MSTed: Quantum Leap "Future Perfect"
Brian Zino
Kimberly Dowd. As this is our first MSTing, we started out small. As
usual, this is meant in fun and no disrespect is intended towards either
the original author or his material. You can e-mail me at
ZUT...@prodigy.com to let us know what you think.
[Beginning Credits]
[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...]
[SOL]
[The Satellite of Love crew are in their usual positions at the desk.
Crow is wearing a white three-piece suit with bell-bottom slacks and a
black shirt. Tom Servo sports a leather jacket and a fake greaser hair-
do. Joel is wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, "Up Your Nose With A
Rubber Hose."]
JOEL: Oh, hi everyone, and welcome to the Satellite of Love. The 'bots
and I were just paying tribute to one of our favorite 70's starts, John
Travolta, who is currently enjoying a resurgence of popularity. We were
about to start by telling each other our favorite moments from John
Travolta's long and illustrious career. So we'll start with Tom Servo.
Tom?
SERVO: Uh...
[Tom thinks for a long time. Eventually we enjoy a commercial break.
Upon our return to the SOL, Tom is still thinking.]
SERVO: Uh, Joel? Come to think of it, I don't really like John Travolta.
CROW: Yeah, me neither.
JOEL: Oh, come on, you guys -- [The red light starts to flash] Oh,
Robert Shapiro and F. Lee Bailey are calling. [Joel taps light]
[D13]
DR. F: Okay, Kato, that'll be quite enough out of you! Our invention
this week is a variation on that popular fashion accessory, the
Scrunchie! Frank?
[Frank appears, holding a number of enormous Scrunchies]
DR.F: Previously, the Scrunchie was meant only for use in the hair. But
WE'VE adapted the concept for use with the whole body. Introducing the
Neck Scrunchie! Allow me to demonstrate. [He takes one of the enormous
scrunchies, black, and fits it over Frank's head and around Frank's neck]
As you can see, this high-fashion accessory not only adds color to one's
ensemble, [Frank is choking and turning a frightening shade of purple]
but
is also comfortable. Isn't it, Frank?
FRANK: Gak...urk...gkk!
DR. F: Indeed. And, like normal Scrunchies, they can be worn around the
wrist as well. See? [He holds up his right hand, which had heretofore
been unseen. It has a Neck Scrunchie around the wrist, and as a result
is purple and three times its normal size.] Back up to you, Joel!
[SOL]
JOEL: Well, our invention is fun, fashionable and useful. Don't you hate
when you're taking a shower and you get shampoo in your eyes? Enter this
week's invention exchange: Tor Johnson Fashion Eyebrows! [He applies a
pair of enormous black plastic eyebrows over his real eyebrows] See?
Now you can not only look like Tor Johnson, that lovable lunk from "The
Unearthly" and "Bride Of The Monster", but you can keep that annoying
shampoo-eye interaction to a minimum.
[Enter the 'bots, both wearing Tor Johnson Fashion Eyebrows]
SERVO: Yes, we predict that Tor Johnson Fashion Eyebrows will be the
fashion trend of the nineties! Get yours today!
JOEL: Whaddya think, sirs?
[D13]
[Dr. Forrester is trying desperately to remove the Neck Scrunchie from
Frank's neck with a pair of industrial clippers. The enormity of his
hand isn't helping]
FRANK: (rasping) I like it!
DR. F: Frank! I can't get this off of you if you keep talking! [turns
to the camera] I think, Joel, that you have too much free time! So I'm
going to send you this little piece of belly-button lint from alt.tv.
quantum-leap.creative. That oughta keep you off the streets!
[SOL]
ALL: AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! WE'VE GOT POOOOOST SIIIIIIGGGGGGGNNN!!!!
[Joel and the 'bots leave for the theater.]
[7...6...5...4...3...2...1...]
[Joel and the 'bots enter the theater. Joel puts Tom down.]
>alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
JOEL: Oh, I don't know if I'd go that far.
>[1] Repost: "Future Perfect", Part01/10
>ql-ar...@cisco.com
CROW: Cisco? So this is an episode of Deep Space Nine!
JOEL: Uh, no.
>Repost-Requested-by: mw...@aber.ac.uk
>Submitted-by: "Tony Perreault" <tper...@banshee.VLA.NRAO.EDU>
>Archive-name: future-perfect/future-perfect.p01
>
>Date: Mon, 31 May 93 03:54:44 MDT
>From: tper...@banshee.VLA.NRAO.EDU (Bill'n'Opus'96)
>Subject: REPOST -- Future Perfect -- Part 1
>
>Oops. I made a mistake!
CROW: Yeah, you wrote this in the first place!
TOM: I actually meant to write a Deep Space Nine story!
That's what I get for not
proofreading!
>The year that Sam is in is 1023, not 1033.
TOM: Oh, like ten years made a heck of a lot of difference during the
Dark Ages.
I
also corrected a
>couple of inconsistancies. Sorry!
JOEL: But we liked it better with the inconsistencies!
> Future Perfect
>
> Part I
TOM: (crying) Part I?! Stop it now, before it's too late!
>
>"... When Dr. Sam Beckett made his astonishing leap and began his linear
time
>travel experiment, it spawned a multitude of parallel universi
TOM: (serious documentary voice) The wild parallel universi goes upstream
to spawn each spring.
CROW: Oh, is the great parallel universi going to grace us with his
presence?
JOEL: You know, I heard the game Othello is based on Universi...
all similar,
>but different...
JOEL: All wet, but dry!
TOM: All sober, yet stinking drunk!
CROW: All restrictive, but strangely arousing...
JOEL: Uh, Crow --
>"...The very creation of Project Quantum Leap mandated a more accurate
>tracking and control system
TOM: Yet didn't even win a prize at the Science Fair.
...the logical conclusion
was Monitor..."
>
>Excerpts from The Mission of Temporal Monitor (Internal Use Only)
JOEL: Can I see your temporal hall pass?
>Temporal Index: September 17, 1999
CROW: Oh, so they can party now?
>Spatial Co-ordernates: 107 degrees West, 34 degrees North, Terra
JOEL: Da Terra, da Terra...
CROW: Hmm...Terra is looking quite firma today...
> (Very Large Array Radiotelescope Facility)
TOM: I'm huge!
CROW: That's as opposed to the Kinda Small Array Radiotelescope Facility.
>The huge antennas,
CROW: Shouldn't that be antennae?
TOM: No, Crow, the plural of antenna is antennas, the plural of universe
is universi, get it?
JOEL: Well, that's what he gets for not proofreading...
twenty seven in all, turned in unison,
slewing
JOEL: Hi, I'm Curt Gowdy and welcome to the world huge antenna slalom
championship.
towards
>the newly discovered supernova in the constellation of Taurus.
CROW: That was bullish of them...heh heh heh...
It
>was the find of a half century, rivaling SN1986 in the Large Magellanic
>Cloud, a sister galaxy to our own, or SN1993J in the galaxy of M81.
TOM: M81? You sunk my battleship!
>The antennas stopped slewing
JOEL: And began slawing...
and began tracking the
object, one of the
>closest near Earth supernovas to happen since the Crab Nebula explosion
CROW: I heard that was hard to get rid of...
>in 1064 AD. The white antennas
TOM: Okay! Enough about the antennae already!
CROW: That's antennas.
shimmered in the
late afternoon heat,
>dishes straining to hear the faint signal,
JOEL: You know, a dish can hurt itself that way.
little more
than noise
>actually, above the background hiss of the universe itself. Slowly,
>the data was gathered as the antennas tracked the object,
TOM: (whining) Joel! He won't shut up about the antennas! Make it go
away!
covering
>fifteen degrees an hour as the earth rotated first towards, then away
>from the supernova.
CROW: The Earth reverses itself! Everything flies into space!
JOEL: I knew that Project Quantum Leap was a bad idea.
>SN1999Tauri, though, had more surprises than the typical supernova.
JOEL: Oh, ha ha, those wacky supernovas.
TOM: Uh, that's supernovae.
CROW: That's what he gets for not proofreading!
>Temporal Index: No reference available
>Spatial Co-ordernates:
TOM: Uh, Joel?
JOEL: (patting Servo on back) Shh, it's okay, little buddy.
No reference available
>First there came the tingling, then the feeling of icy fingers running
>down his spine.
JOEL: Oh, man, what did I DO last night?
Within a blink of an eye, Sam's world changed
once again.
CROW: He suddenly found himself the subject of a story on alt.tv.quantum-
leap.
creative.
>The first thing that he noticed was the light.
TOM: Turn it off! Turn it off!
It
was a milky, watery
>light.
JOEL: Ice cold light...help yourself.
At first, he thought that he was back in the eastern US.
JOEL: Yeah, they don't have milky, watery lights in Wisconsin.
CROW: They don't have ANYTHING in Wisconsin...
>Then he saw that it was the glass in the windows that was causing the
>light to turn milky. Windows that was formed of small pieces,
TOM: Yo, boss, ya want I should break da glass?
bound to-
>gether with lead. Tall, thin windows.
TOM: Willowy, shapely windows...
Church windows.
>Sam then followed the flow of the window to the stonework.
CROW: Joel...the windows was flowing? I don't get it!
JOEL: Don't worry, Crow...
Rough,
>undressed.
CROW: Roughly he grabbed the undressed window...
TOM: See alt.sex.windows.rough.undressed.
No plaster or woodwork around at all. Sam then
realized
>that he was at the nave of the church. A book sat in front of him,
>he looked at it.
JOEL: It looked back, shifting uncomfortably in its seat.
TOM: Oh, that's obscure, man, obscure.
>The page was filled with color; swirls of reds, yellows, greens, and
>blues.
JOEL: The Republicans' "Contract With America"!
He followed the swirls with his eyes, and he thought that
it
>was familiar. He had seen something like this before.
JOEL: That last time he dropped acid.
>Sam looked down at his clothing.
TOM: So now that he's leapt, he won't stop looking?
Simple homespun linen,
undyed but
>clean. Bare feet on icy stone. An equally simple belt of leather,
>tanned, but that was all Sam could say for it.
CROW: Boy, Jean-Paul Gaultier really outdid himself this year!
>"Father, the benediction," a man whispered by Sam in a language that
>was Sam knew was not english, but he understood him. Sam looked at the
man.
TOM: (yelling) Enough with the looking already!!
>"Oh, yes. Sorry." Sam held up his hand and made the sign of the Cross.
>"Amen," Sam said. Several of the men looked about, confused.
JOEL: They were staring at the undressed windows...
Obviously,
>Sam made a mistake.
CROW: But not as many as the author...
JOEL: Oh, come on, now, Crow, go easy on him.
>"Benedictus Domine," the man who spoke to Sam announced. "Amen."
TOM: This Gregorian chant fad is getting old, isn't it?
>"Amen," the group of men replied automatically, and they began to file
out.
>Sam noticed that they all wore the same garment that he did, a simple
linen
>tunic.
CROW: You know, you can tunic piano, but--
JOEL: CROW!
No footwear to be seen. They walked out of the church in
single
>file, not speaking, not lifting their eyes from the ground.
TOM: Oh, so they're the writers of Deep Space Nine, huh?
JOEL: Okay, next one to make a Deep Space Nine crack gets a time out.
>The man to Sam's left closed the book, and lifting it to his lips, he
kissed
>it reverently.
JOEL: He needs to get out more.
The other man did so, and held out the book to Sam.
CROW: What kind of crappy fraternity initiation is this?
Sam
>took it and kissed the book, the scent of leather and parchment filling
TOM: ...him with desire...
>his nose. He handed the book back, which was placed into a small
wooded
>box and bound shut.
CROW: Never to tempt an innocent man again!
>Sam walked out of the church. He looked around.
TOM: (sobbing uncontrollably) JOEL!!! WAHHHH!!!!
A large mound was off
>to his left.
CROW: He was careful not to step in it.
He could hear the ocean, and smell the salt in the wind
>that teased his hair. He could also faintly hear the sound of sheep in
>the distance. It was cool, but not uncomfortablly so.
CROW: So he's comfortable with sheep, huh?
JOEL: Oh, I don't think that's what he means.
>"Father, we must prepare for Thorfinn,"
CROW: It's the Mighty Thorfinn Power Rangers!
TOM: My doctor had me on Thorfinn for depression.
the man
who had spoken to Sam
>before walked up to him.
TOM: Okay, Joel, that's it! This guy's grammar is too confusing! How
are we supposed to follow the action?
CROW: What action?
"He will be here soon."
>"Who?"
JOEL: Cares?
>The man looked at Sam with a puzzled expression. "Thorfinn Ravensfeeder,
>Father. His ships are bringing the moarmers. Remember?"
JOEL: It's the 1995 moarmers' parade! Live from Philadelphia!
>"Uh, no. I'm afraid that it slipped my mind."
>The man sighed as if he had been through this more than once before.
TOM: Sam Beckett was often an idiot.
He
>patted Sam on the shoulder.
CROW: There, there, it's okay. Just put on his nice white jacket...
"No matter, Father. I
will take care of the
>arrangements. You will be conducting the services?"
>"Uh, yes. Whose?"
JOEL: The moarmers!
TOM: Thorfinn Ravensfeeder!
CROW: Reginald Maudling!
>"Duncan, Father. The king? He is to be buried in the Rellig Oran,"
TOM: With the flimber floodle harba!
>the man indicated the huge green mound.
CROW: I feel suddenly ill...
>"Ah. Yes. Duncan, the king. Rellig Oran. Right." Sam's mind raced.
JOEL: Unfortunately, not fast enough.
He
>had read about this -- the book, Duncan.
>"There will be the election of the new king, of course."
CROW: Oh, you know Newt Gingrich will win.
>"Of course," Sam parroted.
TOM: He felt a sudden craving for a Keebler Club cracker...
"Who...do you think will be.
.elected?"
>"MacBeth.
CROW: Uh, guys? I'm not sure, but I'm betting this author didn't come up
with all this himself.
JOEL: He must have read the Cliff's Notes.
Duncan's bastard son Malcolm will never claim the
throne
>of Scotland as long as MacBeth is alive."
>Sam's gut froze. "MacBeth?"
JOEL: He hated that play!
He looked around.
TOM: JOELLLLLLL!!!!!!!
A stone church, small huts
>of sod. A small island off the coast of another island. A book of
>colors...Kells...the Book of Kells...
CROW: Man, Einstein didn't make leaps of intuition this big!
>"Humor me. What year is this?"
>The man smiled in a patronizing way. "The year is 1023,
JOEL: I thought it was 1033!
CROW: I thought it was 1999!
TOM: Well, that's what he gets for not proofreading!
Father; and before
>you ask, you are the Abbot of Iona, head of the Church of Scotland."
>"Oh, boy..." Sam said to the elements.
CROW: Strangely, the elements didn't answer...
TOM: Uh, we gotta go...
[Joel and the 'bots leave the theater.]
[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...]
[SOL]
[Joel, Tom Servo, and Crow are in monk's hoods and robes. They begin to
chant in a Gregorian style. This carries on for several moments, until
Gypsy enters. She watches in silence as they continue chanting. After
several more moments, the commercial sign light begins to flash. Gypsy
looks at it, then at the guys, then at the light.]
GYPSY: Oh.
[She taps the light with her head.]