[MISTING] "Artifact" - Part 1/3
Craig J. Clark
recently added to the archive a Web Site Number 9 (don't let the May 23
date fool you). Enjoy, but be forewarned that it does get a little
nasty at times... [It's rated PG and goes under the heading PROSE, but
could also be PARA.]
For optimum viewing, set your e-mail reader to this width:
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[Note: This begins the hypothetical era code-named CLAYTON for reasons
which will become apparent. Others may find it an appealing combination
for
their own Mistings.]
----(Dim your lights where applicable)----
In the not too distant future
Between now and god-knows-when
A lot of stuff has happened
To Mike and his robot friends
It's too complex to explain right now
But they're back in the orbit of Earth somehow
Tortured by Pearl and her attache
Of assorted wacky minions that she picked up on the wa-ay
BAD GUY ROLL CALL
Bobo ["Professor Bobo to you!"]
Brain Guy ["That's Observer!"]
Leonard Maltin ["It's payback time."]
Pearrrrrrrrrl! ["I'll get you!"]
They send him cheesy movies
And stories and fan-fics too
And bulk e-mail and newsgroup rants
And we pass them on to you
Now keep in mind you can't control
When the stories begin or end
You have to sit and watch them all
With Mike and his robot friends
ROBOT ROLL CALL
Cambot ["Yeah, whatever."]
Gypsy ["Remember me?"]
Tom Servo ["Bite me."]
Crooooooooow! ["Are we there yet?"]
If all of these plot and cast changes
Make you want to pick up an axe
Just repeat to yourself, it's just a show
I should really just relax...
For Mystery Something Theater Three Thou-suuund! (bdrdrdrlanggg!...)
[Ka-thunk...2...3...4...5...6...SoL Bridge]
CROW: I'm still skeptical.
TOM: I just think it's worth exploring.
MIKE: Hey, out there, welcome to the Satellite of Love. The bots
and I have been discussing Tom's theory that our universe
works on narrative rules.
TOM: And, more importantly, the idea that we can use this to our
advantage.
MIKE: Like, say, causing something to happen by deliberately
foreshadowing it?
TOM: Precisely.
CROW: Which is crazy, because even if it were true, we'd be
powerless to change the story, because we're part of it.
TOM: Not necessarily. Now we're getting into the question of free
will versus determinism. Regardless of whether there's a fixed
narrative, our future is still shaped by what we do.
CROW: I'm sorry, but that makes no sense to me. Yes, actions have
consequences, but literary devices are not a force of nature.
MIKE: Well, crazy or not, it certainly can't hurt to try it out.
Servo, what do you think would be a good test?
TOM: Perhaps if a we had a big chunk of exposition, something
important would happen that required that exposition in order
to
be understood.
MIKE: Okay, hmm... Okay, I've got it. I can ask Pearl about
something
that she hasn't explained before. I've been curious about this
anyway. [The communication light flashes] And hey, that's her
calling now!
TOM: You see? Narrative timing!
CROW: Could just be coincidence.
TOM: You could just be stupid.
MIKE: Hush, you two. [taps the light] Hey, Pearl, we were just
talking
about you. Before you send the experiment, let me ask you:
What
happened with your son, Dr. Clayton Forrester? I know you
killed
him, but I was wondering how and why, you know? Just curious.
[Castle Forrester. Pearl is absently leafing through Leonard Maltin's
Movie Guide, putting tape flags on the three-star entries.]
PEARL: Okay, if you really want to know.... When you guys went flying
off to the end of the universe, Clayton regressed into a space
baby and I had to raise him all over again. I thought it was a
second chance to raise him right, but it turned out to be a
waste
of time because he remembered every darn thing from his first
life. By the time he had reached adulthood, he was twice as
evil
as he was before. Even more evil than me. Plus, he didn't
respect
me anymore. I couldn't have that. So, when he went out for
coffee, I ran over him with the van. Simple as that.
[SoL]
MIKE: Whoa.
[CF]
PEARL: Yeah. So anyway, I blamed the whole thing on you, froze
myself,
was revived to take totalitarian rule over the monkeys of
future
Earth, and, well, you know the rest.
[SoL]
MIKE: I guess I do, although it really all seems like a blur at this
point.
[CF]
PEARL: Doesn't it though? Anyhow, your personal hell this week is...
DR.F: Hello, Mother!
PEARL: [jumping, throwing her book into the air] CLAYTON!
DR.F: That's right, Mother dear, you've made a disastrous misstep.
You
see, you returned to the present time a little too soon, and
I've
been picking up your transmissions. When I heard you say that
you
had killed me, or, rather, that you were going to kill me, I
killed _you._ Since you did not subsequently vanish from the
timestream like Michael J. Fox, I have been waiting for the
right
time to come here and kill you again. Normally, I wouldn't,
but
you have made quite a mess of my project, Mother, and I won't
have it.
PEARL: What? I'm doing a great job! That Nelson guy has been watching
some really awful stuff! He'll crack at any moment!
DR.F: Ah, but are you monitoring his mind?
PEARL: Yes. Yes. I send him cheesy movies, and I monitor his mind.
DR.F: Ah, but you aren't really monitoring his mind, are you.
PEARL: Of course I am! Mostly.
DR.F: No, Mother, you are not. You should know as well as I do that
the portable version of the satellite-control system that you
loaded into the van doesn't have the mind-monitor feature. You
_say_ that you are monitoring his mind, but really you have
not
been doing any mind-monitoring at all. That's fine for
torture,
but this is an _experiment,_ Mother, it requires data in order
to
be scientifically useful!
PEARL: I'm sorry, Clayton dear. We can work out these little problems
now that we're reunited.
DR.F: Yes, we can. Like this. [pulls out a remote control] Bye now!
[He pushes the button and a sixteen-ton weight drops from the ceiling,
flattening Pearl with a cartoon KLOONG! noise.]
DR.F: Now then, Mr. Nelson, you're in for a much harder road ahead.
With the help of my late mother's extraterrestrial friend,
whose
allegiance I have found to be easily swayed, I shall transport
my
laboratory equipment here, to the home of my ancestors, and
resume my experiments. For the past year, I have been scouring
the net for the most execrable stories known to the world. And
tonight, you shall be reading a particularly foul fable
entitled
"ARTIFACT" written by, of all things, an ocelot masquerading
as a
human author. You have to sit and watch it all, while I
monitor
your mind. Is that clear?
[SoL]
MIKE: [hesitant] Uh, yeah. Was this the effect we were looking for,
guys?
TOM: I'd call it a dubious success.
CROW: I'd call it a dubious trip up Shinola Creek.
[CF. Observer is standing alongside Dr. Forrester.]
DR.F: Observer, send them the story.
OBSERVER: [smiling] Could you say that again, Doctor?
DR.F: I said send them the story.
OBSERVER: No, no, the part before that.
DR.F: Observer...?
OBSERVER: [smiling more] It is indeed a pleasure to be working with you.
[SFX: Observer doing his thing]
[SoL. Buzzing, flashing, the lot]
MIKE: Grab your paddles, boys, we've got STORY SIGN!
[...6...5...4...3...2...Theater]
> Date sent: Mon, 06 Jul 1998 01:13:53 -0700
> From: Ocicat <oce...@gte.net>
> Send reply to: oce...@gte.net
> Organization: Ocelot Studios
TOM: Y'know, just because there's a slot for "Organization", that
doesn't mean you have to pretend to have one.
> To: tsa-...@polar.integral.org
> Subject: story- ARTIFACT
> ARTIFACT
> by Ocicat
> Erin Tyler and his aid, Dr. Joyce Ash, carefully sifted through the fine
> grain sand , searching for the door's jambs.
MIKE: "Dolby...Donovan...Doobie Brothers.... Ah, here they are.
You'd
think they'd keep a record store a little cleaner than this."
> Tyler knew there had to be
> some sort of door crease, somewhere, if he'd rread and interpreted the
> heiroglyphics correctly, this should be the main burial chamber.
CROW: Or the set of _Suddenly Susan._ Either way, he wanted to get
inside.
> he steadied himself an Ash aims a bright beam of light into the narrow
> crack where he was now balled up like some sort of dead rat.
CROW: Offering himself as a sacrifice to Bast, no doubt.
MIKE: Try not to get too far ahead of the story, Crow.
CROW: I was joking!
MIKE: You're forgetting that this story was written by a cat.
CROW: Oh yeah.
> He, now on
> his stomach, could just reach the door crack, his fingers extended to
> their maximum reach.
MIKE: Hey, that guy's agile! I blinked and he was in another
position!
> He gently blew on the sand and began to pick at the
> crease, attempting to find where it may reach, or even if it did reach,
> the wall. "More light Ash, please, down here" he urged,
CROW: [as Ash from the Evil Dead movies] "Groovy."
> Ash pointed the light
> down, biting her lip nervously. She could just imagine seeing him trip
> some archaic booby trap, causing something to either fall on him or
> decapitate his fingers!
MIKE: [as Erin] "What are you giggling about?"
CROW: [as Joyce] "Hm? Oh, nothing, just thinking..."
TOM: Guys, I hate to be pedantic, but...decapitate his fingers?
MIKE: Yes, we all noticed, Tom.
TOM: Just making sure.
> She watched as Erin continued to work, his strong sure
> hands carefully and lovingly sifting sand away and feeling gently for the
> crack.
CROW: WHOA! Hey guys, I think they sent us the dirty version by
mistake!
> "Got it!" he whisper shouted,
MIKE: That's a pretty heavy handed oxymoron.
TOM: No, I think I know what he means. You know, like, "The crowd
goes wild! _hhhhhhhhhhhh!_"
> scooting back and getting back on his
> feet, "Damn, that's it! We found it!!" he continued in giddy excitement.
> Ash patted his dusty chest
CROW: Dusty Chest, isn't that the name of a porn star?
MIKE: ...Why do you think _I_ would know?
> and smiled sweetly into his face, she could
> see his youth full exhuberance and unrestrained joy.
> "Erin Tyler, you have found the temple of Chufas! You did it !
TOM: [as Joyce] "What are you going to do now?!"
MIKE: [as Erin] "I'm going to Disneyworld!"
> You found an undisturbed burial
> chamber, this...this is great, not since Howard Carter and his crew
> found Tutankamum has there been such a splendid find..."
ALL: [suddenly dancing and singing in unison] King TUT... ba boom
bum, Boom, ba boom bum...
CROW: Ah, the cheap jokes are the best.
TOM: Yeah.
> "Easy Joyce, there's more to it than that-
MIKE: Yeah, there are so many levels to _Ulysses._
> there's more digging, we have
> to get grants, a crew together, and of course more money..."
TOM: I thought a grant _was_ money.
CROW: Maybe this is set in an alternate universe where grants are
given in the form of cheese.
> "We don't need a crew Dr!" she cooed, embracing him "We can do this
> ourselves!"
TOM: [as Joyce] "It'll be easy! I can hold the flashlight and
everything!"
> "Joyce please, be professional about this for once!" urged Erin, "This,
> this is big, who knows what's in there! "
MIKE: [as Erin] "They might even have an indoor tennis court!"
> "You know what I love about you Erin? I love the way you play by the
> rules, oblivious to danger and so damn cavalier in your ways, you'd just
> as soon as take a lion to dinner than shoot him!"
CROW: [as Joyce] "So cavalier in your obedience of the rules, so
uncautiously professional, so reckless in your mad need to
stay
inside the lines! I just know your pedantic attitude is going
to
get you killed someday!"
> "Now what the hell is
> that supposed to mean?? " he asked bitterly. " Is that more of that
> trashy Jacky Collins novel you're been reading? What makes you think I'm
> so cavalier?" "Oh I suppose you're right. The heat must be getting to me,
> look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, this , this
TOM: Erin and Joyce seem to keep getting stuck on saying "this."
MIKE: Saying what?
CROW: Yeah, if it were up to them, they'd say "this" all day long.
MIKE: Say what all day long?
> whole expedition and
> the weeks here in Memphis have really been getting to me!"
CROW: [sings] Waaaaalkin in Memphis...
MIKE: Um, Crow, not _all_ the cheap jokes are the best.
CROW: Aw, come on.
> "It has been quite a stretch hasn't it?" he asked , embracing her
> tightly.
TOM: [as Joyce] "Hey, it hasn't been _that_ long, bucko."
> he looked down at hersmallish frame with tenderness and pride.
> He deeply loved everything about this woman, the way her eyes glinted,
> her fair skin and strong muscle tome, the way her auburn hair fell around
> her face.
MIKE: ...The way she recoiled in revulsion at his every touch.
> He especially loved her eyes, those deep hazel orbs-
> rich and warm, inviting him in to forbidden pleasures.
CROW: So _that's_ why she gets to hold his flashlight.
> She grapsed for his crotch as he began to relax, preparing for her
> advances. In seconds both their lips were locked in a tight embrace,
TOM: Wow, Crow, you were right! This _is_ a skin flick!
CROW: Hot damn!
> Jill began to work her hands around his neck and down his back,
MIKE: Wait a minute, Jill? Who's Jill?
TOM: It's a multiple personality disorder. Joyce turns into "Jill"
when she's having sex. Let's just hope "Jeff" doesn't surface
during climax this time.
> Erin,
> unable to resist and wanting to submit, began to pull her tight and feel
> her smallish frame, cradling it close. Jill went for his pants, carefully
> fumbling for his snaps.
TOM: Look, you're either being careful or you're fumbling around.
You
can't be both at the same time.
> He did likewise, feeling forher bra
> straps. In what seemed like an endless moment, the two lovers began to
> strip one another piece by piece. Joyce threw Erin up against the side
MIKE: Wait a minute! Joyce is there too! They _are_ different
people!
CROW: Wow! Twins! Menage a trois, here we come!
TOM: This is the best movie ever!
> of the rock wall, his back scraping harshly against the rough hewn
> sculpture of the tomb walls. He continued to embrace her, kissing log
MIKE: That's GOT to be another typo.
CROW: I don't think so, Mike! It's hot 'n' heavy time!
> and hard, had there been room for sex there would be little doubt they
> would have been actively engaged in a matter of minutes!
CROW: Whaaat? They have enough freedom of movement to take their
clothes off, but not enough room to do the deed? What gives?
TOM: It requires more space for three people at once. Trust me on
this one.
MIKE: Where do you pick this stuff up, Servo?
TOM: Underwear collectors generally find it necessary to have
contacts among a certain element.
> Fate on the other hand, had other ideas. As Erin reached for Jill's
> shoulder to pull her closer, he could feel his hand slip and fall into a
> rough rock formation.
CROW: [as Erin] "Damn, that keeps falling off! Stupid hand!"
> "Fuck!" he shouted, as his hand came squarely down on the formation. Jill
> stopped her orgy and
TOM: Oh, now it's _her_ orgy. Surely Erin and Joyce deserve some
credit.
MIKE: Some people think the world revolves around them.
> moved to one side as Erin withdrew his hand, now bloody and badly cut. He
> cradled his hands as she came closer, speechless at the sudden injury.
CROW: Hey, which one of them is speechless?
> "What hapened!" she asked with concern.
CROW: Okay, I guess it's Erin, then.
TOM: If I may cut in here. I'm having a real problem with a GUY
named
ERIN.
> "Shit! I smashed my hand on that rock!" he winced, cradling the swelling
> and bleeding appendage,
MIKE: I think I liked it better when he was speechless.
> "Here, let me see!" she offered. Joyce took a step closer to see her
> injury.
MIKE: Wasn't this Erin's injury?
TOM: SEE WHAT I MEAN? EVEN THE AUTHOR THINKS ERIN'S A WOMAN!
> She could see his hand
> WAS bleeding quite profusely now, and it seemed to be swelling up quite a
> bit. Erin winced as she touched it. "Shit that hurts!" he complained as
> she withdrew her canteen.
CROW: She touched it with her canteen? What the hey?
> "Here, a
> little water will keep it from getting dirty, we have to get you back to
> Cairo, "Caro!?" he thundered
ALL: No, Cairo!!
> "Look at it, it's just a scratch!"
> "That's how it all starts Erin..." she assured, taking his hand.
MIKE: First a scratch, then a scrape, then a laceration, next thing
you know you can't stop. You're spending all your money on
jagged rock and cheese graters, wondering what happened to
your
life.
> Jill
> tipped the bottle to wash his wound. Erin prepared for the worst as the
> liquid began to pour. Clenching his teeth, he waited for the bitter sting
> of the water against his skin. Joyce began to pour the canteen, slowly
> and carefully. as she poured , she watched as the water began to
TOM: Is this in slow-mo, or did she fill her canteen with glue by
mistake?
MIKE: You weren't paying attention. First Jill started to pour from
her canteen, then Joyce started to pour from hers.
TOM: Oh, I see. The editing threw me off. Still, pretty slow water,
huh?
> wash his hand clean and soothe his swelling. A myriad of red clear
CROW: I think he means "plethora."
TOM: One should never presume to know what an ocelot means.
CROW: How aphoristic.
MIKE: Wait a minute. "Red clear?" If it's red it can't be clear, and
if it's clear it can't be--
TOM&
CROW: _We know._
> liquid spilled to the desert floor, quickly being swallowed by the
> parched earth.
MIKE: [as the Earth] "Thanks, I needed that."
> Erin relaxed as Joyce continued to wash and clean out his
> hand, he looked deep into her eyes with love and tenderness, analyzing
> her delicate frame and feminine graces
TOM: [as Erin] "You know, Joyce's delicate frame and feminine
graces
could be the result of either genetic perfection or plastic
surgery. I don't know which."
> "There, that's better!" chipped Joyce, capping the canteen.
TOM: "Chipped?" Is she chiseling it into the wall for him to read?
CROW: "In the castle of ARRRRRGH."
> "I think we'd better get going Erin, you're going to have to have that
> hand looked at!" she advised. Erin loked down into the dust, he could
> feel his dreams being crushed.
MIKE: Like the souls of those forced to read this story.
> leaving now would mean leaving the site
> and the excavation until possibly next year or later, as their
> tempororay work permit for this area was to expire in three days.
CROW: And we all know what a bitch it is getting tempororay work
permits.
> Joyce could see the despair in his face and could almost sense his
> overbearing anguish at being told to leave now, she could sense his
> dejection.
> "Erin dear I DO feel for you, but you see....what's that!" she shot,
CROW: And ran like hell the second he turned around.
> staring past him and into the wall behind him. Her eyes exploded as she
TOM: BLAM!
CROW: AAAAGH!
MIKE: That's gotta hurt.
> walked a bit closer. Erin raised his dejected head.
> "Oh shit!" he stuttered, slowly turning around. Erin's heart exploded in
TOM: BLAM!
CROW: They're dropping like flies! Run, Jill, before the curse gets
you too!
> a heated frenzy of excitement as his eyes also widened as large as
> saucers. The wall behind him had began to seperate a bit, as if it were
> part of a hidden door or something.
TOM: Yeah, or something like that. Some kind of hidden door thing.
But it could be anything, really.
> Joyce, lost in a dreamlike trance,
> began to move for the door. Erin grabbed her arm.
> "No! Don't! Let me!" he cautioned, picking up his hand pick.
MIKE: Fortunately his guitar was back at the hotel.
CROW: I wouldn't want to see this guy try to play guitar.
> He could see here the wall of stone
> meet the wall, and quickly found the right crack he was searching for.
> "More light" he asked moving to scratch at the fissure. Joyce brought the
> light to bear
CROW: [as bear] "Thanks, it was getting dark over here."
> just over his shoulder and directed it's ambiance into
> the small section he was now cornered in.
MIKE: You know, I just _love_ the ambiance in this little place, but
the service is terrible.
TOM: [Midwestern] Oh, but you don't go for the service.
> Erin laid his hand on the
> ground for just a second.
CROW: I guess he won't be needing Joyce and Jill now.
MIKE: Eww!
> "This is incredible!" he exclaimed. "The ground, around this door
> is....WARM, god it feels like a human heart!
MIKE: I think there's something Erin's not telling us about his
past.
TOM: "Oom nom cinnebah..."
> It's all warm and...
CROW: Fuzzy?
MIKE: Chewy?
TOM: Sticky?
> here
> feel it!" he offered. Joyce bent down to feel the ground. " Tyler what
> do you make of this..."
TOM: How did Stephen Tyler get there?
CROW: [sings] Love in Egyptian ruins/Erin got up, Joyce is going
DOWWW--
MIKE: Okay, that's enough.
> "Joyce look! Look at the door!" he noticed, pointing to one side.
TOM: He noticed himself telling her to look at the door?
MIKE: It's really the only way he can get any attention.
> Joyce
> laid her finger down and collected a small spot of crimson from the
> corner of the wall.
> "It's blood Erin- yours!" she rather shockingly announced.
> "Mine?! How?"
TOM: Well, gee, you only shed a whole myriad of your blood in here.
> "It's your wound, your blood opened this door, look here, the droplets
> lead right to the door jamb!" "Son of a bitch!" he shot.
CROW: Did he shoot the son of a bitch dead?
MIKE: I'm afraid not, Crow. He survived and went on to write this
story.
CROW: Damn!
> "What do you make of it?"
> "Over here! " she noticed, returning the light to a far section of wall.
TOM: [as Joyce] "Hey, far section of wall. Here's your light back."
> "Heiroglyphics, look to be of the old kingdom, possibly around 2160 B.C.
> see, this is the god Horus, this is Anubus, and this is Rastafarus...
CROW: Oh, ya mon, Rastafarus, the dredlocked god of the ganja...
> what does it all mean..."
MIKE: [as Erin] "Now is not the time for philosophical
introspection,
Joyce, just translate the mother."
> "Here, third line, right under Horus...
> YE WHO ENTER THOUGHT AND MIND NOT COLLAPSE BUT BE AS ONE AMONG
> THE RICHES OF THE PHAROAH THINE IS THE GLORY BELONGING TO THY
> GUARDIAN AWABASTET
TOM: Interesting how those Ancient Egyptians knew Old English.
CROW: Well, didn't they?
> "Awabastet?" asked Joyce." Who's that?" she questioned.
CROW: You're the Egyptologist, babe. You tell me.
> Erin stroked his
> chin for a second and squinted into the tiny scratches in the wall,
> attempting too understand their meaning. '"Look there's more."
MIKE: [as Erin] "We also get this set of steak knives absolutely
free."
TOM: You know, I hear you can cut a tin can with them.
CROW: But you wouldn't want to!
> he noticed, feeling around the door jambs. "Here, right here in the
> corner....
> THIS DOOR TO REMAIN UNLOCKED DURING BUSINESS HOURS...
> "You silly son of a bitch!" joked Joyce, as Erin turned an began to
> laugh silently.
MIKE: Erin's a real cut-up among the archaeology crowd.
> "No, really there's more..." she noticed,
MIKE: [as Joyce] "If you act now, we'll throw in this attractive
turnip twaddler at no extra cost!"
TOM: You know, we could use one of them, what with all these
untwaddled turnips lying around.
CROW: Tom, sometimes you wig me.
> getting closer to the wall
> THE BLOOD OF ONE SO PURE WILL RELEASE IN ALL THE POWER OF DREAMS
> AND ETERNAL LIFE FOR THOU DOEST PLEASE THEE IN THY MANNERS AND
> ACTIONS BY THY COMFORTS AND ATTENTIONS
TOM: THE BLOOD OF AN ASSHOLE LIKE ERIN HOWEVER WILL RELEASE THE
FURY
OF ALL HELL WHICH SHALT VERILY BE BROKEN LOOSE.
> PRAISE O THOU
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Parts 2 and 3 to follow...right now!