[MiSTied] AOL Posts part 2
Claye Hodge
>Sincerely,
>
>Mr. Cary Jeffries
>ATLAN FORMULARIES
>P.O. Box 95
>Alpena, AR 72611
MIKE: It's not very wise to put your address up on the internet where every
nut case can see it. Right guys?
TOM:[to Crow.] Ok, that's 72611.. Got it?
CROW:[to Tom.] YEAH! Hehehehe..
MIKE: GUYS???
TOM: Yeah, whatever you say, Mike.
>(501) 437-299/FAX 437-2973
CROW: Ahhh.. a phone number, too!
>CompuServe: 75721,55
>AOL: ATLANFORM
>
>P.S. The Anarchist's Cookbook in simply the poorest book written in the
TOM: I didn't know that you wrote it.
>field. To put it as clearly as I can, it is a "SUICIDE MANUAL"!
ALL: IT'S A COOKBOOK!
TOM: WHEW! I'm ready for another break, how about you guys?
MIKE: This isn't affecting me any.
CROW: Me neither.
TOM: I said let's go.
MIKE & CROW: Ok.
[Mike and the bots leave the theater.]
[Commercials]
[SOL]
[Tom is sitting in a chair, wearing his fez and robe.]
TOM: Ahhh.. This IS the life. SLIPPERS!
[Mike comes on-screen.]
MIKE: Tom, even though you don't have feet for slippers, I made this for
your hoverskirt. [Put's the hoverskirt slippers on the chair.]
TOM: Thank you, Mike. CROOOOOW! WHERE IS MY PAPER!!!
[Crow comes on-screen with a newspaper.]
CROW: Here is your newspaper. [puts the newspaper near Tom.]
TOM: Took ya long enough.
CROW:[To Mike.] Ya know, the posts aren't as bad as I thought they would be.
MIKE:[To Crow.] I've noticed that. After we got past the first one, the rest
is just a breeze.
TOM: WHERE'S MY DINNER?!?
MIKE & CROW: AAH!
CROW:[Sarcastic] Let's give the master his dinner.[Post sign lights start
to flash.]
MIKE: Oh boy, It's post sign.
[{}...6...5...4...3...2...@...]
[Mike and the bots enter the theater. Mike puts Tom down.]
TOM:[whining] No.. No.. I don't wanna read anymore of this. Waaahahaaaahhh.
I can't take it anymore! Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh..
MIKE: Come on, Tom. This is the last one.
CROW: Yeah, quit being a SISSY! Uh.. and I mean that in a good way.
>Path: news1.delphi.com!news.delphi.com!news2.delphi.com!not-for-mail
>From: MONT...@news.delphi.com (MONT...@DELPHI.COM)
>Newsgroups: alt.slack
TOM: Another alt.slack post???
>Subject: How to be an Elder God
CROW: And how to influence your friends.
>Date: 6 Mar 1995 20:53:40 -0500
>Organization: Delphi Internet Services Corporation
MIKE: Well that's a surprise. It's not an AOLer.
>Lines: 123
TOM: A Hundred TWENTY-THREE LINES??? NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
>Message-ID: <3jgeb4$q...@news2.delphi.com>
>NNTP-Posting-Host: news2.delphi.com
>
>(#2 in a series)
>
>[Either in the style of a used-car salesman or Sally Struthers]
>
>So, you wanna be an Elder God.
CROW: Sure we all...
MIKE:[Stops Crow.] Too late, he ruined it for you.
>
>Here at Elder GOd Tech, our ten-step process can, in just a few
>short weeks, transform you into the gibbering, shambling mound
>of goo that you've always known was your destiny. Elder Gods
>are born, now made, and here at Elder God Tech, we've baan
>making them for thousands of years.
TOM:[southern] Thouzunds? Heck! We've baan maken these thangs for a millyun
yeers!
> Great Cthulhu himself was
>not always a titanic interdimensional being of terror; he was
>once Jack Smith, an accountant from Jersey.
ALL: Hi, Jack.
>
>There is absolutely no obligation, and the first lesson is
>free. In it, you'll study "How to Respond to Chants", "How to
>Pronounce Your Own Name",
CROW: And "How to have no life at all."
> and you'll get to pick out the
>features that you want your new body to have. Our surgical team
>can transform a 140-pound weakling into a 22,000-pound mutating
>horror with scales,
TOM: That's what happens when you over-use steroids.
> tentacles, gills, suckers, whatever you
>want.
CROW: I want fur.
> Now, admittedly, the surgery is not AMA-certified, but we
>refuse to allow stodgy old government regulations to control
>your new form.
MIKE: Even if the Republicans HAVE taken over Congress.
> We promise that, no matter how sick and twisted,
>and no matter how much it costs, we will give you the body of
>your nightmares.
>
>And then, in just eight weeks of intensive training, we'll
>teach you all you need to know about: Recruiting Followers,
>Creating Jade Idols, and Generating Occult Smoke. You'll attend
CROW: This guy scares me.
>seminars on Temple Design and Shrine Placement, and we'll show
>you where to find the very best in Sinking Islands and Moving
>Mountains.
>
>We're fully accredited and we do take transfer students.
MIKE: We teach them about being Elder gods, and they'll teach us English.
> And
>you'll get so much more besides unlimited power. You'll get a
>network of contacts - other EGT graduates! You'll get a place
>to belong. Yes, you'll belong on this planet because you'll OWN
>this planet!
TOM: I went to Elder god Tech and all I got was this lousy planet.
>
>Did you have a Jr. High bully? Crush him! Crush everyone with
>the same hair color! Crush everyone with the same number of
>vowels in their name! It's easy - when you know the secret.
CROW: It's so easy, it's STUPID.
>
>Are you worried that you'll find your new "look" repellent?
TOM: Just look at the guy posting this and you will feel better.
>Hey, beauty's only skin deep, and YOUR skin will be up to
>thirty feet thick!
ALL: EWWW!!!
>
>Now, you might be worried that some edler gods, such as our
>18-ought-three valedictorian Nyarlathotep, are frequently
>described as imbeciles. Idiots.
MIKE: You're correct!
> And, yes, we do sometimes
>remove all traces of intelligence from a student, but that's
>just part of the whole gestalt. We do NOT do things half way.
CROW: We don't do ANY of it. We just sit here.
>
>A word or two about our competitors might be in order. The ABC
>School of Elder Gods, for example, has rotten chants. Simple
>and direct, those things are in Iambic Pentameter! They only
>pass along the most obvious and simple-minded secrets of the
>Universe, the Gods they turn out can't twist time and space,
>can't turn mortals insane, tend to live only about 45 years,
>have no tentacles - - all in all, it's shoddy.
TOM: Like what you just said?
MIKE: Did anyone get that last paragraph?
BOTS: No.
>
>At the Acme School, it's even worse. The followers they get are
>absolutely bottom rung!
MIKE: You can drop an anvil on Wile E. Coyote so many times until it gets
annoying.
> NO research is necessary to summon an
>Acme Elder God! Any English speaker can wander into the New
>York Public Library and get the ritual. Their names AREN'T
>jaw-cracking mouthfuls of consonants, and, quite frankly, that
>attracts the laziest minions.
CROW: You're one of them, aren't you?
> The sort of seeker that they get
>wouldn't be allowed into any public parks at midnight, and no
>self-respecting domestic animal would DEIGN to be sacrificed by
>them.
TOM: Even one-celled animals.
>
>But here at Elder God Tech, you get the full range of benefits!
MIKE: AND MORE!
>You'll live for millenia! You'll get to attend the annual
>convention in the Marianas Trench! You'll get a 20% discount at
>affiliated stores, and, if you act now, you'll get, absolutely
>free, your own chapter in the upcoming _Necronomicon II: The
>Hallucination_.
TOM: Oh, I thought this post was real.
>
>Don't you want thousands of alienated little high school losers
>chanting YOUR name, performing YOUR rituals? Sure, we all do!
CROW: I'd rather crush them under my feet.
>And we can tell you just how much disdain to show them, what
>gifts to expect, and you can be secure in the knowledge that
>you know how to put on a show before you crush their puny souls
>and suck the marrow from their bones.
CROW: That's more like it.
>
>Our faculty is made up of the best aged scholars and gibbering
>lunatics in the world. Terry Drumroll, one of our tenured
>professors, is the World Champion Chanter! He once performed
>six full chants in ten seconds and included the Lord's Prayer
>backwards as an encore!
TOM: I've seen better.
>
>And if extracurricular activities are your bag, have we got a
>Sports Department for YOU! For six straight eons, we've been
>number ONE in glacier racing. Our coach, Icy Dan, is absolutely
>unmatched in herding huge blocks of ice through a continent.
MIKE: Cool!
>
>And when graduation comes, your family will watch in awe as the
>2000-piece lobotomized choir belts out your personal chant.
CROW: BUUUURP! Oh, sorry.
>You'll appear in a puff of greasy black smoke, resplendent in
>your silk robe and mortarboard hat, an unimaginable horror from
>the depths of beyond! Won't mom be proud? You'll take your
>first soul amid the screams and gouts of blood; it'll be a
>ceremont you'll remember for millenia!
TOM: Guys, I don't know if I can take anymore.
>
>And, friends, our chants all have at least twenty melodic
>lines, ultracomplex antiharmony, megavibrato - - it's
CROW: Mary Hart.
>absolutely state of the art. You have our guarantee that these
>chants will result in elite, or at least non-tone-deaf
>followers.
CROW: On second thought Yoko Ono.
>
>And you don't have to go straight into the cutthroat business
>world! You can stick around for post-graduate work! Create your
>own universe! Become a Lord of Creation!
MIKE: Just like Pat Robertson.
>
>All this and more can be yours, thanks to Elder God Tech -
ALL: Thank you Elder god Tech.
>"Sacrificing the Present to Bring the World of the Future Into
>the Past!"
TOM:[fidgeting around.] Guys, I really don't think I can take any more
of this.
MIKE: Be still, it's almost over.
>
> -Monty
CROW: Python! [Starts humming the themesong.]
>--
>"But wait! There's more!
TOM: NOOOOO! NOOOOO!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!
[Tom starts moving wildly across the theater.]
CROW: What is wrong with him?
> You also get this things that spins 'til it
>falls off the wall!"
>
MIKE: For only five dollars! Well, that's the end of the posts. [Servo is
still going nuts.] Tom.. TOM.. [grabs Servo.] The post is over.
TOM: Oh, Ok. [Mike and the bots leave the theater.]
[@...2...3...4...5...6...{}...]
[SOL]
[Mike and the bots are standing behind the desk.]
TOM: Aren't you guys going to bow down to kiss my hoverskirt and obey my
every single wish?
CROW: No, but we will snag on you. [Mike raises his hand to scratch the back
of his head.]
MIKE: Oh. Hey Tom [Takes his hand from the back of his head.] Here are your
micro-chips that you were going to use to brainwash us. Although
they didn't really work, they did keep us from suffering the effects
of those posts. Just think what could have happened without having
those chips.
TOM: What??[Whiney] They.. didn't work..[starts to whimper] I don't feel so
good.. I'm going to bed. [Tom goes off-screen.]
MIKE: Ya know, with out those chips, we might have been whining, and talking
nonsense to ourselves.
CROW: Yeah, just like Servo.
MIKE: Poor guy... What do you think, Sirs?
[D13]
[Dr. F is holding a box marked "Micro-Chips".]
DR.F: Oh.. uh.. hehe.. I see your robot had the same idea I had, after that
first post... and unfortunately the same outcome, too. [He trashes the
box.] Until next time... Push the button, Frank. [Dr. F goes
off-screen. Frank comes on-screen with many micro-chips stuck all over
his head. In a dazed look, he pushes the button.]
[Ending Credits]
directed by Claye Hodge
written by Claye Hodge
music composed and arranged by Claye Hodge
produced by Claye Hodge
edited by Claye Hodge
Special Thanks
RATM Posters Everywhere
Teachers of America
mis...@jg.cso.uiuc.edu
edited in SHADOWWAMMA!!!
THE END
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 is dedicated to a gent who, for my money, symbolizes the divine
>mystery at the heart of the SubG religion better than anyone---
>Uncanonized Saint, Renegade Pope, Malcontent Messiah Colin Ferguson.
----------------------
NOT!!!
Claye Hodge
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