[MiSTied] Princes of the Universe, 1 (REPOST)
Gary W. Olson
first four parts of "Princes of the Universe," yet another Star Trek/
Highlander crossover. On wednesday I'll be posting the brand-new MiSTing
of part five (which will also include a McElwaine short), so to warm you
up for that, I'm reposting these. Parts one and two I'll post today, three
and four tomorrow.
- Gary W. Olson
------------------------------------
[Opening Theme. 6...5...4...3...2...1..., and we're on the SoL. A number of
homebrewing implements are arrayed on the table, including a white fermentation
bucket, a bottling bucket, a large bag marked 'priming sugar', another marked
'dry hops,' a large number of bottles and caps. Mike is in the middle of all
this, filling the bottles with the contents of the bottling bucket.]
MIKE: Oh, hi, everyone. Mike Nelson here on the Satellite of Love. As you
can see, I've taken on a new hobby -- the ancient and revered art of
beer brewing. This batch of Irish Cream Stout has been fermenting all
week long, and according to the instructions, its time for me to bottle
and cap it.
[Crow wanders into the shot and looks over the equipment.]
CROW: Now, Mike, did you remember to sterilize all your equipment?
MIKE: Yes, Crow, I did.
CROW: If you don't sterilize your equipment, your beer will get cooties and
it'll taste funny, Mike.
MIKE: I sterilized everything, like it said in the instructions. [Looks at
camera again.] Yes, brewing your own beer is its own reward. Even
ordinary folks such as myself can do it with a minimum of fuss.
[Suddenly and without warning, Tom Servo, a diving mask and snorkel taped to
his head, surfaces in the middle of the bottling bucket, coated with a thin
layer of slime.]
TOM: I've seen the belly of the great white beast...
MIKE: TOM!
TOM: Oh, Mike! Has the show started already?
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign in five seconds.
MIKE: Tom, you've just ruined this batch of beer. Are you happy now?
TOM: Don't worry, Mike! I sterilized myself before I dived in.
CROW: What's that slime you've got all over you?
[Mike wipes some of it off Servo's bubble dome.]
MIKE: It's yeast... I think.
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign now.
MIKE: We'll be right back.
[Commerical begins. Commercial ends. You've seen it before. Rah.]
[Back on the SoL. The equipment is gone and Crow is watching as Mike towels
Tom Servo off.]
TOM: Can you get my back, Mike? I can feel a little bit of yeast still there.
MIKE: It's clean, Tom. Oh, we're back on! Hi, everybody. I decided not to
take any chances, so I gave it away.
CROW: Gave it away? To who?
MIKE: You'll see. Dr. Dre is calling.
[Mike hits the button.]
[Scene switches to Dr. Forrester in Deep 13. He takes a sip of beer and
frowns.]
DR. FORRESTER: Hmmmm. I'm not too sure about this. I don't think it's strong
enough. Oh, hello, twinkle-toes! Thank you for the gift, but don't think
this will make me give you a less painful experiment than the one I've
got lined up for you this week! Why don't you go ahead with your
invention exchange... while you still can! (laughs nefariously).
[Back to SoL. Three mugs of beer are on the table, next to three different
bottles.]
MIKE: Our invention this week is a bad beer detector.
TOM: Too bad you didn't have it around before the commercial break.
CROW: Ssh!
MIKE: What with all the new brands of beer coming out every day...
TOM: Red Dog, Red Wolf...
CROW: Red Badger...
TOM: Red Aztec Mummy...
CROW: Red Lemur! Red Lee Van Cleef!
MIKE: Excuse me, I'm doing an invention exchange here...
TOM & CROW: Shhhh! Shh!
MIKE: Thank you. Now, as I was saying, what with all the new brands of beer
coming out every day, the discriminating beer drinker needs a quick and
easy way to identify the good beers and avoid the bad ones. That's why
we came up with... the Bobbing Mitchell!
[Mike puts the Bobbing Mitchell, which is essentially a bobbing bird in a loud
sports jacket with a small picture of Joe Don Baker's face taped over the beak,
on the table.]
TOM: Now, as you can see, we have three brands of beer in front of us. Right
in front of me is a glass of Old Rip Oatmeal Stout, possibly the best stout
in the known universe...
CROW: Better than Guinness in cans?
TOM: Better even than Guinness in cans!
CROW: Wow!
TOM: Watch how the Bobbing Mitchell reacts to exceptionally good beer!
[Mike places the Bobbing Mitchell directly in front of the stout and gives it
a nudge forward. The Mitchell bobs towards the beer, but before it can reach
it, it suddenly and quite violently swings the other way, and stays there.]
TOM: The Bobbing Mitchell, when confronted with good beer, will avoid it at
all costs!
MIKE: Now, let's try a brew of intermediate quality. This Killian's Red in
front of me is only slightly better than most mass-produced domestic beers,
but it's good enough for demonstration purposes. Let's see what the
Bobbing Mitchell does.
[Mike places the Bobbing Mitchell in front of the Killians. The Mitchell
leans forward, bobs its face in the beer, bobs back, and forward, and back,
in typical bobbing bird manner.]
MIKE: As you can see, the Mitchell will accept this beer, but he won't chug it,
as it's a bit too strong for him.
CROW: Finally, we come to the lower end of the spectrum, the ghastly swill that
major breweries fob off on the American public and, in what should be
violation of numerous truth in advertising laws, call beer. This specific
example is 'Schiltz.' Now you see...
[Suddenly, without Mike even touching the Bobbing Mitchell, the Mitchell zips
over and dunks its head into the glass of Schlitz.]
MIKE: What do you think, sir?
[Deep 13.]
DR. FORRESTER: That's nice, Brian. As it happens, my invention also relates
tangentally to beer, in that its meant to simulate an environment in which
beer is often consumed, namely rock concerts. Now, say you're at home,
your stereo playing a Soundgarden song at maximum volume, and you're
pretending you're the lead singer. Do you know what's missing?
[SoL.]
MIKE, CROW, & TOM (flatly): No.
[Deep 13.]
DR. FORRESTER: Stage-diving! The part where the singer jumps off the stage
only to be caught and held aloft by his many loyal fans.
[He steps aside to reveal a mattress-sized block, with approximately thirty
arms protruding out of it. Loud rock music begans to play, and Dr. Forrester
sings incoherently for a few seconds before throwing himself upon the arms.
The arms roll him over and over while the doctor cheers.]
[SoL.]
CROW: I dunno. That doesn't seem all that evil, especially from him.
[Deep 13. Dr. Forrester staggers to the camera, bloodstains on his green
robe.]
DR. FORRESTER: As you can see, the experience is complete. The hands not only
support you, they also steal your watch and wallet. Plus, with a special,
inexpensive attachment, you can simulate being stabbed by a disgruntled
fan who thinks you've gone too commerical.
[SoL.]
MIKE: Now that's more like it.
TOM: Um, Mike...
[Deep 13.]
DR. FORRESTER: Your experiment this week is another in a continuing line of
pointless Star Trek/Highlander crossovers. It's called 'Princes of the
Universe,' and by the time it's done, you'll be coughing up blue blood.
Now, lets see, where did I put that trauma kit...
[Dr. Forrester pushes the button. Switch to SoL, where fanfic sign is going
off. Crow, Mike, and Tom, however, are gazing with expressions of terror at
the Bobbing Mitchell, which is resting contentedly in the empty glass that had
previously contained Schiltz.]
CROW: It... drank it all.
MIKE: Just back away from the Bobbing Mitchell slowly...
TOM: Quickly! We've got fanfiiiiiic siiiiiiign!
[They run away.]
[1...2...3...4...5...6...]
>Path: nntp.club.cc.cmu.edu!newsfeed.pitt.edu!hudson.lm.com!news.pop.psu.edu
MIKE: Pop goes PSU.
TOM: Ooh.
>!news.cac.psu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!newsjunkie.ans.net!news-m01.ny.us.
>ibm.net!news
>From: cm...@ibm.net
CROW: See Mike. See Mike post. Post, Mike, post!
TOM: On second thought, don't.
MIKE: Hey!
TOM: Not you, *him.*
MIKE: Right, gotcha.
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
TOM: I'll take 'usenet oxymorons' for $100, Alex.
>Subject: Repost: Princes of the Universe, 1
MIKE: I think he means 'The Artists Formerly Known as Princes of the Universe.'
CROW: Star Trek Eight: The New Power Generation.
>Date: 1 May 1995 01:17:30 GMT
CROW: GMT Trucks!
TOM: It's not just your car, it's your freedom.
>Lines: 246
MIKE: All those lines and he still can't get a date.
>Message-ID: <3o1cra$39...@news-s01.ny.us.ibm.net>
>Reply-To: {Mike Coelho} cm...@ibm.net
>NNTP-Posting-Host: slip4-206.fl.us.ibm.net
TOM: Let's give this post the slip!
CROW: Wish we could.
>X-Newsreader: IBM NewsReader/2 v1.09
>
>
> Princes of the Universe
> A Star Trek/Highlander Story
MIKE: The original title of the story was 'Princess of the Universe,' by the
way.
TOM: Really?
MIKE: Yeah, but the test audiences didn't like seeing Duncan MacLeod wearing a
tiara, so they sent it back to Mr. Coelho for a rewrite.
>Part 1: Duncan MacLeod's house in Paris, France
CROW: Conveniently located right on the busline.
> Duncan MacLeod looked out of his window at the bustling city beneath
>him. Never in his almost eight hundred years had he felt so
>exhilarated by technology.
TOM: He must be old. He's impressed by Windows!
CROW: Do you suppose they've released Windows '95 by the 24th century?
TOM: It's the future. Anything's possible.
> Or hungry as a matter of fact.
MIKE: He'd become pudgy and bloated due to repeated ramchip-eating binges.
CROW: Was that a hint?
MIKE: Well, you have been splurging lately...
> He looked
>over at the replicator unit built into the wall and silently cursed
>Richie for being late. Suddenly, Mac felt the 'buzz' and knew that
>Richie was near.
TOM: Richie must have had a lot of beer to give someone a contact buzz from
that distance.
> The doorbell chimed.
CROW: AIEEEEEEEE!
MIKE (Alec Guinness voice): That's the doorbell, ma'am.
> "Come on in, Richie," Mac said, "it's open."
> "Sorry I'm late, Mac," said Richie Ryan, MacLeod's friend and former
>protege.
MIKE: Richie Rich?
TOM (whispered): Ryan.
MIKE: Oh. Still, we could pretend he's Macauley Culkin.
> "Its all right, Richie, were there any problems?" asked Duncan while
>he waited for the food.
TOM (Richie): Yeah, I keep getting these letters saying they only went to
see my last movie because of the new Tex Avery Wile E. Coyote cartoon.
> "Nope, it's all set. We leave tomorrow for Risa on the USS
>Enterprise, Conner is meeting us at seven in the morning. This trip
>will do us all some good."
> "I certainly hope so. I doubt we'll be running into any other
>Immortals in space."
ALL: IMMORTALS... IN... SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!
> "Unless some of Those Risian women are after our heads instead of
>our . . . "
CROW: Convention passes.
MIKE: Rolodexes.
TOM: Marlo Thomas *is* That Risian Girl.
> "Come on, Richie, let's eat. I'm starving."
MIKE: Sheesh. One line of innuendo and he changes the subject. You'd think
after 800 years he would be used to it.
> "Me too, I just wish it weren't replicated food. I miss the smell
>of a charcoal barbecue, the aroma of freshly baked cookies, the-"
TOM: ...smell of long pork...
> "Richie, this is the twenty-fourth century. The days of slaving
>over an open flame are over."
> "I know, it's a shame. I miss the old days, Mac. Remember when our
>swords were made out of steel?"
CROW: Now our swords are plastic and our hips are steel!
TOM: That reminds me, how did your knee operation go?
CROW: Pretty good, though now I set off alarms whenever I go through airport
security.
> "Richie, using a steel sword would get you killed faster than if you
>hadn't met me." Duncan smiled.
MIKE (Duncan): My presence drains the life from all around me.
> "Well, the twenty-fourth century does have a few redeeming
>qualities, I mean, at least I can race a gas engine bike again, even
>if it is on a holodeck. These new ultra-safe-ultra-fast jobs make me
>laugh.
CROW: Except for that job being a bodyguard for Gallagher's descendants.
> Gimme the roar of an engine any day . . . "
CROW: ROAARRRRRRR!
MIKE: Well, I didn't mean right *now*...
> "If it'll make you feel better, we can get out the old swords and go
>at it for a while. We can even recreate the old dojo."
TOM (singing): Dojo really wanna hurt me, dojo really wanna make me cryyyyy...
> "We can try it on the ship, I hear they have the latest equipment."
MIKE: Instead of a stairmaster, you get into a tube and jump up and down
to simulate being in a turbolift.
> "'The latest equipment,'" Duncan scoffed. "I thought you didn't
>like technology."
TOM: Oh, I like it, but it just doesn't like me.
CROW: I get that way whenever I have too many ramchips.
MIKE: Oh, really?
CROW: Not *me*, *him.*
MIKE: You're going on a diet, Crow.
> "Like I said, a few redeeming qualities."
> "Like being able to go back into the past? Oh, the irony." They
>both laughed.
MIKE: This fanfic is just packed with irony. I can tell.
>Part 2: USS Enterprise in orbit around Earth
TOM (sarcastic voice): Oh, I suppose everything revolves around the Earth to
you, doesn't it?
> "The last transport from the surface is complete, Captain," said
>Commander William Riker over the comm. "We're ready to depart."
MIKE: Let's blow, okay? I've got a date.
> Captain Picard looked up from his copy of 'Macbeth'.
TOM: Plagiarism exists in the 24th century?
CROW: Well, now that they've eliminated scarcity, the downtrodden masses can
use photocopiers for free...
TOM: Thank you, Karl.
> "Acknowledged,
>number one. I'll be right in." He put the book down and proceeded to
>the bridge.
MIKE: Walking on air.
> "Captain, one of the passengers, a Duncan MacLeod, wishes to speak
>with you, sir," Lieutenant Commander Data said as the captain took
>his seat
CROW: That's no fair! Now where's Data going to sit?
TOM: On Picard's lap?
MIKE: Say.
> on the bridge of the newly constructed Enterprise
>NCC-1701-E.
MIKE: I call no making the "extra e" reference.
TOM & CROW: Awwwww...
CROW: Can we say it's an "e-ticket" ride?
MIKE: Yes, but only once.
> "Duncan MacLeod? I haven't heard that name in years," replied the
>Captain.
TOM: But thanks to the Whisper 2000, I hear it all the time!
> "You know him, sir?" asked Riker.
> "Yes, he was my fencing instructor at Starfleet Academy,
MIKE: You should have seen him with a bed of topsoil and a model-xr7 chain
link fence. He was amazing.
> one of the
>best swordsmen I've ever seen. Data, please ask Mr. MacLeod to meet
>me in ten forward at twenty-one-hundred hours."
CROW: Dennis Weaver's in this fanfic?
MIKE: No, he's McCloud. This is MacLeod.
CROW: I see... huh?
> "Yes, Captain," replied Data.
> "Mr. Worf, you would probably enjoy meeting Mr. MacLeod. He was an
>excellent martial artist, in his day," said Picard.
TOM: In his night, though, he was an excellent cocktail waitress!
> "Yes, maybe he could show you a few tricks, Worf," said Commander
>Riker with a smile.
TOM: Say!
> Worf merely grunted and returned to his duties.
MIKE: Worf went to the Tor Johnson acting school.
TOM (Tor voice): Time for go to warp!
>Part 3: Conner MacLeod's quarters onboard the Enterprise
CROW: Conner McEnroe? What is he going to do, play tennis against the wall
and then argue with himself when a ball goes out?
MIKE: That's MacLeod.
> "What time are we meeting the Captain?" asked Richie.
> "At twenty-one-hundred hours, in the bar," replied Conner. What did
>he call it, ten forward?"
CROW: No, he called it 'Hooters.' Why?
> "Yea, and remember, guys, the Captain is an old friend of mine, so
>try to be polite," Duncan said, with a slight smirk. Whenever the
>three of them were together, Duncan always felt he had to apologize
>to everyone.
TOM: For their constant re-enactments of scenes from 'The MacLaughlin Group.'
> He usually did, especially when they were around liquor.
MIKE: If he'd only carry a bottle opener, he wouldn't have to apologize all
the time.
CROW: Ain't that the way.
>They always had fun together.
> "As polite as always, Mac," said Richie.
> "I'm offended, are you implying that I am anything but polite?" said
>the elder MacLeod, mimicking Duncan's expression perfectly.
TOM (Richie): Are you implying that I am anything but polite?
CROW (Duncan): Stop repeating what I'm saying!
TOM (Richie): Stop repeating what I'm saying!
MIKE: Break it up you two, or neither of you will get any ramchips.
> "You? The famous Conner MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod, be impolite?
>Wherever would I get that idea? Could it have been your famous duel
>on Boston Common? Or the time that innkeeper kicked us out because you
>said the room smelled like old haggis?
MIKE: Or the time you accused the Queen of England of dealing drugs?
CROW: Or the time you snuck into the House of Representatives and replaced
all the seats with whoopie cushions?
TOM: Or the time you belched out the Star Spangled Banner on national tv?
> No, I must be wrong. I
>apologize."
> "Seriously, I hope this little vacation turns out to be as relaxing
>as the brochures said it would be," said Richie.
TOM: They have vacation brochures for the starship Enterprise?
CROW: They're doing it to defray the costs of building a new one.
TOM: Wasn't it under warranty?
> "Well, its noon now,
>so I think we have time for a little excursion to the holodeck, don't
>you?"
MIKE: Of course, we don't have time to actually *do* anything in the
holodeck. We'll just run there and back.
> "Yes, I think a holodeck program is in order. Let's go."
MIKE: Oh.
> "You two go ahead, I'm going to take a tour of the place," said
>Conner.
> "OK, we'll catch up with you later. Come on Richie."
> Duncan and Richie grabbed their swords from their luggage and left.
CROW: Man, that's big luggage.
TOM: Those cello cases are roomy. I bet they can fit a whole arsenal in there.
> Conner walked out into the hallway and found his way to a turbolift.
>He took the time to smile at the other passenger, a beautiful
>red-haired woman, seemingly in her mid-thirties before telling the
>computer his destination.
MIKE: The weird part was she was in her mid-twenties when he got on the
turbolift. It took him ten years to figure out what to say.
TOM: Well, when you're 800 years old, sometimes your mind wanders.
MIKE: You've got a point there.
> "Hello, I'm Dr. Beverly Crusher."
CROW: And you're not.
> "Well met, Doctor. I'm Conner MacLeod."
> "Nice to meet you," she said, and smiled warmly.
TOM: Blinding him with her perfect teeth.
MIKE: The glare! The glare!
>Part 4: Duncan and Richie in front of holodeck 12
ALL: K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
> "That should about do it, Richie," Duncan said.
> "Let's see."
CROW: They're going to enter the Power Station.
TOM: No one was prepared for the... Fanfic Holocaust.
> Just as they were about to enter, a figure approached. "Hello, I am
>Lieutenant. Worf, chief of security. You are Duncan MacLeod?"
CROW: And I'm not... wait a minute. I got that mixed up.
> "Yes, is there a problem, Lieutenant?"
> "Not at all, sir, it's just that expected someone much older.
>Captain Picard said you were his fencing instructor, and that you were
>an excellent swordsman, and since I was off duty, I was wondering if
>you'd care to join me for my daily training session. That is, if you
>are not busy,"
MIKE: ...playing shuffleboard.
TOM: Huh?
MIKE: Well, they're 800 years old. They must own Florida by now.
> said Worf.
> "Well, the men in my family have always hid their ages well. Richie
>and I were just about to train a little ourselves, you're welcome to
>join us, right Richie?"
> "Sure, I've always wanted to learn how to use a batleth, maybe
>Lieutenant Worf could show us?"
CROW: Then you could show us how to use the batrope, the batmobile, maybe
show us where the batcave is...
> "It would be an honor," Worf replied.
> They entered the holodeck.
> "Excellent job, Richie, it looks just like the old dojo."
TOM (sinister): Dojo want to go faster?
MIKE & CROW: Wheeeee!
> "Hey, what can I say, I'm good."
> "What is this place?" asked Worf.
MIKE: It's the set of 'Kung Fu.'
> "It's my old dojo back on earth, where I used to train years ago."
>'If only you knew how many years ago,' thought Duncan.
CROW: Yeah, yeah, if only you could see what I hear. Get on with it!
> "It's very . . . nice," said Worf.
TOM: Of course, if you'd cleaned it once in a while, maybe cleared the dead
bodies away or something...
> "Thanks," replied Duncan, ignoring the subtle sarcasm. "OK,
>Lieutenant, shall we begin?"
> "Yes. Computer, three batleths."
MIKE: For me and glue for you.
> Worf showed Duncan and Richie some basic batleth techniques, and
>soon Duncan and Richie were doing quite well.
TOM: It's strong enough to slice this tin can in half, yet it can still make
paper-thin tomato slices!
CROW: But wait, there's more!
MIKE: You also get the kitchen batleth set, the pocket batleth, and this
professional sharpening tool!
TOM: Now how much would you pay? Hmmmmm?
> "Very good, you show much skill, now I was wondering if you could
>show me some of your fencing styles," said Worf.
TOM: Okay, this is an ordinary picket fence.
MIKE: Hey, look, there's Tom Skeritt.
CROW: Where? I don't see him? All I see is text!
MIKE: Well, you kind of have to imagine it.
CROW: In that case, I'm going to imagine Samantha Mathis! *whistle*
> "Sure," said Duncan, as he drew his sword. "Now, Richie and I will
>spar a little. Just try to get a feel for the technique, I don't want
>to hurt you, yet." Duncan smiled.
> Worf didn't. "It is doubtful that you could hurt me, I would like
>to spar with you."
TOM: C'mon, ya wuss!
> "I'll tell you what, if you can beat Richie, I'll spar with you.
>Deal?"
> "Great idea, Mac, you get the big Klingon mad and then turn him
>loose on me. Thanks."
MIKE: Hmmmm. Worf vs. Macauley Culkin. Maybe we're being too hard on Mr.
Coelho.
TOM & CROW: Naaaaaaaaaah.
> "I will not injure you, Richie. You have a deal, Mr. MacLeod."
>Worf grabbed his batleth.
TOM: Worf! No!
> "Duncan, or Mac, but not 'Mr. MacLeod.' Its too formal," said Mac
CROW: And definitely don't call me System 7.
> "Very well, Duncan."
> Richie drew his rapier, and he and Worf began. Worf rushed at
>Richie with a great deal of force. Richie casually stepped aside and
>gave Worf a gentle push on the back. Worf hit the wall with a thud.
>He did not appear to enjoy it.
MIKE: But he really did.
TOM: You know, there are people who would pay for an experience like that.
> Richie smiled, but never let his
>guard down. This time, Worf took a more careful stance. He parried
>Richie's initial blows with growing ease, and was soon holding his
>own.
CROW: He doesn't mean...
MIKE: No, he doesn't.
CROW: You sure?
MIKE: Very sure.
> Suddenly, Worf came on with an overhead strike, and Richie's
>antique rapier blade gave in to the force, shattering to bits.
> "NO! My rapier!," Richie screamed. "You destroyed my sword!"
TOM: Haven't they heard of crazy glue?
CROW: They're too busy being impressed by windows.
TOM: Oh, that's right.
> Richie threw down the broken hilt and grabbed one of the other
>batleths. His attack was fierce, and drove Worf back several steps.
MIKE: Now he's back to the step where he recognizes he has a problem.
>Duncan quickly stepped in and knocked Richie onto his back.
CROW: Whose back?
TOM: Um... Tom Skeritt's back, I think.
> "Richie! That's enough! It was an accident," Duncan said, and then
>helped Richie to his feet.
CROW: Whose feet?
MIKE: Never mind.
> "I am sorry, Richie, I did not mean to break your weapon. I am sure
>Commander LaForge can repair it, if you wish."
TOM: And a little lemon juice will get that stain on your trousers out.
> "Its OK. I'm sorry I overreacted. I've had that sword for a long
>time. It means a lot to me. Meant a lot to me, I mean." Richie stared
>at the pieces of metal on the ground.
CROW: I meant mean. No wait! I mean I meant to mean, meanly.
MIKE: Say what you mean and say it mean.
TOM: Like a ramrod?
MIKE: Um, yeah.
> "I think we should finish this another time, Lieutenant," Duncan
>said.
CROW: We can break his sword down into subatomic particles.
> "Of course. I'll take you to Commander LaForge, I'm sure he can
>repair the blade."
> "Thank you. I guess it was time to get a new blade anyway."
MIKE: You can call it 'Zorro.'
>Part 5: Bridge
CROW: Rummy.
MIKE: Uno.
TOM: Poker.
> "Captain, you have an incoming message from Starfleet Command, sir."
MIKE: Oh, damn! They found out about the calls to Mistress Bettina!
CROW: 1-976-PERFECT-ORDER.
> "Thank you, ensign, I'll take it in my ready-room," replied the
>captain.
> Captain Picard entered his ready-room and keyed in his clearance
>code. Admiral Borland's visage appeared immediately.
> "Jean-Luc, we've got a problem," said the admiral.
CROW: My visage is showing.
TOM: Have you thought about plastic surgery?
> "What is it, Jake? We've only been out of spacedock for a couple of
>hours."
MIKE: Jake? Wouldn't that make Picard 'the Fatman'?
TOM: Star Trek Nine: The Quinn Martin Generation.
> "We received a report from a Bejoran freighter passing through the
>Corellias System. They received a distress call from Corellias Five.
CROW: Corellias? Isn't that where Han Solo is from?
TOM: Guess now we find out whether the Enterprise can beat a Star Destroyer.
CROW: I've got ten bucks that says the Defiant can waste both of them.
MIKE: But not the Death Star.
CROW: Well, that goes without saying...
>Seems there's been some sort of military takeover of the central
>government."
CROW: Some sort? How many kinds are there?
> "What does that have to do with us? The Prime Directive clearly-"
MIKE: Cuts our sentences off before we can make our point.
> "The Prime Directive doesn't apply in this case, Jean-Luc. The
>Federation was in negotiations with the Corellias Government for their
>dilithium deposits, and they expressed interest in joining us. This
>military takeover must not succeed, Picard. You know how badly we
>need resources, now that the Dominion is becoming an increasing
>threat, and the increase in Maquis activity.
TOM: And what with the Dominion funding the Sandinistas, you can see how
our vital security interests are threatened.
MIKE: Is that Ollie North in Starfleet's basement again?
> You are ordered to
>proceed directly to Corellias 5 and investigate the situation."
> "Yes, Admiral."
CROW: Corellias 5? Wasn't that a music group?
TOM: Yeah, but they only made it big after they kicked out Pete Best.
MIKE: The fifth Corellian.
> "Take care, Jean-Luc, we'll talk soon."
TOM: I've got to go upgrade my C++ compiler.
CROW: Huh?
TOM: He's Admiral Borland.
CROW: Ah.
> "Good-bye Jake."
MIKE: Goodbye, Fatman.
>Part 6: Arboretum
CROW: Eating trees? The Contract with America has gone too far!
MIKE: Huh?
CROW: It says "arbor-eat-um." Clearly it indicates they've replaced Arbor
Day...
TOM: Doh!
> "So, where are you from, Conner?" asked Dr. Crusher.
> "Lots of different places. Originally, the Highlands of Scotland,"
TOM: Where the poppies grow.
>Conner replied. "How about-"
> Conner felt the buzz. Duncan and Richie were near.
MIKE: Man, he's got steel walls seperating him from his friends, and their
alcohol breath *still* gives him a contact buzz.
> "Are you OK?"
> "Fine, just a little headache, I get them all the time," Conner
>said.
CROW: When I collect twenty or so, I cash them in for a full headache.
> "Really? You should see a Doctor about that. I just so happen to
>know one," said Beverly.
TOM: Doctor Viddy-voom-bah!
> 'Great, I just told a doctor I get headaches,' he thought to
>himself. 'Good job, MacLeod.' He said aloud: "I don't think that'll
>be necessary, Doctor. I've been-"
> "No, I insist. Let's go to sick bay right now."
> "Beverly, really, I-"
> "No arguments. Come on."
MIKE: I'm not trying to argue! I just want to finish my sentences!
> "OK, OK, you win. Let's go."
> They ran into Duncan, Richie, and Worf on the way.
ALL: (make loud crashing sounds)
CROW: Hey, he picked up the spare.
> "Conner, long time no see," said Richie. "This is Lieutenant Worf,
>chief of security. And who is your lovely friend?"
MIKE: You just named him.
> "Duncan, Richie, this is Dr. Beverly Crusher."
> "A pleasure, Doctor," said Richie as he took Beverly's hand and
>kissed it lightly.
TOM (Richie): I'm, er, home alone, and I could really use a sitter, ah...
> "It's good to see Starfleet still attracts its share of ravishing
>women," said Duncan. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."
> "I'm flattered." Beverly blushed.
CROW: No, you're ravished.
MIKE: You've got it backwards, Crow. She's the one that does the ravishing.
CROW: Oh, I hope so.
> "This is my cousin, Duncan MacLeod, and my friend, Richie Ryan,"
>Conner said. "She was just about to take me to sick bay, would you
>two like to join us?"
TOM (hissing): Join ussssss...
> Conner gave Duncan a slight nod, to indicate
>he needed help getting out of this.
> Duncan gave Conner an exasperated look.
MIKE: That's some weird exchange rate -- a slight nod for an exasperated look.
CROW: Well, according to John Maynard Keynes...
TOM: Thank you, Crow.
> "We'd love to, but we have
>to get Richie a new sword."
> "Really, what happened?"
CROW: It broke.
TOM: *Duh.*
> "You can find out later, Conner, we have a date with a tri-corder."
> "Have fun," Duncan said, and laughed.
MIKE: Can a date with a tri-corder be fun?
CROW: Depends on which attachments you use.
TOM: Ba-da-boom!
>==================================================
>Mike Coelho 'There can be only one'
TOM: And it's not you.
CROW: Let's get out of here.
>cm...@ibm.net -+==========|----------------------
>--------------------------------------------------
[6...5...4...3...2...1...]
(continued in part 2...)
--
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and related characters and situations are
trademarks of and (c) 1995 by Best Brains Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Use of copyrighted or trademarked material is for entertainment purposes
only. No infringement on original copyrights or trademarks held by Best
Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred. This post is not meant
as a personal attack on Mike Coelho, nor should it be interpreted as
such. Society, in this case, is clearly to blame.
--
Gary W. Olson sw...@sojourn1.sojourn.com sw...@drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede