[BT][MiSTing] A New Story Continuation
Camille Klein
Here it is, folks--Bill Silvey's classic MiSTing of a really trippin'
ST/BT/SW crossover story. Enjoy!
The formatting is kinda horked--sorry all.
<Intereior, Satellite of Love>
<Crow and Tom Servo are leaning over a cardboard map. Miniatures of all
sorts abound>
<Crow> Ok, Tom, I roll 1 d 30 and consult the chart on what page?
<Tom> Ummm...
<Crow> Do you even know HOW to play this game?
<Tom> <Sobbing> NO! I don't! I've got these useless little arms! I
can't
crack a rulebook, okay?! <sob>
<A light on the panel starts to flash - Joel enters the bridge>
<Joel> Quiet, you two. Carl Macek and Harmony Gold are calling.
<Interior, Deep 13>
<Frank and Doctor Forrester are also at a gaming table>
<Doctor F.> Sorry, Frank, but I'm afraid a mad wizard put a red dragon in
that room...
<Frank> What?! Why did he put a red dragon in a room right next to a
room
full of orcs?!
<Doctor F.> Because he's MAD, Frank. Now, as you hear the voice of the
insane wizard Gyga...Oh, hello Joel. Frank and I here were just engaging
in a sophisticated, mind-expanding game involving dramatic skills,
storytelling and deep imaginiative thought. You DO know what that means,
don't you?
<SOL>
<Joel> Sure I do. You're D&D Geeks.
<D13>
<Frank> Hey! You just watch it...I've got a 45th level half elf fighter
theif wizard who'll...
<Dr. F.> Frank...why don't you go stick a 20 sided die up your nose?
<Frank> Right, Steve.
<SOL>
<Joel> Well sirs, this week's invention exchange...
<D13>
<Dr. F> Wait for it...Nnnnnnnnnnnow!
<SOL>
<Joel, with weary expression on his face> Our invention this week is
based
on the idea that sometimes, when you're reading USENET, you need a filter
to tell what a poster was REALLY typing at you. Allow Tom and Crow and
Gypsy to demonstrate the USENET Fitlerscreen...
<Tom> (inxplicable keyboard noises coming from a computer in front of
him>
To...Crow@SOL.com...your last post...was...great...keep up the
good...work....ENTER.
<Crow, viewing computer screen through anti-glare filter> "You bonehead,
how did you get permisison to post on usenet, stick it in your ear." HEY!
<Gypsy, viewing screen of her own> ALT.FAN.RICHARD-BASEHEART WOOOOOOOOOO
<falls over>
<Joel> What do you think, sirs?
<D. 13>
<Dr. F.> All well and interesting Joel, but Frank and I have one to beat
this week...you see, ever since I dustd off my AD&D books, Frank and I
have
been
<SOL>
<Crow> ...acting like highschool geeks?
<D. 13>
<Dr. F> Quiet, you, or I'll send you another Burt I. Gordon film!...Now,
as
I was saying...Frank and I need storage space for our well-detailed
hand-painted gaming figures. And if you've spent as much time and money
on
them as I have, you've got lots. I'll let Frank take over, Frank?
<Frank> Right, Dr F., What you need is a travel safe storage container
for
moving all of your little men to the gaming con's so you can hit the
tables
in record time and then make time with the cool gaming chicks!
<hyukEEEEEHA!> <displays poster-tube device with flex-able PVC on one
end.
So here it is! The FigVac2000 - collects them <vaccum noises, several
minis disappear up the tube> and dispenses them! <reverse noises, chunks
of
unidentifiable metal are spat back out the tube. AH, AH, of um, course
it
ah...still has a few ah...bugs ha...Here, Dr. F., you can still see wings
on this one...ah...
<Dr. F., going purple with rage at the sight of wrecked minis> FRANK!
I'm
going to HURT you for this! As for you Joel, I'm afraid you've rolled a
fumble this week! It's a rather munckiny post from rec.games.mecha
cleverly titled "A Story Continuation" <strangling frank, menacing him
with
FigVac> Deal with it, proleboy!
<SOL>
<All> AAAH! WE'VE GOT FANFIC SIGN!
<4,3,2,1>
> Colonel Phillip Davenport surveyed the controll room of the
laboratory
with a confused
> expression on his face. Ever since the FC
<Crow> Football Cup?
had sent him here to this remote world in the Magistracy of Canopus,
> something hadn't smelled right
<Tom> Did he shower to shower today?
about the disappearance of the colonists/scientists who had built that
monstrosity
> of a battleship. He was accessing the logs of the scientists,
<All> EWWWW!
and they all said that there was nothing
> that they could do against this form of the flu
<Tom> I guess Tylenol was destroyed during the succesison wars, too?
,> bla bla bla...
<Joel> We are poor little lambs who have lost our way...
<All> BLA, BLA, BLA
> Davenport had been a medical officer for over 20 years, and he
knew that
even the most viurlent diseases
> don't wipe out entire populations in a week.
<Crow> <In peter graves voice> "He discovered too late that man is a
feeling creature...and because of it..."
<Joel> Ah...that's enough
<Crow> Heh...sorry.
Even Ebola and the other hemorraghic fever viruses didn't kill that
fast.
> Certain extremeely rare bone eating bacteria could, but this was listed
aa
<Tom> Hello, flu bug? I'm tempted again!
<Joel> No grammar flames!
> flu bug, and the docotors here simply
> could not have misconstrued that, especially if they were part of a a
fanatical group loyal to Alexander kerensky. No, something was
> not right.
<Crow>...and most of it is in this post!
> Davenport flipped through the files on the still functioning
computer,
<Tom> Which is much easier than flipping through the files on a
non-functioning computer...Like a PC!
<Crow> What, do you want a little clown to...
<Joel> We are NOT having this discussion again!
and concluded that all of the logs
> gave the same story, as full of holes as it was.
<Joel> Rather like this one.
> His comm beeped. he flipped the switch and said, "Davenport here."
<Tom, in cheesy morning DJ voice> "Hey, tell us who won the first
succession war and win tickets to Van Halen!
> "Sir," came the shaky voice on the other end, "you better get
down to
the weapons lab. Something here you have to see."
>
> "Roger, Major. Out."
<Crow> Roger Major! I loved him in The Six Million Dollar Man!
> Davenport stood and walked from the control room and headed down
to the
weapon's lab, five levels deeper ino the plantet's
> surface. "Major Dixon isn't likely to be shaken by much,"
<Joel, doing Connery impression> Shaken. Not stirred.
He thought. "Fought on Tukayyid as an attache to ComStar's Fifth Army.
> Wonder what has him spooked?" Davenport was still musing as he entered
the elevator. he marelledat how the complex was still fully
> functional even with all of the people gone.
<Crow> Yeah, most buildings will just fall down if anyone leaves them.
<Tom> They're held up by hypnosis.
"Level Five, Weapons Development and Computer Programming, " intoned the
speaker in the
> elevator as the door opened.
<Joel> Darn, I wanted Lingere and Heavy Flamethrowers! Must be level
six.
> Dixon was standing over something on the floor in the middle of
the
hallway leading to the control room. It looked like a man,
> but much different. "Major, report," ordered Davenport.
<Crow, in cornball surfer voice> Whoa, dude, I've got this major report!
> Dixon cleared his throat, and began in a strained voice, "the
files down
here are different from upstairs, sir.
<Tom> In that they're downstairs.
> I believe that
<Crow> ...for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows?
<Tom> ...I'll have another beer?
<Joel> ...it's way past my bedtime?
> they have been tampered with. The files down here tell amuch different
story, but they computer system down here is separate from the
> main system. They had it set up to run diagnostics on the main system
and to manage the weapons production plant in tbe
> bedrock underneath us. I guess it was because the plant was so huge
that
they needed another system. Anyway, listen to this, sir."
> Dixon gulped,
<Joel> Uh, he said /listen/ to it. Don't swallow it!
and motioned to a Lieutennant behind him, who pressed a series ofkeys on
the panel in front of her. A voice filled the
> rooms from the speakers.
>
> "Nowhere left to run...
<Tom, in Aretha Franklinesque falsetto> Nowhere to hiiiiiiiiiiide!
This is Dr. Alan Ward of SecStation Blackwine. I am possibly the last of
a
handful of us left alive.
> If you are reading this, then THEY have won. The Tirpitz is safe, sent
to the orbit the solar system on auto pilot and reutrn here in
> 21 days, thank God. If they got their hands on it, no telling what
they
could unleash. Now, there are some things you must know.
<Tom> I'll always be a little girl inside!
> Several days ago, we noticed a peculiar disturbance in the space
surrounding the fifth planet of this system. It was as if
> someone were turning a light on and off.
<All> Clap On! Clap Off! Clap On Clap Off...Planetary Clapper!
<Crow, announcer's voice> Order by mail today!
Brilliant, multicolored lights were visible in our telescopes and large
amounts of radiation
> on our scanners. We thought it might be Solar activity behind an
eclipsed sun, but it was not.
<Tom> It turned out the Grateful Dead were playing one solar system over!
We still don't know what it is, I and
> my colleagues, but it might have been a rift in space, and possibly
even
time, as if a vessel misjumped.
>
> In any event, within three days, they arrived. Not man, not
machine,
but somehow both, with large metallic eyes, and demonic
<Tom> Oh, you mean Republicans.
> looking headgear. they...*unintelligible*...te us, as they call it,
turn
us into zombies with no feeling, no life.
<Joel> No, I think he means the Clinton Administration.
They are immune to
> weapons and fear,
<Tom> No, I think it's libertarians.
and have taken all but seven or eight of us. I am here in the weapons
lab,
holed up...If they come for me, I've got a
> laser pistol ready. I won't wind up a zombie like the others...I
WON'T!!
<Crow, in whiny, childish voice> I won't I wont I won't...wahhh!
<Joel> Come on Crow, you're tired you're just fighting Zombification!
> ***Large Explosion***
>
> They've broken in in sector 5...God forgive me...*deep breath*
There's
one now!!! **laser firing** ** thump **
>
> Ha, i gotcha!, now you won't get me! *laser firing again*"
<Crow> Heck of a way to kill roaches.
> "Hold tape, lieutennant," said Dixon.
>
> The Lt. pushed stop. Dixon turned back to Davenport. "that's
not the
worst part...
<Joel> ...I'm afraid there's...more fanfic.
<'bots> AAAAAAAAAH!
it was this next voice...completely devoid
> of all emotion and like a robot.
<Tom> That's DEFINITELY the Clinton Administration.
Positively eerie. Go on, Lt."
>
> The Lt. resumed playing the log,
<Joel> ...taking requests from the audience and striking up a jaunty
tune!
and a deep, thick voice out of hell intoned..."Resistance is futile."
<Joel> Wake up honey, Microsoft is here.
<'Bots> AAAAAAAAAH!
> ***to be continued***
>
<All> AAAAAAAAAAAAH!
<1,2,3,4>
<Inside SOL, Bots are once again hunched over gaming table>
<Joel> Are you two STILL playing that giant robot game?
<Tom> No no, we're playing a DIFFERENT giant robot game. THat other one
didn't model real-world situations accurately enough.
<Crow> Tom, did you just call us playing with metal soldiers "Real
world?"
<Tom> heh, sorry...
<Joel> So what's this button here for?
<Crow> Ah! That's so we can model the use of nuclear weapons on the
battlefield! If I roll a 3.14 on my 9 sided dice here...
<There is a loud BANG and a flash...when the smoke clears, Joel is
standing
there, hair sticking out, smoke rising from his jump suit. The Bots are
melted and blackened as well>
<Tom> See? Accurate to a fault!
<Joel, coughing on smoke> What do you think, sirs?
<D. 13, Dr. F. is facing the camera. Frank, with a dead-white
complexion,
and clutching a Vampire:masquerade rulebook, approaches from behind>
<Dr. F> Well, it would appear I rolled snakeyes, myself, Joel. But don't
you worry. I'll get you soon enough.
<Frank, droning, flat voice> Blllloooooooood...foood of
liiiiiiiiife...the
masquraaaaaade
<Dr. F.> Oh knock it off Frank. Push the button.
<Frank pushes the button and continues to approach Dr. F, arms
outstreched,
zombilike>
\|/
*
/|\
<Off camera, Dr. F.> Frank, I'm going to give you three seconds to stop
trying to bite me on the neck...
<Credits>
>...turn us into zombies with no feeling, no life...they are immune to
weapons and fear!
--
-export-a-crypto-system-sig -RSA-3-lines-PERL
#!/bin/perl -sp0777i<X+d*lMLa^*lN%0]dsXx++lMlN/dsM0<j]dsj
$/=unpack('H*',$_);$_=`echo 16dio\U$k"SK$/SM$n\EsN0p[lN*1
lK[d2%Sa2/d0$^Ixp"|dc`;s/\W//g;$_=pack('H*',/((..)*)$/)
"I hope I never meet her. I'd be tempted to put my cig out in her eye."
Bill
Camille Klein wrote in message <6uroa0$n19$4-...@pinta.pagesz.net>...
<bigolgold SHNIP>
Heh. I *can* write a funny every now and again, can't I?
:)
I've got a Battletech Fanfic in the works that'll probably get me
roasted
alive (justly so)...ah well :)
--
I'm "DiabloBlanco" in Inet Quake2.
"I post to see what kind of responses I will get. I don't know of every
single facet of a subject I post on." - ATN082268's confession in
posting
<19980604050705...@ladder01.news.aol.com>
that it does in fact post in rec.games.mecha only to troll.
Jeffrey Smith
>><Joel> Darn, I wanted Lingere and Heavy Flamethrowers! Must be level
>>six.
>
>Why does this make me think of Camille?
Because Camille, like those of us who like to MiSTificate, is
completely and ruthlessly evil.
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