MiSTed: Let There Be Angst! (1/4)
pmi...@asid.org
MiSTed: Let There Be Angst! [1/4]
MiSTing by Peter Milan
[Opening sequence...]
[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...]
[SOL. Mike is tied to a chair, his head hanging down. Crow and
Tom walk around him.]
CROW: So, Mr. "Nelson"...you seem to think that I and my
associate are gullible...to be taken in, as it were.
TOM: Crow, that's "_me_ and my associate."
CROW: Sssshhhhh! Now, Nelson...what do you know about the
Shadows' movements?
[Mike looks up.]
MIKE: Huh? Oh, sorry. I must have nodded off. HEY! What am I
doing tied to this chair?
TOM: You're being questioned, Nelson. You've been a very, very
bad boy...and Rangers don't like bad boys.
CROW: We didn't really like "The Rock" either.
MIKE: ...the hell?! Oh, I get it, we're playing "Babylon 5"
again. Okay, I can play along. [struggles against bonds]
You...you fools! You'll never get any information out of me!
CROW: We'll soon see about that, Nelson!
TOM: Where is the Shadows' main wessel? Keptin, there's a wessel
off za port bow...
CROW: Oh, no, he's gone into Chekov mode!
MIKE: All right, you'd better untie me...we'll be right back.
[Commercials.]
MIKE: Well, that seems to have taken care of you, Tom...how
d'ya feel?
TOM: Oh, just fine, Mike. It's too bad you canna change the laws
of physics, laws of physics, laws of physics...
MIKE: Needs more work.
CROW: Hey, Mike, Steinman and Meat Loaf are calling.
[Deep 13. DR. F and Frank are smiling; always a bad sign.]
Dr. F: Hidaly-ho, slaverinos! I'm feeling good today. Howzabout
you, Frank?
FRANK: It's alarming how charming I feel.
Dr. F: Me too...
[SOL. The guys look worried.]
MIKE: Uh...did you guys get in a truckload of Prozac or
something?
[Deep 13. More smiles.]
Dr. F: Oh, no no no no no no no no no no.
FRANK: Meaning "no".
Dr. F: We _did_, however, get a whola lotta fanfic.
FRANK: X-Files fanfic.
Dr. F: X-Files fanfic by 'shippers.
FRANK: X-Files fanfic by 'shippers with angst.
DR. F: Lots of angst.
FRANK: Lots and lots of angst.
[The Mads look at each other and can't stand it anymore; they
bust loose into a torrent of evil laughter. Eventually, they
fall to the floor.]
DR. F: [giggling] We've got...let's see...SEVEN, count 'em, SEVEN short
fanfics for you today! "Night Run", "Mulder's Ice Cream
Dream", "A Romeo & Juliette Tale..."
[Frank cackles maniacally.]
DR. F: [barely able to repress his mirth] "Sh...." Oh God... "Shots
Rang Out"...
[FRANK's laughter grows louder.]
DR. F: Ssssshh! Don't spoil the surprise! Let's see..."The Gothic
Dream", "Mulder's Prayer" and "A Swim In The Dark"! You might
want to make sure your insurance is paid up, Nelson! Because
these...these fanfics...
[Dr. F collapses behind the counter again. After a few more moments
of demented cackling, Frank's hand comes into sight and pushes the
button...]
[SOL. Panic.]
ALL: AHHHHHH! WE GOT ANGST SIGN!
[7...6...5...4...3...2...1...]
CROW: I don't suppose Vince Gilligan wrote any of this...
MIKE: Probably not.
CROW: Darin Morgan?
TOM: Uh-uh.
CROW: [horrified pause] John Shiban?!
MIKE & TOM: Mmmmmmaybe.
>
>I did not write this.
TOM: Oh, ya did too, ya big fake!
> I am forwarding this to xff on behalf of the
>author with their permission. This work was originally run on
>the EMXC mailing list and all feedback and comments should
>be directed to the author at: wagn...@mindspring.com
MIKE: Oh, it's Wagner! There may be singing...
>
>SciNut(O'tay!)
>host EMXC
CROW: Hi there, I'm SciNut, your swingin' EMXC host. Martini?
Cigar? Flintstones vitamins? It's all at your disposal...
>
>To join the EMXC mailing list send an email to EM...@aol.com.
TOM: Or just wish real hard.
>
>==============================================
>----------------------------------------------------------------
>This story is being posted by Lee Ann Wagner for her husband Steven.
>Forward to XFF, ATXC, and Gossamer.
CROW: A husband and wife team. What's that smell?
TOM: Our doom.
MIKE: Calm down...
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------
>Night Run
>Steven M. Wagner
>wagn...@mindspring.com
TOM: Oh, cool! I love this one! DeNiro and Charles Grodin...
MIKE: Wrong.
>
>Date Finished: 18 August 1997
>
>Summary: Mulder's thoughs while running.
MIKE: Did he misspell "thoughts" or "thighs"?
CROW: Mike, can I just say...yikes.
MIKE: Sorry.
>
>DISCLAIMER: This is a fiction story based on the characters
>created by Chris Carter.
TOM: As opposed to the documentary you see every Sunday at 9.
CROW: Hosted by Robert Urich!
> No infringement of copyrights held by
>10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox
>Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognized characters and plot-
>lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely
>within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection
>to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance
>is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please
>keep me as the author.
MIKE: Well, let's keep him on. He does have a wife to support.
>
>AUTHOR'S NOTE:
>
>This is a successor story to 'Scully's Surprise' and takes place
>the following morning.
TOM: Uh...okay. So what's Scully's Surprise?
CROW: It's Scully, roasted in a white wine sauce and stuffed with
cloves.
MIKE: Crow, that's maybe the most horrible thing I've ever heard
you say!
CROW: Stay tuned.
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------
>Night Run
>Steven M. Wagner
>wagn...@mindspring.com
>
>
>It's dark.
>
>A hot, Washington summer night.
TOM: And it's stormy. Suddenly a shot rings out.
>
>And I'm running. Running, balls to the wall, full out, running
>my damn butt off. Running for myself.
MIKE: [sings] Runnin' into the sun, but I'm runnin' behind...
>I'm wearing nothing but the necessities, jock, trunks, teeshirt,
>shoes, socks, apartment key, 10mm auto, FBI ID, and health plan
>card. Just what I need running.
CROW: You forgot whips, chains, dildos and a book.
>It's raining out. Not enough rain that its cool and
comfortable.
TOM: Oh my God, it _is_ a dark and stormy night!
MIKE: Is Snoopy writing this?
>Not enough to make the street lights and neon pretty images in
>puddles. Not enough to make it dangerous to run.
CROW: Not enough to mend my poor broken heart...
> God, how
>dangerous can it be, I ask. What could somebody do to me? Kill
>Me? With mindwipes, abductions, time loss, killing me would be
>nothing. Shit, my partner has pumped a bullet into me.
TOM: I AM IMMORTAL! I WILL RAIN DEATH UPON YOU ALL!
CROW: TASTE MY WRATH!
>As I round a corner, I pass a man walking his dogs, I've seen
>him before. He doesn't bother me, I don't bother him. He's just
>a dark body in the rainy night.
MIKE: So I pump two bullets into him. Hell, who'll miss him?
>I run at night for myself. Not for my father and mother, whom
>I've failed. Not for my sister, whom I've lost. Not for my
>partner, my friend.
TOM: Not for my next-door neighbor who lent me her paper.
MIKE: Not for my superintendent who unclogged my sink.
CROW: Not for my mailman who brings me my porn!
> It isn't that I've deserted her, I'll check
>my answering machine when I return home, call her then if she's
>left a message.
CROW: Then maybe grab a sandwich, a few chips, crack open a
brewski and then...it's time for a little Spice channel!
> I just need this time for myself. To hear the
>sound of my feet hitting the pavement, to hear the sounds of the
>insects of the night.
MIKE: To think like the hu-man! To be like the hu-man!
> To put the world away from me. To perhaps
>have a few minutes where the world is not a scary place, where
>it's just me and the pavement and the night.
TOM: And that gang of young toughs who've been chasing me for
the past mile.
>end.
CROW: ...Huh.
TOM: Terse. Concise.
MIKE: And utterly meaningless. Is it time to go?
TOM: No...there's something else coming in...
>I did not write this. I am forwarding this to xff on behalf of the
>author with their permission. This work was originally run on
>the EMXC mailing list and all feedback and comments should
>be directed to the author at: wagn...@mindspring.com
CROW: Oh, him again.
>SciNut(O'tay!)
>host EMXC
TOM: SciNut say: Fanfic O-TAY!
MIKE: SciNut wrong!
>To join the EMXC mailing list send an email to EM...@aol.com.
MIKE: Or don't. What do I care. Hey, SCREW YOU!
TOM: Mike...it's okay, Mike...
>==============================================
>Please forward to XFF, ATXC, and Gossamer.
>
>---------------------------------------------------------------
>Mulder's Ice Cream Dream
>Steven M. Wagner
>wagn...@mindspring.com
CROW: Huh. Anybody just get a cold feeling of dread, like there
was some horrible insect crawling over your naked body
while you sleep?
TOM: "Slept."
CROW: Whatever.
>
>Date Finished: 5 Feb 1997
>
>Summary: Mulder goes on a picnic with an old flame.
TOM: Mike, I think he's right. I just had an icy finger of
despair worm its way into my soul and start tickling
the back of my throat!
MIKE: Uh...sorry.
>
>DISCLAIMER: This is a fiction story based on the characters
>created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by
>10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox
>Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognized characters and plot-
>lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely
>within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection
>to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance
>is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please
>keep me as the author.
MIKE: This offer available in 49 states. Sorry, Tennessee!
>
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------
>Mulder's Ice Cream Dream
>Steven M. Wagner
>wagn...@mindspring.com
CROW: Just in case you forgot, this is...Mulder's Ice Cream
Dream.
>
>"Thank you for inviting me," Mulder told the dark-haired beauty.
MIKE: Roma Downey?
TOM: Elizabeth Hurley?
CROW: Xena?
>They were sitting, no lounging on a Black Watch plaid blanket
>overlooking the moors of Scotland.
[Crow and Mike turn and look at Tom, who sighs.]
TOM: [unenthusiastically, yet still Scottish] Stay off the
moors, stay off the moors.
> Around the two was the
>debris of a picnic meal; an empty bottle of claret, the picked
>bones of a capon, the waxed paper bag that had once held the
>pride of an Edinburgh bakery. Mulder was feeling at peace with
>the world.
CROW: He was feelin' no pain!
ALL: Wooooooo!
>
>"You are more then welcome," she told him, her low husky voice
>meant for his ears alone.
[MIKE barks like a dog.]
TOM: Down, boy! Sit!
> "Some dessert," she invited, smiling
>suggestively.
TOM: Oh, no thanks. Tea's trying to keep me slim.
>
>Mulder's eyes raked up and down the woman's curves, hidden from
>him by a tailored blue silk blouse and trim black leather skirt.
CROW: Wow! Gotta love those French babes!
MIKE: ...But she's English.
CROW: Yeah, I know, but you gotta love those French babes!
>His look in his eyes told of something a little beyond the
>apparent humor one saw there.
TOM: What, was she wearing Groucho glasses?
>
>"In the cooler silly," she chided.
MIKE: As opposed to the cooler morose.
> She rose up so that she was
>kneeling
CROW: ...Ah, never mind. It's not worth it.
> in front of the green and white enameled box. Opening
>it, she pulled out
MIKE: ...a human heart!
ALL: AHHHHH!
> the Ben and Jerry's container. "I was able to
>get your favorite, 'New York Chocolate Chunk Brownie'. And here
>is some whipped Devonshire cream, and a bottle of 'Death by
>Chocolate' sauce."
TOM: Now, if you'll just sign here...yes, and here...so, should
I put down Cancer Man as next of kin?
>
>Mulder's sense's were drawn to the tableau. Here was this
>beautiful woman, getting ready to serve him a luscious dessert.
CROW: And yet he's staring at some stupid tableau! Where are his
priorities?!
>His mouth watered.
MIKE: Wow, look at all this ice cream! If only this chick
wasn't here!
>
>They sat and enjoyed the creamy texture of the ice cream, the
>richness of the chocolate sauce.
CROW: And the horrible, scarring acne which soon followed.
> Soon the quart was gone, their
>appetites sated. Mulder leaned back and laid his head in the
>Scotland Yard Inspector's lap.
TOM: Why, Lestrade, I never knew...
>"I'll be in the States next month at a conference. We can meet
>there, and this time, you can cook," she said, stoking the hair
>from his forehead.
MIKE: AHHH! MY HEAD'S ON FIRE!
>"Yes, we'll be there. Scully will understand. I can't wait to
>see you there, Michelle."
CROW: Uh...who?
TOM: I think it's the woman from "Fire".
>
> The End
>
MIKE: Whatever.
TOM: Time to go...
[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...]
[SOL. The guys stand around.]
CROW: Okay, Mike, so lemme get this straight. Mulder goes
jogging, then he eats a bunch of ice cream.
MIKE: Pretty much.
CROW: Well, gee, the raw suspense of it all! Where's the monsters
and psychos and evil government conspiracies? This is supposed
to be the X-Files, not a Jim Jarmusch film!
TOM: Actually, I was riveted to my seat.
MIKE: Uh...why?
TOM: Well, think about it. Will Mulder finish all the ice cream?
Will he get some on his tie? What will the dry cleaner charge?
MIKE: Tom...
TOM: And what about the jogging aspect? How much further will
he have to jog the next night to get rid of all that
ice cream?
CROW: Hey, yeah! What if it all goes straight to his hips?
MIKE: You guys...
TOM: What if he becomes addicted to ice cream?! He could lose
that sleek, girlish figure we've all come to know and love.
MIKE: All right, all right, knock it off! I'm suffocating on
sarcasm fumes here...
CROW: And then there's this Michelle woman. Who the hell is
she, anyway?
[Lights. Anarchy.]
ALL: AHHHHHH! WE GOT POST SIGN!
[7...6...5...4...3...2...1...]
[To be continued...]
Peter Milan
ti...@eyrie.org
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