MISTED: "The Borg Who Say Ni"
Andrew McIntosh
"The Borg Who Say Ni"
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MiSTed by Andrew McIntosh. Proofread by John Olaveson.
Please send your comments, critiques, flames, etc, to andr...@hotmail.com
Messages are welcome.
----------------------
[Opening Theme]
[@...2...3...4...5...6...{}...]
[SOL]
[Mike and the Bots are role-playing on a badly constructed mockup of
the bridge of the original Enterprise, in vaguely passable costumes]
MIKE: (decorated as Kirk) Hi, everybody. I'm Mike Nelson and these
are my two robot buddies, Crow and Tom Servo. Today, we're trying
to get a little fun in before the Mads call.
CROW: (decorated as Scotty) We're doing a special today! It's
called "Stab Trek! Hot beer, cold women, lousy food!"
TOM: (decorated as Spock) Captain! We are approaching a planet called
"Hot-Bods-R-Us". They claim to have the best women and beer in the
quadrant.
MIKE: (Kirk) Beam us a sample, Mr. Scott.
CROW: (Scott) Aye, captain.
(Gypsy comes in, dressed as Yeoman Rand)
GYPSY: (Rand) Here's your dinner, sir. (Hands Mike a tray)
MIKE: (Kirk) (sniffs food, tastes it) Hey! This food tastes like partially
recycled horse entrails! Get this crap out of my sight! (Throws food
at lift door)
GYPSY: (Rand) Boohoo! The captain doesn't like it! But I put
my heart and soul into it!
MIKE: (Kirk) Now get me some decent beer!
TOM: (Spock) We have a sample of the beer, captain. I am sending
it to the bridge.
(Three big mugs of beer materialize on the bridge)
CROW: (Scott) (takes a swig) Hey! (spits it out) This crap is warm!
Where's my whisky!
MIKE: (Kirk) We stole the last of it a while... uh... you... drank
it all a while ago.
CROW: (Scott) Damn.
TOM: (Spock) (bends over, somehow manages to take a sip) He is right,
captain. This alcohol compound is at room temperature!
MIKE: (Kirk) (reaches over and flings the "beer" away) That's it.
I won't take any more. Mr. Scott, lock phasers on the planet and
prepare to fry it.
CROW: (Scott) (under his breath) Like you haven't done that enough.
MIKE: (Kirk) What was that, Mr. Scott?
CROW: (Scott) Eh... phasers locked, captain. Ready to fire.
MIKE: (Kirk) Then do it.
(Cheap explosion noises, the viewscreen flickers)
TOM: (Spock) Direct hit captain. Planet destroyed.
MIKE: (Kirk) I'm not blind or senile, Spock.
(They are interrupted by the flashing light. Mike reaches over
and hits it)
[Deep 13]
DR.F: Getting a little more practice in, eh?
[SOL]
MIKE: (normal) No. Just... uh...
CROW: (normal, cuts in) ...Having a little fun at the expense of Trek.
[Deep 13]
DR.F: Ah well. Your experiment this week is a little piece of
TNG swill called "The Borg Who Say Ni". Eat hot fanfic, dunces.
[SOL]
(Fanfic sign, general chaos)
ALL: AAARRRGGGHHH! Fanfic Sign!!
[They enter the theater]
[{}...6...5...4...3...2...@]
Disclaimer:
TOM: Ooh, no header. But I had some good header jokes!
The Star Trek universe is the copyrighted property of Paramount, and
borrowed solely for the use of this story.
MIKE: Paramount owns this town.
The story is copyright 1997
TOM: Who would steal _Trek_ stories? Just think of _Treklander_!
ALL: <shudder>
by Ariana (ari...@compuserve.com). All rights reserved. Do not distribute
CROW: If you do not wish mailbombs hand-delivered to your door.
without the present header and the author's written permission.
TOM: Do not fold, spindle or mutilate.
Please
contact the author if you wish
MIKE: Psychiatric treatment.
to include this story in an archive.
Archived at: http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/ariane
CROW: It's a whole lotta loving goin' on!
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
ALL: Aren't they cute?
The Borg who say Ni
TOM: (falsetto kind of sneering voice) Ni, ni, ni, ni!
= = = = = = = = = = =
by Ariana (ari...@compuserve.com)
MIKE: A name that will go down through the ages, among the likes of
Ratliff, Elwaine, and Winston.
CROW: Mike, that was just plain SICK!
= = = = = = = = = =
"We are the Borg who say Ni. You will be assimilated."
Someone on the Internet
TOM: The Internet. A hub for society's elite and intelligent upper class. Also a hub for the continuity-impared fanfic-cranking Trekkies.
It was just another day on the starship Enterprise-E. Just
like the
day before, and the day before that,
MIKE: Frag a Romulan, frag a Romulan, frag a Romulan... No wait, that's Ratliff. Crap.
and the day... well, basically
like every day since they had returned to their time after enjoying
an
adventure holiday
CROW: An _adventure holiday_. Think of the possibilities here,
folks.
MIKE: Don't go there, Crow.
on 21st century Earth, blasting Borg and messing
around with timelines... the usual old stuff.
TOM: Screwing with reality! Finally, someone tells it like it is! Right on, Sister!
Things had been very calm since then, and the Enterprise-E
bridge
staff were settled in their usual routine on the little bridge.
MIKE: The little bridge that thought it could.
TOM: Does anyone actually remember that story?
Data
was playing Doom with Ensign Ethnic,
CROW: Double entendre. Also, it's nice to see that games have advanced since our time. Although, I did like Doom.
who was at the helm,
MIKE: Who needs to pilot the ship, when we have DOOM to amuse us?
Riker
was
trying to trim the grey out of his beard before he started looking
like Father Christmas,
TOM: He's greying in his thirties? Come on, he's not that stressed or
active.
CROW: _Active_, Servo? You forget who you're talking about.
Troi was knocking it back,
CROW: [singing] Everybody must get STONED!
ALL: [singing] They'll stone you at the breakfast table. They'll
stone you when you're tryin' to stay sober. They'll stone ya when
you wanna go home...
and Picard's snoring
ALL: *snicker*
was competing with the warpcoil to see which would produce the most
background noise.
MIKE: That was tasteless.
Riker looked at himself in the mirror and briefly pondered
whether
he should dye his beard and give up on the trimming
ALL: DEMOXONIL!
when a
deep and
profound thought (as opposed to a deep and shallow one...) occurred
to
him.
MIKE: Uh, Riker got a deep and profound thought? Did we miss something, guys?
"I'm bored," he declared.
CROW: [as Riker, to Troi] Hey baby, gimme some sugar. I like my women hammered.
Picard woke up with a start and pulled out his phaser. "Humph?
Borg?! Where? Where?" he yelled as he shot around him.
TOM: Always a reflex you want in your Starfleet C.O.'s. Only $29.95.
Everyone ducked
until he had calmed down.
MIKE: Which would be never, because he was trapped in a psychotic delusional
universe.
ALL: [singing] And you should have seen us knock 'em dead on Venus
with all my favorite tunes! I'm a spaceship superstar!
Data had just taken this opportunity to shoot
TOM: Pool.
Ensign Ethnic,
TOM: That works too. Let me guess what color his uniform is.
MIKE: But Tom, he has a name.
TOM: Oh.
so he
swivelled around in his play-pen to look at the captain.
CROW: Data? Playpen? *snickers loudly* I am the Lindbergh baby!
"I believe Commander Riker was merely stating that he is
tired of
doing nothing,"
TOM: Riker does a _little_ more than nothing in his spare time.
he explained, making a brave effort to hide
the grin
that was creeping up on him.
TOM: Grin or gin?
MIKE: Data's a disgrace to all robots. He acts so stupidly.
"Oh, ah, I see. Well, er, carry on," said the captain,
all
flustered and tugging on his uniform to make himself look more
captainly.
CROW: I'll bet he looks captainly when he's covered in drool, rumpled
and phasering everyone. Oh baby, I feel so turned on!
TOM: That was sick, even for you.
"I agree interelely
TOM: _ENTIRELY_! E, N, T, I...
MIKE: No spelling flames, Tom.
with Will, captain," declared Troi, waving her
bottle of Tequila at Picard to prove her point. "We haven't had
anything to do in agesh! <hic>"
CROW: In Agesh? Sounds like shore leave to me. (singing)
What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
ALL: (sigh)
"Sir, am I right in assuming you were asleep just now?"
said Data
with what was definitely a smirk on his face.
"No, of course not! What do you think I am? A doddering
old fool?"
ALL: (laugh really hard)
MIKE: Right on, Brother.
The staff all exchanged significant glances. Data grinned
even more
widely and would have rolled around on the floor, but for the fact
he
was trapped inside his console.
TOM: Did somebody slip a little alky-hol into Data's drink?
"Anyway, the point is that we're all bored to cracks here,"
CROW: Isn't that illegal?
said
Riker, blowing particles of beard into the room.
MIKE: Oh, he blows alright... Don't bait me like that.
<Atchoo> said Ensign Ethnic, who wasn't quite dead in
spite of
being shot by Data.
TOM: Such lovely punctation, those < >'s.
"We haven't had anything to do since we met the Borg,"
continued
Riker.
"Borg?! Where? Where?" exclaimed the captain, pulling
out his
phaser and taking random shots at passing Okudagrams.
MIKE: (Beavis) I am Cornholio!
Everyone ducked,
and Data laughed, so Picard blushed, and looked embarrassed, and
decided to do something captainly again. So he stood up, tugged on
his
uniform,
CROW: (falsetto) Oh, he's so sexy!
took a step forward, and fell off his podium.
ALL: (snicker)
"That'sh shtrange," said Troi, as the captain fell in an
undignified heap at her feet. "I feel intenshe pain!"
"I'LL MAKE YOU FEEL INTENSE PAIN, YOU DRUNKEN COW!"
ALL: (cheering noises)
TOM: "Drunken hooker" is more like it.
MIKE: Don't jinx it.
roared the
captain from the floor.
"Really, captain," said the counsellor, cradling her bottle.
ALL: Ewww...
CROW: Finally, some action!
"I
have told you before, you musht really learn to control that temper
of
yours. I don't think my counselling techniques are working...
MIKE: He goes to see her every Saturday night. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
beshides, I'm *not* drunk."
"Yes, you are," said Picard, pulling himself off the ground
with
one finger, just like he'd seen some Belgian do in an old movie.
TOM: What the? He's 60 years old! Security to the Bridge. Continuity violation alert!
Anything the Belgians do, the French do better, as everyone knows.
CROW: (Pepe Le Pew) Ah, les amours, ah, c'est toujours!
"No, I'm not!" protested Troi.
"Yes you are," said the captain, sitting in his high chair
again.
MIKE: Wah, wah, soo, soo, I want my ba-ba mommee!
"No, I'm not!"
This could have gone on for some time, except that the
Turbolift
doors opened at that moment, and Doctor Crusher came waltzing in with
the holodoc.
TOM: (Makes kissy noises, sex gestures)
MIKE: Not you too, Tom.
CROW: Yeah, you know very well that filth's my department.
"Oh, doc, you're a wonderful dancer," she cooed appreciatively.
"It's even better than your singing."
CROW: The horizontal mambo?
TOM: The vertical tango?
"But don't forget that I'm a doctor, not a..."
MIKE: (McCoy) I'm a doctor, not an escalator.
CROW: (McCoy) I'm a doctor, not a bricklayer.
TOM: (McCoy) I'm a doctor, and a two-bit hooker.
(MIKE and CROW move away from TOM)
he managed to say
before vanishing into thin air on the grounds that he was a hologram.
MIKE: (Judge) I sentence thee to six years at hard labor.
"So, what seems to be the problem," said Crusher, waving
her
tricorder around to see if it could pick up Radio 4.
CROW: (Duke Nukem) Uh, this is K T I T, KTIT. Playing the breast, uh, I mean the best tunes in town.
"Who called you?" asked Riker, just for the sake of it.
"Oh, no one," she said airily, looking for something to
do. "I was
just a bit bored. I mean, the holodoc is good,
TOM: (singing) Oh, sugar sugar, you are my candy girl!
but where's a real man
when you want one?"
MIKE: (Picard) Hey baby, goin' my way?
Picard promptly started flexing his muscles in the hope
that she
would notice him.
CROW: How do you flex flab?
It was his lifetime regret that the cameras in
Engineering weren't working when he and Data finally defeated the Borg
Queen.
TOM: What, like flexing your flab just now wasn't scary enough?
He was sure the sight of him swinging from Borg conduits in his
tank-top would have made her drop into his arms immediately.
MIKE: More like drop him into the Starfleet Psychiatric Institute.
However, the call of duty was even more muscular than the
captain... or stronger, at any rate.
CROW: Ewwww!
"Oh dear," said Crusher with all the emotion of a wooden plank.
TOM: (Crusher) My subscription to 'Hot Men of StarFleet' has run out. Funny though, Captain, I didn't see your writeup in there, like you said it was.
"Ensign Ethnic appears to be dead."
MIKE: Throw 'em in the hole.
"Yes, I shot him," said Data.
"I see. He didn't have any lines, though, did he?"
CROW: Nah, he was just a redshirt.
"No, but he did sneeze," volunteered Riker.
"So it doesn't matter," concluded the doctor, snapping
her
tricorder shut.
TOM: But that's the only way the bridge gets Howard Stern!
"He was an excellent Doom player, however," said Data.
"I had to
shoot him in order to win."
MIKE:
"I'll remember that for his obituary," said Picard.
CROW: (Picard, reading) Some guy... uh... died a couple of days ago... He was... uh... an ensign... uh... Oh yeah! He was a guy too!
They all sat or stood around in silence waiting for something
to
happen. Nothing happened, however, not even a commercial break.
ALL: (singing) Ooey gooey, rich and chewy insides. Golden tender, flakey, crunchy outsides! Wrap the inside in the outside, is it good? Darn tootin! They're the Fig, Fig, Newtons!
"Er, shouldn't someone replace him at the helm or something,"
suggested Crusher.
TOM: Naw, we're just a six million ton starship. No need to see where we're going.
"What for? It's not as if we're going anywhere," Riker pointed out.
MIKE: (singing) Runnin' on the highway! Lookin' for it my way. Born to be wiiiiild!
"Oh... I suppose I should go back to Sickbay, then," said
Crusher
without moving.
CROW: It's a pornography store! I was buying pornography!
Picard cleared his throat discretely, which attracted Data's
attention, if not the doctor's.
TOM: (Data) Hey captain, going my way?
CROW: (Picard, falsetto) I'm sorry. I'm already seeing someone.
"Doctor, I do believe you should do a check-up on Captain
Picard.
He took a fall just now," said the android, who always kept an eye
on
the captain
MIKE: (shudders) Very disturbing. Data's a stalker!
in case he got a chance to save his life, which would mean
he would no longer be in debt to him, and would be able to save up
to
buy that little condo with swimming-pool on Celtrus III...
CROW: (Robbie) I never use it myself, sir. It promotes rust.
but I
digress.
"I *did* not..." started the captain, but then he grinned.
"Ah yes,
doctor, I could do with a check-up."
TOM: (whistles a cat-call)
Crusher came over cautiously, waving her tricorder before her
MIKE: (Crusher) Yoshi says your pizza's not ready yet.
to
fend off his irresistible masculine charm.
CROW: Mike, can I toss my cookies?
MIKE: No, you're a robot.
It wasn't that she didn't
like
TOM: That chique head-shine.
CROW: His arrogance.
MIKE: His nervous habit of shirt-tucking.
the captain, but she didn't want her colleagues to find out she
had washed her pants with her Starfleet uniform
TOM: (Announcer) Tide with Bleach helps get rid of stubborn stains.
and they were now a
mottled grey.
CROW: This is far more than we needed to know about Crusher.
The truth be told, the fact she always forgot to wash
her whites separately was one of the reasons her love life was so
empty.
MIKE: (Hal) I'm sorry, Dave. I can't do that because your underwear isn't perfectly white.
She was always too embarrassed to undress. (Of course, the
Trill wear grey underwear anyway, so Odan didn't mind.)
TOM: (shakes head) I won't ask.
Right now, the doctor wished she had listened to her grandmother,
who told her she should always wear clean underwear in case she got
knocked over by a captain.
CROW: (Abe Simpson) If you ever travel back in time, don't step on anything. Even the smallest change can affect the future.
"Oh Beverly," said the captain as she leant over him. He
didn't
have any tricorder to protect him from her deadly blonde looks.
MIKE: And silly me, I've been thinking she was a redhead.
TOM: Good looks? Is Picard having a fling with some alien woman?
"Oh, Jean-Luc," she murmured, chucking away the tricorder
and any
worries about underwear.
CROW: I can name a few places where this story should be chucked.
MIKE: DEV/NULL, alt.bilge.rats, alt.worthless.kookery, www.crazysanonymous.com.
TOM: You never know, Mike, there probably is a www.crazysanonymous.com
Everyone else on the Bridge looked away politely and started
whistling different tunes at the same time,
CROW: (starts whistling "In-a-gadda-davida")
MIKE: (starts whistling "Walk this way")
TOM: (starts whistling "Come as you Are")
all except Data, who had
recently discovered that whistling in public engendered
MIKE: Odd looks from passers-by.
emotion #345 -
Acute embarrassment.
CROW: (still whistling "In-a-gadda-davida") Don't ya know what ya mean
to me, baby?
MIKE: Okay, Crow, we get the point.
In the midst of all the cacophony, and just as
Jean-Luc was showing Beverly his entry form for the Mister Universe
2374 contest,
TOM: Ewww... That's one picture I didn't need in my head.
Troi finished her bottle and collapsed onto the pile of
empties beside her chair.
CROW: (still whistling)
MIKE: (hits him upside the head)
CROW: Thanks, Mike.
This reminded Riker of his important discovery.
CROW: Ralph, Jesus did not have wheels.
"Anyway, Data, I'm still bored."
"I am not, sir," said the android cheerfully. "I am currently
watching our on-bridge monitor, so that, in the event that Captain
Picard and Doctor Crusher do get naked..."
TOM: ...We will all go horribly, terribly, insane and will require dozens of straightjackets and sedatives around-the-clock to keep us from clawing our eyes out!
"Wait a minute, Data... Isn't there someone missing on
the Bridge?"
They both looked around to try and remember who it could
possibly
be.
MIKE: Jim Morrison.
TOM: Leonard Cohen.
CROW: Bob Barker.
ALL: McCloud!
They ended up looking at Crusher's grey panties for a minute or
so, and then looked at each other.
ALL: Eww..
MIKE: There is no god.
CROW: I am the Angel of Death. The time of Purification is at
hand.
TOM: Crow, you're creeping me out.
CROW: (reciting) I am the Angel of Death...
"Do you suppose she washed them with her uniform, sir?"
enquired
the android.
MIKE: (Phone Psychic voice) The answers to this and other important questions can be yours when you call 1-900-PISS-OFF. Ask for Tina and the Florida parole office.
"Yes. I do that all the time, too. You should see the colour
of my
girdle...
TOM: (screams, head smokes)
CROW: (screams as well, passes out)
MIKE: (screams, forcibly keeps down vomit)
uh, I mean, my briefs..."
TOM: (head smokes even more)
MIKE: (panicked) Where's my Dramamine?
TOM: (practically a high-pitched shriek) No fair! Crow got the easy
way out! (bumps Crow with his hoverskirt)
CROW: (wakes up) Ugh... Is it over yet. Ugh... I have such a
hangover.
MIKE: No, now where's my Dramamine?
CROW: In the dresser, second drawer.
(Mike runs out)
"Yes, sir."
They were silent then, having forgotten what they were
talking
about before.
TOM: (shriek) Dumb-dumbs!
So they watched the captain and the doctor making up for
lost time for a moment longer,
ALL: AAAAGGHHH! WHAT HAVE WE DONE? THERE IS NO GOD!
and then both looked down at Troi lying
in her pile of bottles.
CROW: (Riker) Hey, baby! Goin' my way?
And then they decided that would be unethical
and potentially dangerous because of the bottles.
TOM: (head falls off)
CROW: (retches)
Admittedly, Data
wasn't so worried about the bottles, but he was also aware that he
was
still fastened into his Ops-pen. Bloody Starfleet designers.
CROW: (retches again)
(Mike comes back in)
MIKE: Hey guys. I got the Dramamine. (sees Tom without a head,
sees Crow retching) Oh God, was it that bad.
CROW: Yes.
(Mike puts Tom's head back on)
TOM: Is it over?
MIKE: Nope.
"Oh yes! Jean-Luc, yes!" said the doctor.
CROW: Oh... My... God! My loins will never stir again!
TOM: There is a God, and he must hate us with a passion!
(Mike passes out Dramamine all around)
MIKE: Here, you're going to need this.
"Humph," said the captain.
"Umph. <gasp>. Oh oui, t'aime ccedil;a, hein? Tu la sens, salope,
tu jouis, hein?"
TOM: (shrieks)
MIKE: (Gomez) Oh, 'tish. That's French. (makes kissing noises)
"Oh yeeees!"
"Oh ouuiii!
CROW: My God In Hell! Dr. F. may have found the fanfic that breaks our spirits.
"Oh, that was great Jean-Luc."
"Hmmm..."
"Jean-Luc?"
"Zzzz."
MIKE: Okay, I think it's over.
ALL: Thank God!
<sigh>
Doctor Crusher looked around at the titchy Bridge
CROW: (looks like he's going to say something, but Mike shoots him a glare)
and noted with
satisfaction that Riker and Data had their eyes firmly fixed on the
brown wall in front of them and that Troi was nowhere to be seen...
TOM: (Riker) Damn, there goes my nightlife.
no, closer inspection revealed that Troi had passed out on the floor.
MIKE: Yes, you two just go about your business, I'll just be quietly calling the cops.
The doctor sighed with contentment. Evidently, no one had noticed what
just happened, and more importantly, that her pants were grey.
CROW: That's not the kind of thing that most guys look at first.
Still,
it was worth it. She didn't have to envy Data for getting some every
eight years anymore.
TOM: (Duke) Who wants some?
CROW: (Duke) Come get some!
MIKE: That's not what the author meant.
ALL: (shudder)
Riker let out a long sigh, and, finding that, thanks to
thinking
about cold showers and Data having it off with the Borg Queen,
CROW: (Butthead) Hey, Beavis. Look! A jack! Hey, I'm _jack_ing off!
he was
now able to walk, he got up and walked over to talk to Data. He
couldn't get very near, since he didn't fit in any of the areas around
Data's pen,
TOM: Data's been a bad boy.
so he stood in front of Troi's chair, placing his feet
carefully to avoid stepping on Betazoids or bottles.
MIKE: Go for it! Come on, she's just lying there!
"Is it my imagination, sir," whispered Data without turning
around,
"or was that quite short?"
CROW: (quavering) Tell me he wasn't talking about Picard and Beverly...
"Come on, Data, the man's seventy!" said the first officer.
TOM: (shrieks)
MIKE: Please, don't remind us. That only makes it worse.
"Actually sixty-eight years, ten months, fifteen days,
seven hours,
nine minutes, and eighteen seconds old... no, nineteen seconds... er,
twenty..."
TOM: (Riker) Bite me, Data.
CROW: (Data) With pleasure, Commander.
MIKE: Eww..
"Yes, Data. Anyway, you know what I mean."
"You mean he's getting old."
TOM: No, he's just going bald, senile and bucktoothed for no reason.
"Exactly. Any day now might be my lucky day. If only he
didn't have
an artificial heart..." But Riker allowed himself a little diabolical
laughter anyway.
CROW: And louder and louder, and then the knife was in his hand!
MIKE: I think you need something more than Dramamine for that, Crow.
His cackling was cut short by the feeling someone was
pulling themselves up by his trousers.
TOM: (singing) Born to be wiiild!
MIKE and CROW: (retch)
"Deanna, cut it out," he said, flicking off into her bottles.
CROW: (chug-a-lugs Dramamine)
She scrambled back into her seat and looked around to see
if
anything had changed since she passed out.
MIKE: No, nothing's changed, just the Captain and the Doctor were porking in full view.
Aside from the fact the
doctor was now sitting on the captain's knee, everything seemed
normal.
TOM: Excuse me, they just banged each other in full view and they're fully clothed, cooled down and having a great time sitting there? Was this cut?
"I had a great dream while I was out," she declared. "I
was sensing
a lot of erotic emotions."
CROW: Were those your own?
"No kiddin'," muttered Data.
Troi found an unopened bottle and broke its seal.
MIKE: But seal clubbing's illegal here.
TOM: Mike, we're in space, two hundred miles above the Earth.
There are no seals here.
MIKE: That's because we clubbed them all.
TOM: (sighs) I tried.
"I'm bored," said Riker as he sat down again.
"Why don't we invite Geordi up, and then we can all be
bored
together," said Troi.
ALL: Oh God!
CROW: That's illegal if my bet is right.
"Geordi! Of course, that is who is missing," exclaimed Data.
MIKE: "That is who is missing"? Did Ratliff write this?
TOM: No, that's actually correct. It just sounds wierd.
"...'That is who is missing'? That sounds terrible.
MIKE: Hey!
Boy, will I be
glad when I can finally get my tongue around contractions."
"I wish someone would get their tongue around my contractions,"
moaned Troi.
CROW: (suave) Aye aye, Skipper!
TOM: Crow!
MIKE: Sweaty sailors on shore leave.
They all pretended they hadn't heard that.
"Geordi could replace Ensign Ethnic at the helm," remarked
Crusher.
MIKE: Nothing like a demotion to improve morale.
"I will call him," said Data.
"Perhaps we can have group therapy, or group hugging,
or group sex,
ALL: (retch)
CROW: At least they're admitting that that was what they intended.
or something," suggested the counsellor.
"I vote for the something," said Riker.
TOM: This story is incredibly sick! I think someone should kind
of, help, the author.
CROW: Zeke, get the diesel fuel.
"Data to La Forge."
>>Humph? <snort> Huh? Wha?<<
MIKE: Nothing like a little old acid hit to liven up an engineer's day.
"Geordi, come and join us on the bridge. You can replace
Ensign
Ethnic at the helm, and we can play Doom just like the good old days."
CROW: (Gruff Picard voice) I take you under my wing, feed and clothe you, nurture you, and this is how you repay me, with mindless killing? (whiny kid voice) Can I play too?
>>Data, we were doing that this morning.<<
"Exactly, you would not want to lose your hand, would
you?"
TOM: Data's got good logic, you've got to _hand_ him that.
>>Righty-ho. <yawn> I guess it beats napping in a Jeffrey's tube.<<
MIKE: Where's the warp engine control when you need it?
It wasn't long before Geordi arrived, and, Ensign Ethnic
having
been dumped into the nearest recycling unit following a few heart-felt
words from the captain
CROW: (Picard) He was... some guy... who was... umm... good at... that thing... he does...
(and in spite of cries of "I'm not dead yet!"),
ALL: (Abe Simpson) Oh bitch, bitch, bitch!
everyone settled down for group boredom.
MIKE: (singing) We've got cabin fever!
With the doctor on his knee, the captain felt twenty years younger,
TOM: Which meant he only felt 100.
which meant he was still older than everyone on the ship (except
Beverly, but it was only a matter of months).
CROW: Old people... porking... Ugh. (shudders)
Having spent fifty years
(thirty if you count out the twenty he had just lost and adjust for
seasonal variations)
MIKE: Such as the "Dimbulb in the big chair" solstice.
solving mysteries, especially on the holodeck
where he got to wear a nifty hat,
TOM: Clothes make the man.
CROW: Which means Picard is nifty?
TOM: Um... er... Look over there!
CROW: Huh (turns)
he decided to investigate their
collective boredom.
MIKE: What about our collective insanity resulting from that last scene.
He was, after all, a specialist on collectives.
CROW: Mhmmm.. He got assimilated by the Borg once, so he's qualified as a psychologist onboard a starship?
"Right, listen up crew," he said, trying to be captainly
ALL: It ain't working.
even
though he couldn't tug on his uniform.
TOM: (Nixon) I am a _good_ captain.
MIKE: (Crowd) Hell No!
TOM: (feigns tugging shirt)
MIKE: (Crowd) Yeah! (cheering)
Crusher did it for him. "Ooh...
Er, right. Everyone has been complaining about being bored.
CROW: Such an attentive lot, we have.
I think
it's about time we did something about it. La Forge, activate the
viewscreen. Riker, lay in coordinates for somewhere that looks nice.
MIKE: (Riker) Best speed to Risa! Where's my Horgan?
Data, work on finding a reason for our boredom. Doctor, you keep right
on doing what you're doing. Troi... er, never mind."
TOM: (singing) One.. Singular sensation, every little step she takes!
There was a cacophony of beeps as everyone started playing
Simple
Simon on their consoles.
ALL: God, that's worse than Doom.
Then the viewscreen appeared
TOM: Isn't the viewscreen always there?
MIKE: It's a secret.
TOM: Shhhut up!
and showed them
CROW: Hardcore!
MIKE: Crow! That was sick.
CROW: Knowing this story, that's probably what it was.
a nice view of a pink nebula. Of course, nebulae aren't supposed to
be
pink, but the Cat in the Hat had been there earlier.
MIKE: What the hell?
Data turned around in his pen.
"Sir, I believe I have pinpointed the reason for our boredom."
"Yes, Mr Data?"
TOM: (Data) It appears we are all losers with no life at all, Captain. And the console here also says you are a very, very sick man!
"It appears it is because we have nothing to do, sir."
CROW: He must be a Vasser graduate.
"How insightful. Next time, I'll ask Troi."
MIKE: I don't think you'll get very far with that kind of question. Cup size, maybe.
"However," continued the android, unfazed. "I have been
able to
draw up a conjectural analysis of the situation.
TOM: Analysis: We all must be put out of our misery. Mike, hand
me the knife.
MIKE: No, Tom. That would be an easy-out.
Our current situation
is similar to the one we experienced after the crash of the
Enterprise-D."
CROW: Our loved ones were gone and we were free to have casual sex?
"Yes, but the reason we had nothing to do then was that
we didn't
have a ship," pointed out Crusher.
"Actually, we did not have anything to do for a whole
year after we
received this ship," said Data.
MIKE: It took us a while to find out the air had to stay inside.
"Hey, you're right, Data my buddy," drawled La Forge
enthusiastically. "We were all bored stiff then, too."
TOM: You were stiff alright, but from Mr. Scott's whiskey.
"That might even explain some of our mistakes during the
Borg
incident," said Riker with his usual tact.
CROW: Oh, that is so tactful. I wish I could be like him.
Picard started shooting around him. "Borg?! Where? Where?"
MIKE: The little voices inside my head tell me to kill President Reagan.
Meanwhile, Data decided whistling in public wasn't so bad
after
all. Just as long as it kept anyone from making comments about him
sleeping with the enemy and such.
TOM: A little impropriety, eh, just whistle to get rid of it. Just because you're a traitor to your people, you should whistle.
"I, uh, I meant we might have, I mean... oh shit, forget
I said
anything," said Riker as he got up when Picard stopped shooting.
CROW: Blanks! Hee hee!
MIKE: Okay, Crow. We've had our fill of sex jokes.
Data stopped whistling, much to everyone's relief, and
played some
rounds of Tetris on his console.
MIKE: I see game technology certainly has advanced since our time.
This apparently revealed some
interesting information.
"Sir, I have found some interesting information,"
TOM: (Data) My redundant redundant-generating word circuits are generating a redundant overflow of redundant words.
he said for want
of a better description. "It appears that, from now on, something
interesting will happen to the Enterprise only every two or three
years."
Everyone gasped.
CROW: (Picard) But this means I won't get laid very often!
MIKE: That's it. No RamChip.
CROW: Awwww...
"But that's terrible. We'll die of boredom," said Riker.
"Is this Starfleet's official plan?" asked Picard.
TOM: No, it's our plan for you. No, wait. Boredom's too quick and painless.
"Yes, sir. That is also why we have a smaller ship."
"So that's it!" exclaimed Picard gloomily. "I was wondering
why
this ship only had 24 decks."
"26, sir," said Riker.
MIKE: (Picard) Damnit, Will. I'm not getting senile, I'm just... uh... um... er... Forget I said anything.
"Yes, 26, of course. Who is defending the Federation, exploring
new
worlds, all that, then?"
"It appears most of Starfleet's top priority assignments
go to Deep
Space Nine."
TOM: Oh, just because they've got qualified officers and all...
"Wah," wailed Troi. "That's where my own true love is living
it up
with some Trill floozy."
CROW: You must not have been very satisfying, then.
MIKE: No RamChips for a week, Crow.
"The Trill are very nice people," remarked Crusher. She
caught
Riker's eye and blushed.
TOM: (Crusher) Uh... not like I would know first hand... uh... I mean...
not like I was ever laid by one... Awww crap.
MIKE: Not you too.
"The second-class assignments get sent to an undefined
area in the
Delta Quadrant," continued Data.
MIKE: Voyager? More like 18th class assignments.
"The Delta Quadrant? Isn't that where the Borg come from?"
said La
Forge before anyone could stop him.
CROW: Stop him, he's headed for a whipping. Wait a minute... That's not a bad thing.
"Borg?! Where? Where?" said the captain, phasering a hole
in La
Forge's console.
"Picard, the fire-horse of the Federation," muttered Riker
in his
beard.
TOM: Fire-horse is not the word I would have used.
"There, there, it's all right," said the doctor, patting
Picard's
head soothingly. "Mommy kiss it better."
ALL: (snicker) Whiny baby!
"Maman..." he murmured.
MIKE: Uh, that means he's going to MARRY his MOTHER!
ALL: Ewwww!
Meanwhile, Data continued to investigate the data on his
console --
mainly the names of all the Enterprise's designers and their families.
It gave him some more interesting information.
CROW: (Data) Admiral I.P. Freely.
TOM: (Data) Commander Dick Assman.
MIKE: (Data) Captain Hugh Jass.
CROW: (Data) Admiral I. Jack Koff
TOM: (Data) Captain Maia Buttreeks.
MIKE: (Data) Lt. Commander Amanda Huggenkiss.
"I do not believe it has anything to do with the you-know-whats,"
he said, lowering his voice a little. "There appears to be a
Federation ship going around in circles out there.
TOM: (Picard) Oh you mean us? We're just inept.
There are mixed
feelings as to whether they are worth the effort. Some in the
Federation are arguing they should be abandoned to their fate.
MIKE: Oh, you mean Voyager. I won't bother telling you what I and half the 'Net think about that show.
Though
I gather this does explain why we have not been seeing Q lately. He
has apparently set up residence in that area with his family."
CROW: Q has a family? Did I miss something?
TOM: Yeah, there was a really crappy episode where Q got a wife and
child.
"Q? What's he doing way out there?" asked Picard.
"According to this, chatting up the female staff, insulting
the
regular characters, and giving the ship and crew a guided tour of the
Continuum."
MIKE: Guests of Q stay at the Radisson.
"The two-timing bastard! He never took *me* to the Continuum!"
exclaimed Picard.
CROW: Two timing? Picard was going out with Q? Ugh. (shudders)
"If that isn't just typical. Entities... they come
into your life, put you on trial, kidnap you, sexually-harass you,
ALL: (scream)
make you dress up in tights,
ALL: (scream)
CROW: My loins will never stir again.
TOM: You've already said that.
save your life and that of your species
and then bugger off
ALL: (scream)
without so much as a by-your-leave. "
Troi raised a shaky finger and turned towards him. "Not
to mention
that he introduced us to the..."
MIKE: The Fonz?
TOM: Robert McElwayne?
CROW: John Denver?
ALL: (shudder)
With a spectacular leap that belied
his physical condition,
MIKE: Condition DefCon 4.
Riker managed to slap his hand on her mouth
before she said the fateful word.
TOM: Are you sure it wasn't just for fun?
"Oh Will, I knew you still cared! Oh, take me now, Imzadi!"
she
spittled on him.
CROW: Ugh. (German voice) Hey funny boys! Get a room!
"Uh, well, actually, I..." he tried to say, before she
pushed him
down amongst her bottles.
MIKE: Please Ma'm. There are children watching.
TOM: That never stopped the author before.
"I know why Q had left me," said Picard, as oblivious to
Riker's
pleas for help as he was to Crusher's growing jealousy.
CROW: She's jealous that he got to flirt with Q and she didn't.
"This ship is
too small. Why would an omnipotent entity be interested in a ship with
only 24 decks?"
"Er, 26, sir," said La Forge.
MIKE: (Picard) Damnit. I'm not senile, I'm just incredibly stupid. (normal) There, finally came up with the line.
"Yes, very good, M. La Forge, carry on," said Picard.
TOM: (LaForge) Okay, sir. Who's On and where should I take him?
CROW: That was lame, Servo.
"Actually," said Data, "rumour has it that Q might be part
of our
next adventure.
ALL: (porno music) Bucka-chicka-wow!
"Oh, jolly good... Ow, Beverly, that hurts!"
The doctor went to sit on Riker's chair, arms crossed
and obviously
sulking.
MIKE: Rebound relationships are always the best kind.
"The rest of the information I'm getting seems to be junk, sir,"
TOM: So's the information we get, namely, this fanfic.
continued Data. "It seems the Federation's top priorities include
crucifying everyone at Starfleet Command
CROW: (hopeful) Including Marrissa?
MIKE: We can only pray.
for shutting down nine
amateur relay stations,
TOM: What's wrong with ham radio. (crackly) Is anyone out there?
This is 2X2L. 2X2L.
MIKE: No one got that, or would even know where that came from.
and determining whether the Enterprise would
be able to defeat the Defiant. Wow, try saying that ten times in a
row!"
CROW: "It seems the Federation's top priorities include crucifying..."
MIKE: (whacking Crow)
CROW: Oww.. Why'd ya do that?
"I'm sure this baby would wipe the floor with the Defiant,"
said La
Forge confidently.
TOM: (Picard) The floor-washing job pays $5 an hour. If you want, the cook job pays $6.
"Not if we only get work every two or three years," remarked
Data.
"The Defiant's crew would be better trained.
CROW: With better _performance_.
MIKE: That does it! No RamChips for a month!
After all, there is a
steady flow of assignments for Deep Space Nine."
"Wah, my own true love," came a muffled wail from the
floor.
MIKE: When in doubt, commit adultery.
"That bloody Klingon!" came another mutter from roughly
the same
area.
TOM: (Riker) He stole my woman! I'm never gonna forget that!
Picard sighed, and looked over at Crusher.
"Oh well, I guess this is our chance to settle down and
raise
families."
CROW: At age 60? That's gross!
He went and knelt in front of the first officer's chair.
MIKE: (Picard) Almight Chair Oracle! Give me wisdom!
"Please, my darling Beverly, will you marry me?"
She thought about that and finally said
TOM: (Crusher) Not bloody likely!
yes.
"Oh my darling. Oh my darling," he said.
ALL: (singing) Oh my darling, Clementine. Will ya kiss me, in the morning, oh my darling, Clementine?
Everyone held their
breaths in mortal fear that he would start
CROW: Disco! Ah ah ah ah, stayin' alive, ooh yeah!
to sing My Darling Beverly.
TOM: (Frog) Send me a kiss by wire, baby, my heart's on fire! Hello, my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal!
Fortunately, being French, he didn't know that song, and he had
forgotten the words to Auprès de ma blonde,
MIKE: (Sinatra) When I was seventeen... It was a very good year...
a song more appropriate to
CROW: Breakdancing!
the occasion. Anyway, he didn't sing anything at all, much to
everyone's relief.
TOM: And ours.
Meanwhile, the doctor checked out the information on Riker's
terminal.
CROW: (Crusher) Wow. What are 'alt.binaries.pictures.erotica' and 'www.xxxerotica.com'? Oh my God? Riker, what will we do with you?
"Oh, there's also a great deal of interest at Starfleet
for Monty
Python jokes adapted to assimilation
MIKE: Oh yes, dimbulbs at StarFleet academy with too much time on their hands.
and the..."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
ALL: Aaaahh! Don't do that!
CROW: Is it over?
TOM: Not likely, knowing our luck.
MIKE: Pipe down. Here we blow again.
Path:
TOM: not.for.reading!not.for.writing!for.kittylitter!
or.for.pooperscooping!
szdc!super.zippo.com!zdc!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in3.uu.net!news.accessone.com!news
CROW: !blingwads.incorporated!cs.runet.edu!
MIKE: AAHH! Don't say that!
From: shc...@accessone.com (Allen Drugge)
CROW: Is that his name, or what he's been up to?
Newsgroups: alt.mindcontrol,alt.conspiracy
TOM: alt.swill.orchards, alt.kooks, alt.discussions.trash
MIKE: Such fine examples of well-prepared discussions. (retches) There,
I said it. Happy?
Subject: Electronic Telepathy (ET)
CROW: That would kick ass in chat rooms!
TOM: This is such a crock.
Date: 11 Nov 96 08:42:26 +0500
Organization: AccessOne
MIKE: Bringing you quality garbage since... uh... Crud.
Lines: 72
TOM: Well, it's not too long.
Message-ID: <3701.6889...@accessone.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: annex4-61.accessone.com
CROW: I smell Ping-O-Death.
X-Newsreader:
TOM: Playboy.
THOR 2.31 (Amiga;TCP/IP)
Xref: szdc alt.mindcontrol:9122 alt.conspiracy:81150
Status:
MIKE: Ready for trashbin one.
N
Electronic Telepathy
ALL: Aaaagh!
CROW: You mean some krazy kook from NASA can read our minds?
TOM: Well, speak for yourself. You can't read what's not there!
CROW: (lunging at Tom) Why you little...
MIKE: Knock it off.
One of the more recent tools of oppression to have made
its emergence
in the evolving techno-nightmare scenario is
MIKE: alt.conspiracy, sci.skeptic, alt.startrek.creative...
Electronic Telepathy or "ET"
MIKE: Oh.
1. It is no longer necessary to have electrodes attached to monitor
a
persons brain wave activity, it can be done remotely.
CROW: Whoa, back up there, little fella. You mean we can already do it now? I have so many good ideas for that little snippet of science. (laughs)
2. Computer encoding has broken down the signals so they can now output
what it is a person is thinking.
TOM: (Whiny-falsetto nerd voice) My XT can read your thoughs! Ha-ha!
3. A persons subconscious life can be overridden by externally induced
dreams.
MIKE: Why would you care about someone's subconscious life? It's the
conscious one that does the work.
CROW: Hmmm... Externally-induced dreams... This, this has possibilities.
Here, Claudia!
The implications here are of course staggering
TOM: (Beavis) We're all gonna die!
and totally turn
MIKE: Into loads of crap, come dawn.
conventional attitudes toward what is normally perceived as 'reality' and 'personal' into mockeries.
CROW: Been there, done that. Reality's been a mockery for us for about eight years.
It is now possible to override a persons
sub-conscious life by projecting prerecorded dreams
TOM: Gilligan gets hit on the head with a coconut!
as well as invade the
privacy of their thoughts
MIKE: If they scan the general public, 50% of what they're going to get is either 'Where's the nearest strip-club' or 'When will I be home for some hot nookie', and the other half will be 'Oh yes, this is good nookie!'
and feed them back in associative fashion via
commercials
CROW: Great, just what we need. Commercials being broadcast into your head!
cued thru computer over ordinary communication channels
MIKE: (Announcer) That's right, the all-commercial channel! All commercials,
all the time!
CROW and TOM: (shriek) Dear God, no! Kill it, kill it now!
and
indeed that's what's being done. The media are in collusion
TOM: Call the towtrucks. We've got a six-car collusion on I-75.
with this up
to their eye balls. It's not just for entertainment anymore.
CROW: (Minnesota Lady Voice) Nothing is, kiddo.
This very scenario has been an operative reality for over
25 years
and used to 'destabilize/mindrape'
MIKE: (Homer) Mmmmm, mindrape.
selected individuals within this
country.
TOM: Bill Clinton!
CROW: He's already unstable.
The pop culture has not been ignorant of this new
reality and
accordingly has
MIKE: Thrown out even worse techno-crap "music".
incorporated elements of it into the 'collective
psyche.'
CROW: Is that how pop music came about, an unimaginative, dull-witted hive mind!
Movies such as "Foxfire","Brainstorm","The Golden Child","Steel
Justice", "Desert Passion","The Sorcerers",
TOM: ...have been shafted for best picture award.
"Total Recall","Hellraiser
III:","Casino Royale","Making Mr. Right","Total Recall",
MIKE Uh, you've already mentioned that.
"Megaville","No
Escape","In the belly of the Dragon" and MTV's "Dead @ 21" all
CROW: Sucked.
MIKE: Now, don't be bitter.
draw on
elements of
TOM: Bad writing and idiotic people on the production crew.
Electronic Telepathy.
TOM: Close enough.
There are many others. Reference to
"ET" can be found in tunes like: "Welcome to the Machine","The Dream
Police","Thinking around corners","West of the Fields","Kiss me when
I
get back."
MIKE: All crappy eighties, early-nineties pop that no-one listens to.
The marriage of Science and Voodoo,
CROW: (Small child voice) Ooh, ooh, mommie! Can I stab out the eyes?
in pursuit of the Clerical
agenda, has spawned a psychopathic covert,
TOM: Cool, crazy nuns!
CROW: Covert, not convent.
extra-legal industry who's
only function is to promolgate madness and chaos.
MIKE: That's our job!
There are thousands of
these ET dreams in the can as of right now, ranging from the erotic
to the horrific;
CROW: From Pamela Lee, to Monica Lewinsky.
a great number are benign or even pleasant--but all are
abominations
TOM: Hey, all dreams arent' abominations. I happen to know Crow
has a few good ones!
CROW: Why you little! (whacks Tom upside the dome)
as they subvert the natural unconscious life of the
individual and present serious psychological challenges.
MIKE: As to how to fit Tab A into Slot...
TOM: Family show.
MIKE: Oops. I've been spending too much time around you guys.
In the worst
case scenario individuals can be put under with microwave
CROW: (Nelson) Nothing beats the German Light Infantry.
for almost
indefinite periods of time
TOM: Flesh kind of... melts.
while the psyche is raped by "ET" dreams.
The "Virtual Reality Nightmare" scenerio is an actual reality.
MIKE: Yeah, we've lived it and we're still here.
This disclosure doesn't take into account the possible use of
CROW: The authors of this post as cruise-liner anchors.
brain
implants (the cyborg protocol),
TOM: I thought it was the Fourth Protocol.
MIKE: That's a book, Tom.
subliminal messaging nor negative
feedback in conjunction with
MIKE: Lacing their food with LSD.
microwave verisimilitudes.
CROW: I plead the Fifth.
Recognition of this technology and the abuses of it is
the first step
towards any supposedly 'free people's'
TOM: Uh, we're never completely free. There are laws for a reason, so we don't kill others, that kind of thing.
taking charge of their 'own'
destinies—
MIKE: Producing pornos for the net!
CROW: Now who's pushing it.
failure to do so is enslavement. Burying your head in the
sand will not make it go away.
ALL: (ostrich noises) Awwk! Awwk!
"Scrap the SQUID"
CROW: (Captain McAllistair) Arr, squidy, I've got nothing against ye, I just heard there was gold in yer belly. Arr.
--
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
TOM: So that's why America's kids are doing so poorly in math, there's a shortage of signs.
+ 'PlanetC' BBS
MIKE: Bringing you quality spam since... uh...
+
+ One of America's
CROW: Biggest loads of crap.
MIKE: (nudges Crow)
CROW: Sorry.
45,000+ files online Remember:
TOM: (Beavis) We're all gonna die!
+
+ unknown political
(206) 343-0827
ALL: (evil laugh) Muhahahaha!
J = RAY +
MIKE: You can call me Ray, and you can call me Jay...
+ prisoners shc...@planetc.hughestech.com
CROW: (Hick voice) Son, where's muh scattergun?
+
+
"Microwave--the breakfast of champions"
TOM: Why don't you test it. Just stick you head in.
+
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
ALL: Aaah!
+ Clink
MIKE: Jawohl, mein commandant.
911:5050/5 NWNet 206:100/8 CHNet 371:102/1 UseNet e-mail
CROW: Home of pirates, drunks and whores, Usenet email...
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
ALL: Aaah! Stop it with the plus signs.
MIKE: I think it's over.
ALL: Thank God.
[They exit the theater]
[SOL]
CROW: That fanfic sucked, but I like the part about electronic telepathy,
though. Lemme fire up my DOS box and we'll see about reading Mike's
mind.
MIKE: Whoa, whoa! Nobody pokes around up here (points to his head)
with out my permissions.
CROW: But it's only going to be for a minute!
TOM: Come on, Mike. Let him. I want to see if that article
was true.
MIKE: Fine guys, but no mental manipulation.
CROW and TOM: (obviously trying to sound sincere) Oh, we won't.
(CROW attaches the electrodes to Mike's skull. Mike sits down
and 'ho hums', doing nothing)
TOM: Now, fire up the special 'Mind Scanner' Software we got from Microsoft.
CROW: Done and done. Let's see what Mikey is thinking. (presses
a button. Mike's face goes blank.)
CROW: Ooh, look at this.
TOM: Can it be?
CROW: Mike has hidden fantasies about B'Elanna Torres!
TOM: That's gonna make for some real good tormenting.
CROW: Now let's try out some mental manipulation. I just set
this to... (hits more buttons) There we go. (to Mike) Mike Nelson.
You are a chicken.
(Mike stands up, and starts clucking)
TOM: Yes! It works. Try something else.
CROW: Okay... um. Mike, slide down the umbilicus and beat up Dr. F.
and Frank.
(Mike moves towards the umbilicus. From his point of view, Crow
and Tom look like Dr Forrester and Frank. He starts moving towards
them.)
TOM: Mike! Stop! Wait! Crow, something went wrong! Stop him!
CROW: I wish I could! Arrgh!
(Mike starts walloping Tom as the viewscreen comes on)
[DEEP 13]
DR.F: Having a little trouble with your mind control, eh?
[SOL]
(CROW and TOM scream as parts go flying. They lie in pieces on
the floor. TOM's head speaks)
TOM'S HEAD: Crow, I knew this was a bad idea. How are we going to get
back together?
CROW'S HEAD: Shut up, just shut up.
[DEEP 13]
DR.F: (laughs) Hey, it's not my fault.
[SOL]
(Mike moves towards the Umbilicus)
[DEEP 13]
DR.F: Hey, back away from that tube!
[SOL]
(Mike slides down the Umbilicus)
[DEEP 13]
(Mike pops out and starts moving towards Dr. F)
DR.F: (panicked) Frank! Get in here!
FRANK: Yup, Steve?
DR.F: Frank, stand right here while I run away.
FRANK: Okay. (does so)
(Mike advances on Frank. Frank tries to run away, and in the
process, pushes the button. The screen fades to black and Frank's
cries for help can be heard, along with Crow and Tom's laughter.)
-------------------------------------------------------------
Mystery Science Theater 3000, it characters and situations are all
copyrighted by Best Brains Inc. No infringement of any and all copyrights
held by Best Brains Inc., Comedy Central and/or Joel Hodgson is intended
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only. This post may not be sold, but is free to distribute, as long
as this notice is included in its entirety. This post is not, and
should not be interpreted as, an attack on the authors (maybe the authors
of the spam, but not the fanfic).
-------------------------
>a nice view of a pink nebula. Of course, nebulae aren't supposed to
be
>pink, but the Cat in the Hat had been there earlier.