MiSTed: "A Trek Eulogy"
mwa...@uoft02.utoledo.edu
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<SOL>
MIKE: Hello, everybody!
TOM & CROW (in unison): HIII!!!
MIKE: Well, my name is Mike Nelson, and these are my friends Crow T. Robot
and Tom Servo. We're just waiting for the Mads to call with our
experiment for today, and-- <Mads' light flashes> Well, speaking of
Tony and Marcus... <pushes button>
<Deep 13. Dr. F is there, looking frantic and disheveled.>
DR. F: No time to talk, now, Nelson. Busy. Here's your experiment. <Hits
button. Before the connection cuts out, Dr. F can be heard yelling,
"No, Frank! Not the *pickaxe*!")
<SOL>
MIKE: Whew. Talk about weird...
TOM: Uh-oh, Mike, don't look now, but--
ALL: We've got Usenet siiiiign!!!
<6.....5.....4.....3.....2....1>
MIKE: Well, gee, that was kind of scary and, well, abrupt. I hope
Forrester's all right.
TOM: Uh, no you don't.
MIKE: Yeah, you're right.
> From: wiz...@bga.com (John P Onorato)
CROW: Wasn't there an Enya song called "Onorato Flow"?
> Subject:a trek eulogy
ALL: <various sniffling noises>
MIKE (weepy voice): Oh, this is so *sad*!
TOM: It'll get worse, I'm sure.
> Date: 8 May 1994 23:28:34 GMT
> Message-ID:<2qjsj2$f...@giga.bga.com>
>
>
>
>
>
TOM: Hmm. D'you suppose this is spoilerspace?
CROW: No, that'd be redundant.
> A passing, a eulogy.
> - ------- - ------
MIKE: A rotten post for you and me.
TOM: A lifting, a tucking...
CROW: This post's already sucking!
>
>
> "They're not real," I say. "They're not real," I keep telling myself,
> "it doesn't matter. They don't matter."
TOM: None of it matters! I think I'll go hurl myself from a window.
MIKE: Feeling a little dark today, huh, Servo?
> But it gets me nowhere.
CROW: Weeell... Talking to yourself can *sometimes* land you in the loony
bin.
> Despite my not having 'gotten into'
TOM: A straitjacket?
CROW: Group therapy?
MIKE: Drug rehab?
TOM: It's all these things, and more!
> the series until fairly recently,
> these people mean more to me than...
MIKE: Those little crackers with the tiny slices of bologna on them.
TOM: Don't you mean baloney?
> well, they have lives, at least
> on the show,
TOM: So, what, does he think the actors are just robots that they deactivate
and stick in a closet when filming's done?
CROW: Pretty stupid looking robots, if that's the case.
> so they mean more to me than my own life itself.
TOM: Yeah, I feel that way t-- What?!?
CROW: Boy, I hope there weren't any loaded guns lying around after he got
done watching the finale.
>
> When I heard about Paramount cancelling the immensely successful ST:
> TNG series,
MIKE: Well, mildly successful.
TOM: Actually, I would have said "marginally successful".
MIKE: Hovering above the bottom of the ratings barrel?
CROW: At least it's better than "Manos".
> I was crushed. At first.
MIKE: About those sentence fragments.
TOM: Now, Mike. He's writing a first-person, informal narrative. I think
you'd better give him the benefit of the doubt.
CROW: I'd like to give him a punch in the mouth.
> "Where would I get my fix of Dr
> Crusher?" I thought.
ALL: Aaaaaahhh...
TOM: *Now* it all makes sense!
> Who, now, would I look up to? Who would be the
> ideal me, who would be the father figure I never had?
TOM: GOOD LORD, man! Have you no life?
CROW: I wouldn't have said "man".
> At one time it
> was he who said in his distinctive brogue
MIKE: "Oooo, get out of the box, Jerry! The birds will peck your eyes out!"
TOM: Isn't a brogue more of an Irish accent?
> "Make it so!" But now? What
> now?
TOM: Oh, this is just too laughably, grotesquely, insanely pitiful.
>
> As of late, though, I have been filled with...
CROW: Bad gas.
> well, apathy, for lack
> of a better word.
MIKE: Delusions?
TOM: Schizophrenia?
CROW: Bullsh--
MIKE: NO, Crow.
> I'm a textbook case.
TOM: Look at me! I'm a textbook case! I can hold the entire twelve-volume
set of "Mechanical Engineering Fundamentals"!
> I'm following the four stages
> of dealing with death:
TOM: Death, embalming, burial, and decomposition?
> shock, denial, anger and acceptance.
TOM: Ah, I was close.
> Right now
> I'm somewhere between
MIKE: Five and six years old. I just lost a tooth, too, see!
> shock and denial.
TOM: Huh, huh, hey Beavis, isn't that a river in Egypt?
CROW: No, huh, huh, it's in Africa, you dork.
MIKE: Stop it, guys. You're scaring me.
> I don't suppose it will be
> final until I see the aged Picard, tending his fields, off of the
> bridge and yet in character for the longest time in the show's history.
MIKE: Could somebody tell me just what the *heck* that meant?
TOM: Somebody should tell him they're only actors.
ALL: THEY'RE ONLY ACTORS!
>
> And this leads me to wonder -- what brought me to this point?
TOM: Oh, I'm sorry, were you *making* a point?
> Were
> this happeneing to come, say, a year ago, I would not be quite so
> emotional about it, let alone moved to actually write about it.
> Perhaps it was that episode -- I can't recall the name of it -- where
> Picard and Crusher (both of whom, incidentally, I adore, though in
> different ways)
CROW: And I think we know exactly what you mean, heh, heh.
> are kidnapped and fitted with devices that eventually
> allow them to sense the other's
CROW: Oh, this is just *too* easy.
> thoughts. As they grew closer and
> closer, and finally couldn't deny the attraction that was there, I felt
TOM: Drool dribbling down my chin, and my little dog Rusty chewing on my
ankle.
> it. I felt it all, and in spades... I don't usually watch tv.
MIKE: *Good*! It sounds like you *shouldn't*! Or at least you shouldn't
drive afterwards.
> Maybe
> it was this episode that humanised the whole thing for me -- it never
> was the old Trek, and Data makes a lousy Spock.
CROW: He makes a great pasta marinara, though!
> He makes a great Data,
> though.
TOM: Hello? Dept. of Redundancy Dept.?
>
> Or maybe it was that one two-part season finale...
MIKE: Or the two one-part seaon finales. I get 'em mixed up.
> "Reunification," I
> believe it was called. That was...
TOM: Painful?
MIKE: Terrible?
CROW: Like biting on half-inch ball bearings?
> well, my words do not do it
> justice.
MIKE: Only because you haven't really tried.
> Suffice it to say that I cried.
CROW: Wuss.
MIKE: Now, Crow. It's the nineties. It's okay for men to cry. In fact, I'm
considering it right now.
> Oh, the pain, the torture,
CROW (wailing): Oh, the pain! Horrible pain! Preach it, brother!
> the longing, the yearning... when will I be free? When will I find my
> own?
MIKE: So, uh, is he talking as himself, or as a character on the show?
TOM: Mike, I'm scared.
>
> The old Trek was meaningful, to be sure. On a shoestring budget,
> though, with hokey aliens (granted, the aliens in TNG are just regualr
> people with funny things done to their heads. Have you noticed?)
MIKE: Why, no, actually.
TOM: Noticed what?
> and a
> captain with raging hormones...
CROW: Whoo-hoo!
> perhaps it was too adult for me at the
> time.
CROW: "Too adult"? Hey, John, here's a buck. Go downtown and rent something
from "Happy Jack's Fun Palace"!
> The new series, though, that really struck home for me. It
> actually meant something to me. Whereas the first was exciting and
> interesting, the new series was actually meaningful.
TOM: It sounds like he's talking about women.
CROW: I doubt it.
>
> And this, despite the fact that I loathed the design of the new
> Enterprise. Somehow it looked -- topheavy.
TOM: See what I mean?
MIKE: Hey, now.
> I don't suppose that
> matters too much, in space
MIKE: At least not nearly as much as worrying about how they eat and breathe.
> -- but for aesthetic purpouses,
TOM: And for some lovely dolphins, as well.
> I feel they
> should have kept the design from the original-cast Trek movies. Surely
> Utopia Planitia can't have changed all that much in a measly hundred
> years.
MIKE: Oh, sure, see how much *you* change in a measly hundred years!
> Ah, but I digress;
TOM: Peter David?
GYPSY: Richard Baseheart?
MIKE: Gypsy! When did you come in here?
GYPSY: Oh! Goodbye!
> I pick nits
CROW: Now *there's* an enlightening bit of wisdom.
> where I should spend my time
> really writing... an eulogy.
MIKE: No, no. Since it's pronounced "YOU-luh-gee", the word "a" should be
used instead of "an".
TOM: Let it go, Mike.
> Is that what this is? My own eulogy for
> the Next Generation series?
CROW: The rantings of a sad and crazed loner?
>
> Ah, captain, oh my captain.
CROW: THAT'S it. I'm outta here. <gets up to leave>
MIKE: Nope. We *all* have to sit through this. No special treatment.
CROW: Argh.
TOM: How'd we end up talking about "The Dead Poets' Society", anyway?
> Even when you didn't know what to do, you
> made everyone else think you knew precisely what to do.
TOM: Unless you really *did* know what to do, in which case everybody
thought you were only *trying* to figure out what to do, unless they
didn't know themselves, in which case they didn't have a clue anyway,
and, oh, I'm so confused.
> And the only
> way through his facade was with a mindlink like the one you and Beverly
> shared... she eventually saw right through you, to the human that you
> are, not the superhuman you carry yourself as.
MIKE: "The superhuman you carry yourself as"?
TOM: This post is proof that you shouldn't drink and drive on the
Information Superhighway.
> Always dashing, never
CROW: ...Showing up on time...
> pompous, sharing the same intolerance for stupidity as I...
MIKE: Oh, yeah, *right*! If that were the case, this post never would have
been written!
>
> Riker, the first officer, the most worthy carrier of the title 'cowboy
> diplomat...' The swashbuckling hero of the ship. Undaunted, with a
> winning smile for all, you had more romance in your life than Picard
> ever did.
MIKE: As if that's the only true measure of a man.
TOM: You mean it's not?
CROW: Hey, I don't see *you* scoring much, Nelson.
MIKE: What? We're up in space!
> I speculate that in the future, women shum older men
TOM: "Shum"? How do you you "shum" someone?
MIKE: I hereby shum thee Sir Tom of Servo!
CROW: I wish someone would shum Onorato with a baseball bat!
> without
> any hair, and prefer the dashing diabolical good looks of a young first
> officer.
TOM: Do you suppose you could be a little more bigoted?
> Making do with whatever was at hand,
CROW: ...No matter what planet she was from...
> king of improvisation, I
> can just imagine you taking the place of Errol Flynn on the deck of a
> pirate ship. I imagine that in character, you may have wanted the
> Enterprise to be that way... ah, but no.
TOM: What in the &*%!? is this guy talking about?
MIKE: Now, watch your language, Tom.
TOM: Sorry.
CROW: I just like to say &*%!?. &*%!?, &*%!?, &*%!?.
> Sadly enough. I shall miss
> your wit, your charm, your good looks.
MIKE: And most of all, your really fuzzy beard.
>
> Yes. I have decided. This is indeed a eulogy.
>
MIKE: Oh, good. The suspense was killing me.
TOM: When this is over, I'm going to write a eulogy for John P. Onorato.
MIKE: Well, that's very kind, Tom.
> Beverly, the doctor. Ah, angel of mercy, come to me, even if only in
> my sleep;
CROW: Heh, heh. My kind of guy.
MIKE: Careful.
> tend to me, salve my wounds, heal me, make me whole again, if
> ever I was whole.
CROW: What kind of a "whole" do you suppose he's talking about?
MIKE: You are headed for a time out, my friend.
CROW: What? What did I say?
> The lovely doctor, a vision in blue and black,
TOM: The captain beats her?
> with
> a confident stride, captain's companion, token single mother; I admire
> you, your strength, your tenacity. Alwaysd trying to do the best thing
> for the people, tending to needs, giving succour to the ill. But you
> were so much more than that to me... I am not sure I can ever explain.
> Surely I shall never get the chance to speak this in person, but know
> that my thoughts are with you.
MIKE: Wow! I just read through the entire rest of that paragraph and didn't
pay one bit of attention to it. After a while, the babble all starts
to run together.
>
> Geordi, you lack the flair of Scotty;
CROW: In fact, Geordi, you suck! I hate you.
> you are about as ethnic as a
> recent midwestern college graduate.
TOM: What the heck is that supposed to mean?
MIKE: Tom, I believe you asked the author a little while ago: "Do you
suppose you could be a little more bigoted?" There's
your answer.
> Nevertheless, you have special
> qualities to set you apart from the others; your eyes, of course, being
> the most obvious. It makes my eyes tear
CROW: And there's nothing as painful as a torn eye.
> to think of the pain you must
> go through, the stigma you must bear -- perhaps in the future they are
> more tolerant of these things, but here and now would certainly not be
> your time or place.
TOM: HE'S A FREAKING TV CHARACTER!!! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR STINKIN' HEAD?!?
MIKE: Feel better, Tom?
TOM: <shakes briefly> Whew. Much better, thanks.
> Your compassion sets you off as well
CROW: You know, a couple hundred pounds of TNT would set this post off
nicely.
> -- second
> only to the good doctor in this regard, you value machinery, but not to
> the exclusion of other humans. The engines were Scotty's children, but
> they are your friends.
>
> And Data, always on his quest for humanness, always having it dangled
> just in front of your nose,
MIKE: Like a carrot held before an enslaved pack mule, enticing the animal to
jump through whatever hoops are set before it.
TOM: That's pretty good, Mike, but you used "before" twice in the same
sentence.
MIKE: I know. I was going for the "Onorato effect".
> amid the mystery of your creation, only to
> have it snatched away in the last quarter of the episode. Still, you
> do not falter; you learn, you pick yourself up, you move on in your
> inexorable robotic way.
CROW: He's NOT a ROBOT! How many times does he have to TELL you people!
TOM: Yeah, and stop insulting us robots!
> The cat was a nice touch -- did you ever learn
> that cats are inherently untrainable?
MIKE (Disney's Goofy): Duh-huh! Nope! That little cat sure did get the best
of me! Hee-huh!
> That they have no masters but
> themselves? Like you and yet unlike you.
TOM: Yes, it's Zen and the Art of Star Trek! Each book is worth $45.00, but
if you order now, you'll get the *entire* twelve-volume set for a mere
$600.00! Take out a loan!
> You can be turned of with a
> switch, when the script requires, yet the crew would never think of
> doing such a thing, because that would be like killing a fellow being.
MIKE: Now, wait. He's acknowledging the fact that there is a script behind
the show, and that it's therefore a work of fiction, but then he turns
right around and talks about the crew as if they actually exist?
TOM: Yes, Mike, he is insane.
> You will never attain humanness, of tis I feel certain.
CROW: It's Gambit, the mutant Usenet poster from the Bayou!
TOM (Gambit): T'is has gotta be t'e worst crap I ever did read, petit.
> But you have
> achieved... personhood.
TOM: Still working on that one, eh, John?
>
> Worf. The token Klingon,
MIKE: Oh, stop with all the "token" stuff, already! Crusher was the "token"
single mother, Worf is the "token" Klingon... This doesn't look like
the "enlightened future" to me.
CROW: Mike, you're beginning to rant. Just remember we've got almost two
more bridge crew eulogies to get through.
TOM: <begins sobbing>
> child of an uneasy alliance, the origins of
> which were, and still are, rather shady and obscure for me.
> Nevertheless, in the days represented by the series, the Federation and
> the Klingons have an alliance, however uneasy, and you, orphan of a
> Romulan massacre, take up the badge of Starfleet, but not in
> renunciation of your Klingon heritage.
TOM: This is nuts. The guy posted this on the Star Trek groups, he's
"talking to" the characters themselves, doesn't he think all of these
people he's spewing this dreck at *know* the history of the show?
MIKE: Oh, *now* who's ranting, Servo?
> You provide the show with an
> interesting slant on race relations, as they exist in the 23rd century.
> Funny, but they are remarkably similar to the concerns we have now,
> and have had in the recent past. I shall miss your brusqueness, your
> irritability which so often mirrors my own. You can get away with it,
> for it is your character -- I have to remain nice to people.
CROW: So WHY do you send us these awful posts? Why, why, WHY??? <collapses
on the floor, wailing and sobbing>
MIKE: There, there, Crow. I think we're almost done.
>
> Finally, I reach the end of the line. Councillor Deanna Troi,
MIKE: Counselor! Counselor, Counselor, COUNSELOR! A "Councillor" is someone
who sits in some type of Council! Get it straight! <Tom begins
vigorously shaking his head around.> What are you doing, Tom?
TOM: Well, I'm trying to disconnect my logic circuits so that I don't have
to try to understand any more of this. Gimme a hand.
MIKE: Uh-uh. If I have to sit through this, you both do.
TOM: But Crow's collapsed on the floor! Can't I collapse too?
MIKE: Well, okay, but you're not getting any help from me.
TOM: Cool! <falls over>
> my hat
> (were I to wear a hat) goes off to you for dealing with an extremely
> strange mother (one wonders if you are really her daughter),
MIKE: Wink, wink, nudge nudge.
> for making
> emotional sense of matters that have no logical base,
CROW & TOM: <renewed sobbing>
> for being
> Starfleet's answer to things that they couldn't answer before, for
> giving the captain an edge up on his many communications, simply
> because of your talent for sensing emotion.
MIKE: But she didn't *do* anything!
CROW (from the floor): Well, she did, but only when those handsome diplomats
showed up.
MIKE: You don't mean--
CROW: Yup. She was the Enterprise Welcome Wagon.
> Imperfect though it is, it
> is certainly more talent than most mundane human beings possess. All
> this, and beauty in the bargain -- you were the only officer allowed
> such a variety in wardrobe. Why was this? Ah, no matter. A Vulcan
> you are not, mind-melds you do not do, nor do you have a nerve pinch
> that comes in handy nine times out of ten,
MIKE: Well, this certainly is proof that the guy's actually watched the show.
> but you, like the rest of
> the cast, are your own person, your own character. You sense things
> that most of us are blind to, and I shall miss you rooting about in
> other people's minds, if not my own.
TOM (also from the floor): That's it. I declare this poster officially
psycho. He's worse than ol' Ludwig "Hank" Plutonium.
>
> Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you
CROW: My head, on a stick!
> the (major) crew of the starship
> Enterprise. You have seen their coming, you have witnessed their
> actions ... now prepare for their passing. To the silver screen they
> go, so live on they will be, but forever changed, I fear.
TOM: Babble babble, bab-babble babble babble.
CROW: Babble, babble babbledy-babble babble?
MIKE: Babble. Bibble babble buh-babbledy babble.
> Nothing is
> the same on the screen, it will certainly not be what we are used to.
> The mechanics are different, the dynamics change. Movies are not tv,
TOM: Gentlemen, we are approaching coherency!
> and whereas I realise that this is but a passing of yet another tv
> show, this is one that meant something to me, for reasons unknown.
MIKE: Whew. This post is really draining. I haven't been able to riff
decently for quite a while now. I hope it's not permanent.
>
> Ah, to have you all, to keep you all... to see you all, for all time,
> in the eyes of my mind. Alas, I cannot afford to maintain a library of
> episodes.
CROW: Thoooorazine! Getcher Thorazine heeyuh!
> I can but keep you in my head,
MIKE: Herman's Head?
> and there you will live
> immortal.
TOM: Well, until I die, of course.
> Inimitable, all of you, unforgettable, each one. Merry
> meet, merry part (though it doesn't feel that way now), and may we meet
> merry again.
MIKE: Merry Chapin Carpenter?
TOM: Merry Martin?
CROW: Merry Christmas?
MIKE: Merry, Queen of Scots?
TOM: It's all these things, and more!
>
>
> (c) 1994 John Onorato. All Rights Reserved.
TOM: You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right,
anything you say may be used against you in a court of law...
>
> Sun, 08 May, 1994
> 03.38 AM
>
>
> Comments and criticism always welcome.
MIKE: I don't think you really mean that.
>
>
>
>
> --
TOM: Hey, look! More spoilerspace!
CROW: More like "spoiled" space.
> John P Onorato | " ... men's private experience of sex is vastly dif-
> wiz...@bga.com | ferent from the usual stereotypes, is as complex
> voicemail: I as women's, and is as filled with longing for in-
> 512.706.4386 | timacy and spiritual meaning." -- Sam Keen
MIKE: Freud would have a field day with this guy.
>
>
>
> --
> John P Onorato | " ... men's private experience of sex is vastly dif-
> wiz...@bga.com | ferent from the usual stereotypes, is as complex
> voicemail: I as women's, and is as filled with longing for in-
> 512.706.4386 | timacy and spiritual meaning." -- Sam Keen
CROW: Aaagh! Stop!
MIKE: Well I think he's done. Let's get out of here...
<1.....2.....3.....4.....5.....6>
MIKE: Yow! Was *that* ever painful! Whew. Well, guys, you both have a
chance to win these delightful ramchips if you can just come up with
one thing that you learned from this post.
<Tom & Crow think and mutter for a moment.>
TOM: Weeelll... I'd say that it's an important reminder that
overstimulation of the imagination can lead to intense suicidal
tendencies.
MIKE: Okay, Tom, that'll work. Crow?
CROW: I learned that medication is your friend. NEVER forget to take your
medication, especially if you have net.access.
MIKE: That's pretty good, too. Okay, boys, here're your-- <Mads' light
flashes.> Hang on a second... <hits button>
<Deep 13 is in violent disarray; light fixtures are hanging from their wiring,
panels are sparking, etc. Dr. F is still disheveled, and Frank is still not
there.>
DR. F: Well, (pant, pant) boobies, what did you think? Don't tell me, I
(pant) don't have time. I'll see you next--
<Frank bursts in, dressed in a giant fish suit, wielding a smoking chainsaw.>
DR. F: NOOOO!!! Get away, Frank! Aaaaahhh!!! <smacks the button while
flailing about. Transmission ends.>
<SOL>
TOM: Wow. That was sure... surreal.
CROW: Now see what I mean about the importance of taking your medication?
MIKE: Yeesh. I think I'm going to go find a good book and wipe that whole
image from my mind. C'mon, guys.
<Mike hits the button, and static ensues.>
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAIMER!!!
The characters and situations related to Mystery Science Theater 3000 are the
properties of Best Brains, Inc., and even though I used them in this post, I
don't mean to rip them off. The characters and situations related to Star
Trek: The Next Generation are the properties of Paramount Pictures. This post
is not meant as a personal attack on John P. Onorato, although he clearly needs
to take television a lot less seriously.
> "They're not real," I say. "They're not real," I keep telling myself,
> "it doesn't matter. They don't matter."
--
Michael R. Warner mwa...@uoft02.utoledo.edu
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"And as the winds of heaven blow / Through the shadows of my mind / I
see my house of dreams..." -Magdallan