MSTing: HELIOPOLIS (3/5)
a.ca...@genie.com
> "May I have your number?" he asked.
Mike [falsetto]: "Umm... it's five."
>almost routinely. Pluck.
Crow: There's another one! Is =that= a sound effect?
Tom: I think it's a commentary on the youth's brash spirit!
Mike: No, no, no. Remember that flower metaphor? This is the horrific
payoff.
Tom: Good thing he decided against the poodle idea, then.
> "Yes," she said, suddenly ecstatic. "And could you-"
> "Sure," he said. He drew a random card
Tom [falsetto]: "Okay, now I want you to remember that card and place it
back in the deck!"
>out of his wallet and carefully wrote his telephone number on it.
> "Let me get my purse," she said. "I'll just go and get it," she
>added,
Mike: She's redundant and repetitious and redundant and repetitious and
redundant.
>her thoughts momentarily distant, as she remembered that she had come to
>the beach with a friend who, although she had gone off on her own for a
>while, was now back on the bench watching them. Daniel watched Aurora
Crow [wildly glancing around]: Y'know, I have the creepiest feeling I'm
being watched.
>as she trudged back over the hot sand toward where her friend was sitting.
>She retrieved an object from her purse, while fending off a barrage of
>questions from
Tom: --Sam Donaldson.
>her friend, and then hurried back with a piece of paper which she deposited
>in his hand.
Crow: I hope it's a restraining order.
> Without waiting for approval, Daniel kissed her lightly
Mike: If he went to Antioch College, he'd be in jail now.
>and bid her goodbye. She was delighted, infatuated, confused. Never mind,
Crow: Okay! Already forgotten. Let's go!
>Daniel thought,
Crow: Aw, man...
>she would work out her feelings sometime. It wasn't his concern yet. Then
>he left the beach and headed for Glenda's -- his girlfriend's -- apartment.
Tom: And that's the end of HELIOPOLIS's -- this story's -- beach scene.
>
> The Dreamer
Mike: Neal! How are we supposed to build a bond of trust when you keep
dragging up this "Dreamer" routine?
>what he had done for the rest of that afternoon at Glenda's apartment.
Tom: My bet's on hash.
>Strange, that was;
Crow [Yoda]: "Know your father, I did!"
>he just could not remember. It was as if the thread of memory he was
>following had been cut in two places and had a piece removed. But at least
>he had remembered something.
Mike: Unfortunately, it was all baseball statistics.
>It was a start. There he was in a small blue room staring up at the blue-
>and-white marbled ceiling, his eyes idly searching for patterns in the
>veins while his mind struggled to locate
Crow: --Waldo.
Tom: Aw, I was gonna say Carmen Sandiego.
Mike: Or Jimmy Hoffa.
Bots: Huh?
>the missing memory. Damn it, he should =know= what had happened -- at
>least have a guess! -- but the space in his brain reserved for this memory
>was vacant.
Mike: Wouldn't you know it? You drive around for hours and when you finally
find a space it's reserved for this guy's memory.
>He simply could not remember. Oh well, he thought. He skipped over the gap
Crow: Hey, could you pick me up a couple of polo shirts while you're there?
Tom: That's "over the gap", not "over to the Gap". Dummy.
>and picked up the thread on the other side.
Tom: Let's head on over to the other side ourselves, guys.
[1...2...3...4...5...6...]
[Purple light flashes.]
Mike: Hey, sensors are picking up yet another satellite! Let's check it
out! [hits purple button]
[Hexfield viewscreen opens. Inside we see another set of doppelgangers for
Mike, Crow, and Tom, only this time they're grossly overweight and their
faces are smeared with food.]
Mike: Hi, this is the Satellite of Love. Who are you?
SOP-Mike: *burp* This is the Satellite of Plenty. *belch* So what kind of
horrific torture are =you= being put through?
Crow: We have to read cheesy stories! The worst Dr. F. can find!
[awkward silence]
SOP-All: STORIES?! You get to read =stories=?
Mike: Hey, it's hardly a treat. We're talking Ratliff. Mentech, Schulman...
SOP-Tom: Big deal! We have to =eat= whatever Dr. F. send us! It's torture,
I tell you! TORTURE!
Mike: Oh, how bad could food be?
SOP-Crow: Well, my experiment today is that I have to finish off a case of
Crispers. What are Crispers? "Fried-Out Pork Fat With Skin Attached"!
This is what's on the =bag=! This is the least nauseating way they could
think of to describe this crap! *gags*
SOP-Mike: I, on the other hand, get to enjoy a two-liter bottle of Beefmato.
You've heard of Clamato? Same basic idea. IT'S LIKE DRINKING A COW! This
stuff really EXISTS!
Tom: How about you?
SOP-Tom: I'd rather not say.
Tom: Oh.
SOP-Tom: It's Scottish.
Tom: Oh.
SOP-Tom: Pray for me.
Mike: Well, no offense, but we're going to spend the next three weeks
throwing up if we spend another minute with you. Bye!
SOP-Crow: Yeah, bite me.
[Hexfield viewscreen closes. Lights flash.]
All: THANK GOD WE DON'T HAVE DISGUSTING FOOD SIGN!
[6...5...4...3...2...1...]
>
> It was late in the evening, but not dark; it was never dark in
>Heliopolis.
Mike: Crime was at an all-time high because Batman wouldn't come near the
place.
>He was returning home from somewhere (where? No idea.)
Crow [laughing]: Well, that's refreshing.
Tom: "Once upon a time there was this guy, and then some stuff happened, I'm
not sure what, and I have no idea what he did after that. The end."
>It was several days after the encounter at
Mike: --Farpoint.
>the beach. His father slid open the door and let Daniel into the apartment
>on the fourteenth story of Street H.V. #332.
> "What time is it?" his father asked dully.
Crow [Tor Johnson]: "Uhh... time for go to bed?"
>They both knew the answer.
Tom: 42. Everyone knows that.
> "Your sisters were waiting for you to come home -- Verona wanted
>help with her mathematics," his father said.
Mike: "Then she wanted you to put gasoline in the automobile and drive down
to the grocer to purchase facial tissue for her brassiere."
> "Oh, I'm =so= sorry," Daniel said, "I'll just go right away into
>=her= room and help her." His father pulled a wry face.
Tom: --out of his pocket.
>It was the old argument about the sisters' occupation of what had formerly
>been his bedroom alone.
Crow: Humor's always much funnier when you explain it a whole lot.
> "That," his father said, "is because you are never home."
> "Poulou," his mother scolded
Crow [high-pitched]: HA ha ha ha HA ha ha ha HA-- he's got a stupid name!
Poulou! Poulou! Poulou! Pou-pou-poulou! Ha ha HA ha ha ha--
Mike: Settle down, Beavis.
>from somewhere inside, "and Daniel. Stop this bickering. No one needs
>it." Like Daniel's father, she too sounded tired. She was sitting,
>tiredly,
Tom: I don't get it. Is she supposed to be tired or something?
Mike: I don't think so. Maybe if he says "tired" a few dozen more times
I'll start to buy it.
>at her desk where, judging from the stack of print-outs, she had been for
>some time.
> Poulou turned to address Daniel's mother.
Tom: "Four score and seven years ago..." HA! I love that one.
>"This is the fifth time this past week has come back entirely too late with
>no explanation."
Crow: "And I hated that Wednesday the =first= time through!"
Mike: He's right, though. There =is= no explanation for time travel.
> "You didn't ask for an explanation," Daniel said. His father stared
>at him in disbelief. He shook his head and squinted at Daniel's mother.
Crow: "Hey, Ethel! Ah thank Ah see me a porky-pahn down here!"
> "You see, Elise? I didn't ask for an explanation," he said. He
>stretched out his hands as a gesture of
Tom: --catchin' a really big fish.
>helplessness. Daniel's mother squinched
Crow: EWWW!
Tom: In public, too!
>her mouth into a frown.
> "Daniel," she reproached.
Tom: That's not an intransitive verb, Neal. It's not even really a speech
word, Neal. Where's your direct object, Neal? Where is it? Where? WHERE?
>Daniel leaned back against the closed door and said nothing.
Mike: Of course he did, love, of course he did. *sigh*
> "Please tell us where you were," his mother asked him politely.
>Poulou shifted his weight slightly, as if to throw its force behind his
>wife's command.
Crow [gruff]: "Here y'go, hon'. Mah ass is backin y'up all th' way."
> "Is it that important =where= I was?" Daniel asked. "The mere fact
>of my absence seems to be all that matters. But I was with Glenda if you
>must know."
> At that moment there was a bustle
Tom: --in your hedgerow, in case you don't know.
>in the nearby hallway as a door was opened and a young girl rushed out of
>the room. Daniels squatted to receive her
Crow: Aw, no, he's multiplying! They're all over the place!
>and she tugged at his shirt. "Dan'l, Dan'l" she said, unable to pronounce
>the name quite right.
Mike: That =would= explain why it's SPELLED DIFFERENTLY! AAGGH!
Tom: Calm down, Mike. This is Neal "'=NOOOOOOOOO!!!=' he screamed loudly"
Mentech here. I'll take a little redundancy gladly if it'll get him to
stop using "reproached" as a substitute for "said".
>Her name was Corydrane and she was
Crow: --in for years of therapy.
>five. Daniel's parents brightened as she came out.
Mike: "We're glad you're a lesbian, dear. Now we don't have to worry about
George F. Will picking you up on the beach."
> "Yes, it's Daniel," Poulou said. "At last. He's late."
Crow: He's pregnant?
Mike: He's dead.
Tom: He's all of these and more!
>Corydrane dreq
Tom [twitching]: That... that's just a bunch of random letters!
Crow: I don't know about Corydrane, but this =story's= dreq all right.
>back her soft, blond-haired head
Mike: Her =head's= soft? What, is her skull made of cartilage?
Tom: Nerf, maybe.
>in cute suprise, staring wide-eyed at Daniel. Then her severe expresseion
>dissolved into a grin.
Tom: Wow, lots of typos.
Crow: Whenever Neal has to write about a child his fingers get all shaky.
>"Dan-don, dan-don," she chanted,
Tom: --and an enormous demon appeared and cast them all into the seething
pits of hell.
>tugged on his shirt in the direction of their room, and ran off to it
>again. Daniel stood up and shrugged at his parents.
> "How is Glenda?" his mother asked him kindly.
> "She's fine," Daniel said noncommitally.
Mike: "Found out today she's actually Ed Wood in a dress. Surprisingly, I
don't have a problem with that!"
> "Could you give us some idea of when you will return, when you're
>with her?" she asked. "I don't mind at all, it's just that..."
> "We've never met her," Poulou accused.
Tom: I Accuse My Children.
Crow: Poulou-- hee hee hee!
> "What, never?" Daniel asked, suprised. "I'm sorry. I must keep on
>forgetting. I'll have to arrange for you to meet her some time. You'd
>like her," Daniel lied. Poulou made a disgusted clicking noise
Mike: --and flipped himself up off his shell and back onto his feet.
>and left to go to the family room; he knew very well that Daniel would
>never just forget something like that.
> "You can find dinner," he said, departing.
Crow [gruff]: "I'm sure there's sumthin' under th' sofa or sumplace."
>Daniel leaned against the door again, but tensely, temporarily this time.
Tom: As opposed to the last time, when he leaned against the door for his
entire life.
> "Dad is in a bad mood tonight," Daniel said conversationally.
> "You were late," Elise said,
Mike [falsetto]: "--and he still hasn't gotten used to Mallory going out
with that Nick guy."
>"and, yes, I suppose these things are bound to happen," she said
>diplomatically.
> "But I didn't have to be so rude, right," Daniel said.
> "You were!" she exclaimed, staring unswervingly into his eyes. He
>looked away.
Tom [Daniel]: "Mah-ahm! Quit it with the goo-goo eyes!"
> "Sorry, I guess," Daniel said incidentally, then he straightened up
>and
Crow: --was crowned Prince of Posture!
>walked away. His mother shook her head and returned to the computer screen
>in front of her.
Mike [falsetto, making typing motions]: "I am a 13-yr-old cheerleader.
R there any hot guyz here?"
>Daniel tapped lightly on his door and then entered his room.
> It was a spacious room but it had only one window,
Tom: --and he was hoping for at least a couple of choices as to where he'd
plunge to his death.
>under which Daniel had jealously guarded his space against the invasion of
Crow: --the secret fleet of black helicopters the UN will use to take over
the world!
>two consecutive sisters. He lay down on his brown silky pillow-bed,
Mike: Y'know, those sheets =used= to be white.
Crow: Eww.
>then propped his head up on his arm so he could see what Verona and
>Corydrane were doing.
Tom: Lamenting their freakish names, no doubt.
> "You were late," Verona said, as if that somehow scored a point in
>her favor.
Mike: And as if the last three dozen characters hadn't just said the same
thing.
> "Was not."
> "Was too!" Verona said. Corydrane giggled and chewed on the bottom
>of one of her rubber pyramids.
Tom: Actually, they're only coated with rubber. The inside's lead. She's
five years old and already sterile.
> "You gwand dan-don," she said with puffy cheeks and an apricot
>stained smile. It made Daniel melt.
Crow: Eww! Get a spoon.
Mike: The thing is, you just know that if Neal were confronted with an
actual child he'd run screaming.
Tom: I doubt he's ever ever met a real child. I mean, sure, the cliched
portrayal's to be expected, but would it be too much to ask for a cliched
five-year-old if she's supposed to be five? Neal's playing this kid like
she's two.
Mike: Maybe she really =does= have a history of lead poisoning.
> "Cawydwane, cawydwane," he mimicked her.
> "Dan'l!" she reproached.
Tom: [bashes head repeatedly into seat]
Mike: Hey, Servo, cut it out. Crow, make him stop.
Crow: I'm with Tom. This is =terrible=. She's worse than Raven-Symone and
the Olsen Twins put together. Any more Elmer Fudd Fwench and I'm going to
dropkick her across the room.
> "I need your help on this problem," Verona addressed Daniel,
Tom: [attempts to gnaw own head off]
>businesslike. He huffed off of his bed and walked over to Verona.
>Standing behind her, he examined her work on the schoolscreen.
Mike: I'll bet that would've seemed really futuristic in 1935.
Crow: "Someday children will do their schoolwork on =computers=! Why, many
of them will have a computer in their very own =home=!"
> "Here," Verona poked the matte screen with her middle finger.
Crow: I've been doing that to this story for ages now. Doesn't help.
>A mathematical curve she had traced on the screen was flashing red in error
>along a small section. "The computer keeps telling me I've made a mistake
>but I can't see where."
Mike: Umm... the flashing red part, maybe? Just a thought.
> "Hmmmm," Daniel said, pretending to think.
Crow: Conclusive proof that he's not a Method actor.
>He held his chin in repose and thumped the floor with his foot as he
>started to whistle softly.
> "Daniel! That bothers me," Verona complained.
Mike: Where does Neal get these concepts? Last time it was a bunch of
boring people complaining that nothing happens. Now it's a bunch of
annoying people complaining that they're bothering each other.
Tom [disoriented]: ..."reproached"..."addressed"..."huffed"...
Mike: That too.
> "Oh, poor baby," he retorted. "Look, do you want me to help or
>what?"
> "Just =do= solve the problem," Verona sagged
Mike [pretentious Boston accent]: "Ah, fight, fight, Hahvard, =do=."
Tom [grumbling]: No, she didn't =say= it... would've been too easy for her
to =say= it... no, she decided to go ahead and =sag= it...
>with an all-too-adult display of impatience.
> "No," he teased. He pivoted on his foot as if to
Crow: --make a quick chest pass to Malone for the hoop!
Mike: Hey, Crow, you seem to be holding up pretty well. What's your secret?
Crow: Oh, I'm used to coping with horror. I was in Nam.
>go back to his bed.
> "Dan-don, Dan-don," Corydrane piped from her bed where the rubber
>pyramids she had been sticking together had fallen apart, again.
Mike: Maybe because rubber isn't adhesive.
> "I'm gonna get you!" Daniel said monstrously and grabbed Corydrane,
>who squealed with delight. He tickled her acutely.
Mike: Better than tickling her obtusely, I guess.
Crow: But not quite as good as bashing her head into the wall.
Tom: And then feeding her to the German shepherds.
Mike: Tom! Crow! This is sick! You're talking about slaughtering a child!
Tom: Three words, Mike. "You gwand dan-don."
Mike: Still.
> "Dan'l," she said between uncontrolled bouts
Crow: I saw one of those on pay-per-view. The jujitsu guy cleaned up.
>of laughter, starting to writhe out of his grasp more determinedly: she was
>getting worried that he wasn't planning to stop.
Tom: I'm getting worried that Neal isn't planning to stop. How much longer
before we finally cut away from this gruesome scene?
> "Now that's enough!" he thundered,
All: You said it!
>and he gave her one, last playful rag-doll shake.
Mike [public service announcement]: "Shaking babies, even in fun, can cause
tragic head and neck injuries!"
Tom: Good.
>Meanwhile Verona was trying to get his attention.
Crow: She was madly firing off signal flares.
> "Sometimes, Daniel..." she scolded him.
> "The princess is upset, awww," he chided. "Now look here," he
>pointed to a different spot than Verona had. "The real problem is here --
Tom: I really hope he's pointing up off the page at the author.
Crow: "Did I request thee, maker, from my clay to mold me annoying? Did I
solicit thee from ill-conceived characterization to promote me?"
>the curve goes up here, =up= here, not down again."
> "But I keep trying and it won't go!" she whined at him, and dared
>him with her eyes to try and fix it. "How would you do it?"
Mike: "Welp, first of all, y'wanna reroute yer transverse hoses -- y'got
some blockage here an' y'don't want that!"
> "Damned if I know -- you're the math expert around here, not me.
>I'm just the loafer, right?" he poked her.
> "You gwand dan-don!" said a neglected Corydrane.
Mike: Okay, I give up. Get the German shepherds.
>
> So that was domestic life, the Dreamer thought.
Tom: No, that was hell. Sheer, unadulterated hell.
>That particular memory ended there, so he searched for another,
Mike: Could you pick a less annoying one this time?
Crow: How could he not?
>listening closely for echoes of Aurora or Glenda: those two names stirred
>something in him.
Tom: Seen the teenybopper. Bring out the guy in the angora sweater.
>He tried hard for several minutes, and met with no success whatsoever. It
>was maddening.
Crow: Neal describes his attempt to think up a remotely interesting scene.
>He felt oppressed by his surroundings. The ceiling hung too low, weighing
>him down. The bed was itchy and uncomfortable. The air was hot and
>stagnant; he was being suffocated.
Mike: Hmm. Reminds me of the Motel 6 in Medford, Oregon.
Crow: Reminds me of reading that last scene.
> When it at last seemed unbearable, he went over to the window and
>pressed his face against its cool surface. He looked out into the liquid
>blackness of Space. It seemed so close;
Tom: Unless that's one =really= thick window, it =was= so close. Sheesh.
>he wanted it to flow through him -- but the smooth polished window got in
>the way.
Crow: Don't let that stop you, buddy! Haven't you ever seen the THE
HUDSUCKER PROXY?
>It was sheer and clean, with sharply cut edges. A thin, precise rainbow
>glinted off the bevelled edge. Glass! Glass!
Mike [laughing]: Well, that's =one= way to inject some energy into a story.
Crow: Now is that just another sound effect, or does it mean something now,
or...?
> Glass meant something, but he could not fathom what.
Crow: Guess that answers that. *sigh*
[Commercials]
[Continued in part 4]