[MiSTing] Baby Go BOOM w/short: Success Guarenteed!!! pt. 2
FlamingHat
(cuts to SOL; Crow is at booth labeled "Soap here! Cheap!")
MIKE: Hey, Crow, what...oh...
CROW: Yes, Mike, I’ve decided that the soap-selling business is the life for
me.
MIKE: Ah.
CROW: That short gave me the great idea of selling soap to passers-by, and I
tell ya, this is the life.
MIKE: I bet. How’s business?
CROW: Well, it was going great until Servo had to go and set up his own booth
over there...
(Servo is seen at a booth next to Crow’s, with a sign that says "Liquid soap
here! Cheap!")
MIKE: So, is Tom getting all your business, then?
CROW: Yeah, Mike. unfortunately, good old-fashioned soap just isn’t what people
want anymore. In this ever-modernizing world, people can’t seem to pick and
choose the things in life that just don’t need to be changed, and they’re
moving on to electric can openers, cellular phones...
MIKE: Liquid soap?
CROW: Exactly! I mean, whatever happened to the good old days, when people only
wanted soap in bar form without all this modern...liquid...crap?
SERVO (shouting from booth): Ha! Liquid soap is the way of the future, and you
know it!
CROW: That’s what you think, ya hooligan! But people are smart enough to figure
out that soap was meant to be bars, eventually! They’ll try your new "liquid
soap" for a while, but soon, they’ll all come crawling back!
SERVO: Ha! That’s what you think, old man!
CROW: Old man?? You...you little pipsqueak!
MIKE: Pipsqueak?
CROW: You can watch your liquid soap go the way of the horseless carriage and
the "electric" light bulb! Do you see anyone using those so-called "modern"
devices anymore? Huh? Do ya?
MIKE: Well, yeah, actually. I’m sorry, Crow, but you have to get used to the
fact that all things change in time...
CROW: Even you’re against me, youngster?
MIKE: Youngster?
CROW: Well, we’ll see who has the last laugh! Soap started in bars and it bars
it shall remain!
MIKE: Uh, Crow? Maybe you’re getting a little too into this...
SERVO: Nobody wants bars anymore! Everything is a liquid now! We’re living in
the age of liquids, you’re still stuck in the 18th century!
MIKE: Wait, the 18th century?
CROW: That does it! I challenge you and your liquid soap to a duel! We’ll see
whose soap comes out victorious in the end!
SERVO: Fine! My liquid soap shall destroy your puny bars! And after I’m through
with you, my army of liquid soap and I shall go on to decimate the Romans and
that empire of theirs! Then we shall rule the WORLD!! HA HA HA HA HA H...uh-oh,
story sign.
MIKE: Uh...so, you guys okay now?
CROW: Mike, I won’t be okay until I know for sure that liquid soap is gone and
shall never return again to blight our civilization...
MIKE: Ah, I don’t know that that’s what I meant by okay, but, no time for that
now...story sign...
***(6 5 4 3 2 1)***
(cuts to theater)
>Baby Go BOOM!
MIKE: Ah, the "Dinosaurs" TV series comes to a sudden, tragic end...
>
>The rotund, squat man gripped his armrests in fear as the wheels of the plane
touched
>down on the runway.
CROW: Oh boy, you know you’re in for a good story when the lead is introduced
as "the rotund, squat man".
>The
>man smiled. He absolutely hated flying.
SERVO: Does he usually smile at things he hates?
>The petite blond stewardess asked the passengers
>of the aircraft to
>"remain seated until the plane has come to a complete stop, and the captain
has
>turned off the fasten seatbelt
>sign. Thank you for flying Jetline Airways, and have a pleasant stay here in
NewYork."
MIKE: NewYork?
CROW: This is going to be about Mafioso, isn’t it...
>
>The man smiled again. People were so polite in America.
SERVO: And so rude back home at the Vatican.
>And so foolish.
MIKE: Just look at how much better the ‘N Sync album did than the latest R.E.M.
release.
>He had
>never been to New York, but
>everyone back at home who had been to him the same thing;
SERVO: Zaaa?
CROW: Maybe he should have learned English before he came to the US...
>it was a whirling cesspool
>of crime and other scum.
MIKE: ...and rich vampires.
>
>In other words, he thought, it’s my kind of place. And the perfect spot to
wipe-
MIKE: What?
SERVO: What are we wiping?
CROW: Maybe he means, just, wiping in general. I mean, New York is really prime
wiping area...
MIKE: Euugggh. Let’s not think about that one too much.
>"You
>may now deplane," the
>stewardess called out, shattering his train of thought like a glass goblet.
SERVO: Wow. Not even just a glass or a mug or something, but an actual goblet!
That’s some real shattering!
>
>A half-hour later, he had collected his luggage and grabbed a taxi to his
hotel,
>the Ritz-Carlton.
CROW: What happened during that half hour? We may never know.
>
>Several minutes after he arrived, he was to be found in the shower.
MIKE: Ugh. Why can I only picture this guy as looking like Cippowitz...
>He heard a
>knock on the door, and slid
>smoothly out, wrapping a thickly piled towel around his waist.
SERVO: This is more frightening than that vampire story, if that’s what he was
going for...some pretty scary imagery...
>He also retrieved
>the 9mm automatic he had
>reassembled from its various fragments in his suitcases.
CROW: So he had no problem smuggling these through metal detectors?
>
>He heard the person in the corridor say, "Mr. MacKenzie? Room service, sir."
It
>was the signal he had been waiting
>for.
MIKE: Either that or it really was room service...
>He threw the gun on the bed, unchained the door and rushed out, wrapping his
>arms around the man he found
>outside in a crushing bear hug.
SERVO: Agggg...please, no...
CROW: Please tell me he put some clothes on before he opened the door...
>They embraced, then went back inside the room.
>
MIKE: Did they really HAVE to embrace? Couldn’t he have just shot the guy or
something?
>
>"John!" MacKenzie could contain himself no longer. It had been nearly eight
years
>since he had seen his brother, and
>he had not even known at the time that his brother was alive.
SERVO: Then he realized it wasn’t his brother at all, it really WAS room
service...
>John stepped back,
>and, gazing at his brother
>replied, "I see life with Saddam has not been so bad after all.
CROW (laughing): Yeah, Saddam’s a nice guy once you get to know him...
>You're tan, perhaps
>a little plumper than you should
>be, but other than that, you’re in fine shape!
MIKE: ...FOR ME TO EAT...uh, that is, I mean...
>Perfect for the rehearsal Thursday.
SERVO: Ah, so they’re a traveling drama troupe!
>Have you picked a target yet?"
>
>"Of course I have. What do you think I did on the plane, chat with the
air-headed
>stewardesses?.
CROW: Wow, both a question AND a statement! Only the best authors can do that!
>Of course I've
>picked a target.
MIKE: Don’t you mean you’ve picked a “big fish”?
>Here, let me go over the plans with you," MacKenzie said, turning
>to his carry-on bag and
>withdrawing a map from it.
SERVO: Wait, those aren’t plans, that’s a map...
The two sat down at the table and bent their heads over
>the map, talking quietly.
CROW (whispering): I think Susie likes you! (giggle)
>
> ***************************************
>
>"Sharon!" Jerry Wilson yelled. "Where's my dammed coffee?!"
MIKE: Damm it!
>
>"Right here, Mr. Wilson," Sharon Weinman, carrying a steaming mug of coffee,
replied
>as she stepped into the
>office.
SERVO: NOW we’re getting to the exciting stuff!
>"Sorry, sir, but one of the interns dropped the last bag of filters out
>the window into a puddle, and I had to
>go get another box."
CROW: Yeah, those dammed interns.
>
>"A likely story," Wilson responded, accepting the mug that was being handed to
>him. In truth, he believed her.
MIKE: Those interns were always destroying things.
>There
>wasn't a private detective agency in New York that didn't rely on its
secretary,
>and he knew Sharon was the best.
SERVO: Wow, isn’t it neat how the author lets us know it’s a private detective
agency without directly saying so?
CROW: Only the best authors can do that!
>After all, what other reason would there be for her to receive 30 job offers a
>week?
MIKE: No one ELSE wants to be a secretary at a private detective agency?
>"So, what's on the agenda for
>this morning? Which wife suspects which husband of cheating on her with >which
cleaning
>lady or babysitter?"
SERVO: Sorry, I lost you after the second which...
>
>"Only six of those," she said.
CROW: Wait, that’s not what he asked...
>"But to begin with, there's a gentleman outside
>who says he has a matter of national
>security to discuss with you.
MIKE: And such matters are always immediately taken to private detective
agencies in New York.
>As an addendum, he says he is, and I quote 'prepared
>to deliver a most handsome
>retainer for taking the case, and a large bonus upon completion,' unquote."
SERVO: Ahhh! Too many quotes! Overload! Overload!
>
>"National security. He's joking, right?" Wilson said. "Who does he think I am,
>an FBI officer?"
CROW: You ARE, sir.
>
>"He says he tried them already. They didn't believe him."
MIKE: By the way, his name is James and he says he’s a vampire who traded
bodies with...
CROW: Mike, we DO have to let that go sometime...
MIKE (shamefully): I know...
>
>"All right, send him in. At the least, we can have a few laughs over the
story,"
>Wilson said.
SERVO: After all, that’s what being a detective is all about. Laughing at your
clients.
>
>"Ash, Mr. Wilson," the stranger said as Sharon waved him in from the outer
office.
CROW: That’s an odd way to sneeze...
>He was short, thin, and going
>very bald. His hair looked rather like the main character's on some show that
Wilson's
>daughter watched. What was
>it? TANG?
MIKE: Yeah, I could sure use some Tang right about now...nothing like some
fresh orange-flavored water to get you going...
>"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I assure you, I will take
>up no more of your time than is
>absolutely needed.
SERVO: After all, your time is far more important than national security...
>As I'm sure your lovely secretary told you, this is a very important
>matter, one that requires
>absolute secrecy.
CROW: It’s about my hemorrhoids.
>Can I count on your discretion in this matter?"
MIKE: Why no.
>
>"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure, whatever. Discretion is my middle name."
SERVO: Sounds trustworthy to me.
>
>"I thought it was Graham," Sharon quipped from the doorway.
CROW: Mike, I don’t think I like secretary humor...
>
>"Getting back to the point," the stranger said, "I have lost something quite
valuable.
MIKE: I think it fell in your pants. Mind if I take a look?
>It is the only one of its kind in
>the entire world. I must have it back."
SERVO: But I can’t tell you what it is. Think you can find it for me?
>
>"What is it?" Wilson asked.
>
>"It is a prototype explosive.
CROW: ...which bears an unfortunate resemblance to a condom and could cause
someone a bit of trouble if...well...I’m sure you get the point...
>It is powerfull enough to wipe out most of New York,
MIKE: Ah! So THAT’S what the mysterious "wipe" comment meant! It’s all coming
together now.
SERVO: Unfortunately, the author’s spelling still isn’t...
>and yet it can be concealed with
>little difficulty in an ordinary suitcase."
CROW: ...meaning it’s definitely in someone’s suitcase, or else this comment
would have been totally unnecessary.
>
>"What is it? Some kind of nuke?" Sharon queried frantically.
MIKE: Hey, after that "I thought it was Graham" comment, you shouldn’t even be
allowed to talk anymore...
>
>"No, my dear.
SERVO: Sorry, Grandma.
>The interesting thing about this weapon is that it produces no radioactive
>fallout.
CROW: Neat!
>People could move
>back to the site of the explosion nanoseconds after it exploded, and nothing
at
>all would happen to them.
MIKE: Well, they might turn into Lance Henriksen for a few days, but there
wouldn’t be any real permanent damage.
>This
>weapon makes 'nukes', as you call them, completely obsolete."
SERVO: I laugh at your so-called nukes.
>
>"Which," Wilson drawled, "makes it a target for every lowlife scumbag of a
terrorist
>trying to make something out
>of himself.
CROW: Ten bucks says Mafioso is involved.
>Right?
MIKE: No.
>Not to mention the governments that are low down enough to want
>it."
SERVO: Like those damned Canadians.
>
>"I'm glad to see you've grasped the gravity of the situation," the stranger
said.
>"I told you I had lost the device. It
>was actually. . "
CROW: ...in my pocket this whole time. Thanks for your help, anyway.
>
>"Stolen?" Wilson interjected, smirking.
MIKE: Why yes, just a second ago, by your secretary over there.
>
>"Yes. I was rather hoping you could get it back for me. Will you do that?
SERVO: Jeez, I’d love to, with the whole national security business and all,
but there’s a Motley Crue "Behind The Music" special on VH1 tonight...
>As I
>previously mentioned, I will pay you a
>good retainer,
CROW: Insert bad orthodontist joke here.
SERVO: Oh, well, thanks for sparing us, anyway...
>and a finder's fee of $5,000 when you recover the device."
MIKE: Finder’s fee? Sounds like a bad Disney World attraction...
>
>"Five thousand BUCKS?!?!
SERVO: I’ll be a millionaire!
>You have yourself a deal Mr. . .I'm sorry, I don't think
>I caught your name."
CROW: Or maybe I did but I dropped it, I don’t know...
>
>"Most likely because I didn't throw it," the stranger replied,
CROW: Damn. Now I’m ashamed I made that joke about dropping it...
MIKE: As you should be.
>a hint of humor
>entering his voice for the first time
>since the conversation began.
MIKE: I don’t know, I thought all that stuff abut there being no fallout was
really funny...
"My name is Ashern. Dr. Graeme Ashern."
SERVO: Okay, and could you pronounce that out for me?
>
>"Not the Dr. Ashern who won the Nobel Prize in physics a few years back!"
Wilson
>exclaimed.
CROW: You are correct in your assumption that is not me.
>"I've always thought
>your work was brilliant!
CROW: I told you, THAT’S NOT ME...
>I took a few physics courses in college, but that stuff
>was so over my head I almost
>drowned!"
MIKE: And I DID drown! I’m dead!
>
>"Er, well,. . .I mean. . . that is. . ... well, yes."
SERVO: Confusing mix of periods and spaces there...
>
>"Well sir, I'll be happy to help you! I only need to ask you a few questions.
CROW: They don’t pertain to the main plot, really, but I’ll assume the readers
want to know what they are, anyway.
>First
>of all, where and when did you last
>see the . . . device?"
MIKE: This is probably the LEAST exciting a story about explosives that could
destroy the country could be...
>
>"About five o'clock, right before I closed up shop, on the evening of June the
>third. Five days ago."
SERVO: What? What shop?
>
>Noting this information on an index card, Wilson looked up absently and asked
another
>question. "Was there
>anybody strange who had visited you, perhaps inquiring about your work? Or
talking
>about buying this thing?"
CROW: There was this one Hussein guy who seemed interested...
>
>"No, no, no. . . wait. Yes! My newest lab assistant, uh. . oh, damn it, what
was
>his name?"
MIKE: Hitler, I think? Is that right?
>Breaking off, he
>returned his attention to Wilson. "I'll have his file sent over to you in the
morning.
SERVO: Well, good night. Sleep well.
>Will that be soon enough? He
>wasn't asking about buying this thing. . . but he did want to know what I was
working
>on.
CROW: ...and if he could borrow it a while to take over the country.
>I hadn't told anyone.
>Anyway, I caught him in my lab, but he insisted he was just looking for a
bottle
>of hydrochloric acid."
MIKE: Ahhh, I use that excuse all the time...
>
>"I wouldn't recommend going back to your lab, Doctor. Whoever stole this thing
>had to have some pretty damned
>sophisticated equipment to pull it off, and that means money.
SERVO: Wait, it does? Some hobo couldn’t have just grabbed it or something?
>Lots of money.
CROW: Like a hundred dollars or something!
>I
>mean, I heard your building was
>built to withstand anything short of six tanks pulling up in front and letting
>loose with everything they had.
MIKE: Wow, that’s some "shop"...
>So
>whoever stole it most likely isn't too fond of you, since it was almost
certainly
>an inside job," Wilson concluded.
SERVO: He’s making this all up, based on absolutely nothing...
>
>"Really? But. . ..why?"
CROW: Well, you smell really bad. When was the last time you showered, like,
May?
>
>"It doesn't really matter yet.
MIKE: It will in a couple minutes. Pull up a chair and wait.
>When we get closer, we'll start thinking about it.
>Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a
>few other matters to wrap up.
SERVO: ...that are a LITTLE more important than a weapon that could destroy our
country.
>I'll get started on your case as soon as I can, but
>don't expect much quickly.
CROW: National security isn’t exactly top priority...
>It
>might be some time before I turn up anything," Wilson said, swiveling his
chair
>around and poking randomly through
>a file cabinet.
MIKE: Hey, how come he gets a swivel chair? I want a swivel chair!
CROW: Hey, yeah!
>It was clearly a dismissal, and Ashern quickly did an about face,
>and left the office. Wilson waited a
>minute for Sharon to return to his office, then spun around lifting her clear
off
>her feet in a giant bear hug.
SERVO: Something about this author and bear hugs just seems a little
unsettling...
CROW: So wait, that isn’t sexual harassment?
>"Ha
>HA! We'll be paying the rent on this place for the next few months!"
MIKE: Won’t that be weird?
>
>"Just the same," Sharon replied gleefully, "you'd better get started, just so
we
>have some results, no matter how
>mediocre, to justify his continuing funding us in 'the interests of national
security'.
SERVO: She’s taking this kind of lightly...
>The old fart probably just
>misplaced the stupid thing."
CROW: Woah! Sudden blow out of nowhere!
MIKE: You’d think they’d be taking this a little more seriously...
>
>"Probably. I'll start tracking down that lab assistant first. If that doesn't
work,
>we'll just have to hope the usual
>sources actually get something.
SERVO: So...is anything going to actually happen in this story? Ever? I think
I’ve been pretty patient so far...
CROW: Be more patient...remember, this is the guy that did “Delusion of the
Vampire”...
>Start leaning on all the squealers in town, find
>out if anything big's supposed to go
>down soon."
MIKE: World war, anything like that.
>
>"Gotcha, boss. I'll get right on it."
SERVO: It looks like the secretary does more than he does around here...
>
> ***********************************
>
>"Fire in the hole!" MacKenzie yelled, tossing the bomb to his brother.
CROW: Here we go! Action!
>
>"Cut it out, Peter. I don't want this thing blowing up in our faces.
CROW: Aw, dammit...
>There'd be
>no point!" John finished, laughing.
MIKE: But it sure would be funny!
>
>"Good point.
SERVO: No, he said NO point...
>I'd hate for you to have wasted all that effort to steal it, and then
>not get to use it.
CROW: Use it on anything in particular, or...no...
>You mean Ashern
>walked in on you, and the best excuse you could come up with was hydrochloric
acid?!
MIKE: That excuse AGAIN? How many times can you use that before he starts
getting suspicious?
>Some spy you cracked up to
>be!"
SERVO: You’re the worst spy ever!
>
>"Yeah, well. Don't forget, Mom always said you were the sneaky one.
CROW: It’s always about Mom with you, isn’t it.
>Maybe next
>time you should be the one to
>steal a top-secret bomb!"
MIKE: Hey, it was your turn...I did it last time...
>
>"And me, without a degree from any university at all, much less Harvard?
>Dream
>on!"
SERVO: Is that supposed to be funny? or shocking? I’m confused...
>
> *************************************
>
>"Have any luck?" Wilson asked Sharon.
CROW: No, sorry, the interns got to that, too.
>They had completed the rounds of the usual
>thugs, drunks, and other
>unsavory characters, searching for clues. But Wilson somehow looked happy.
MIKE (idiotic voice): Heh, drunks are funny.
>
>"Nope. But you did, didn't you? After all, you're sitting there looking like
the
>cat who caught the mouse." Sharon
>replied.
SERVO: Why yes, in fact, I am a cat, and I did catch a mouse! How perceptive of
you!
>
>"As a matter of fact, I did. It wasn't a mouse, though.
CROW: It was an ostrich.
>Just the thief. It was
>indeed Ashern's lab assistant.
MIKE: Well that’s an ironic twist!
>But the
>trail hits bottom there.
SERVO: So...are you going to tell us how you found that out, or...no...
>Guy's identity, unsurprisingly, was faked.
CROW: Wasn’t a guy at all.
>Last address
>doesn't exist. So now we go lean on
>the paper makers in town, and re-do the rounds.
MIKE: Perhaps watching the conversion of papyrus to the common paper we know
and use every day will inspire our search.
>Have everybody talk to the paper
>pushers, put out feelers. I want
>this guy."
SERVO: And odds are someone in the paper business knows him.
>
>"Gotcha, boss."
CROW: Once again, the bulk of the work is placed on the secretary.
>
> ********************************
>
>Peter MacKenzie and his brother John were walking down Fifth Avenue, stopping,
>just like all the other tourists, to
>peer into Saks.
MIKE: More exciting scenes! The terrorists going SIGHTSEEING! I’m on the edge
of my seat!
>But they weren't there to shop.
SERVO: They were there to make paper, plain and simple.
>After walking around for an hour,
>deflecting curious clerks with a
>casual, "Just browsing, thanks," the brothers left.
CROW: You’re right, Mike, this really IS exciting.
>
>"Well?" John asked. "What d'you think?"
MIKE: I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?
>
>"You're sure the parade comes through here?"
SERVO: So they’re going to use this powerful bomb on a bunch of marching boy
scouts?
>
>"Absotively posolutely."
CROW: Ha, that’s comedy. Excuse me, while I cough up a lung and hit myself over
the head with it.
>
>"In that case, Johnny me boy, it's perfect. Well done. Now, who else is on the
>team?
MIKE: Dennis Rodman.
>We need at least six people to
>distract the Service, and another four or so to start shooting in the air.
SERVO: So most of the excitement in the story actually comes out of the
characters contemplating how they’re going to do things...
>None
>of them will know what's actually
>going to happen, of course, so make sure all these people are expendable.
We'll
>be across the county before we get
>the signal by radio, and then we push the button and avenge Mum and Da."
CROW: That parade has taken its last victim...
>
>"You've really got it all worked out, Peter. Jolly good show, as the Brits
say.
MIKE: Are we British?
>Now, what do you say I introduce you
>to the marvels of American whiskey?"
SERVO: We can drink, as the Brits say.
>
>"Lead on, o fearless. I am yours to command; at least for as long as it takes
us
>to get really, filthy, stinking
>drunk."
CROW: Let’s get drunk and throw bombs into parades, as the Brits say.
>
> *****************************
>
>"I got it, boss, I got it!" Sharon yelled, running into the office. "I found
out
>who this guy bought his papers from!"
MIKE: But the readers didn’t need to know how I did it because they were more
interested in those two brothers talking about parades!
>
>"Great! Who was it?" Wilson replied enthusiastically.
SERVO: Oh, no one you know.
>
>"O'Malley. He works out of Bailey's, that pub in the Irish district.
Remember?"
CROW: I mean, you probably don’t remember, you were too drunk to remember my
name...
>
>"Did you say. . . the Irish district?
MIKE: Did you say it as the Brits say?
>Holy shit, I gotta call Ashern!
SERVO: Ahhh! Bad language! My ears! My...oh, wait, I don’t have ears.
>Five'll get
>you twenty that the guy who snatched
>the bomb works for the IRA.
CROW: ...and makes paper.
>How'd you find out about this, anyway?"
MIKE: This is something the readers should already know, of course, but don’t,
as they had to find out about the brothers getting drunk, instead...
>
>"I went and talked to my usual stool pigeon. The guy who sings like it's him
going
>to jail. And all for five beers.
SERVO: The focus of the story further shifts toward drinking...
>Not
>bad, huh?"
CROW: Depends. What kind of beer was it?
>
>"Not bad, not bad at all," Wilson said, dialing Ashern. "Dr. Ashern? Pardon me
>for interrupting you, sir.
MIKE: How did I get your phone number?
>It's Jerry
>Wilson. I've discovered a bit of bad news.
SERVO: We’re all out of gin.
>Why don't you come down soon, and I'll
>tell you. Uh-huh. OK, five-thirty it
>is." He hung up.
CROW: Well, I got a date!
"Damn, now I gotta stick around for a while. Care to order in
>Chinese?"
MIKE: Nahh, not enough alcohol.
>
>"For the third time this week? How about pizza?"
SERVO: And sherry?
>
>"Naw, too greasy. Maybe Polish?"
CROW: With whiskey?
>
>"You can have the sausages. I'll go out and pick up a little of each."
MIKE: And a lot of beer.
>Sharon said,
>picking up her purse and walking
>out.
SERVO: Don’t forget the champagne so we can celebrate on all this information
we discovered! And wine, get some wine!
>
>"Here, take this," Wilson said, handing her a twenty-dollar bill.
CROW: Wait, didn’t she already walk out?
"I'll cover it."
MIKE: Um, Jerry? She left already. There’s no one there. Put the money down.
>
> *************************************
>
>"OK," MacKenzie said to the large group of American IRA members"You all know
why
>we're here.
SERVO: To get drunk.
>We are going to kill
>the prime minister."
CROW: ...of...New York...
>
>"America has a prime minister?" One of the buffoons said, only half joking.
CROW: Dammit, this story is ruining all of my jokes!
SERVO: We’re sorry.
>
>"No, dumbo, England!" Another of his more intelligent comrades replied.
MIKE: You stupid cartoon elephant!
>
>"Getting back to business, gentlemen!" MacKenzie snapped. "Everyone shut up
and
>listen!" He waited for the
>room to quiet.
SERVO: Hey, come on! Listen! Hey! I have a bomb! Hey!
>"Now then, as I said, we're going to kill the prime minister.
CROW: And get really drunk.
>My
>brother here," he said, indicating
>Peter with a broad sweep of his hand, "has stolen the world's most powerful
bomb.
MIKE: And I lost it, so everyone be careful where you step!
>This device would allow us to
>wipe out most of this grand city of New Yuck. . I mean, New York."
SERVO: Please...no more attempted humor...
>The other men
>chuckled.
CROW: ...at something unrelated that was actually funny.
>"But that would be if
>we used it all at once.
MIKE: We’re only going to use a quarter of the bomb or so.
>My dear brother has devised a way to detonate the bomb,
>which, by the way, contains a
>revolutionary new explosive, so that it will only wipe out ten to twelve city
>blocks.
SERVO: My dear brother and I are to be married.
>Half of the rest of the material
>will be going back to Saddam, as payment for his setting up the operation.
CROW: So Saddam Hussein has moved on to controlling the IRA.
>The
>rest will be taken back to Ireland.
MIKE: Where we can blow some other stuff up and get even more drunk.
>You'll receive the actual mission plan two days before the operation, and at
that
>time you will be quarantined.
SERVO: Because you will catch a highly contagious and rare disease. Any
questions?
>Anyone chickening out, well, . . you will unfortunately be sitting next to the
>bomb when it goes off. Any questions?"
CROW: Why are we in New York if we want to kill the English prime minister?
>Seeing none, MacKenzie snapped of a sharp salute,
MIKE: Snapped of a sharp salute? Sorry?
>and said, "Dismissed. Be back
>here in two weeks at the most, if
>you don't get any other signal. But you probably will, so be on guard, ready
to
>leave immediately. Now, get out of
>here."
SERVO: Let us drink in peace.
>
> **********************************
>
>"Damnit!" Wilson swore.
CROW: You had to point out that’s a swear?
>"I can't believe it!
MIKE: They didn’t HAVE any wine?
>You're telling me that in the space
>of twenty minutes, when you were
>going to see this papermaker, someone bumped him off?!
SERVO: Who’s going to make paper now?
>These people are unbelievable!"
CROW: Just like "Sightings"!
>
>"Boss, I dunno about you, but these guys are starting to spook me. . . bumping
>off O'Malley, stealing a bomb that
>could wipe out most of N.Y. . . . next thing you know, they'll be going after
Ashern!"
MIKE: And that’s all the forshadowing we can afford right now...
>
>"Speaking of whom, he's late. He told me he'd be here at 8:30 sharp. It's nine
>o'clock, and not a sight of him,"
>Wilson said, staring around absent-mindedly.
SERVO: He must have got drunk or something.
>"You'd better go on home. I'll wait
>up for the good doctor. I'll see you
>back here at eight AM. Don't be late!"
CROW: Like you are every day...
>
>"Me, late? That'll be the day I win the lotto!" Sharon said, picking up her
coat.
MIKE: You won the lotto? Congratula...oh, I see, it was an analogy.
>Walking out the door, she called out,
>"'Bye, Jerry. See you in the morning."
>
>"See ya."
SERVO: See, this is just the sort of scene the author could have easily left
out...
>
> ********************************
>
>The next morning, Sharon walked into the office, only to find her boss
sprawled
>across his desk, fast asleep.
CROW: ...with Ashern.
>
>"Jerry," she said, shaking him.
MIKE: I found someone else who’ll make paper for us!
>
>"Hmmm? Ohhh, my head," he complained, rolling out of his chair, and dropping
to
>the floor.
SERVO: The hangover strikes...
>Getting up, he said, "I
>thought I told you to go home!"
CROW: That was 13 years ago, Jerry...
>
>At least the fall had woken him up, Sharon thought. "That was last night,
boss.
>You fell asleep at your desk again.
>Third time this week, and it's only Wednesday."
MIKE: Hey, you don’t have a house, do you, Jerry?
>
>"Well, Ashern never showed, so I guess I fell asleep. I'm gonna call him, see
if
>he forgot," Wilson said, getting off
>the floor and picking up the phone, then dropping back into his chair.
SERVO: Wouldn’t it be a twist if he had gotten kidnapped or something?
MIKE: Hey, yeah! That’d be really unexpected!
>Dialing,
>he waited impatiently for a
>connection, then spoke: "Mrs. Ashern? May I speak to your husband, please?
>What?!
CROW: What do you mean, "no"?!
>Thank you, ma'am. Uh huh, I've
>gotta go now, lots of clients waiting.
MIKE: Uh, important...invisible...clients...yeah, that’s it...
>'Bye," he said, hanging up.
>
>"Clients? We don't have any waiting, we don't even open . . . "
SERVO: Oh, we don’t? Sorry, I must have forgot...
>
>"Ashern never came home last night," Wilson said, his face turning ashen.
CROW: Never use "Ashern" and "ashen" in the same sentence.
>
>"So? You don't have a patent on pulling all-nighters, you know.
MIKE: I do, remember?
>Other people do
>it too."
SERVO: You’re right, let’s assume everything is okay.
>
>"Maybe not, but his wife said he's never been out this late without calling
her
>first," Wilson replied.
CROW: Yeah, well, guess there’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s go drinking.
>"Sharon, we
>have to face the facts:
MIKE: I am not Richard Simmons!
>nobody's heard anything from him in thirty-six hours.
SERVO: That means he probably doesn’t exist!
>When
>that count reaches
>forty-eight, I'm going to assume he's been kidnapped," he said, just as the
phone
>rang.
CROW: And until then, I’m gonna drink like hell.
>
>"Allow me," Sharon said, reaching over his desk and picking up the phone.
"Jerry
>Wilson, Private Detective.
MIKE: ...’s secretary who does all the work for him...
>How
>may I help you?
SERVO: What? No, I won’t do that! That’s disgusting!
>Certainly, here he is." Covering the mouthpiece with her hand,
>Sharon handed the phone over. "It's
>for you."
CROW: For me? That’s weird...
>
>"Jerry Wilson here."
MIKE: ...no, wait, there...no, here again...dammit, he was just here a second
ago...
>
>"Hello, this is Doctor Ashern. I'm calling to tell you that I am fine."
SERVO: Odd, I don’t remember Ashern having an Irish accent...oh well. Thanks
for calling.
>
>Wilson jerked as if he'd been shocked.
CROW: In fact, he’d been shot.
>Recovering himself, he said in a hearty
>voice, "That's good to hear, Doctor.
>We were beginning to get worried. Where have you been?"
MIKE, SERVO, CROW: Drinking.
>
>"Oh, out and about. I've got to go, I'll talk to you later."
MIKE: This is getting kind of whimsical and light-hearted for an action
thriller.
SERVO: This is an action thriller?
CROW: Nahh.
>
>"OK, goodbye." Placing the receiver back in the cradle, Wilson slumped back
against
>his chair.
SERVO: This is the stupidest story I’ve ever been in.
>
>"What's wrong, boss? That was the doc, right? So he's fine. Stop worrying."
CROW: You look pale. Maybe you need a drink.
>
>"He's not fine. He used all three of the codes we worked out for him to
signify
>he was in trouble.
MIKE: We just didn’t feel the readers needed to know about that.
>He's been
>kidnapped."
SERVO: By natural fruit flavor.
>
>"Oh, shit, boss--this is bad, right?"
CROW: No, why would you think that?
>
>"Very bad, Sharon. Very, Very bad."
MIKE: Really, incredibly very bad bad BAD.
>
> ***************************
>
>As soon as the phone rang in his hotel room, MacKenzie picked it up. "Yes?" he
>asked.
SERVO: We ARE supposed to be Irish, right?
>
>"We have the package," his brother responded. "I'll meet you at the
warehouse."
CROW: I thought they already HAD the bomb.
>They both hung up.
MIKE: Really? What a strange coincidence!
>
>As MacKenzie drove to the warehouse they had rented last week, his heart was
racing.
SERVO: Couldn’t have been because of all that alcohol...
>Finally, he could complete
>the last part of his mission!
CROW: Shooting that annoying dog in those Taco Bell ads!
>When he pulled into the adjacent parking lot, he
>saw his brother's car already there.
>MacKenzie parked and climbed out of the car.
MIKE: He closed the car door and began to walk. He put out his left foot, then
bent his right knee in order to place the right foot ahead of the left foot. He
then...
>Entering the warehouse, he saw his
>brother and Ashern near the
>rear of the building. "Hello, Doctor!" he called out. Startled, Ashern turned
around,
>gasped, and finally, worked up
>enough courage to reply.
SERVO: So, is that Jerry guy supposed to know where to find him? I mean, sure,
he knows he’s kidnapped and all, but does that really tell him anything?
CROW: Maybe he can get some information from the local paper makers...
>
>"Hello, Peter. You've not come far since the last time we met. I had assumed
you
>would figure out on your own how
>wrong this was. And since you've gone to the trouble of kidnapping me, I also
assume
>you are the one who has
>stolen my pridium bomb."
MIKE: No, I just kidnapped you for fun. You can leave now.
>
>"Of course. But do you know what I intend to do with it?"
SERVO: Deep-fry it and sell it to KFC?
>
>"Assassinate the Prime Minister, of course.
CROW: What else can you do with a bomb?
>It's only what you've been planning
>since your brother got you involved
>with the I.R.A. when you were my lab assistant.
MIKE: Oh, so he already knew about this, then?
>You do realize, of course, you'll
>kill half of New York when you
>detonate the thing."
SERVO: Damn. There goes our plan. Oh well.
>
>"There, I'm afraid you're wrong. You see, John here figured out--oh, I'm
sorry;
>I forgot to mention it.
CROW: You’re unzipped, doctor.
>You see, John
>is my brother.
MIKE: That’s for you readers coming in a little late...
>Anyway, as your new lab assistant, John was able to work down the
>size of the explosion.
SERVO: Couldn’t they have just, I don’t know, shot the prime minister?
>All we
>have to do is slip it into the bag of someone going into the parade--if we
can't
>do that, we have a volunteer lined up
>for a suicide run.
CROW: Who? Who cares.
>So, we get to kill the PM, the President--for which we are being
>paid handsomely--, half of the
>President's cabinet, and a good deal of other dignitaries.
MIKE: Wait, since when are they all going to be there?
>Worst case cost, one
>easily replaced drunk.
SERVO: Which one?
>And we get
>to keep the other five pounds of pridium removed from the bomb. Well, Doctor,
what
>do you think of my plan?"
CROW: I think it’s great, I’m really proud of you guys...
>
>"I've just realized something I should have figured out years ago," Ashern
said,
>his face turning ashen.
MIKE: There it is again, Ashern and ashen in one line! That just doesn’t work!
>
>"What? That I'm a genius?"
SERVO: No, that my name begins with the letter A...
>
>"No," Ashern said, shaking his head. "You are completely insane."
CROW: Took him a while to figure that one out, I guess...
>
> *****************************
>
>"Still no luck?" Sharon asked Wilson as he stepped in the door, with a
dejected
>look on his face.
MIKE: I’ve checked every bar in town...
>
>"I swear, it's like he disappeared off the face of the earth! No one knows
where
>he is, who took him, or why.
SERVO: I guess this story really IS going nowhere.
>The
>who and why we know; the same people who took his bomb have him, and they want
>him for something in
>connection to the bomb."
CROW: Brilliant!
>
>"Boss, you've been out looking for this guy for almost ten straight days. Go
home,
>get some rest. The presidential
>parade is in three days, and you said you wouldn't miss it for the world."
MIKE: Gasp! It’s all coming together! How clever!
CROW: Yes, only the best authors can do that.
>
>"Yeah, you're right. I'll go home, catch forty thousand winks,
SERVO: What’s the equivalent of 1 wink?
>and be back tomorrow."
>Wilson said, stepping out of
>the office. "You might as well close up shop, go home and get some rest of
your
>own. I'll see you tomorrow."
CROW: Again.
>
>As Wilson walked home, he kept turning the case over in his head, examining it
>from all angles. As he put his key in
>the door lock, it hit him. "Of course! The British Prime Minister is going to
be
>in the President's parade! And I'm
>sure the I.R.A. wouldn't care about getting rid of the President to get the
>PM!"
MIKE: When did he find out the IRA was responsible for all this again?
SERVO: I think I missed that part.
>he exclaimed. "But," he said,
>stepping into his apartment, "how am I going to stop them?"
CROW: With your lager-scented body odor, perhaps?
>
> **********************
>
>"All right, fellows," MacKenzie said, stepping into the back room of the
warehouse.
>"The parade is tomorrow. Does
>anyone have any questions? Yes, Don?" he said, eyeing the short, balding man
at
>the back of the room.
MIKE: When does this story end?
>
>"I'd like to volunteer to carry the device in the event of us not being able
to
>find a suitable person.
SERVO: Suicide is fun.
>I lost my wife to
>that operation put on by the SAS eight years ago, and I want to get even with
the
>bastards!"
CROW: Was that supposed to be a dramatic statement, or just a really laughable
statement...
>
>"All right, you can do that then. But only if we can't find someone else to do
>it.
MIKE: Hey, I say if he wants to commit suicide, he should have the right...
>There's no point in wasting
>valuable men we can't really replace. Okay?
SERVO: What? NOT okay?
>Good, we'll see you all tomorrow. Remember,
>the parade starts at
>noon, and I want you all here at nine. Go home, get some rest." He said,
shooing
>the men out, then collapsing on a
>sofa, and falling asleep.
CROW: That paints a really beautiful picture.
>
> **************************
>
>The next morning, Wilson headed out to the parade, getting there just in time
to
>see the President climb into his
>limo.
MIKE: So civilians are allowed to get pretty close to the presidnet for no
apparent reason these days, huh?
>He also saw MacKenzie walking around, but figured that it was just another
>staunch presidential supporter.
SERVO: Oh. Okay. What, is that shocking?
>
> *******************************
>
>MacKenzie was walking around, going over the plan just one more time in his
head,
>when he saw Wilson. "That's the
>detective who's been working for Ashern!" he thought to himself.
CROW: How does he know that?
>"I wonder if he
>knows what we're . . . he's walking
>away! He doesn't know who I am!
MIKE: Yet I somehow know who he is!
>The plan can still go ahead just as I prepared
>it," he thought, walking back to the
>warehouse.
SERVO: Oh, well that’s nice.
>
>When MacKenzie got back to the warehouse, he found his group all assembled and
>ready to go. "Move out," he said,
>gesturing toward the door. "You've all got my cell phone number--if you see
somebody
>who you think will carry the
>bomb, call me and we'll slip the bomb in with that person.
CROW: Wait, I thought the whole suicide thing wasn’t necessary...
Any questions?" he asked.
>The men shook their heads
>solemnly. "Get going," MacKenzie said. Then he sat down to wait.
MIKE: Thrill as the antagonist SITS DOWN TO WAIT!
>
>Three hours later, no one had found a suitable subject. "All right," he said
to
>himself, picking up the phone. "We'll go
>to plan B." Dialing, he called Don. "Don," he said, "it looks like we're going
>to need your services after all.
SERVO: What did they do, walk up to various people and ask if they wanted to
commit suicide to blow up the prime minister?
>Come back
>to the warehouse, as fast as you can," he said, hanging up.
CROW: They can’t catch you; you’re the gingerbread man.
>When Don arrived, MacKenzie
>gave him the bomb.
MIKE: Merry Christmas!
>"Get
>moving," he said. Don nodded, and left. "Picking up the phone again, MacKenzie
>called the rest of his team. To each
>of them, he said the same thing, then hung up rapidly: "Don's on the move;
head
>for the cars."
SERVO: Yeah, that’s a great line: "Don’s on the move, head for the cars." I
love that.
>
>Wilson was getting a strange feeling in the bottom of his stomach as he saw a
man
>start walking rapidly towards
>the parade. The feeling increased to dread as he saw the large backpack the
man
>was carrying.
CROW: Hey, that’s the guy who STOLE MY BOOZE!
>
> ********
>
>"I'm almost there," Don whispered into the radio pickup clipped to his collar.
>"But that private eye you told me
>about just spotted me. He's heading over here, and I'm not close enough to
blow
>the PM yet. You gotta buy me
>some time!"
MIKE: He needs a distraction! Send out the mimes!
>
>"All right, all right," MacKenzie said. "Calm down. I'll deal with this guy
personally."
SERVO: I hope this isn’t the climax, or I’ll be really disappointed...which is
sad, considering how low my expectations were in the first place...
>Walking out, he said to his
>brother, "Get the cars ready; get everybody else out, and then come after me."
CROW: It’s incredible how many semicolons that guy can incorporate into his
dialogue.
>
> ************
>
>Walking quickly, Wilson was just about to catch up to the man with the
backpack,
>when he felt a hand on his
>shoulder.
MIKE: The hand of the PILLSBURY DOUGHBOY...
That wouldn't normally have bothered him; New Yorkers are perpetually
>pushing and shoving.
SERVO: This author really has something against New York...
>What did
>bother him was the feeling of the gun in the small of his back.
CROW: The gun which COULD have been used to kill the prime minister instead of
the unnecessary top secret bomb.
"OK," the man behind
>him said. "Just turn around,
>and come with me."
MIKE: Come with me to a land of low prices...
>
>"Sure, whatever, no problem," Wilson said, imitating a nervous stammer. "Just
don't
>shoot, OK?" With that, he
>quickly spun around to his right, maneuvering his body away from the gun,
simultaneously
>slamming his left fist
>into the man's stomach, reaching for the gun with his right.
SERVO: Too much action in one sentence...I think I’m lost...
MIKE: I think it really doesn’t matter...
>His hand made contact
>with the metal, and he pulled
>hard, wrenching the gun from the other man's grip.
CROW: He couldn’t have just shot Jerry, though?
>
>Twenty yards away, he could see Ashern running after the man with the
backpack.
>Wilson broke into a jog, quickly
>moving into a flat out run after Ashern.
SERVO: Ashern! No! Don’t stop the terrorist, are you insane?
>He passed Ashern just as the man pulled
>a small black box from his
>pocket. Wilson screamed, "Nooooo!" as the man jabbed his finger down at the
button.
>Launching himself into the
>air, Wilson brought his full three hundred pounds down on top of the man,
MIKE: Gahhh! Three hundred pounds??
>crushing
>the man beneath himself. Wilson
>shut his eyes, anticipating the oblivion.
>
>"Get up, you idiot." Ashern spoke. "You're not going to die. At least, not
today."
CROW: Yes, it was all a dream...
>
>"What the hell is going on?" Wilson asked, already starting to get suspicious.
SERVO: Suspicious, as the Brits are.
>
>
>"I should think it would be fairly clear. The bomb was a fake. There's no such
>thing as pridium. It was just a hoax, to
>get these people out in the open. See, they're already being hauled off,"
Ashern
>said, indicating the men in black
>suits starting to pick up the terrorists.
MIKE: So they’re being taken to Area 51?
>"We've even got the rest of the group.
>And don't worry about the money; a
>deposit will be paid to your account in a matter of hours. Good bye," Ashern
said,
>walking quickly away.
CROW: Well that’s a cheap ending if I’ve ever read one...
>
> *******************
>
>"That's it?!" Sharon exclaimed. "All that worry, for a hoax?!"
SERVO: This whole story, for nothing??
>
>"Look, forget about it. In the mean time, I'm going home to get some shut eye.
MIKE: Catch at least several hundred winks.
>Close up, and I'll meet you back here
>next week," Wilson said, already walking out the door.
SERVO: This is just...awful...I don’t know what else to say...they build you up
for a lame ending, and it’s even lamer than what you were expecting!
CROW: Hey, only the best authors can...
SERVO: Oh, shut up.
>
> ***********
>
>"Tell us another one, Grandpa!" the kids shouted.
MIKE: Zaaa?
>
>"No, I think that's enough.
CROW: Oh, so we’ve gone non-sequitur now! That’s nice.
>In to bed, all of you. Your mom will be up to tuck
>you in," he said, walking out the door.
>"Goodnight."
SERVO: So this was all from the deluded mind of someone’s Grampa?
MIKE: Hardly surprising...
>
>"Goodnight, Grandpa."
>
>Walking downstairs, Wilson embraced Sharon. "Hard to believe that was so long
ago.
>What was it, twenty years?"
CROW: Oh, I see. He married the secretary. That’s disgusting.
SERVO: The three hundred pound guy married the secretary. Ugh...
>
>"Something like that," she replied. "But that's beside the point. Let's hit
the
>sack."
MIKE: Let’s go catch somewhere in the range of 3050-3100 winks.
>
>"Lead on, O Fearless," he smiled, walking toward the bedroom. "Lead on."
SERVO: Hey, just like he always used to say when...wait, no he didn’t...
>
>
>
>
>
> The End
CROW: Well, that was even worse than the vampire story.
MIKE: Remind me: what baby, exactly, went boom?
SERVO: The plot, I think.
MIKE: Ah yes...
(exit theater)
***(6 5 4 3 2 1)***
(cuts to SOL; Crow is on one side of the screen backed by thousands of bars of
soap, Tom is on the other side backed by thousands of bottles of liquid soap;
Mike is watching in the background)
SERVO: Prepare to meet your maker, old man!
CROW: We’ll see about THAT, liquid boy!
BOTH: ATTACK!!!
(Tom picks up a bottle and begins squirting the liquid soap at Crow; Crow
begins tossing bars of soap in Tom’s direction)
SERVO: Ha! Drink soap!
CROW: Yeah, eat soap!
(The two continue to use their soap against each other with no effect)
MIKE: Um, guys? You’re not really doing much of anything to one another...
(The bots don’t listen, and continue their battle)
MIKE: Guys, maybe you should just call it a draw...
(The bots continue to fight)
MIKE: Alright, that’s enough. (Walks into middle of fight, puts his hands out)
Stop, stop. This won’t resolve anything.
CROW: Oh, you’re right Mike. This just isn’t going anywhere.
SERVO: I guess soap wasn’t made for one-on-one combat...
MIKE: That’s right. Now can we come to a truce?
CROW: I...I’m sorry, Tom. I guess liquid soap just might be the way of the
future.
SERVO: No, no, both soaps can live on in perfect harmony! There’s room enough
in this universe for two kinds of soap.
CROW: Hey, you’re absolutely right. There’s no reason for us to be fighting.
(pause)
SERVO: However, if I were to invent a soap that comes in GAS form...
MIKE: Uh, I think we’ve had enough talk about soap for one day.
SERVO: No, really, think about the convenien...
MIKE: ENOUGH TALK ABOUT SOAP FOR ONE DAY.
SERVO: Yeah, but...but...
(abrupt ending)
(credits)
MST3K, related characters, and just about everything else, are Copyright Best
Brains.
Best Brains has in no way endorsed this MSTing, but then, they never came up to
me and told me I couldn't do it, either, so where's the harm? It can be freely
distributed then, as long as these credits are included.
Original Story by J.W. Slade
All MSTing by Richard Bradley (Flami...@aol.com)
>I'll never forget what he said, " Get a clue Darin. You want to sell
>soap door to door?