> She smiled at her own self-indulgence. "It finally happened,
>when I was sixteen."
Crow: Suuuureee it was....(he jumps, buzz sounds and continues for a
while)...MikeMikeGetItOFFGETITOFFITSKILLINGME!!!!
Tom: Um, Mike, I think your little box is malfunctioning....
Mike: I think you're right, Tom (reaches towards box..buzz stops)...are
you ok, Crow?
Crow: (breathing heavily) I...think...I can..pull...through....
>Worf stared at her, curiously fascinated by the drama that her words
>seemed to suggest. At that moment, his communicator chirped.
>"Commander Cruz to Ensign Worf," came a female voice whom Worf
>recognized as the La Gloire's second officer.
Mike: I bet she gets ripped on a lot.
> "I need your assistance
>with the revised training manifest, please report to my office."
(Tom and Mike look at Crow and wait)
Mike: Well, Crow? Don't you have anything to say?
Crow: (still breathing somewhat hard)...too...tired...
Tom: You've got to look over him real soon now, Mike. I think you actually
broke something.
>"On my way," replied Worf. He turned to Tasha. "I would like to...
>continue our practice, Cadet. Perhaps tomorrow?"
>"Great," she replied. "I'd like that. Rest up."
>Worf left the gymnasium section for a nearby turbolift, reminding
>himself to look up a few combat moves later that night.
Crow: (trying to think of what to say) But..no...Of course...no....Aww
forget it, guys, something is seriously messed up with me...Come on,
Mike...you started this, you've got to fix it.
Mike: Ok Crow.
(leave theater)
..1...2...3...4...5...6...
(On bridge, Crow's head has been removed from his body, which is running
around madly. Crow's eyes are back in place, and the device sits near
his head. Mike and Tom are looking over the body)
Crow: Oh, great, *Mister* Nelson...my body's got a mind of its own.
Mike: No it doesn't...your brain is still sending out signals via
radio wave to your body, and of course its intepreting them.
Tom: Just like 'Gigantor'!
Mike: No, Tom..well, actually that the best way to describe it.
Crow: But, Mike, I'm telling my body to stand still, and look! Its
bouncing off the walls.
Mike: Of course it is...your neural pathways are all screwed up, and
its sending out different signals instead of what you intended.
Tom: Just like that one episode of 'Gigantor'!
Mike: Shhh...hold still now Crow, I'm think I got it.
(Mike does something at the base of Crow's head. Suddenly, Crow's body stops
moving)
Tom: You did it!
Mike: Of course I did.
Crow: Um, Mike...
Mike: I'll reattach you, Crow...hold on... (gets Crow's body, puts head
back on, fiddles around with the connection for a bit)...there you go.
Crow: But, Mike...
Mike: No, you don't have to thank me. It was my pleasure to fix you up.
I live and die for you 'bots. I mean, I was born JUST to serve you
robots, I am your willing slave. I would go to the ends of the earth
for you..
Crow: (interrupting) But Mike! I still can't move!
Mike: What?
Crow: Look. I can't move (Crow looks like he is straining himself, but
nothing happens)
Mike: Hmm...can you move your arms?
Crow: No (again, looks like he's trying)
Mike: Can you rotate your head.
Crow: No (Tom's head begins to rotate)
Tom: Um..Mike...
Mike: Not now, Tom, Im working with Crow right now...how about your whole
body?
Crow: No (Tom's whole body begins to move)
Tom: Hehe...Mike this is rather serious...
Mike: Shhh...Can you move left or right?
Crow: No (Tom wobbles back and forth)
Tom: MIKE!
Mike: What is it, Tom?
Tom: Well, look at this (at this point Tom is completely still)..well, I
mean, well, you should have looked a second later...Wait a sec, Crow.
Try to move your head.
Crow: I already told you it didn't work.
Tom: Just do it, Crow!
(Crow tries to move head...Tom's head begins to move)
Tom: See! Crow's signals are crossing with mine, and now he can control
my body!
Mike: Well, that's weird..let me take a look.
Crow: No way, Mike!! I want to have fun for a bit.
(Crow looks like he's trying to do something. Tom starts to move all about
the bridge, and eventually falls into a pattern of crossing in front
every few seconds.)
Tom: (when crossing)....Help...me....Mike!!...Stop...it...Crow!!!
(Crow is laughing)
Mike: Come on, Crow, you've had your fun. Now stop it!
Crow: Ha! This is the greatest, man!
(Fanfic sign)
Mike: We've got fanfic sign!! AHHH!
.6...5...4...3...2...1...
(Theater)
Tom: Gee, thanks Crow...I'm going to have this headache for a week.
Crow: (snickers) That was great!
Mike: You know, Crow, that wasn't very nice.
Crow: Yes, but that was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I had to do it.
Mike: Well, that won't happen again. I promise, Tom.
Tom: Thanks, Mike.
>Will Riker played "Moonglow".
Mike: although very poorly.
>He played it slow and with an easy, smooth effort that sounded
>almost sorrowful in tone.
Tom: Which was *really* hard to do when the song was techno-funk.
> He also played it while seated, which was
>unusual; one leg dangling from the bar, the other firmly planted in
>territorial assurance on the surface of the counter, Riker leaned back
>against the edge of the wall and blew the last few notes into the
>trombone.
Crow: That has *got* to be the most uncomfortable position to play in.
> When he finished, he looked up to see his audience of one
>staring at him with glittery eyes, as if magically captivated.
Mike: By the entourage of Chippendale dancers.
>Deanna Troi didn't applaud, nor did she need to. The appreciation
>in her soft doe-sized Betazoid eyes was quite apparent.
Mike: It's Bambi!
All: Awwwwwww!
>"That's my favorite one," she said softly.
>He smiled. "I know." He hopped down from the counter, as the smile
>widened into a grin. "I wrote it for you, you know."
Tom: Sure, Riker, sure. And what other songs did you *write*?
>She snorted,
Crow: (country-ish) Like a wild pig at a Bar-B-Q!! Hooo-we!
> eyes downcast and smiling also. "Please spare me. I
>happen to have heard of Benny Goodman," she said, giving Riker a
>playful slap on the hip.
Mike: (as Riker) That's good, because you can tell me. I haven't the
faintest idea.
>"Thanks to me," he returned. "You believed me when I told you I
>wrote 'The Look of Love'".
Tom: Well, thank god it wasn't the Book of Love.
Crow: There would have been no way it could have been the Book of
Love...we're talking Will Riker, the biggest loser of all time.
>Deanna chuckled. "Don't remind me," she said. "Or better yet,
>don't remind my mother. She still believes it. She thinks that you
>compose music in your spare time."
Crow: (falsetto) She also thinks that you are a big-time lawyer, and
own about 5 BMW's.
>"What spare time?" asked Riker rakishly, as he approached her.
>"Between Starfleet and you, I don't have any spare time."
Mike: There's a man dedicated to his work.
> He kissed
>her. "I wouldn't want any."
Crow: Ewww! It's gone mushy on us!
>They kissed again, for a full minute.
Tom: 57...58...59...60. (as Riker) Ok, we must stop kissing now.
>Riker took a scant sniff of the air in the room. "What is it about
>the atmosphere on Betazed?" he asked her. "Very fragant."
Mike: Its Obsession.
>"That's me," she said. "Perfume. Not many people wear it anymore."
>"I like it," he said. "It's very... it's very you."
>"That's the point." They kissed some more, and then Troi broke off,
>taking a breath.
Crow: (falsetto) Help me, I'm drowning!
> "What time is it? I'm getting a little hungry."
>"About dinnertime," replied Riker. "Come on, let's hit one of those
>fabulous Timbonese places you were telling me about."
Crow: (falsetto) No, I was thinking about McDonald's...
>"Alright," she said, grabbing a jacket. The couple walked out of
>the hotel room.
Tom: Don't forget the towels!
>"I heard from Captain DeSoto today," he said, as they walked into a
>turbolift. "Ground floor," he told it.
Mike: Ground floor...tires, wires, bikes, kites, and ladies lingerie.
>"Oh really? I didn't think you'd get to talk to him until you
>picked up your transfer papers," said Troi. "What did he say?"
>"Not much," admitted Riker. "Talked about how well we were going to
>get along... the usual stuff."
>"Nice man," commented Troi. "Does he do that with all his new
>officers?"
Crow: Only with the young male ones...Oops, sorry.
>"I'm not sure," he said. He looked at her with a quirky smile.
Tom: (as Riker) Eewww...look at the booger hanging from her nose.
>"Maybe he only does it with people he's considering for second officer."
>Deanna gasped a little. "Will, really? That's wonderful! It's
>what you've been wanting, isn't it?"
Mike: No..I really wanted to be...a lumberjack!
>Riker looked straight ahead. "Next to you," he said casually,
>making it sound like an offhand remark.
>She smiled primly at him, all too accustomed to his gratuitous
>affection. "Does this mean that the next time you go into space, you'll
>be Lieutenant *Commander* Riker?"
Tom: Well, I do get the key to the executive restroom.
>The liftdoors opened. Will and Deanna walked out onto the sidewalk,
>whereupon Deanna paid for a sky-taxi.
Crow: Wait a second...she just bought a whole sky-taxi on the whim?!
> The door to the waiting vehicle
>lifted up with a whir, and the couple entered the rear seat.
Mike: (falsetto) But I wanted to drive...
>"Could be." He put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm going to get
>you on the Hood with me, Deanna.
Crow: I've heard of doing it the back seat, but on the hood of a car?
> If DeSoto makes me his number two,
Tom: I'll be the new number 2.
Mike: But I am not a number!
>then I've got to have some pull."
>"Sorania adi Zea," Troi told the automated pilot. The taxi lifted
>silently into the air and embarked on its carefully programmed route.
Mike: Wow. All she said was three words, and thats considered 'carefully
programmed'?
>She looked at him for a few seconds, then said, "Did it ever occur
>to you that I might not want to serve on the Hood?"
Crow: So, not only are they going to do it on the hood, but she's going to
have to cook him dinner as well?
>Riker's eyebrows furrowed as he stared back. "You're not serious.
>DeSoto needs a ship's counselor, you'd be perfect.
Tom: You're beautiful, you're rich, you've got *hugh*...tracks of land.
> Your experience--
>it'd be a mistake to pass it up. And the... Deanna, I need you."
>Troi's flat expression blossomed into a smile.
Mike: Oh, now its like that Secret deoderent commerical.
> "Will, I was only
>joking." She locked her arm with his, and her eyes with his eyes. "I'd
>follow you to the end of the galaxy."
Tom: (falsetto) But there's this other guy, you know.
>The taxi soared on into the orange Betazoid night.
Mike: Oh, how cheap..that's only Los Angeles at noon.
> ****
>"Pierson!" yelled Geordi.
Crow: McCloud!
All: MITCHELL!
> "Pierson!" He briskly walked up to his
>intended target, who was busily engaged reading something on his
>personal PADD.
Tom: Wow, Peter David comes in a pocket-size case now.
Mike: Didn't you know, he comes in six-packs too.
>Ensign Pierson Chuang turned at the second shout of his name.
>"Geordi," he greeted, as LaForge approached. "Somehow I thought you'd
>be here," he said, gesturing at the convention hall which was rapidly
>filling.
Crow: With boiling hot surfuric acid!!!!
>"Are you kidding?" Geordi said. His eyes were hidden by the VISOR,
>but the enthusiasm his face was not masked. "This is a big day. The
>commission of the first Galaxy-class ship? I wouldn't have missed it."
>He smiled at his friend. "I knew you wouldn't either."
>Chuang returned the smile. "With you keeping me up nights reading
>out the technical specs... I figured there must be something to it," he
>said with a wink.
Crow: (like a child) Mommy...could you read to me how the figibulator
whatchamacallit works again?
Mike: No problem, Crow.
>"What are roommates for?" asked Geordi.
Tom: That's a very good question.
> He was excited; it was like
>the best holidays in one for him, and not just because of the launch of
>the Galaxy. He was the bearer of exciting tidings today.
>"Heard from the detail office?" asked young oriental man.
All: Supplies!
> "You
>told ME you'd be getting a ship by now," he said mischievously. "This
>time for sure."
Mike: (as a surfer) But like man, my old man couldn't give it to me tonite.
>"I've got good news," said Geordi,
Tom: And bad news.
Crow: What's the bad news?
Tom: This fanfic is still going.
Crow: And the good news?
Tom: I *think* I see the end in sight...
> gripping him by a shoulder.
>"Just got the word this afternoon, I'm a finalist for the navigation
>team on the Victory." He brandished a sheath of pink papers with
>excitement.
Mike: En guarde!
Crow: He wants to fight his friend with pink slips? This is getting too
wierd for me.
> "She leaves in three weeks, so they've got to be close to
>making their picks. I'll be on her, I can feel it."
Crow: I'm not going to say anything, Mike.
>"That's great, Geordi!" said Chuang. "That's really great!"
>Geordi laughed gleefully and pumped his elbows in a rapid turbine
>motion.
Mike: Boy, does he look stupid.
> "After four years, I'm finally going out there, Piers. My
>ship... has finally come,"
Crow: Shouldn't that be 'prince'?
> he said, breaking into laughter again at the
>stupid line. "I'll have to helm for a while, but I'll make it into
>engineering eventually." He stopped suddenly. "But what about you?
>You haven't said anything about where you're going."
>Pierson smiled gently. "I wanted to keep it a secret until the last
>minute, Geordi." He turned and looked out the observation portal, at
>the sleek graceful form of the USS Galaxy. "Look at her, Geordi," he
>breathed in a reverent whisper. "I'm going to be on her."
Crow: And I won't say anything here either.
>Geordi looked at his former roomate, head tilted. He let a quick
>guffaw escape his mouth. "Come on. On that? You're kidding me."
Crow: Look at that. How can anyone do a starship that size..oops.
Mike: Crow, you never learn, do you?
>He shook his head. "I have to be on board in twenty minutes," said
>Chuang. "I report directly to Commander Argyle."
All: (laugh) ARGYLE?!
Tom: Hey, hehe, do you guys hear bagpipe music?
Crow: Pretty soon, there all going to be wearing kilts.
>"You're serious," said Geordi, staring, no longer smiling. "You
>actually got the Galaxy. You got the Galaxy!
Tom: Yes, you've won the Galaxy. Don, tell him about his prize.
Crow: Yes, you have won the Milky Way Galazy. At only 50 billion years,
she practially brand new!
> That's... Piers, I don't
>know what to say."
>"Say, 'until next time', Geordi," said Chuang.
All: Until next time, Geordi.
>"Wait a minute, wait a minute," said Geordi, waving his hands in a
>"stop" gesture. He didn't know how to feel. "You mean you're leaving--
>without so much as a goodbye party or anything?"
Mike: You haven't even cleaned out the refridgerator yet!
>Piers looked like a guilty plague-cat for a moment, and said, "I'm
>really sorry, Geordi. They only told me two days ago. There's going to
>be a thousand people on that ship, we all had to make plans and
>arrangements."
Crow: (to himself) control yourself, Crow...control...
> He smiled suddenly. "Come on, Geordi," he said with a
>wink. "I'll see you out there." With a vigorous handshake, Pierson was
>off.
>"Yeah... See you." Geordi stood perfectly still for a long time,
>even through the opening remarks made by the first speaker of the
>launching ceremony.
Mike: Oops, sorry about that...GREEN LIGHT!
> He turned to look at the Galaxy again. She was
>beautiful. The blue lights flickered and blinked through the
>thick transparent aluminum windows. Lost in his thoughts, he missed the
>amplified words of the engineering captain who announced the launch date
>of the next Galaxy-class ship, though faintly in a corner of his head,
>he registered the applause of the crowd when they heard that it was
>going to be called Enterprise.
Crow: 'Enterprise'...what a stupid name.
>A BEGINNING...
Mike: Sorry, but this is actually THE END...lets get out of here guys...
.1...2...3...4...5...6..
(Bridge)
Mike: Well, we made it through another fanfic, guys.
Tom: Thank god...I gotta sleep for a week to get this one off.
Crow: Yea, Mike, I think you are enjoying these too much.
Mike: No, no. I hate these as much as you or Tom does, but still, you gotta
admit, with this fanfic we saw a different side of Picard and those
other people...(stares into space)
Crow: But, Mike...
Mike: (breaks stare) What?
Crow: They're fictional characters!!!! They aren't real!!! How can they
have a different side if they are not REAL!
Tom: I think what Crow is trying to say is that you, Mike Nelson, have
to separate fantasy from reality.
Mike: Well, you know I'm not that much into this stuff. I mean, I don't
go around writing these fanfics and stuff.
Crow: Yea, and at least you don't try to think of what those characters...
I mean, *fictional* characters did before in their life.
Tom: And you don't go around thinking of possible situations that they
can be put in, and what they would say and do in those situations.
(pause)
Mike: Are you guys getting this really weird sensation...not quite deja vu,
but...
Crow: We are, Mike, we are..
Mike: What do you think, sirs?
(Deep 13 - Frank is still stuck in the helmet, and his body is strapped
down onto a horizontal table. A long metal chain has been attached to
the helmet, and goes off screen. Dr. F is checking the straps and the
chains.)
Dr. F: Well, fortunately for you, bright boy, I was able to call Jack
Perkins...
JP: (waaaay off) Hello, dear viewers!
Dr. F: And he was able to bring his monster truck over. Now hold on, we
are going to get this helmet off of you somehow. (to off) Are you ready
Jack?
JP: (way off) Like desert after a 7-course meal!
Frank: Ar-rre you s-sure th-this is s-s-safe?
Dr. F: Of course it is. Would I do something to you that wasn't unsafe?
Frank: Well..
Dr. F: Fine, fine. Ok, hit it, Jack!
(Noises of a loud truck hear off. Chain goes taut. Frank is waving his
arms about, and accidently hits the button. After screen goes dark,
there is a big *Pop*, and a loud scream from Frank is heard.)
----------
Std. dsclmrs apply - cpyrghtd bbi
--
Michael K. Neylon |
Grad. Student | "Oh my God! There's a pronoun in
Dept. of ChE, Univ. of Michigan | the basement!!"
mne...@engin.umich.edu | Richard Lewis