MSTing! "My Attorney" [Pt 1 of 2]
pinkboy
extreme violence, and Mark Russel. It is therefore not appropriate
for children under 14. Children over 14 won't be too thrilled with
it, either. Hispanic bus dispatchers will sort of stare past the
text, shaking their heads to signify their quiet disdain. Menopausal
women? Tch! They'll slap you just for mentioning the title.
Mystery Science Theater 3000:
"My Attorney" [Spam]
(with "Animal Instinct" by Shadowfax)
MSTed by Brendan Herlihy
--------------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAIMER
Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are
copyright Best Brains, Inc. "Animal Instinct" copyright Shadowfax.
"Quantum Leap", its characters, and situations copyright Belisarius
Productions and Universal Studios. Kermit the Frog copyright Henson
Studios. "My Attorney" is received spam- hardcore title rules apply
(no DQ's, falls count anywhere).
Thrilling headgear! Spine-tingling toast!
Copyright 2001 Brendan Herlihy.
---------------------------------------------------------------
@ TURN DOWN YOUR BRAIN @
(where available)
[Season 10 Opening Sequence]
o/~ For MYSTERY SCEINCE THEATER, 3000! o/~
o/~ B-R-R-R-ANG! o/~
/ * \... = 2 =... > 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
[OPEN ON: SOL Bridge. Mike is in the middle of peeling an apple (he's
taking the peel off in a long, thin, continuous strip very
impressively) as Crow watches. On the desk to their right are two raw
pie shells filled with sliced apples.]
MIKE: You want cheese on yours?
CROW: Hey, I've heard of putting cheese on apple pie! Maybe a smoked
gouda, or a nicely aged Vermont cheddar?
MIKE: We've got block Velveeta that's been left out on the counter a
week.
CROW: Perfect!
[Stage left, TOM enters, earnestly and excited.]
TOM: Mike! Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike! Mi-i-i-ike!
MIKE: [shrugging] OK.
TOM: You remember how, last night, at the Annual SOL Robot Weenie
Roast Singalong Jamboree, how you took out your old six string and
sang how, if you had a hammer, you'd hammer in the morning, you'd
hammer in the evening, all over this land?
MIKE: [nodding happily] Oh yeah. I got to wear my Ranger Rick uniform
with the snappy iron-on badges. Neat.
TOM: Well, I was rummaging through the old storage closet over by the
hydroponics bay, and guess what?
[Tom indicates something below the desk. Mike warily ducks under, and
comes up with an ordinary old claw hammer. He holds it up with his
fingertips at each end, as if it were a delicate antique.]
MIKE: Huh.
CROW: Look at that.
MIKE: Weird.
TOM: [a little anxious] Well? Aren't you gonna…?
MIKE: [catching on] Oh. OK, sure.
[Mike rubs the handle a little bit (a la a baseball bat), then grabs
the hammer in one hand, raises it awkwardly, and weakly brings it down
softly through the air without making contact with anything. He makes
a quarter turn to the right, again raises it awkwardly, again takes a
half-hearted, lazy swing. Quarter turn to the left, one last time.]
MIKE: [gently laying the hammer down] I liked that. That was fun.
TOM: [angry] What, that's it?! A few swooshy swings barely worthy of
Emo Phillips? This constitutes "hammering in the evening" to you?
MIKE: Tom, it's quarter to five. Hardly the evening.
TOM: What, so waiting an hour and a half would make it more
inspiring?! And what about "all over this land"? You said you'd
hammer all over this land! WHAT ABOUT THAT, HUH?!
CROW: Tom, we're in space. This desk IS our land.
TOM: So, MIKE. In summary, what you MEANT to sing was, if you had a
hammer, you'd hold it limply in your hand, give a swing so pathetic
even air molecules wouldn't bother to get out of the way,
half-heartedly repeat the action more out of a sense of obligation
than moral authority, then QUIT when it got boring, all without moving
your PASTY WHITE BUTT one FLIPPIN' INCH FROM THE DESK!!!
MIKE: [considering] Yeah. Yeah, I guess that is what I meant to sing!
CROW: Thanks for clearing that up, Tommy.
TOM: [bawling] Oh, bite me, you disillusioning freaks!
[Tom sobs uncontrollably. Mike and Crow watch.]
CROW: [to Mike] Jeez, thank god you didn't do "This Land Is Your
Land", or he'd be doing a title search.
MIKE: [while comforting Tom] We'll be right back.
TOM: [still crying] It's not even a hammer of justice, is it?
MIKE: Hm, let me check. [holds hammer up to examine] Nope! Says
here, "Craftsman". It's a hammer of Craftsman.
TOM: God damn your empty soul!
[CUT TO: Planet bumper, Commercials]
=======
[OPEN ON: SOL Bridge. Tom is weeping softly. Mike has his guitar
strapped around his neck, and he's strumming.]
MIKE: Oh, now, buck up, Servo. C'mon, I promise we'll find you a folk
song with a literal meaning we can all feel comfortable with. How
about this?
[Mike strums the strings to tune, then starts playing:]
MIKE: o/~He's got the whole, wo-orld! In his hands!
He's got- o/~ [stops short]
No, I guess that's a non-starter, isn't it.
CROW: What with the world being so…
TOM: And hands being so…
MIKE: Yeah. Let's try another. [starts again]
o/~ Michael rowed the boat ashore! Hal-le-luuuu, jah!
Michael rowed the boat ashore! Hal-le-luu, uuu-! o/~
TOM: [interrupting] Mike? Excuse me. You? Rowing a boat ashore? We
barely have confidence in your abilities to open a jar of mayonnaise!
You think we're gonna buy you rowing a boat ashore?
CROW: Without repeated pratfalls into the lake, ocean, or rivulet
being traversed.
MIKE: [pathetic protests] But it's a different Michael…
CROW: And what's with this "Hallelujah" thing? You're performing a
mundane, everyday watersport activity, not finding a cure for cervical
cancer!
TOM: Face it, Nelson, there's only one context in which this song
makes sense: Sarcasm!
MIKE: Sarcasm?
CROW: Yeah. You start, we'll punctuate.
MIKE: [uneasy] Well, OK. [starts strumming] o/~ Michael rowed the
boat ashore! o/~
BOTS: [sarcastic, more spoken than sung] HAL-L-L-L-LELUJAH!
MIKE: o/~ Michael rowed the boat ashore! o/~
TOM: [same] Oh Hosanna on highest! Hallelujah! Good one Nelson!
[Planet sign flashes. Mike notices as he continues to sing.]
MIKE: o/~ Pearl is calling on the light o/~
CROW: [fairly dripping sarcasm now] Oo, projected luminescence!
Hallelujah!
MIKE: [still sort of singing] No guys, I'm serious, it's not part of
the song.
TOM: [still sarcastic] Oo, Mike breaks from the lyric to impart
information. Can I hear an amen? Hallelujah!
[Mike hits the light.]
[CUT TO: Castle Forrester. Pearl is in the middle of peeling a banana
as Bobo watches. She's using a vegetable peeler, yet somehow taking
the peel off in a long, thin, continuous strip. On the desk to their
right are two raw pie shells filled with sliced bananas.]
PEARL: You want cheese on yours?
BOBO: Hey, I've heard of putting cheese on banana cream pie! Maybe a
smoked gouda, or a nicely aged Vermont cheddar?
PEARL: We've got block Velveeta that's been left out on the counter a
week.
BOBO: Perfect!
[Brain Guy enters, stage left.]
BRAIN GUY: Pearl! Pearl Pearl Pearl Pearl Pearl!
Pe-e-e-e-earl!
PEARL: [shrugging] OK.
BRAIN GUY: You remember how, last night, at the Annual Castle
Forrester Talking Ape/Omnipotent Being/Mad Scientist Weenie Roast
Singalong Jamboree, how you took out your old six string-
[CUT TO: SOL. They are in disbelief.]
TOM: [shaking his head] You know, I should be angry. But I'm too
filled with pity.
CROW: [amused] Ridiculous! Cheese on pie?
MIKE: [double-take to Crow] Would you forget about the pie! [to
castle] Pearl, what in the name of Kinko's going on down there?!
[CUT TO: Castle. Brain Guy is yelling at Pearl, who's standing there
clueless, holding a sledgehammer.]
BRAIN GUY: And what about "all over this land"? You said you'd hammer
all over this land! WHAT ABOUT THAT, HUH?!
BOBO: Brain Guy, we're in space.
[Pearl drops out of character a fraction of a second to stomp the
handle of the sledge into Bobo's foot.]
BOBO: OOCH! I mean, in a castle. The torture rack IS our land.
[CUT TO: SOL.]
TOM: [pitying] I feel like we should be calling someone.
MIKE: Pearl? Care to contribute some exposition at this point?
[CUT TO: The Castle. Brain Guy collapses in tears.]
BRAIN GUY: Oh, bite me, you disillusioning freaks!
[Off camera, we hear a single person clapping. On stage walks Paul
Chaplin in a casual suit, as MARLON, the Cable TV Executive. Everyone
gathers around him and revels in their success.]
MARLON: Marvelous! Pearl, darling, one word: I really, really loved
it!
PEARL: We did catch a vibe and run with it, didn't we?
BRAIN GUY: We have another sketch.
PEARL: Which we also wrote!
BOBO: All by ourselves!
PEARL: It goes like this.
[All three quickly produce life-sized cardboard cut-outs of
themselves, and wield them as they sing.]
ALL: o/~ HOB, goblins! HOB, goblins! What do you get with those HOB,
goblins? o/~
MARLON: [laughing] Delightful! As a prominent Cable Television
Executive, I feel confident that your proposal for a new comedy
television series shows great potential. John Q. Public will eat you
up with sauce on the side. I'm prepared to offer a twenty-four
episode contract!
[CUT TO: SOL.]
ALL: [resentful] HEY!
[CUT TO: Castle. Marlon is looking in camera, confused. Pearl guides
him away.]
PEARL: Running gag. Throughout the show, they cut into the skits we
wrote and go, "HEEEY!".
MARLON: Ah! Just the thing to attract Johnny Skateboard to our
network. How "totally", "righteous", "dude", as it were. Now, before
we set things to paper, of course we'll need to discuss the inevitable
retooling.
PEARL: [offended] Retooling?! You said we were great!
MARLON: Oh, let's face it, Pearl. People don't tune in to watch
non-famous people gad about with pies. No, no. FAMOUS people with
pies! That's what Joe Sixpack and Jane Sixpack and their two
children, Becky and Troy Sixpack, want to see!
PEARL: [pouting, but resigned] Well, if it'll get us our show…
MARLON: I've shaken a few comedy trees, as it were, and I'm pleased to
announce that three very respected names in the field have agreed to
sign on, as it were. I've taken the liberty of drugging them with
sodium pentathol, as it were, and shooting them, as it were as it were
as it were, up in one of those discount Russian satellites so popular
with Mickey Nasa these days. As it were. They should be approaching
your little orbiting television studio as we speak.
[CUT TO: SOL.]
MIKE: What, here?! You can't send three more people up here, there's
no room!
[CUT TO: Castle. Pearl has her hands on a great big lever, with a
big, well lit, and very obvious sign that says "SOL Trap Door
Activation Lever!". Various arrows and pointing fingers lead from the
sign to the lever. The lever itself has a sign saying, "Yes! This
one! Here!"]
PEARL: Good point, Nelson. But I think your argument would be more
effective if you were all… oh, maybe… two steps to the left.
[CUT TO: SOL.]
MIKE: Well, I don't see how…
TOM: C'mon, Mike, take some constructive criticism for once.
CROW: She's just trying to make your presentation more effective.
TOM: And effective presentations are the lifeblood of the modern
decision-making process so vital to today's
Internet-economy-on-the-go!
MIKE: [warily] Well, OK… [takes two steps, as do Tom and Crow] From
here?
PEARL: [off screen] Little more!
[Mike and the bots mumble and move as she suggests.]
MIKE: Now?
PEARL: Perfect!
[FX of a huge gears clunking into place. The trap door opens, and
all three of our heroes scream as they plummet through trap door.]
[INSERT: Exterior shot of SOL. Three tiny figures plummet out of the
Satellite, screaming.]
[CUT TO: Castle. Marlon is softly clapping, he's delighted.]
MARLON: Ah-ha, stellar asphyxiation, yes. Just what Tommy Von Target
Demographic wants to see, as it were. Now, the new cast should be
docking any moment. I'll leave it to you to film the pilot, Pearl.
PEARL: Yes, of course. I'll hire the crew, start script meetings on
Tuesday-
MARLON: No rush, as long as we have a taped show in the can by… [looks
at his watch] sixteen minutes from now.
PEARL: WHAT?!
[MARLON's cell phone rings.]
MARLON: That'll be the money. Pardon me while I take this somewhere
that isn't here.
[Marlon exits, as Pearl panics. She grabs Brain Guy and shakes him.]
PEARL: Whaddawedowhaddawedowhaddawedo?!
BRAIN GUY: I suppose we could send them that short we were going to
send Michael.
PEARL: Yes! Yes! Then have them pad the rest of the show with some
dull, boring yak yak we can call improv! Brilliant!
[Pearl quickly dons her floppy director's beret and megaphone.]
PEARL: [through megaphone] OK, talent on center stage! Doing this in
one take! Chop chop! Switching to Satellite feed… now!
[CUT TO: SOL Bridge. It's dark and empty. Hold for a beat. Then,
slowly popping his head onto the screen, is…]
ANDY DICK: Oh, wow. Guys?
[Dick touches the lens of Cambot experimentally. He is
discomfortingly close to the camera.]
ANDY: Guys, check this out. I think we're on "Spy TV" or something.
[Dick flattens his cheek and nose against the lens. Suddenly we hear
a crescendo from a piano. Cambot immediately PANS to the left, giving
Dick a nasty crack and knocking him backwards over the desk. Cambot
pans to MARK RUSSEL, standing at a red, white, and blue piano,
bursting into a bouncy song which starts not unlike "Baby Face".]
RUSSEL: o/~ Oh! Spy TV!
You thought it's "Friends", but no!
It's Spy TV!
By Ian Flemming!
If you ever see a spy,
And he's up on your TV,
You might call Donald Rumsfeld,
But don't call Dick Che-ney!
He'll be WAAA-tching! SPY, T! VEEEEEE! o/~
[Two chord finale.]
[CUT TO: Pearl. She is deep in a crestfallen shock.]
PEARL: If there is any sense of order, justice and decency in the
universe, please tell me you're not the talent.
[CUT TO: SOL. Dick begins to preen and play with his shirt, and
massage Russel's shoulders in a quasi-sexy way that is just not right.
Russel mugs for the camera.]
ANDY: Oo, yeah, baby. We're hot burning slabs of laughter-causing
machinery, ready and willing to rock your world!
RUSSEL: Oh, and Brian there.
[Russel indicates something beneath the piano. Cambot pans, and
indeed, there is a quiet, 30-something, scraggly bearded young man
down there, sitting Indian style, trying not to be noticed. He won't
look at the camera.]
BRIAN: [softly] Hi.
[CUT TO: Castle. Pearl knows she is screwed, so resorts to sarcasm.]
PEARL: Brian! Well of course! Brian! Hello Brian! So I suppose
you're a randy, saucy encyclopedia of tasteless off-color jokes,
right?
[CUT to Brian. He shyly, quickly shakes his head, looking away in his
own private world.]
BRIAN: No.
[CUT to Pearl.]
PEARL: No? Then you sing songs? Dance a jolly Highland Fling,
perhaps?
[CUT to Brain. Same reaction as before.]
BRIAN: No.
[CUT to Pearl.]
PEARL: Well, then, Brian, would you mind telling me exactly WHAT YOU
DO BRING TO THE TABLE?!
[CUT to Brian. From behind his back, he brings forward KERMIT THE
FROG, for sad as it may seem, this is BRIAN HENSON.]
BRIAN: I brought my father's puppet?
[Buzzers sound. Lights flash. PAN up to the desk so we can see Andy
and Mark. The apple pie from before is back on the desk.]
ANDY: Oh, my god! Fire drill!
RUSSEL: [playing] o/~ Burning down the house! o/~
PEARL: [v.o. through megaphone] It's fiction sign, you
News Radi-yutz! Get in the theater! AND BRING THAT PIE!
BRIAN: [holds Kermit awkwardly, does voice and shakes puppet]
YAAAAAAY!
| 6 |... ( 5 )... [ 4 ]...
* * * * * * *
[CUT from door sequence. Play 1950's Intermission-style music, perky,
bouncy. INSERT a screen reading,
======================
Meanwhile, one half-mile
below the satellite…
====================== ]
[CUT TO: Deep space. Mike, Crow, and Tom are plummeting to their
deaths.]
ALL: [looking down in sheer terror] WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
[All scream until they run out of breath. All stop, gasp for breath
for several seconds. Mike clutches Crow's shoulder to gather himself.
Then they inhale and resume.]
ALL: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
[All run out of breath, again gasp desperately to regain their breath.
Then inhale, and:]
ALL: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
[All run out of breath. Gasp, gasp, gasp, gasp.]
MIKE: One more time?
TOM: [pleasantly] Sure!
CROW: I'm game.
ALL: [terror resuming] YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
[Mike and the bots gasp. Mike clutches his side. When they have
their breath, they pause, and look around.]
CROW: Nope. Still plummeting to our deaths.
MIKE: Well heck. I'm out of ideas. Anyone else?
* * * * * * *
[CUT TO: The SOL theater. Normal shadow of seats, but there's a grand
piano with a raised wing on the left. ANDY and BRIAN file into the
theater on the right. Andy is carrying the pie. Brian holds Kermit
slightly, almost timidly, over his head.]
ANDY: [in awe] Man, would you look at the trailer I got for this gig!
This must be that "buzz" my agent is always talking about.
KERMIT: [his lips completely out of sych] Hi ho!
[Suddenly we hear Magic Voice announce:]
MADGE: Ladies and gentlemen, live from WGBH affiliate on the Satellite
of Love, please welcome Mark Russel!
[FX of applause as Mark files in the theater, waving to no one. He
awkwardly shuffles past Brian and Andy.]
KERMIT: [mouth still out of synch] Hey, watch it!
MARK: Thank you!
ANDY: [his foot stepped on] Ow! That's my corn!
MARK: Thank you for that heartfelt and underwhelming ovation.
[takes his seat at the piano] You know, folks, musical parody and
political satire both have long proud traditions, and with your kind
indulgence, I'll be betraying the hell out of'em for the next thirty
minutes.
>Animal Instincts
>by Shadowfax
>
MARK: [playing] o/~ Oh, elephants and donkeys,
political mammals!
They screw us like they do
on the Discovery channel! o/~
[Brian makes Kermit laugh like Ernie on Sesame Street.]
>Rated G
>
>Standard disclaimers apply.
>
ANDY: [fawning over Kermit] Wow, that is so neat!
KERMIT: Thank you.
ANDY: I used to collect these! Until I dropped $16K on a used Rainbow
Happy Bear off eBay. Whew! My accountant used swears I'd never heard
before. Loooong, boring accountant swears.
KERMIT: [arms flopping sadly] YAAAAAAY!
ANDY: [amazed] How do you make it talk like that?
>Sam shook his head slowly. What happened? A minute ago he had
>been about to kiss the very pretty girl who had just agreed to
>marry him, and now he was on his hands and knees in some alley,
>looking down at a bunch of garbage.
MARK: [as he tunes up] Speaking of looking down at a bunch of garbage,
let's welcome my co-stars, Andy Something and a green sock. How ya
doin', Andy?
ANDY: Well-
MARK: [quickly] I don't care. [plays to the "Doublemint" jingle] o/~
'W' pleasure! 'W' fun! George Bush in office, except it's his son!
o/~
ANDY: Oh wow, gum! I like gum.
KEMRIT: Speaking as a frog, I have no opinion on gum.
* * * * * * *
[CUT AWAY. INSERT PLACARD reading:]
=======================
Meanwhile, just above
the earth's atmosphere…
=======================
[CUT to Outer Space. Mike, Tom and Crow are still falling. Tom and
Crow are joking around. Mike, however, seems depressed.]
TOM: [to Crow] So I said, "MOTT the Hoople?! I hardly KNOW the
Hoople!"
[Tom and Crow laugh boisterously. As they peter out, Tom notices Mike
is not laughing.]
TOM: [to Mike] Heeeey, sunshine? Why that mopy mug?
MIKE: Oh, I don't know, guys. I was just thinkin'… why am I so
unlucky?
CROW: Unlucky?
MIKE: You know… [uneasily pointing downward]
TOM: Aw, c'mon, Mike. It's all a matter of perspective.
CROW: Yeah! I mean, think about it. We're surrounded by the vacuum
of space! By all rights, the lack of atmospheric pressure should've
caused your body to explode in a single, catastrophic- and may I add,
gooey- spurt of entrails! But have you?
MIKE: Well… no, I guess not.
TOM: Right! And what about the lack of air? I mean, really. Would
an "unlucky" person be able to survive a complete absence of
oxygenated red blood cells?
CROW: Call me a gold-painted optimist, but I think not!
MIKE: [coming around] Gosh. I… I never thought of it that way!
CROW: Yeah, and how about this gravity we're experiencing? Why, your
normal, average, everyday schmoes would probably be drifting off into
the inky vastness of space, receding until they were a speck on a
freckle on the flea of existence, never to be seen, heard from, or
tasted again!
TOM: But not us!
CROW: Nuh-uh. See Mike, we choose to recognize how blessed we've been
blessed, and focus on our embarrassment of life's rose-colored bounty-
which is always greener on the other side of the septic tank!
MIKE: [getting teary-eyed] Aw, gee. I must be just about the luckiest
man speeding towards the face of the earth!
[All drink in the moment. Then:]
TOM: Assuming you don't burn to a cinder upon hitting the atmosphere.
[Mike double-takes.]
CROW: Don't be ridiculous, Servo! He'd never survive the re-entry
forces shearing his body apart like a belt sander!
* * * * * * *
[CUT BACK to SOL theater. Mark, Andy and Kermit/Brian are still in
their own world, seemingly oblivious to the fic.]
>He must have leaped again.
>
>Why was he on his hands and knees, though? Had some*thing* or
>some*one* just knocked him down?
ANDY: Oh, guys! I gotta show you this. I've been working on my Tom
Green impression. Watch.
[Andy begins to climb upon his seat.]
>He looked around cautiously,
>but there was no one else in the alley with him. Might as well
>stand up, then.
>
ANDY: Lookit! Lookit! Watch. [he rubs his butt on the top of the
seat] My bum is on the seat. My bum is on the seat.
KERMIT: [wary] Um…
MARK: Why, that looks like a man who needs a little butt-rubbing
music, ifyaknowwhatImean. [playing] o/~ Oh, rub-a-bum! Rub-a-bum!
Butt, butt- o/~ [he stops abruptly] I have no pride.
>But when he tried to stand, his legs wouldn't work right and he
>somehow couldn't get his balance.
ANDY: Ooh! How about- [he scooches his butt toward Kermit] My butt is
on the frog.
KERMIT: [shocked] Wha- DON'T butt on the frog!
ANDY: [moving closer] My butt is on the frog.
KERMIT: You get that butt off the frog right now, mister!
MARK: [bursting into song] o/~ Jeremiah was a butt frog! o/~
KERMIT: He was not!!
>He felt a moment of panic.
>Had his legs been injured? He wasn't the man with no legs
>again, was he?
MARK: [continuing] o/~ Was a good friend of mine! o/~ [stops] Then
some other stuff, blah blah. And it ends with "Senator Mike DeWine!"
[resumes] o/~ Yes we always had some Michael DeWine! o/~
ANDY: Ooh! My butt is Mike DeWine! [does a deep, deep voice while he
moves his butt cheeks to pretend it's talking] Helloooooo, little
beanie buddy! I'm Mike DeWine! Kiss me!
[Kermit shudders and cowers and the butt approaches him.]
* * * * * * *
[INSERT screen reading:
=======================
Meanwhile, at an altitude
of 50,000 feet…
=======================
[CUT TO: Earth's atmosphere. Mike, Crow, and Tom, still falling.
Mike is holding a "Bop-It".]
BOP-IT: Twist it!
[Mike does, and passes it to Crow.]
BOP-IT: Bop it!
[Crow pecks it with his beak. Mike takes it from him.]
BOP-IT: Pull it!
[Mike, does and passes it to Tom. But with no working arms, it just
bounces off his body and floats away. All watch in despair as it
leaves.]
BOP-IT: [receding] Damn it! Curse it! Screw it! Fu…
[Everyone winces, but thankfully the volume drops before we hear the
rest of its diatribe.]
CROW: Ho, great. Now what do we do?
MIKE: [after a beat] I've got a pocket Scrabble set.
[Mike takes set from inside his jumpsuit. He opens it, and the tiles
and racks clatter up and away.]
MIKE: [watching them go] Oh. Right.
* * * * * * *
[CUT BACK to the theater. Andy's still threatening to rub his butt on
Kermit, and he's got him cornered. Kermit is trembling.]
>He turned to look behind him at his legs and was
>startled to see a big hairy tail waving at him.
[Just before the butt touches Kermit, the puppet tries something.]
KERMIT: [desperate] Wait! Wait! Andy! Do you have a cold?!
ANDY: [dropping his butt routine, concerned] No, I don't think so.
Why?
KERMIT: There's a frog in your throat.
[Kermit suddenly violently shoves himself down Andy's throat. Dick
grabs his neck, choking.]
>He jumped and
>the tail disappeared, tucking itself between his legs. *His*
>legs ... *Sam's* legs. *He had a tail!* What was going on
>here??!?
[Andy is punching at Brian's arm, weakly, as he runs out of air.]
MARK: o/~ He's got, you! Under your skin!
Can't someone, do trach-e-o-to-my? o/~
BRIAN: [in Kermit's voice, pleasant] Keep singing, Mark! You're the
next to die!
>He began to run on all fours - all four *legs*' he had four
>legs! - through the alley.
>
>Spotting part of a broken mirror that someone had propped
>against a garbage can, he paused to look into it.
[Andy Dick slumps to the floor, dead. Kermit slowly rises, as he and
Brian deliberately advance on the piano playing satirist.]
MARK: Oh my! [nervous, but plays quickly]
o/~ I better run for my life if I can, Colin Powell!
"Puppet Master 6" should be banned, Colin Powell!
If the dummy is un-mannnnned, that's the ennnn-duh!
Colin Powell! o/~
>The
>reflection staring back at him was that of a little black dog
>with perky ears and a long nose.
[Brian shoves Kermit into the terrified face of Mark Russel.]
KERMIT/BRIAN: Didn't you know satire is a dying art?
[Brian, in his free hand, shoves an apple pie in Russel's face with a
SPLORT! Mark's head is pushed into the body of the piano. Kermit
swiftly grabs the prop holding up the piano's top, which falls,
crushes Mark's head. The echo of vibrating piano wires reverberates
throughout the theater. The body spasms and goes limp.]
>Sam's mouth dropped open and
>the dog began to pant.
>
[Brian has started to hyperventilate. Something inside him is
struggling to get out. He's tearing at his clothes with his free
hand.]
BRIAN: [gasping, child-like] Daddy?! Daddy?! You promised we'd do
finger puppets, Daddy!
[However, the hand holding Kermit is composed. The frog puppet looks
at him crossly.]
KERMIT: Daddy is busy, Brian. Go in the corner and he'll call for you
later.
BRIAN: But-!
KERMIT: In the corner, Brian!
BRIAN: [crushed, but holding back the tears] Yes, daddy.
[With that, Brian swoons into a faint, collapsing off the screen
completely. The hand holding Kermit remains up and functional.]
>He was a dog! He had leaped into a dog!
>
>"Ro, roy," barked Sam.
>
[Kermit looks around at the bodies surrounding him.]
KERMIT: Jeez. That kid sure does leave a mess.
[Kermit ducks down under the seats.]
>
>The End
>
>
[Kermit pops back up wearing a pair of goggles, wielding an electric
carving knife.]
KERMIT: OK, Dick. Time to play "What Happens Next?: The Corpse
Disposal Game!".
ANDY: [popping up] I'm not dead.
KERMIT: [shaking his head] Andy, Andy, Andy…
[Kermit turns on the carving knife, and leaps on a protesting Andy
Dick as we…]
[CUT TO Door Sequence. BUT in mid-run we… CUT AWAY]
* * * * * * *
[INSERT screen reading:
=======================
Meanwhile…
aw, hell, you
figure it out.
=======================
[CUT TO: Sky. Mike, Tom, Crow, still falling. Mike is on a cell
phone.]
MIKE: No ma'am. No. No, I don't want a trial subscription to the
Fresno Bee. [pause] Or to get "Paycheck Protection" for my Visa or
MasterCard. [pause] Or to enjoy the benefits of genuine vinyl siding.
[Mike covers the receiver and talks to Crow and Tom] Man, these
telemarketers call at the worst times!
TOM and CROW: Yeah/I know what you mean…
MIKE: [resumes talking to phone] See ma'am, we're currently plummeting
to our deaths, so if you could- what? [pause, sudden interest] I've
got fast-track approval for a home improvement loan?
TOM: [enthusiastic] Wow! A home improvement loan?!
CROW: Ask about their special rates, Mike!
[Mike nods and talks to the lady in earnest.]
>>> END Part 1 of 2