MSTed story: Grandpa
Dave Van Domelen
Dave Van Domelen, MSTs in his own juices....
hi20...@spstmail.uwsp.edu
In the not-too-distant future....
[Door sequence: ...2...3...4...5...6...G]
[SOL bridge, Tom flies past, laughing maniacally, with Joel
in close pursuit. Crow pops up behind the console]
CROW: Uh, hi everyone! I'm Crow--welcome to the
Satellite of Love. Today is our weekly "Capture
the Flag" competition. Me and Tom versus Joel and
Gypsy. Tom's supposed to be getting me out of
jail here, but he's having so much fun annoying
Joel I just don't have the heart to stop him.
TOM: [flying past] Wooo-hoo-hoo! Run, run as fast as
you can!
JOEL: [right behind him] I'll catch you, you hovering
fool!
CROW: Anyway, just to spice up the game a little, we've
started playing dirty, underhanded tricks even a
mad scientist would envy. Like, in case Gypsy
found our flag, [chuckles] which I doubt, she'll
have a problem doing anything, 'cos I snuck in
last night and sabotaged her jaw.
MAGIC VOICE: You boys need a refresher course in fair
play. Commercial sign in ten seconds.
TOM: [whizzes up to Crow] Tag, Buddy--you're ou-
HOUUUUUT! [he keels backward and crashes on the
floor]
CROW: Tom?!
TOM: He must've set my hoverskirt on a delayed short!
Run while you can! Whatever may occur, I will
find you!!
CROW: Got it! [he takes one step and collapses] WAAAH!
My legs!
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign in five seconds.
[Joel slides in front of the console, holding up a few bolts
and wingnuts]
JOEL: It never hurts to buy a little insurance, guys.
Now are you gonna tell me where your flag is?
TOM: Uh, sure. Actually, we blasted it out Airlock 3.
CROW: Not that you'd be in any position to get it if we
left it on the ship.
JOEL: Yeah? And why's that?
TOM: Well, the itching powder we dumped in your
underwear drawer oughtta kick in any minute.
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign now.
[Joel's face twists in agony; Commercial sign.]
[Back on the SOL, Joel is wearing a different jumpsuit and
is hard at work on Gypsy's jaw. Crow and Tom are in various
states of disrepair.]
JOEL: Well, there's nothing like a little good-natured
fun to break up the tension when you're stranded
in space.
CROW: Yeah, you're just sore 'cos you won't be able to
sit down for a while.
GYPSY: Mm-eeehah?
JOEL: Yes, Gypsy?
GYPSY: Ooeh ihah ooh owa ahk?
TOM: Yeah, where DID you hide your flag? Crow and I
have been looking for days.
JOEL: Oh, actually I uh...[reaches for his back pocket;
pulls out the flag] I hid it in my underwear.
CROW: Oh, uh....eeyewww....
TOM: That's really perverse, Joel.
[Mads' lights]
JOEL: Oh, looks like Lewis and Spudly are calling early
this week.
CROW: Maybe it's the next installment of "Cyborged".
TOM: Bite your tongue.
[Deep 13; TV's Frank is reading a small poetry chapbook]
FORRESTER: Ah, if it isn't the goat-footed balloon man
and his mud-luscious blenders.
JOEL & CO.: Huh?
FRANK: I pasted some poems over all the articles in his
latest issue of "Mad Scientists' Quarterly". He
needed some culture.
FORRESTER: The only culture I need comes in a yoghurt tin.
That was the swimsuit edition, too. At any rate,
I've had my revenge.
FRANK: You have? How?
FORRESTER: You'll know soon enough. Anyway, Joel, I know
it's too early in the week for an invention
exchange, so I'll--
JOEL: Actually, Sir, I've been working on one. It's not
polished yet, but you can have a look.
FORRESTER: [disappointed] Oh. Well, carry on, then,
Booborama.
JOEL: Okay, my invention is based on the old machines at
carnivals and outside drug stores that would give
you your weight, fortune and lucky number, all for
a dime.
CROW: Hey, is this "nostalgia"?
JOEL: Yup.
TOM: The same thing that makes an otherwise intelligent
person run out and buy a broken down gramophone
that costs three times as much as the latest
minidisc recorder, "just because"?
JOEL: Er, yeah. Anyway, I've managed to fit a
comprehensive chip into this digital watch. All
you have to do is press this button here, and...
WATCH: Your weight is 92 kilos, your lucky number is the
square root of -1 and your fortune is, "You will
be stuck on the Satellite of Love for two more
years, after which you will wind up as a dirt-poor
fry cook somewhere in the Australian outback."
JOEL: [shocked pause] Well, Sirs, I guess I need to
kind of...tone down the honesty subroutine a
little.
FRANK: [scratching his butt] Wow, what they aren't
putting in digital watches these days.
FORRESTER: At any rate, Joel, since it's too early in the
week for the experiment--you guessed it--we have a
short selection of dead-boring fiction for you.
Because you never stopped for Death, we kindly
stopped you for him...or something. Read it and
weep, Wheelbarrow.
FRANK: [alarmed; starts really digging into himself]
[SOL; Joel holds the watch for Crow, who presses the button.
Movie-sign lights flash]
JOEL: Oh, we got Fiction sign!
WATCH: You weigh 38 kilos, your lucky number is 11001001
and your fortune is, "You will be forced to read
and watch things that offend your artistic
integrity..."
[Watch trails off as Cambot advances through the doors:
G...6...5...4...3...2...theatre]
>GRANDPA
>by BJ Hiorns
TOM: How do you pronounce "Hiorns"?
CROW: I think it's like "Hornez".
JOEL: "Hoy-rons"?
TOM: "Rayons"?
> Grandpa was a great old man.
TOM: But don't take MY word for it, ask Grandma.
> He was sharp,
CROW: Ow! I cut myself on Grandpa!
> had a great sense of humour and always seemed a step ahead
>of me.
CROW: But only because I was stupider than dirt.
TOM: And because he nailed my smegging foot to the
floor.
> The man should hav opened up a circus side show where he
>could sit all day and predict the future.
JOEL: "You will age, pay taxes and die. That'll be
fifty bucks, please."
> Whenever IU'd
ALL: [polite, embarrassed coughing]
> come homne
TOM: Homina homina homina...
> with some great news of what happpened to me that day,
CROW: Hey, Grandpa, I hit puberty!
TOM: That's nice, sonny.
> He'd give me a startlingly accurate account of what I'd
>done beofre I even opened my mouth.
CROW: That's when I decided the old man had to go.
TOM: And thus rid myself of the eye forever.
> In that way, he was annoying, but I never minded.
JOEL: Well, if I did, you'll never know.
> He was fun to be with
CROW: Your plastic pal...
> and ahd wonderful philosophies
TOM: What izzis wunnerful philosophy? I think I'll put
my tongue on it...
> which we discussed on many occasions.
JOEL: Like the time I got rabies.
> We loved spending time walking in parks just talking,
CROW: And mugging people. What pleasant times.
> and he never missed a chance to tell me how much I
>reminded him of himself when he was my age.
TOM: Wh-huh?
JOEL: "Shon, when I wash your age, you reminded me of
myshelf..."
> For all his amazing predictions,
TOM: He couldn't even save Lois.
> there was one things he didn't know about.
CROW: Rogaine, with minoxidil.
> Though everyone knew I was an exceptional student (near
>to genius, but I try to be modest),
TOM: Good, we wouldn't want you to BRAG or anything.
> nobody had any idea that I, by myself,
CROW: All alone, with nobody else.
> had worked out a way to travel in time.
JOEL: The trick is to go forward, one second at a time.
TOM: And thus, sneak up on it.
CROW: But be careful--time, when cornered, is likely to
attack.
> Well...theoretically.
TOM: Theoretically, I was to have been issued a
brain...
> I was still building it in a secret workshop
CROW: Thousands of miles below the Earth's crust!
> I had divided off from my garage, because who would ever
>believe a man of twenty-three had made such a major
>breakthrough?
JOEL: Not me.
TOM: Me neither.
CROW: Poor garage.
> Actually, the machine I was building was little moree
CROW: A little moray eel?
> than an encasement. The actual engine wa a computer
TOM: Wa-ah-ah...wah ah compooter....
JOEL: Something's stuck in his mouth!
CROW: Annie, Annie, are you all right?
> I designed to work out a few equasions I'd need for each
>time trip.
JOEL: Let's see, I've got my toothbrush, extra jumpsuit,
and--oh! Can't forget these equations...
> I'm not going to elaborate (to save you from boredom and
>also to protect my ideas),
TOM: And to save myself from actually thinking of some
decent pseudo-science to EXPLAIN anything.
CROW: Like how he eats and breathes.
JOEL: Shh, it's just a story, you should really just
relax.
> but suffice to say time travel requires quite a lot of
>complex mathematics.
CROW: That's why I never got anywhere.
> One day, Grandpa was on a roll.
ALL: [sing] Roll-l-l out the Grandpa-a, we'll have a
Grandpa of fun-n-n!
CROW: Kill me.
> I'd just come back from an elextronics store
TOM: [laughs] He bought some "Elex-Lax".
> after a futile attempt to purchase a few chips and
>supplies.
CROW: Purchase is futile!
TOM: Supplies are irrelevant!
> They were out of everything I needed. In disgust, I sat
>heavily in the livingroom easy chair.
CROW: Which promptly ate me. The end.
> Grandpa walked in. "What's wrong?"
ALL: AAAHH!
JOEL: Oh--it's just dialogue.
CROW: It's boring into my soul!!
> "Nobody has the electyronics I need," I grumbled.
> "Well...what do you need?"
TOM: Electyronics. Like in wonna them compyooter
things.
CROW: I thought he discovered the fabled
Electyrannosaurus.
> "You wouldn't understand."
JOEL: So TELL us already!
> "I used to dabble in that stuff," he smiled, "Try me."
ALL: [loudly clear their throats]
> I handed him my shopping list. AFter reading it, he
>said,
JOEL: "You realise there are no complex carbohydrates in
any of these foods."
>"I might have some of this. Just a second."
> He had it all.
TOM: He was magnificent!
CROW: Spoiled me for other senior citizens...
> Everything I needed, most of it still in the packaging.
>I reachedd back
TOM: To turn off the local echo.
>for my wallet, but he stopped me.
> "Just helping myself," he said.
JOEL: Why Grandpa, what cryptic comments you have!
TOM: Oh, _I_ get it...
> Of course, I was so exited I dashed immediately to my
>workshop and never noticed Grandpa trailing along behind
>me.
CROW: His catheter had become entangled in my
suspenders.
> Setting the supplies on my workbench, I was brought up
>short by Grandpa, who said nonchalantly, "So...building a
>time machine, eh?"
TOM: Aww, did Pooky tell you? I told him it was our
secret!
> "What?" I said, incredulous.
> He strolled around the frame that sat in the centre of
>the room, smiling once in a while,
JOEL: It was a happy frame, you see.
CROW: And happy frames give contented pictures.
> appraising my work. After his onceover on my vehicle
>part, he went to the workbench
CROW: For a closer look at my compound words.
> and chacked over the electronics,
TOM: Which I then had to clean up. It was disgusting.
> which were nearly complete. "Very nice, but it won't work
>this way. Come here."
TOM: It's the belt for you, young man. Think you're a
scientist, eh?
> Open-mouthed, I obeyed. Pointing to a few different
>components, he explained simply, "This...over there. One
>too many of these...and that's wrong. You need this."
CROW: It's a Vagueometer.
JOEL: All that technical jargon.
TOM: Hey, Joel, I don't have a "this". I feel
incomplete.
> He reached into his
ALL: AAAH!
>shirt pocket
ALL: Whew.
> and pulled out a
ALL: AAAAAHHHH!
> small chip.
JOEL & TOM: Whew.
CROW: Scary German guy's bitchin'!
> "But..." I stammered, "but how--"
JOEL: 'Cos it was unbuttoned already.
> "I thought I'd build a time-machine once, and my
>grandfather helped me out."
> "But the electronics field--technology in general--are
>always changing!
TOM: So's your agreement.
> How do you know about all this?" I gestured wildly at
>the tools and materials strewn about the room.
CROW: They came alive and beat me savagely.
> He chuckled. "My dear boy, it's very simple.
JOEL: Finding a dependable, long-distance phone company,
now THAT'S hard.
> It doesn't matter all the changes and upgrades in the
>electronics field. My grandfather helped me in the same
>way I'm helping you."
TOM: He killed me before I could reproduce.
> "But I don't even know if it will work," I said.
> "Your time machine *will* work. I should know," he
>said mischievously,
CROW: Oh, _I_ get it...
> "because I am, in fact, you yourself."
TOM: I'm you, not me. Understand? Let's get out of
here.
[Cambot backs up: ...2...3...4...5...6...G]
JOEL: Well, I'm glad my watch is just your BASIC time
machine. That just gets too confusing.
TOM: Yeah, I know what you mean. Kinda' makes you
wonder about the whole time paradox thing, doesn't
it?
CROW: Whaddya mean?
TOM: Well, if his grandpa travelled back in time, first
of all, why did he stay? I'd have been out of
there like a shot. Second, because he WAS his
grandson, what has he just done to the gene pool?
He's screwed up his family (and himself) for
generations!
JOEL: Uh, Tom...
CROW: Wow. I never thought of it like that.
TOM: And by going back like that, he created a loop.
Seems to me he made his life completely useless.
I mean, what a waste! And what do you think he
had to do to his grandmother so that--
JOEL: All right, Tom, I think we get the idea.
CROW: No, I wanna hear it. Spill it, Servo.
TOM: Well, Crow, y'see, when two old people get
together, the male starts fluffing his plumage and
clicking his dentures together...
CROW: Ooohhh.....
[Mads' lights]
[Deep 13]
FORRESTER: So, Longfellow in the Grass, you made it through
"Grandpa", eh? No matter, I--
FRANK: [walks up in his boxers, carrying a hot dish] Dr
F, I made you your favourite: pork liver quiche.
Just to show you there are no hard feelings for,
you know...dumping itching powder in my drawers
and all...
FORRESTER: Why, Frank, I'm delighted. I see you can forgive
and forget--like a man. [takes a bite] Mmmm,
just the right amount of curry powder.
FRANK: [smiles] That's not curry powder.
FORRESTER: What? Of course it is. You think I don't know
c...c....[his eyes bulge; he sticks out his tongue
and starts scratching it, staggering off screen]
FRANK: I wonder how he's gonna scratch his oesophagus?
FORRESTER: [off screen] AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHGGG!!!
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
O
/ | \
/ | \
/ | \
[Roll credits]
Everything written and MSTed by BJ Hiorns. All characters
of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 are owned, body and soul, by
Best Brains and Comedy Central, so there. I have plenty of
rotten stories I wrote in high school, but not nearly enough
time to MST them all. If you like what I've done to this
(my first attempt--did I succeed or fall on my butt?), drop
me a line with suggestions, comments or idle chatter.
+===========================================================+
| --BJH-- | "-!!- We're all CAVEmen!" |
| hi20...@spstmail.uwsp.edu | --Tom Servo |
+===========================================================+
My address should be valid though December of '94.
Special thanx and hugs to Chris.
>"This...over there. One too many of these...and that's
>wrong. You need this."
Pat Gomes
Dave Van Domelen <dva...@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu> wrote:
> Self-MSTing, eh? Takes a lot of guts, lad.
over and out,
Pat "four-eyes" Gomes
Spatch
Pat Gomes <pgo...@wam.umd.edu> wrote:
>In article <2q9o25$d...@charm.magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu>,
>Dave Van Domelen <dva...@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu> wrote:
>> Self-MSTing, eh? Takes a lot of guts, lad.
>
>GRANDPA: Self-MSTing? Humph, you'll go blind, I tell ya, Blind!
What's the point of ridiculing your own work, unless you have an inferiority
complex the size of a small Third World country?!
--
_____ spa...@titan.ucs.umass.edu
|\ /| Rover was killed by a Pontiac, but it was done with such grace and
| O | artistry that the witnesses awarded the driver both ears and the
|/ \| tail... but I digress... - Tom Lehrer
Ken Kaufman
>Mystery Science Theatre 3000: "Grandpa"
...
>Everything written and MSTed by BJ Hiorns. All characters
>of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 are owned, body and soul, by
>Best Brains and Comedy Central, so there. I have plenty of
>rotten stories I wrote in high school, but not nearly enough
>time to MST them all. If you like what I've done to this
Wait a second! You MSTed your own work?
I think the term here is MSTurbation.
==Ken
Petrea Mitchell
> What's the point of ridiculing your own work, unless you have an inferiority
> complex the size of a small Third World country?!
Would that be a superior inferiority complex?
/
Petrea Mitchell <|> <|> <pr...@mvp.rain.com,agora.rdrop.com>
** Pioneering the use of the parasitic sig block **
> Rover was killed by a Pontiac, but it was done with such grace and
> artistry that the witnesses awarded the driver both ears and the
Spatch
Kate Wrightson <kwri...@moe.coe.uga.edu> wrote:
>Spatch (spa...@twain.ucs.umass.edu) wrote:
>: Though you didn't even use pawns,
> ^^^^^ I thought this was Pond's. Cleansing
>cream for that 40s glow (has paraffin in it, or did until recently)
Ugh, no. That'd wreak havoc on my Spatula Finish(TM). I prefer a nice
polishing agent and it does wonders.
>: (uh, actually, I DIDN'T... I married Alma, and got her last names too. I hold
>: her hand in mine now, too...)
>
>Eeeeuuuuuwwww gross.
For all the posts I've posted, I've received the most requests not to.
(or something like that.)
--
_____ spa...@titan.ucs.umass.edu
|\ /|
| O | Gentlemen, we can't ALL be the Honey Nut Cheerios Honeybee!
|/ \| - Crow T. Robot, "Santa Claus Conquers The Martians"