MSTed: The Seven Stars, Chapter 2 (Part 6--Last Part)
Kevin Mowery
Moreover, his physical coordination was simply astonishing for any
size, and his reaction time was simply amazing. His brain-melting
high-scores on video games were testimony enough of that.
Sammy the Enigma. And not just physically. Sammy Joseph was a living,
breathing hyper-genius, more intellectually capable than any of the
"specialists" who ever studied him. His IQ alone made Einstein look
like a retarded wombat, if one placed such emphasis on such a flimsy
standard alone.
MIKE: Yeah, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone who
makes Einstein look like a retarded wombat.
Of my five best friends—the members (besides myself) of
the illustrious Brüe Crüe: Luther Gates, Sammy, David Miller, Michael
Reese and Samantha Teale—Sammy was the most brilliant by far,
surpassing even David, a genius in his own right, who was one of the
hottest R&D men out at China Lake. Hell, Sammy was the first person
from our small-town high school to ace both his ACT and his
SAT—probably one of the first people ever to do that.
TOM: And *this* is evidence that he's smarter than Einstein?
Anyway, Sammy Joseph could have used his genius to change the world.
He could have gone to MIT or Cal-Tech or anywhere else in the world
for free, but he chose to stay with his buddies and go to UNO, to
raise hell and to have as much fun as possible.
CROW: And eat lots of Chicago-style pizza!
Personally, I believe that the real reason was that he was too lazy to
have to work hard for his degree. At least, that was my reason...
"Dinnah is soived!" Sammy rollicked in his best Curly voice,
MIKE: Which should go without saying, since it's completely natural.
CROW: This whole novel should have gone without saying.
jumping down from the small stepladder in front of the stove, all the
while somehow deftly balancing two heaping platters of breakfast
goodies in his outstretched hands. The coffee, though, would be for me
to serve. After all, fair is fair. Realizing this, I brought the
entire pot to the table, along with two large tourist-looking naval
mugs that Michael had sent us from Coronado a couple of years ago.
As we ate, Sammy hummed a merry tune that sounded remarkably similar
to the song that always played at the beginning of "The Three Stooges"
shows.
TOM: So we're even on Shakespeare references and Three Stooges
references now.
He smacked loudly, crucifying Emily Post, while he used his fork to
move pieces of his scrambled eggs into the huge pool of ketchup that
dominated one half of his plate. He was definitely hyperactive for
someone who had just recently gotten out of bed. That was, however,
typical Sammy behavior. Unfortunately.
"So, Logan," Sammy began with no preamble, "the Dream Police are
calling you 'Tatternorn,' are they?" Eerily enough, as he spoke, his
eyes were fixed on a mangled piece of egg that was slowly sinking in
the pool of ketchup.
MIKE: That's eerie?
CROW: This guy is more jittery than a ground squirrel.
"Yep," I said, feeling a strange sense of dread creep upon me. I knew
that he was about to spring a "funny" on me in typical Sammy fashion,
but that name—coming from someone else's lips—bit deeper than hot
nails.
"Tatternorn, huh?" Sammy commented without looking up from his plate.
"You know, I'm beginning to wonder if you haven't subconsciously been
considering switching Electric Bard's song format to something along
the lines of one of those weirdo fantasy novels. Wouldn't that be a
kick?"
MIKE: Well, it'd certainly be better than the current format.
"Well, we're pretty close to that already, Sammy."
"Yeah, I guess you're right about that," Sammy admitted. "So maybe it
isn't some warped subconscious projection on your part. Maybe it's
because you're just too involved with all this upcoming gig stuff and
you're not getting enough time to clear your thoughts before you zoom
off to La-La Land."
"Could be," I replied, taking a sip of strong, paint-peeling coffee.
TOM: It's too much to hope that it's full of turpentine.
The Psych grad in me had already considered that possibility, along
with a host of other less savory ones.
CROW: If I'm not stressed, it must be supernatural!
"Still, the word 'Tatternorn' sounds familiar to me," Sammy
said bluntly, his eyes still fixed upon the sinking piece of egg. My
breath caught in my throat at his mention of that damning word,
familiar. "It's etymology refers to Norse Fates and rags. Tit for Tat;
quid pro quo. Tatterdemalion. Pieces of cloth and wild, woolly Fate.
It could very well mean that you're fated to become a..." He looked
up, the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting back a smile.
TOM: I'm really hoping that the narrator snaps and kills this guy.
"A what?" I asked, urging him on.
"...a bum!" Sammy's laughter was like Woody Woodpecker's. Only worse.
MIKE: Only if anyone reads this.
"I guess that's why your eyes are so brown, Sammy," I said in between
bites, trying to disguise my relief, "'cause you're so full of shit."
TOM: Ah, the inimitable wit of Noel Coward.
"Ha. Anyway," he continued, trying not to smile, "I got confirmation
via E-Mail that David and Michael are both coming in today. Michael's
gonna be flyin' in, and Samantha and Luther are gonna pick him up at
the airport around three or so this afternoon. David should be pullin'
in around four or five—if his crappy old Nova can make it, that is!
Looks like the legendary Brüe Crüe is finally gonna make its
long-awaited Mardi Gras rendezvous!"
"Hell yeah!" I exclaimed, a fist in the air.
CROW: This is a depressing view into a very sad life.
TOM: This is what Wisconsin is like, isn't it, Nelson?
MIKE: Well... I...
We would be together again! All of us! This was the first piece of
good news that I had gotten today, and it felt pretty damn good.
TOM: Usually I'd react to good news with unbridled fear.
Far within, I
tittered with glee as I considered unique methods of group
inebriation...
CROW: We could drink lots of booze, or we could.... drink even more
booze!
"Sammy," I finally managed to gibber,
TOM: There's an attractive scene.
"In just a
few hours the Brüe Crüe will be together again for the first time in a
long time! Tonight, after practice of course, we're gonna lose
ourselves in the madness that is the French Quarter at Mardi Gras! The
Brüe Crüe, along with about a million of our closest friends! Oh, the
Horror! The Horror!"
MIKE: When happy, our hero speaks in epigrams?
We both started laughing then, spirits high in shared amusement;
Sammy's high-pitched, lilting hee-hee-hee's
MIKE: <clenched teeth> Grating on my last nerve. God, I want him
dead!
temporarily banishing from my mind the evil
thoughts of Lord Valthrustra, Skurge, and other such fantastic
nightmare nonsense.
Right...
TOM: We've *really* gotta go. [All exit stage right]
TO BE CONTINUED....
--The MST3K characters are copyrighted by Best Brains, Inc. The text
of the novel is copyrighted by Nova Eth publishing or Todd King or
whoever. No infringement is intended.