MiSTed: Stolen Memories (2/29)
Rottweiler
MIKE: Oh, hi guys. You missed it. Cambot and I just had an "Emmy"
moment.
TOM: You mean one of those heartwarming scenes guaranteed to touch the
hearts of Emmy voters and get us one of those foxy statuettes?
MIKE: Uh huh.
TOM: Oh, yes! I'm telling you, that statuette is HOT! No more lonely
nights for Thomas Alva Servo. No sirree!
CROW: C'mon, Tom, I just ate. Have some mercy.
(The red light flashes)
MIKE: The Razzies are calling. (hits button) What can I do ya for,
Mama
Cass?
[Castle Forrester. PEARL is sitting behind a desk, looking at the
monitor
of a computer. She turns her chair 180 degrees to face the screen.]
PEARL: Greetings Craig T. Nelson, Beach Bots. You'll be happy to know
that
you may never have to read another bad Usenet post.
[SOL Bridge. Everyone is wearing a party hat and dancing.]
[Castle Forrester]
PEARL: Because I have found what is, without a doubt, the most painful
fanfic ever written! You'll be begging for mercy after reading
only
a third of it! Prepare for unprecedented suffering, my
irreverent
inmates!
(PEARL stands up and laughs maniacally. After a beat, BOBO and a man
dressed in a black suit from the late Victorian era, a black cape, and a
black top hat walk up behind her.)
BOBO: Lawgiver?
(PEARLS jumps, then turns around and smacks Bobo)
PEARL: Don't sneak up on me, you walking flea metropolis!
BOBO: Sorry, Lawgiver, but there's a man named John Evil here to see
you.
JOHN: (shakes Pearl's hand) Mrs. Forrester, I work for Evil Enterprises,
which has been providing products and services to Evil Overlords
for
over 100 years. I'd like to show you some of our fabulous new
items.
PEARL: I can't right now. I have to torture the Three Amigos.
[SOL Bridge. The dancing has stopped and the party hats have
disappeared.]
MIKE: It's okay, Your Unfriendliness, we can wait!
[Castle Forrester. JOHN sets a suitcase on PEARL's desk, opens it, and
takes out what looks like a giant pea pod.]
JOHN: I'm sure you're aware of the fact that the average henchman has
the
aiming ability of a tree squirrel. But now that won't matter,
thanks
to the target lock beam. (a cardboard cutout of Luke Skywalker
pops
up behind him) No matter where they shoot, their shots will hit
the
nearest good guy.
(JOHN fires several shots while spinning in circles, but every shot hits
the cutout)
JOHN: This was featured in the classic sci-fi film _The Fifth Element_,
and
would have allowed the bad guys to win, if only they had actually
USED it.
PEARL: That's nice, but my henchmen don't do that much shooting.
(JOHN pulls out a bomb with a digital countdown reading "140")
JOHN: Then try our new trick counter! You place it where the timer
would
normally be located on a doomsday device and input a time.
Instead
of activating when the timer reaches zero, the doomsday device
will
activate when the timer reaches 120 seconds. Since all heroes
wait
until the last second to disarm a doomsday device, making them
think
that they have an extra two minutes will cause them to run out of
time.
(The timer reaches 120 and the bomb explodes in JOHN's hands)
PEARL: But I don't have a Doomsday Device. (pause) Well, I had one from
Spiegel, but I exchanged it for some flatware.
JOHN: Well, can I interest you in a transporter that automatically beams
all objects capable of destroying you into the nearest star?
PEARL: No.
JOHN: Engineers who will make sure your machines do not have one small
and
virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot?
PEARL: No.
JOHN: Door mechanisms designed so that blasting the control panel on the
outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the
inside
opens the door, not vice versa?
PEARL: (turning away from John) BRAIN BOY!
(OBSERVER walks on screen)
OBSERVER: How may I serve you, Empress of Evilness?
PEARL: Get rid of the salesman.
(We hear the "doodly-doodly-doo" sound)
JOHN: Spells that cannot be neutralized by small, inconspicuous
talismans?
(JOHN disappears. Pearl turns to face the screen.)
PEARL: Now, where was I? Oh yes. I have a very special post for you
three
wise guys. It's a _Star Trek: Deep Space Nine_ fanfic written by
a
group known as Mission Ops Productions. The group's ringleader,
so
to speak, is none other than Red Skye, author of _The Haunted_.
It's called _Stolen Memories_ and you'll be wishing that someone
would steal your memories of reading it! Send them the story,
White
Shadow.
OBSERVER: (to PEARL) As you command, Most Sadistic One. (faces the
screen)
I wouldn't worry too much, Mike. It's a fairly short piece -
a
mere 4,310 lines.
(We hear the "doodly-doodly-doo" sound again)
[SOL Bridge. Lights flash, sirens blare, typical movie sign
pandemonium.]
MIKE: We've got fanfic sign!!!
[Dog Bone]
[Door 6]
[Door 5]
[Door 4]
[Door 3]
[Door 2]
[Door 1]
[SOL Theater. MIKE and the BOTS enter and take their usual seats. The
screen they sit in front of is not a movie screen, but a giant computer
monitor.]
CROW: 4,310 lines. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
MIKE: Oh, come on. _A Tale of Two Cities_ was only 16,139 lines.
Compared
to that, this'll be nothing.
(BOTS stare incredulously at Mike)
MIKE: What?
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOM: In morse code, that's my name repeated twelve times.
MIKE: (Ben Stein) Wow.
> Article 125 of 418
CROW: I thought there were only three articles.
TOM: They probably meant the Articles of Confederation.
> Subject: (repost) Stolen Memories 1/9
MIKE: One out of every nine stolen memories is eventually reposted, so
there IS hope.
TOM: I'm hoping it's just a coincidence that this story has the same
number
of parts as Hell has levels.
> From: hen...@zipper.zip.com.au (Henry Chatroop)
CROW: (Gadget) Zipper, is that you?
> Date: 1997/01/09
> Message-Id: <5b1ds7$o...@the-fly.zip.com.au>
CROW: (singing) Zip - a dee - doo -da.
MIKE: Are you done Disneyfying us?
CROW: Absotively posilutely.
> Organization: The Zipsters
TOM: Isn't that a type of lighter?
MIKE: That's Zippo.
CROW: Isn't Zippo a Marx Brother?
MIKE: No.
CROW: (mumbling) That's the last time I play Trivial Pursuit with
Servo...
> Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
TOM: Why does this story have spoiler space?
> WARNING - NC-17 FICTION: This story contains sex scenes.
MIKE: Hence the NC-17 rating.
TOM: Well, it might have had really, really foul language...
> If reading about teen sex offends read no further.
CROW: Mike, teen sex offends me. Can I leave?
MIKE: Nice try, Crow.
> If not read on and enjoy.
CROW: Is that an ORDER?
> The Ed, Red.
TOM: (singing) Here today the Red Skye tells her tale,
But the only listening eyes are mine...
> ============================================================
MIKE: A subliminal message from Martin Luther King Jr.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
CROW: Were the authors afraid we couldn't tell where the message ended
and
the story began?
> Stolen Memories
TOM: Help, police! That thief stole my memories!
MIKE: What thief?
TOM: I can't remember!
> Part One
CROW: Party of the first part...
> At just 16 years of age,
TOM: (singing) I am 16, going on 17...
> Julian Bashir was at that
> gawky stage of teenage life,
MIKE: He hadn't yet gotten his Kobayashi Maru time over fifteen minutes
and
thus was the laughing stock of all the other teenagers.
> all arms, legs and cheek
> bones.
TOM: Eeeww.
CROW: Geez, if his parents can afford to genetically engineer him, you'd
think that they could at least give him a torso.
> His hair flowed in curls and ringlets to his
> shoulders.
TOM: (singing) On the gooood ship, lollipop, it's a sweeeet trip,
to a candy shop, where bonbons play...
> His father was forever saying it had to be
> trimmed right back,
MIKE: If he doesn't cut his hair, the next thing you know, he'll be
playing
a guitar and singing "Heading out to Eden".
> but never seemed to find the time to
> take his son to a barber to get it done so it just kept
> growing longer.
CROW: Eventually he'll look like a Frankish King.
TOM: Can't sixteen year-olds take THEMSELVES to the barber?
> Downy fluff covered his strong jaw and chin,
CROW: That's got to be the worst case of dandruff ever.
> a sure indicator that his hyper hormonal stage had kicked
> in.
MIKE: Not to mention September Wind.
> Julian was quiet proud of that fluff it proved he was a
> *Man* at last.
TOM: (Socrates) Damn!
> Or at least, according to his friends, he
> would be if he ever got laid.
CROW: One culture's unusual Coming of Age ritual.
> When he'd mentioned their view
> of things to his mother she'd introduced him to soap
MIKE: But he was never able to keep track of all the Tates and
Campbells,
so he quit watching.
> as a
> dietary item,
TOM: I bet those "Popcorn oil is bad for you" people are responsible for
that.
> an extremely unpleasant experience she put him
> through whenever he mentioned something she considered to be
> obscene or unfit to be mentioned.
MIKE: (Julian) Hey mom, do the words "freedom of speech" mean anything
to
you?
CROW: (mom) But your mouth isn't fully clean unless it's ZESTfully
clean!
MIKE: (Julian) Noooooo! (makes gargling sounds)
> He stood in the shadows
TOM: Who knew what evil lurks in the hearts of men.
> of an alcove dressed in the
> black of neutrality from head to toe, well hidden from
> casual glances.
CROW: The part of Julian Bashir will be played by Zorro.
MIKE: Black, the color of neutrality and goths.
> No one noticed him as he watched the ebb and
> flow of pedestrian traffic passing through the busy
> corridor.
MIKE: How not to be seen.
TOM: (Corridor) Busy, busy. Always work.
> There was absolutely nothing to do in this place, no
> gym to exercise in, no courts to practise tennis.
CROW: Since this is Star Trek, it has to be three-dimensional Organian
zero-gravity cybertennis.
> Not that
> he'd minded all that much, not after the humiliating defeats
> he'd suffered that had put an end to his dreams of a career
> as a tennis player.
MIKE: Damn you, Bjorn Borg!
> There was no library, or at least none
> that contained books he could read.
TOM: Julian can only read Dr. Seuss books.
CROW: And even then he needs help with the big words.
> The computer in his
> suite only supplied Felistian text
MIKE: Internet porn having been banned centuries before.
> and had stubbornly
> refused to accept the translation programme his father had
> tried to load.
TOM: Microsoft Translator 99.
CROW: Julian must be French. He wears all black and says "programme".
> So here he was planning the great escape, ready to get
> a little excitement and adventure.
MIKE: He's trying to find a way to the _Star Wars_ universe.
> Oh,
CROW: My Goddess?
> he'd been warned of
> the dangers of leaving the palace.
TOM: Rumor had it that a trio of bandits, one a Spaniard, one a giant,
and
the last a Sicilian, were terrorizing the countryside.
> But after all these years
> of hearing virtually the same lecture from his father every
> time they set foot on a new planet,
MIKE: (Julian's dad) You had better be wearing clean underwear before
you
set foot on this planet, young man!
> the warnings went in one
> ear and straight out the other.
CROW: So Julian's parents didn't pony up for brain installation, either?
TOM: That WOULD explain why a sixteen year-old can't find a barber.
> Julian was quite certain that half the time his
> father's warnings were only made to keep him on a short
> leash so he'd be around to do odd jobs.
CROW: (Julian's dad) Take this toothbrush to the Klingon Ambassador and
this copy of the Communist Manifesto to the Ferengi
Ambassador.
> For the first time
> Julian would have been glad to be put to work running
> errands for his father.
MIKE: Even laundering his father's boxer shorts would've been a nice
change
of pace.
TOM: Julian would also have been happy to run numbers for the Gambino
family, but that's another story.
> Yet, perversely this time around, his father had no
> errands for him to run and so he spent his hours and days
> wishing for something, anything, to do to alleviate the
> boredom.
CROW: If this turns into a Gameboy commercial, I am out of here so
fast...
> With eachgrowing day the temptation to ignore his
> father's warnings grew stronger until the need for action,
> excitement,
MIKE: He's going to be screaming "SURGE!" any minute now, I can just
feel
it.
> *Fun* out-weighed every ounce of sense (`less
> than eight' to hear his father talk) he had in his brain.
TOM: Julian's dad isn't exactly Bill Cosby, is he?
> He wanted excitement and to hell with the danger, he
> was going to get it.
CROW: Julian Bashir - rebel without a clue.
> Julian timed his move perfectly.
MIKE: The condition of the real estate market allowed him to get a great
deal on a house.
> For a brief period in
> time
TOM: He read Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time_.
> there was no movement in the corridor.
CROW: Okay, now Green Light!
> He bolted across
> it to his goal,
BOTS: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!
> the balcony doors directly opposite, and on
> the other side, his ultimate goal, freedom, adventure,*Fun*.
MIKE: He's going to find *Fun* on a balcony?
TOM: He's going to be disappointed. That's just fun out there. For
*Fun*
you have to go through the back door.
>
> In a moment he had slipped behind the doors curtain and
> started opening the doors, hearing behind him footsteps that
> let him know he was no longer alone in the corridor.
CROW: Baba Yaga's house was walking by.
TOM: (singing) I'm not... alone... any more...
> He
> tugged harder on the doors trying to open them, then pushed
> them forward to discover they opened outwards - not inwards
> as he had thought.
MIKE: I trust this important fact will have ramifications in the future.
> As the footsteps came ever closer to his
> position he slipped through the doors and closed them behind
> himself.
TOM: (Julian) Hey, there's a guy out here who looks like Bruce
Boxleitner!
> Someone rattled the door, testing the handles.
TOM: (God) Handles, take your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and
sacrifice
him as a burnt offering.
> He held
> them tight putting all his weight against the doors to hold
> them closed.
CROW: The normal reaction to a visit by Jehovah's Witnesses.
> Eventually the person left them alone.
MIKE: Unfortunately for Julian, it had been the Prize Patrol with his
check
for ten million dollars.
> With a
> sigh of relief, and feeling quite smug, he turned around
> taking a step forward to check out the area as all his plans
> for his forbidden escape flitted through his mind...
TOM: Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse
thy name! Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
> Only to have all his fantasies bite the dust as he she
> turned - all claws and fangs, hissing at him.
MIKE: Looks like it's SOMEONE'S time of the month...
> Fear took the
> place of triumph, his heart jumped to his throat while his
> stomach hit the floor.
CROW: Meanwhile, his kidneys took a nap, and his gall bladder listened
to a
Beck album.
> "Be gone," She snarled at him.
CROW: I'm not finished putting my make-up on yet, dangit!
> He stepped back right into the doors
MIKE: (Julian) Whoops! Oh, hi Mr. Morrison.
> and the
> potentially greater danger of being surrounded by dozens of
> extremely aggressive Felistian women.
TOM: What are the odds that the Felistians are NOT humanoid cats?
CROW: With "Felis" in their name? Nil.
> Alis blinked and did a double take as she registered
> the intruder's wide eyed trembling appearance.
TOM: (Alis) I frightened C-Ko!
> She almost
> hissed again as she recognised the young Terran manling
CROW: Manling? Is that like a man cub?
MIKE: Yup, pretty much.
TOM: Isn't Manling that the name of a panda?
MIKE: No, that's Ling Ling.
> her
> mother had been throwing in her face at receptions and the
> like.
CROW: Her mother is practicing Wuss Tossing, the newest Olympic event.
TOM: Step right up. Hit Alis' face and win a prize.
> He was irritatingly boring.
MIKE: Is it possible to both irritating AND boring?
CROW: I dunno, but Bashir comes pretty close!
> He was either looking her
> way with the atrangest look in his eye, sighing or cowering,
TOM: I'm not sure which.
MIKE: Once upon a time, or maybe twice...
> wide eyed and frightened by anything and everything.
CROW: Blueberry muffins, turtleneck sweaters, you name it.
MIKE: The role of Julian Bashir will be played tonight by Mr. Don
Knotts.
> All one had to do was go "*Boo*" and he'd jump out of
> his skin.
CROW: Oh, that's just his Xipe Totec impersonation.
> Then a smile touched her lips
MIKE: And was convicted of sexual harrassment.
> as she realised he'd done
> something less than cowardly; he'd defied his father.
TOM: Unfortunately, his father was Darth Vader.
> She
> guessed he was looking for some excitement.
MIKE: At least, that's what his ad in the personals said.
CROW: "Fun seeking, tennis playing, future salutatorian SM, looking for
like-minded partner. Hopefully, the score will end up Love-Love."
> That she could
> understand.
TOM: His choice of wardrobe, though, was another matter entirely.
> Lately she'd been driven to distraction with
> pure unadulterated boredom.
TOM: Try new Boredom - pure and unadulterated, the way nature intended
it.
CROW: Can you really write an interesting story where everyone is bored?
MIKE: Well, there's bits in _Das Boot_, but...
> Apart from the formal receptions
> which her attendance at was compulsory there was nothing
> else to do.
CROW: She could go sit by the dockin' bay and watch the clouds slip
away.
> Her tutors had all taken sudden vacations,
MIKE: Something about a tutor shoved in a gym locker. They were kind of
vague about the incident.
> her mother
> was to busy setting up negotiation talks between all the
> clan Matriarchs and the Terran/Federation Ambassador.
CROW: Huh?
TOM: Can we get some exposition here, please?
> Alis
> was almost ready to climb the walls.
MIKE: But first she had to say hello to them.
> Her nose twitched as she detected a lessening in the
> manling's fear scent.
CROW: She's pickin' up good vibrations.
TOM: What are the chances someone would recognize a fear scent from an
alien biology, anyway?
> "How interesting, he's not really afraid of me." She
> thought.
MIKE: Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're a giant
stuffed animal.
> Julian straightened up gathering his scattered wits as
> he registered who the hissing fury was.
CROW: He misspelled "furry".
> Fear faded away to
> be replaced by longing.
TOM: (Julian) I haven't been this turned on since the last time I
watched
_Heathcliff_!
> The Princessa was 100% gorgeous,
MIKE: Well, 99% gorgeous and 1% collagen implants.
> tall, regal,
CROW: Stuck-up, scatter-brained...
> every inch a Princess and far too good for the
> likes of him.
TOM: Julian is evidently not a Marxist.
CROW: Daddy, why do alien races always combine animal-like behavior and
a
feudal class structure?
MIKE: Because that way we don't have any qualms about conquering them
and
making them submit to our will, son.
(TOM hovers onto MIKE's lap. MIKE picks TOM up and ALL leave the
theater.)
[Planet Bumper]