From: "Craig J. Clark" Subject: [MISTING] "Artifact" - Part 1/3 Date: 1999/07/13 Message-ID: <378BE273.4A989D86@earthlink.net> X-Deja-AN: 500745034 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Posted-Path-Was: not-for-mail Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-ELN-Date: 14 Jul 1999 01:07:38 GMT X-ELN-Insert-Date: Tue Jul 13 18:15:07 1999 Organization: EarthLink Network, Inc. Mime-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc This misting was actually completed a couple months ago, but was only recently added to the archive a Web Site Number 9 (don't let the May 23 date fool you). Enjoy, but be forewarned that it does get a little nasty at times... [It's rated PG and goes under the heading PROSE, but could also be PARA.] For optimum viewing, set your e-mail reader to this width: =========================================================================== [Note: This begins the hypothetical era code-named CLAYTON for reasons which will become apparent. Others may find it an appealing combination for their own Mistings.] ----(Dim your lights where applicable)---- In the not too distant future Between now and god-knows-when A lot of stuff has happened To Mike and his robot friends It's too complex to explain right now But they're back in the orbit of Earth somehow Tortured by Pearl and her attache Of assorted wacky minions that she picked up on the wa-ay BAD GUY ROLL CALL Bobo ["Professor Bobo to you!"] Brain Guy ["That's Observer!"] Leonard Maltin ["It's payback time."] Pearrrrrrrrrl! ["I'll get you!"] They send him cheesy movies And stories and fan-fics too And bulk e-mail and newsgroup rants And we pass them on to you Now keep in mind you can't control When the stories begin or end You have to sit and watch them all With Mike and his robot friends ROBOT ROLL CALL Cambot ["Yeah, whatever."] Gypsy ["Remember me?"] Tom Servo ["Bite me."] Crooooooooow! ["Are we there yet?"] If all of these plot and cast changes Make you want to pick up an axe Just repeat to yourself, it's just a show I should really just relax... For Mystery Something Theater Three Thou-suuund! (bdrdrdrlanggg!...) [Ka-thunk...2...3...4...5...6...SoL Bridge] CROW: I'm still skeptical. TOM: I just think it's worth exploring. MIKE: Hey, out there, welcome to the Satellite of Love. The bots and I have been discussing Tom's theory that our universe works on narrative rules. TOM: And, more importantly, the idea that we can use this to our advantage. MIKE: Like, say, causing something to happen by deliberately foreshadowing it? TOM: Precisely. CROW: Which is crazy, because even if it were true, we'd be powerless to change the story, because we're part of it. TOM: Not necessarily. Now we're getting into the question of free will versus determinism. Regardless of whether there's a fixed narrative, our future is still shaped by what we do. CROW: I'm sorry, but that makes no sense to me. Yes, actions have consequences, but literary devices are not a force of nature. MIKE: Well, crazy or not, it certainly can't hurt to try it out. Servo, what do you think would be a good test? TOM: Perhaps if a we had a big chunk of exposition, something important would happen that required that exposition in order to be understood. MIKE: Okay, hmm... Okay, I've got it. I can ask Pearl about something that she hasn't explained before. I've been curious about this anyway. [The communication light flashes] And hey, that's her calling now! TOM: You see? Narrative timing! CROW: Could just be coincidence. TOM: You could just be stupid. MIKE: Hush, you two. [taps the light] Hey, Pearl, we were just talking about you. Before you send the experiment, let me ask you: What happened with your son, Dr. Clayton Forrester? I know you killed him, but I was wondering how and why, you know? Just curious. [Castle Forrester. Pearl is absently leafing through Leonard Maltin's Movie Guide, putting tape flags on the three-star entries.] PEARL: Okay, if you really want to know.... When you guys went flying off to the end of the universe, Clayton regressed into a space baby and I had to raise him all over again. I thought it was a second chance to raise him right, but it turned out to be a waste of time because he remembered every darn thing from his first life. By the time he had reached adulthood, he was twice as evil as he was before. Even more evil than me. Plus, he didn't respect me anymore. I couldn't have that. So, when he went out for coffee, I ran over him with the van. Simple as that. [SoL] MIKE: Whoa. [CF] PEARL: Yeah. So anyway, I blamed the whole thing on you, froze myself, was revived to take totalitarian rule over the monkeys of future Earth, and, well, you know the rest. [SoL] MIKE: I guess I do, although it really all seems like a blur at this point. [CF] PEARL: Doesn't it though? Anyhow, your personal hell this week is... DR.F: Hello, Mother! PEARL: [jumping, throwing her book into the air] CLAYTON! DR.F: That's right, Mother dear, you've made a disastrous misstep. You see, you returned to the present time a little too soon, and I've been picking up your transmissions. When I heard you say that you had killed me, or, rather, that you were going to kill me, I killed _you._ Since you did not subsequently vanish from the timestream like Michael J. Fox, I have been waiting for the right time to come here and kill you again. Normally, I wouldn't, but you have made quite a mess of my project, Mother, and I won't have it. PEARL: What? I'm doing a great job! That Nelson guy has been watching some really awful stuff! He'll crack at any moment! DR.F: Ah, but are you monitoring his mind? PEARL: Yes. Yes. I send him cheesy movies, and I monitor his mind. DR.F: Ah, but you aren't really monitoring his mind, are you. PEARL: Of course I am! Mostly. DR.F: No, Mother, you are not. You should know as well as I do that the portable version of the satellite-control system that you loaded into the van doesn't have the mind-monitor feature. You _say_ that you are monitoring his mind, but really you have not been doing any mind-monitoring at all. That's fine for torture, but this is an _experiment,_ Mother, it requires data in order to be scientifically useful! PEARL: I'm sorry, Clayton dear. We can work out these little problems now that we're reunited. DR.F: Yes, we can. Like this. [pulls out a remote control] Bye now! [He pushes the button and a sixteen-ton weight drops from the ceiling, flattening Pearl with a cartoon KLOONG! noise.] DR.F: Now then, Mr. Nelson, you're in for a much harder road ahead. With the help of my late mother's extraterrestrial friend, whose allegiance I have found to be easily swayed, I shall transport my laboratory equipment here, to the home of my ancestors, and resume my experiments. For the past year, I have been scouring the net for the most execrable stories known to the world. And tonight, you shall be reading a particularly foul fable entitled "ARTIFACT" written by, of all things, an ocelot masquerading as a human author. You have to sit and watch it all, while I monitor your mind. Is that clear? [SoL] MIKE: [hesitant] Uh, yeah. Was this the effect we were looking for, guys? TOM: I'd call it a dubious success. CROW: I'd call it a dubious trip up Shinola Creek. [CF. Observer is standing alongside Dr. Forrester.] DR.F: Observer, send them the story. OBSERVER: [smiling] Could you say that again, Doctor? DR.F: I said send them the story. OBSERVER: No, no, the part before that. DR.F: Observer...? OBSERVER: [smiling more] It is indeed a pleasure to be working with you. [SFX: Observer doing his thing] [SoL. Buzzing, flashing, the lot] MIKE: Grab your paddles, boys, we've got STORY SIGN! [...6...5...4...3...2...Theater] > Date sent: Mon, 06 Jul 1998 01:13:53 -0700 > From: Ocicat > Send reply to: oce...@gte.net > Organization: Ocelot Studios TOM: Y'know, just because there's a slot for "Organization", that doesn't mean you have to pretend to have one. > To: tsa-...@polar.integral.org > Subject: story- ARTIFACT > ARTIFACT > by Ocicat > Erin Tyler and his aid, Dr. Joyce Ash, carefully sifted through the fine > grain sand , searching for the door's jambs. MIKE: "Dolby...Donovan...Doobie Brothers.... Ah, here they are. You'd think they'd keep a record store a little cleaner than this." > Tyler knew there had to be > some sort of door crease, somewhere, if he'd rread and interpreted the > heiroglyphics correctly, this should be the main burial chamber. CROW: Or the set of _Suddenly Susan._ Either way, he wanted to get inside. > he steadied himself an Ash aims a bright beam of light into the narrow > crack where he was now balled up like some sort of dead rat. CROW: Offering himself as a sacrifice to Bast, no doubt. MIKE: Try not to get too far ahead of the story, Crow. CROW: I was joking! MIKE: You're forgetting that this story was written by a cat. CROW: Oh yeah. > He, now on > his stomach, could just reach the door crack, his fingers extended to > their maximum reach. MIKE: Hey, that guy's agile! I blinked and he was in another position! > He gently blew on the sand and began to pick at the > crease, attempting to find where it may reach, or even if it did reach, > the wall. "More light Ash, please, down here" he urged, CROW: [as Ash from the Evil Dead movies] "Groovy." > Ash pointed the light > down, biting her lip nervously. She could just imagine seeing him trip > some archaic booby trap, causing something to either fall on him or > decapitate his fingers! MIKE: [as Erin] "What are you giggling about?" CROW: [as Joyce] "Hm? Oh, nothing, just thinking..." TOM: Guys, I hate to be pedantic, but...decapitate his fingers? MIKE: Yes, we all noticed, Tom. TOM: Just making sure. > She watched as Erin continued to work, his strong sure > hands carefully and lovingly sifting sand away and feeling gently for the > crack. CROW: WHOA! Hey guys, I think they sent us the dirty version by mistake! > "Got it!" he whisper shouted, MIKE: That's a pretty heavy handed oxymoron. TOM: No, I think I know what he means. You know, like, "The crowd goes wild! _hhhhhhhhhhhh!_" > scooting back and getting back on his > feet, "Damn, that's it! We found it!!" he continued in giddy excitement. > Ash patted his dusty chest CROW: Dusty Chest, isn't that the name of a porn star? MIKE: ...Why do you think _I_ would know? > and smiled sweetly into his face, she could > see his youth full exhuberance and unrestrained joy. > "Erin Tyler, you have found the temple of Chufas! You did it ! TOM: [as Joyce] "What are you going to do now?!" MIKE: [as Erin] "I'm going to Disneyworld!" > You found an undisturbed burial > chamber, this...this is great, not since Howard Carter and his crew > found Tutankamum has there been such a splendid find..." ALL: [suddenly dancing and singing in unison] King TUT... ba boom bum, Boom, ba boom bum... CROW: Ah, the cheap jokes are the best. TOM: Yeah. > "Easy Joyce, there's more to it than that- MIKE: Yeah, there are so many levels to _Ulysses._ > there's more digging, we have > to get grants, a crew together, and of course more money..." TOM: I thought a grant _was_ money. CROW: Maybe this is set in an alternate universe where grants are given in the form of cheese. > "We don't need a crew Dr!" she cooed, embracing him "We can do this > ourselves!" TOM: [as Joyce] "It'll be easy! I can hold the flashlight and everything!" > "Joyce please, be professional about this for once!" urged Erin, "This, > this is big, who knows what's in there! " MIKE: [as Erin] "They might even have an indoor tennis court!" > "You know what I love about you Erin? I love the way you play by the > rules, oblivious to danger and so damn cavalier in your ways, you'd just > as soon as take a lion to dinner than shoot him!" CROW: [as Joyce] "So cavalier in your obedience of the rules, so uncautiously professional, so reckless in your mad need to stay inside the lines! I just know your pedantic attitude is going to get you killed someday!" > "Now what the hell is > that supposed to mean?? " he asked bitterly. " Is that more of that > trashy Jacky Collins novel you're been reading? What makes you think I'm > so cavalier?" "Oh I suppose you're right. The heat must be getting to me, > look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, this , this TOM: Erin and Joyce seem to keep getting stuck on saying "this." MIKE: Saying what? CROW: Yeah, if it were up to them, they'd say "this" all day long. MIKE: Say what all day long? > whole expedition and > the weeks here in Memphis have really been getting to me!" CROW: [sings] Waaaaalkin in Memphis... MIKE: Um, Crow, not _all_ the cheap jokes are the best. CROW: Aw, come on. > "It has been quite a stretch hasn't it?" he asked , embracing her > tightly. TOM: [as Joyce] "Hey, it hasn't been _that_ long, bucko." > he looked down at hersmallish frame with tenderness and pride. > He deeply loved everything about this woman, the way her eyes glinted, > her fair skin and strong muscle tome, the way her auburn hair fell around > her face. MIKE: ...The way she recoiled in revulsion at his every touch. > He especially loved her eyes, those deep hazel orbs- > rich and warm, inviting him in to forbidden pleasures. CROW: So _that's_ why she gets to hold his flashlight. > She grapsed for his crotch as he began to relax, preparing for her > advances. In seconds both their lips were locked in a tight embrace, TOM: Wow, Crow, you were right! This _is_ a skin flick! CROW: Hot damn! > Jill began to work her hands around his neck and down his back, MIKE: Wait a minute, Jill? Who's Jill? TOM: It's a multiple personality disorder. Joyce turns into "Jill" when she's having sex. Let's just hope "Jeff" doesn't surface during climax this time. > Erin, > unable to resist and wanting to submit, began to pull her tight and feel > her smallish frame, cradling it close. Jill went for his pants, carefully > fumbling for his snaps. TOM: Look, you're either being careful or you're fumbling around. You can't be both at the same time. > He did likewise, feeling forher bra > straps. In what seemed like an endless moment, the two lovers began to > strip one another piece by piece. Joyce threw Erin up against the side MIKE: Wait a minute! Joyce is there too! They _are_ different people! CROW: Wow! Twins! Menage a trois, here we come! TOM: This is the best movie ever! > of the rock wall, his back scraping harshly against the rough hewn > sculpture of the tomb walls. He continued to embrace her, kissing log MIKE: That's GOT to be another typo. CROW: I don't think so, Mike! It's hot 'n' heavy time! > and hard, had there been room for sex there would be little doubt they > would have been actively engaged in a matter of minutes! CROW: Whaaat? They have enough freedom of movement to take their clothes off, but not enough room to do the deed? What gives? TOM: It requires more space for three people at once. Trust me on this one. MIKE: Where do you pick this stuff up, Servo? TOM: Underwear collectors generally find it necessary to have contacts among a certain element. > Fate on the other hand, had other ideas. As Erin reached for Jill's > shoulder to pull her closer, he could feel his hand slip and fall into a > rough rock formation. CROW: [as Erin] "Damn, that keeps falling off! Stupid hand!" > "Fuck!" he shouted, as his hand came squarely down on the formation. Jill > stopped her orgy and TOM: Oh, now it's _her_ orgy. Surely Erin and Joyce deserve some credit. MIKE: Some people think the world revolves around them. > moved to one side as Erin withdrew his hand, now bloody and badly cut. He > cradled his hands as she came closer, speechless at the sudden injury. CROW: Hey, which one of them is speechless? > "What hapened!" she asked with concern. CROW: Okay, I guess it's Erin, then. TOM: If I may cut in here. I'm having a real problem with a GUY named ERIN. > "Shit! I smashed my hand on that rock!" he winced, cradling the swelling > and bleeding appendage, MIKE: I think I liked it better when he was speechless. > "Here, let me see!" she offered. Joyce took a step closer to see her > injury. MIKE: Wasn't this Erin's injury? TOM: SEE WHAT I MEAN? EVEN THE AUTHOR THINKS ERIN'S A WOMAN! > She could see his hand > WAS bleeding quite profusely now, and it seemed to be swelling up quite a > bit. Erin winced as she touched it. "Shit that hurts!" he complained as > she withdrew her canteen. CROW: She touched it with her canteen? What the hey? > "Here, a > little water will keep it from getting dirty, we have to get you back to > Cairo, "Caro!?" he thundered ALL: No, Cairo!! > "Look at it, it's just a scratch!" > "That's how it all starts Erin..." she assured, taking his hand. MIKE: First a scratch, then a scrape, then a laceration, next thing you know you can't stop. You're spending all your money on jagged rock and cheese graters, wondering what happened to your life. > Jill > tipped the bottle to wash his wound. Erin prepared for the worst as the > liquid began to pour. Clenching his teeth, he waited for the bitter sting > of the water against his skin. Joyce began to pour the canteen, slowly > and carefully. as she poured , she watched as the water began to TOM: Is this in slow-mo, or did she fill her canteen with glue by mistake? MIKE: You weren't paying attention. First Jill started to pour from her canteen, then Joyce started to pour from hers. TOM: Oh, I see. The editing threw me off. Still, pretty slow water, huh? > wash his hand clean and soothe his swelling. A myriad of red clear CROW: I think he means "plethora." TOM: One should never presume to know what an ocelot means. CROW: How aphoristic. MIKE: Wait a minute. "Red clear?" If it's red it can't be clear, and if it's clear it can't be-- TOM& CROW: _We know._ > liquid spilled to the desert floor, quickly being swallowed by the > parched earth. MIKE: [as the Earth] "Thanks, I needed that." > Erin relaxed as Joyce continued to wash and clean out his > hand, he looked deep into her eyes with love and tenderness, analyzing > her delicate frame and feminine graces TOM: [as Erin] "You know, Joyce's delicate frame and feminine graces could be the result of either genetic perfection or plastic surgery. I don't know which." > "There, that's better!" chipped Joyce, capping the canteen. TOM: "Chipped?" Is she chiseling it into the wall for him to read? CROW: "In the castle of ARRRRRGH." > "I think we'd better get going Erin, you're going to have to have that > hand looked at!" she advised. Erin loked down into the dust, he could > feel his dreams being crushed. MIKE: Like the souls of those forced to read this story. > leaving now would mean leaving the site > and the excavation until possibly next year or later, as their > tempororay work permit for this area was to expire in three days. CROW: And we all know what a bitch it is getting tempororay work permits. > Joyce could see the despair in his face and could almost sense his > overbearing anguish at being told to leave now, she could sense his > dejection. > "Erin dear I DO feel for you, but you see....what's that!" she shot, CROW: And ran like hell the second he turned around. > staring past him and into the wall behind him. Her eyes exploded as she TOM: BLAM! CROW: AAAAGH! MIKE: That's gotta hurt. > walked a bit closer. Erin raised his dejected head. > "Oh shit!" he stuttered, slowly turning around. Erin's heart exploded in TOM: BLAM! CROW: They're dropping like flies! Run, Jill, before the curse gets you too! > a heated frenzy of excitement as his eyes also widened as large as > saucers. The wall behind him had began to seperate a bit, as if it were > part of a hidden door or something. TOM: Yeah, or something like that. Some kind of hidden door thing. But it could be anything, really. > Joyce, lost in a dreamlike trance, > began to move for the door. Erin grabbed her arm. > "No! Don't! Let me!" he cautioned, picking up his hand pick. MIKE: Fortunately his guitar was back at the hotel. CROW: I wouldn't want to see this guy try to play guitar. > He could see here the wall of stone > meet the wall, and quickly found the right crack he was searching for. > "More light" he asked moving to scratch at the fissure. Joyce brought the > light to bear CROW: [as bear] "Thanks, it was getting dark over here." > just over his shoulder and directed it's ambiance into > the small section he was now cornered in. MIKE: You know, I just _love_ the ambiance in this little place, but the service is terrible. TOM: [Midwestern] Oh, but you don't go for the service. > Erin laid his hand on the > ground for just a second. CROW: I guess he won't be needing Joyce and Jill now. MIKE: Eww! > "This is incredible!" he exclaimed. "The ground, around this door > is....WARM, god it feels like a human heart! MIKE: I think there's something Erin's not telling us about his past. TOM: "Oom nom cinnebah..." > It's all warm and... CROW: Fuzzy? MIKE: Chewy? TOM: Sticky? > here > feel it!" he offered. Joyce bent down to feel the ground. " Tyler what > do you make of this..." TOM: How did Stephen Tyler get there? CROW: [sings] Love in Egyptian ruins/Erin got up, Joyce is going DOWWW-- MIKE: Okay, that's enough. > "Joyce look! Look at the door!" he noticed, pointing to one side. TOM: He noticed himself telling her to look at the door? MIKE: It's really the only way he can get any attention. > Joyce > laid her finger down and collected a small spot of crimson from the > corner of the wall. > "It's blood Erin- yours!" she rather shockingly announced. > "Mine?! How?" TOM: Well, gee, you only shed a whole myriad of your blood in here. > "It's your wound, your blood opened this door, look here, the droplets > lead right to the door jamb!" "Son of a bitch!" he shot. CROW: Did he shoot the son of a bitch dead? MIKE: I'm afraid not, Crow. He survived and went on to write this story. CROW: Damn! > "What do you make of it?" > "Over here! " she noticed, returning the light to a far section of wall. TOM: [as Joyce] "Hey, far section of wall. Here's your light back." > "Heiroglyphics, look to be of the old kingdom, possibly around 2160 B.C. > see, this is the god Horus, this is Anubus, and this is Rastafarus... CROW: Oh, ya mon, Rastafarus, the dredlocked god of the ganja... > what does it all mean..." MIKE: [as Erin] "Now is not the time for philosophical introspection, Joyce, just translate the mother." > "Here, third line, right under Horus... > YE WHO ENTER THOUGHT AND MIND NOT COLLAPSE BUT BE AS ONE AMONG > THE RICHES OF THE PHAROAH THINE IS THE GLORY BELONGING TO THY > GUARDIAN AWABASTET TOM: Interesting how those Ancient Egyptians knew Old English. CROW: Well, didn't they? > "Awabastet?" asked Joyce." Who's that?" she questioned. CROW: You're the Egyptologist, babe. You tell me. > Erin stroked his > chin for a second and squinted into the tiny scratches in the wall, > attempting too understand their meaning. '"Look there's more." MIKE: [as Erin] "We also get this set of steak knives absolutely free." TOM: You know, I hear you can cut a tin can with them. CROW: But you wouldn't want to! > he noticed, feeling around the door jambs. "Here, right here in the > corner.... > THIS DOOR TO REMAIN UNLOCKED DURING BUSINESS HOURS... > "You silly son of a bitch!" joked Joyce, as Erin turned an began to > laugh silently. MIKE: Erin's a real cut-up among the archaeology crowd. > "No, really there's more..." she noticed, MIKE: [as Joyce] "If you act now, we'll throw in this attractive turnip twaddler at no extra cost!" TOM: You know, we could use one of them, what with all these untwaddled turnips lying around. CROW: Tom, sometimes you wig me. > getting closer to the wall > THE BLOOD OF ONE SO PURE WILL RELEASE IN ALL THE POWER OF DREAMS > AND ETERNAL LIFE FOR THOU DOEST PLEASE THEE IN THY MANNERS AND > ACTIONS BY THY COMFORTS AND ATTENTIONS TOM: THE BLOOD OF AN ASSHOLE LIKE ERIN HOWEVER WILL RELEASE THE FURY OF ALL HELL WHICH SHALT VERILY BE BROKEN LOOSE. > PRAISE O THOU =========================================================================== Parts 2 and 3 to follow...right now! From: "Craig J. Clark" Subject: [MISTING] "Artifact" - Part 2/3 Date: 1999/07/13 Message-ID: <378BE281.2292A7D8@earthlink.net> X-Deja-AN: 500745020 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Posted-Path-Was: not-for-mail Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-ELN-Date: 14 Jul 1999 01:07:53 GMT X-ELN-Insert-Date: Tue Jul 13 18:15:07 1999 Organization: EarthLink Network, Inc. Mime-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc =========================================================================== [Ka-thunk...2...3...4...5...6...SoL Bridge] CROW: Mike, I need your help. I'm having some sort of existential crisis thing. MIKE: Existential? Gosh, Crow, that sounds pretty deep. What's the problem? CROW: Well, you know that stuff Tom was saying about how plot devices actually affect what happens around here? MIKE: Narrative causality, yeah. What about it? CROW: It's made me examine how I perceive the world around me, and... [getting hysterical] it's driving me loopy, Mike, it's more than I can take! MIKE: Whoa, calm down, Crow! Jeez, what could be so bad? CROW: Okay. When we're in the theater, Mike, what do you see? MIKE: Well, a lot of cheesy movies, generally the worst that can be found... CROW: No, Mike, no! I mean, what are we watching today? MIKE: Umm... a story? CROW: Yes! But are we _reading_ a story? It would seem kind of silly to be sitting in a theater for an hour reading words on a great big screen as they scroll by, wouldn't it? But is that what we're actually doing? MIKE: Well, no, it looks like a movie. I look up at the screen and see the characters, such as they are, exploring an Egyptian tomb, fondling one another, and pouring water in slow motion. CROW: But it's not that simple, is it? Have you noticed, for instance, that this story is riddled with typos? MIKE: Well, yeah. It's kind of hard to miss. CROW: But how do you know, Mike? HOW DO YOU KNOW? I'm going to do something very disturbing, Mike, and I want you to watch carefully. MIKE: Okay, as long as it's not that thing with the brie cheese again. That was really disgusting. CROW: Nothing like that, Mike. Just watch, okay? MIKE: All right. [Crow walks arcoss the room.] CROW: Did you see that? MIKE: Uh, yeah, you walked across the room. So? CROW: No! Look again! [Crow walks arcoss the room again.] MIKE: Oh, you misspelled "across." CROW: YOU SEE? How the heck is that possible? MIKE: Well, you were just being sloppy, I guess. Maybe you need to study more. CROW: No, you're missing the point, Mike, I was doing it on purpose! MIKE: Why? To get attention? I think you would find that if you applied yourself and improved your work, you would get a much better reaction-- CROW: NO, dammit! I was demonstrating-- MIKE: That's "damn it," Crow, two words. Although I don't like your choice of language, you could at least be a little neater. CROW: IT'S COLLOQUIAL! AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! MIKE: Don't shout so much, Crow, you know all caps is harder to read. CROW: AAARRRRGGHHH!!! [runs off] MIKE: [turns toward Cambot] Of course, I know what he means, and it weirds me out too, but I deal with it by torturing others. ...We'll be right back. [Commercial sign. Fast forward.] Buy Kahlua! The coffee liqueur that floods your streets! [Theater] > > "Damn the rest of it is gone! Praise who, Anubus, Horus, who!!" demanded > Joyce. Erin came closer attempting to put his expertise to use. MIKE: While Joyce was the hieroglyphics expert, Erin was best at interpreting blank spaces. He studied the missing portion for clues. > He wasn't the most learned when it came to heiroglyphics, that's why he'd > requested her company on this expedidtion. Hell, he really wasn't CROW: Uh oh, looks like it's time for a big wad of exposidtion. > much of an Egyptologist at all, but rather an art historian. He'd > recently graduated from the University of Indianapolis. This whole trip > was supposed to be a fellowship project, but things had sort of fallen > through and his best laid plans were destroyed. TOM: Oh, come on. MICE lay better plans than this guy ever could. > Erin, already in Egypt > at the time the trip was cut short, opted instead to stay and finish out > the fieldwork on his own. The university, concerned for his safety, sent > the closest representative and expert in the field they could find, Dr. > Joyce Ash, from Purdue University. TOM: He quickly mailed the aforementioned "request" as soon as he learned she was coming, to delude himself and hopefully the world into believing that the University was giving him what he asked for. MIKE: The college bureaucrats, upon recieving his request, found that Joyce was already out on location, so, instead, they sent Jill, her colleague and twin sister. CROW: Erin did not complain when they both arrived. > Erin temporarily let up his contempt for his collegiate arch rival > Purdue, and accepted her more than welcome company. She in turn forgot > that he was a Greyhound , and did like wise. MIKE: ...potato chips, especially the salt and vinegar flavor. > He wasn't much into sports , CROW: But then again, who is? > but he did like a good natured rivalry, and any chance to chide Purdue, > he took it! TOM: [as Erin] "I have to tell you Frank, your chicken sucks." > Joyce brought with her not only here extensive knowledge on archaic > Egypt and a rather encyclopedic knowledge of every god and goddesss > known to ancient Egypt religion and art, CROW: Except Awabastet. > but a welcome aspect of western > civilization itself. Prior to her arrival, Erin had been in Egypt for > three months largely getting by on bad food, bad Arabic and here lately, > bad friends. TOM: Bad food, bad Arabic, and bad friends. Egypt -- for the masochist in you. CROW: (Brought to you by the Incompetent Tourism Board of Egypt.) > Joyce was here for a reason Erin not much cared for and if > there was a sense of tension between them, this time it had nothing to do > with sports or college rivalry. MIKE: And everything to do with booze. > Erin, a learned art historian was > here to investigate and categorize Egyptian art and artifacts, > especially those of the late Archaic period, spanning from roughly 3100 > to 2600 B.C. TOM: Oh, come _on_! He has to be making that up. Archaic period? Tch! > He was SUPPOSED to be in Cairo at the national Museum > counting and categorizing rings. A wild story, a little wine, and a few > bad dates later, TOM: Are those the kinds of dates that kill spider monkeys? MIKE: The poison probably wasn't strong enough in Erin's case. CROW: Damn and double-damn! > he was bound for Luxor with a band of Australian > anthroplogists searching for the tomb of Chufas Amun, third in line to > the throne of Cheops. Erin needless to say TOM: So why are you _saying_ it??? > got left behind after the > funding for the Aussies got cut and they headed home. > Joyce was here for a reason altogether different. ALL: SEX. > She'd heard rumors of > Atap's burial site in Luxor, and believed the site to be largely > undisturmbed, Since Chufas was third in line, MIKE: He was sure to get front row tickets for the Alanis Morissette concert. > and twice removed to > Cheops, the chances that his grave would be disturbed would be slight to > nill-hell, nobody even knew about him! MIKE: Nobody. Not even Joyce. TOM: Huh? > Joyce was also interested in the > material cultures CROW: As opposed to the immaterial ones, which are harder to grasp. MIKE: And not really all that important anyway. > and artifacts of the archaic Egyptians, most TOM: Wait, I've got it! I think he means "ancient" Egyptians. CROW: Hey! What was that you said earlier about ocelots? TOM: Oh, right. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. > specifically in rites of burial and religion. She'd had a theory that the > ancients had successfully channeled through the forces of nature and had > found a way to merge with nature. MIKE: Yeah, it's called DYING. TOM: The tombs were a bit of a tip-off. > Her summary investigations in the past had dealt with the !Kung bushmen > in Africa, the Mardu aborigines in Australia, the Navajo of Arizona, and > the Pima of South America. CROW: That's PYUma. > She was interested in more than anything TOM: Or less than nothing. She could never remember which. > stories and legends of anthropomorphism, or shape shifting, especially > among the shaman, or holy men. MIKE: Or the T-1000. > She could say for sure where her work > with Erin would now lead, or what they'd find. CROW: But she isn't about to let the rest of us in on any of it. > She understood she was > being paid well by the Univeristy, as well as by the Egyptian government > to safeguard both her findings as well her charge, Erin. She was being > paid to essentially baby sit and collect data- something she neither > loved nor hated. TOM: And that's the halftime analysis. We now return to ARTIFACT, already in progress. > Proceeding into the tomb , Erin took out the krypton lantern and lit it > off. The room began to golow in an eerie flurecant blue, bit buy bit it > began to reveal itself to the two mortals. CROW: And Superman, who was reduced to cowering in the corner. > "Look at us Joyce, mere mortals among gods!" he remarked. Joyce began to > shake with an uncontrollable chill. MIKE: Shouldn't have drank that Slurpee so fast. > > "Erin I don't like this, lets get out of here..." > "And go where,this is a big find Joyce, this is BIG! Look, look at this > predynastic artwork overe here! TOM: It's predyno-mite! > and these heiroglyphics...look at it > Joyce! we've done it! we've discovered the tomb of Chufas! " > "What we've done Erin is highly illegal and immoral, CROW: [as Erin] "What? I swear, I thought you were 18." > we have suceeded in > disturbing the dead and breaking an entering. Do I have to emind you we > don't have the right permits to be here? Do you know what we're doing > here amounts to grave robbing?" CROW: Hold on! Is this Jill now? I remember Joyce, the _archaeologist,_ was pretty excited about this a minute ago. TOM: As I recall, she wanted to excavate the whole damn place this afternoon without going back for help. MIKE: Well, that was before all that exposition. She's grown as a person since then. > "Joyce please relax, we're professionals here, as far as we know this > tomb has been violated already. do you jsee any artifavts around here, > any gold, andy pottery, and sculpture? TOM: Yes, the two of them had been searching for Andy Pottery, age 6, ever since the young boy had been abducted from his home in Tucson, Arizona, two months earlier. > As far as anyone knows this tomb > is worthless. That's where we come in , prove them wrong and make off > like bandits! "Look Erin that's what's reallly bothering me, " she began, > "there are no...artifacts of any kind in here, no real art of any kind, > no pottery, TOM: So the search would have to continue... > no personal effects, not even a sarcophagus. If this is the burial > chamber one would expect to find at least a sarcophagus!" > > "Joyce, over here!" CROW: [as Joyce] "No, Joyce over here!" [notices Mike and Tom staring at him] ...Sorry. > he beckoned, moving to a far wall. Joyce still > feeling a bit chilly, mustered enough strength to join him. MIKE: Five minutes ago she was ready to do the dirty. Now she has to muster up the energy to walk across a room. CROW: She needs more protein in her diet. > "What do you make of it, these heiroglyphs...." > > "Hmmm, Horus, Anubus, Anshantiah, Gerus, I don't quite know...it, it > doesn't fit. here, here on the bottom, most of it is rubbed off, but I > can still make out a...a symbol. TOM: This, this -- it, it -- here, here -- a...a -- archaeologists must be really big on word repetition. MIKE: Your problem is you still believe that these people are archaeologists. CROW: And _your_ problem is you believe that these flimsy cardboard cutouts are actually people! > "What is that Erin, can you see it?" > "It looks like a figure of some sort...feline i think..." TOM: Feline...a feline figure...what could it mean... MIKE: I think it stands for a kind of animal...if only I could remember... CROW: Feline figure...hmmm...It's on the tip of my tongue... > "AMAU...mau...cat...it says cat..." TOM: No, no, that's not it... > "Cat, cat what, what about cats...." > > "Well, the Egyptians worshipped cats and helfd them in high reguards as > dieties. They were as sacred as the cow is to India. They represented > thge image of the goddess Bast, Bastet, sometimes called Pash. She was > supposed to have been the goddess of feduncity, and beauty-symbol of the > sun , light and the moon. Cats in Egypt, roughly 300 year ago, were > identified as being images of Bast decended form on high, a diety that > had transformed herself into a cat." CROW: [as Erin] "Wow. I must have missed that day of class when I was taking my Things Everyone Should Already Know About Egypt course. Could you hand me that encyclopedia you're reading from so I can see if I missed anything else?" > "Now that...that's TOM: STOP THAT!!! MIKE: Stop what? > interesnting Jouyce, but what does Bast have to do > with Chufa's tomb?" CROW: Is Jouyce a fourth character? MIKE: It hardly bears thinking about. > "I don't know Erin, we're we're going to need more people in on this > thing, this...this has me stumped!" TOM: [as Erin] "Well, maybe you can dredge up a few more of your alter egos to help us out." > "Joyce, we can't afford to let anyone know what's in here, or what we've > found here, dop you realize what would happen to this place if the > Egyptian government found out about this place or what we've found here. > They would be in here so fast it would make US extinct! TOM: Uh, Erin, you're thinking about dinosaurs again. Lay off the metaphors until you can remember what kind of dig you're on, okay? > Look, all > we need is a little time to work this place out thios CAN'T be all there > is! I mean. look, this ... this is just the antechamver, there HAS to be > a main burial chammber somewhere!" Joyce got up and stated at him with > dagger like eyes, CROW: Couldn't she kill him with her dagger-like eyes instead of just stating at him? > he could se the > rage building in her throat > > "Listen to me Erin, you seem to be forgetting yourself here, MIKE: Oh, I get the feeling that Erin forgets himself everywhere. > there is > not goig to be any further explorationon this dig until we get the right > authorization. TOM: [as Joyce] "I need to consult my Magic 8-Ball." > This site is toobig fopr us to handle alone...we NEED > help! As far as this being the only room, I like you believe there has to > be more, there just has to. I however would like to stay professional > about this and do things by the book!" TOM: [as Joyce] "But first let's have sex in the outer chamber again." > "Is that what they taught you at Wazzu Joyce? Play by the rules, take > everything as you see it?" Erin asked. CROW: [as Erin] "Isn't that kind of...cavalier, Joyce? Hmm?" MIKE: This role reversal stuff is really confusing the heck out of me. > "They taught me to be progfessional Erin, and to think things through. > "Ok, ok maybe I am getting a bit ahead of myself here, god it's so > fucking hot!. Let's lets look around some more , spend another hour > looking an recording, and, and TOM: GOD IN HEAVEN, PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP!!! MIKE: Tom, calm down. It's just a story. TOM: Yeah, I know, Mike. But- but I don't need these characters constantly stumbling over their, their lines! This, this is prose! If what they're saying is so...so monumental, then...then the author should come up with a better way to, to-- MIKE: Okay, Tom. I think you've made your point. > we'll leave." > "Now you're thinking Erin, smart dog, good boy!" she teased, referring to > his college mascot. > > "RRRRwoof! " Erin shot back, panting like a dog. CROW: Is this some kind of ironic foreshadowing thing, or just an excuse to be obnoxious? > The next hour turned to two, then to three. Joyce busied herself with > cleaning and cataloging as muc as she couldfind on the walls, MIKE: Unfortunately the walls were absolutely _covered_ in muc and the cleaning took a lot longer than she expected it to. > Erin did > the same with the few shards of pottery he managed to uncover in a > corner of the room. TOM: He took three hours to examine _a few shards_ of pottery? Man, this guy must be a stupendous moron. MIKE: This was established earlier, was it not? > The tomb itself was small, appearing to measure only > about 12 feet by 12 feet, and about seven feet in height. The walls were > decorated with a high degree of heroglyphics, and trimmed in faded lapis > and bronze. Largely empty, CROW: Like Erin's head. > there were a few small baskets and some > shards of pottery. Erin sensinh somethin was not right with the room to > begin with. TOM: Probably just deja vu from looking at the same shards of pottery twice. > Moved instinctively for the far wall. There was just > something about the wallthat bothered him. something didn't fit in > conjunction with the rest of the room. CROW: Maybe it was all the Duran Duran posters. > Erin moved closer and stretched > out his hand. Air, cool refreshing air! TOM: Yes, when your lungs are about to burst, try air. It's cool, refreshing, and if you breathe enough of it, you won't die. MIKE: (This message brought to you by the Air Council.) > There had to be another room! > > "Joyce, over here, I found another room!" exclaimed Erin. TOM: So it took him three hours to notice that there was a draft. MIKE: Your "stupendous moron" comment somehow seems woefully inadequate now, doesn't it? > Joyce got up > and joined him at the far wall, she stretched out her hand to join his > toward the top of the wall. CROW: Hmm, I wonder if they're still naked or whether they put their clothes back on at some point. > > "It's hollow Erin, it's the burial chamber!" she concluded, her eyes wide > and bright. TOM: Isn't it amazing how she can sense the hollowness of walls just by touching them? Most people would at least have to bang on them or something. > "Look around for a switch or something...." Erin ordered, beginning to > search the tomb. Joyce began searching walls. MIKE: [as Joyce] "Here's one, but I think it only goes to the outlet." > Moments later, Joyce's hand slipped across something intereseting. CROW: So they _are_ still naked! > "Erin look! I found a legend!" TOM: Which one is it? "Le Mort D'Arthur"? MIKE: "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"? CROW: Or is it an incoherent Ridley Scott film? TOM: You make the call. > > GREED BE NOT THE MEANS TO THE END AND ABHOR ALL THOSE WHO DEFILE THEE > THOU DOEST REST IN THINE ARMS UNTILL THESETTINTG OF THE SUN TO SHIE UPON > THE NEW LIFE GRANT IT BE THAT ALL WHO WALK IN THEE SHADOW BE MADE TO KNOW > THE FATE OF THEE FOR ALL TIME MIKE: Okay, so the Ancient Egyptians didn't know Old English all that well. > "What does it mean" Erin asked. > "I can't be sure, but I think it equates to some sort of warning not to > disturb Chupa." MIKE: Yeah, Chupa could have a girl over. CROW: If the chamber's a rockin', don't come a-knockin'! TOM: Wait, I thought it was "Chufas." > "Hell, you could have fooled me, does it say how to get in?" > "Here. " she replied, tracing the legend with her finger. > > THE BLOOD OF THEE ART PURE TO MINE HEART-THOU SHALL FIND SLEEP WITH THEE > FUFILLING.... CROW: Which is basically Chupa's way of telling you to go fuck yourself. TOM: No, I'm telling you, I really _do_ think it was "Chufas." MIKE: Don't worry. I'm sure it will be again soon enough. > > "I don' get it!" shot Erin. > "Erin you're hand!, CROW: Is that actually a typo for "hard"? TOM: No, because that would presume he knows "your" from "you're". CROW: Oh, sorry. Wishful thinking. > remember how we got in here to begin with?" > "Damn you're right!" CROW: [as Erin] "I wanted to be right this time! Why do you always get to be right?" > Joyce helped Erin unwrap his makeshift bandage , still a deep wound and > not well cleansed to begin with, MIKE: We watched her pour water on it for about ten minutes; what do you mean it's not well cleansed? > the hand began to bleed into the dirt > near the door. Erin watched as the blood soaked into the earth. In a > matter of seconds, the second wall began tongive way. Erin and Joyce > pushed withall TOM: Where? MIKE: Withall. > their might as the door began top slide to one side. [Ka-thunk...2...3...4...5...6...SoL Bridge] TOM: Say, Mike, I have a question about the "archaeologists" in this story. MIKE: And what would that be, Servo? TOM: Well, normally, people have to be knowledgable in order to be archaeologists, don't they? MIKE: Yes. TOM: And they have to hold degrees in a number of disciplines in order to be considered credible, don't they? MIKE: Yes, normally. TOM: I thought so. [There is a short pause.] MIKE: Are you going anywhere with this, Servo? TOM: Oh, no. Just wondering. [He wanders off.] MIKE: Huh. CROW: Actually, I have a few questions about archaeology myself. MIKE: Well, it's not exactly my best subject, but shoot. CROW: Okay. Mike, do you think that Joyce and Erin are _still_ naked, or do you think they put their clothes on at some point? MIKE: You know, I really couldn't say... Hey, what does that have to do with archaeology? CROW: Stay with me, Mike. Now, do reputable archaeologists normally engage in copulation while on important digs? MIKE: Uhh, I don't know. I would lean toward "no," but I have no firsthand knowledge, so-- CROW: Because these two seemed to go at it at the drop of a pith helmet. And from the way they were behaving, it didn't seem like the first time. MIKE: Well, yes. I suppose the author did want to suggest that they had had relations prior to this. CROW: So that means that it's possible that other archaeologists have done the same, right? MIKE: I suppose. CROW: So, right in the middle of the excavation of King Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922, Howard Carter could have been getting it on with one of his assistants. MIKE: He might have. That's pure speculation, though. CROW: And what about the Leakeys in Tanzania? "Louis, I've found a one million year-old Homo erectus cranium over here." "That's wonderful, Mary. Now take your clothes off. I want to shag you senseless." MIKE: Crow, I want you to know these are not healthy thoughts. CROW: And take Heinrich Schliemann. During his illegal excavation of the city of Troy in 1870, he has his workers dig some trenches and -- in the process -- unearths numerous artifacts such as coins and pottery and the like. So, eager to show his appreciation to the burly, sweaty worker men, Schliemann has them line up with their pants pulled down so he can give all of them-- MIKE: Okay, _now_ you're going to stop. CROW: You never let me have any fun. [Suddenly Servo re-appears, wearing a pith helmet, a khaki outfit, and carrying a certificate which reads, "I am an archaeologist."] MIKE: Hey, Tom. What's with the get-up? TOM: Oh, I've just decided to become an archaeologist. MIKE: You have? TOM: Yeah. CROW: Why? TOM: Well, I figured I know more about the subject than the characters in today's experiment, so that makes me eminently more qualified to be an archaeologist than they are. MIKE: That's interesting, Tom. Tell me, where did you study? TOM: Study? MIKE: Yes, I see you have a diploma there. Where is it from? TOM: Oh, _this_. I made this myself. I figured, why bother going to classes and learning things when all I have to do is tote around a set of encyclopedias and I'm good to go. CROW: So where are your encyclopedias, then? TOM: Well, that's what I'm looking for. I know we have a set around here somehere... Well, I'll see you guys back in the theater. MIKE: Okay. [Servo leaves. Mike exchanges a glance with Crow.] MIKE: An archaeologist. Huh. CROW: Hey, I got another one. What about the time I dug through the crust of the Satellite of Love and unearthed the evidence of an earlier version of myself? Do you think I then threw Gypsy down on the floor and had my way with-- MIKE: [clamping Crow's beak shut] Okay, that's a cue for commercial sign if I ever heard one. We'll be right back. [Commercial sign. Fast forward.] The Nissan Pathfinder -- If you're not driving it through six inches of mud daily, there's something wrong with you. =========================================================================== Tune in right now for the exciting conclusion to "Artifact." From: "Craig J. Clark" Subject: [MISTING] "Artifact" - Part 3/3 Date: 1999/07/13 Message-ID: <378BE28E.8E293CB0@earthlink.net> X-Deja-AN: 500745027 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Posted-Path-Was: not-for-mail Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-ELN-Date: 14 Jul 1999 01:08:02 GMT X-ELN-Insert-Date: Tue Jul 13 18:15:07 1999 Organization: EarthLink Network, Inc. Mime-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc =========================================================================== [Theater. Mike and Crow enter. They find Servo already there, still wearing his pith helmet.] > > "Your light! he oreder. CROW: When it's Ore-ida, it's all-right-a. > Joyce handed him the flashlight. > > "Oh my god!" he said quietly, his mouth agape. Joyce followed behind him. > Her eyes turned to half dollars as she began to take in the wonder that > now befell them. CROW: $$ Ch-chingg! > Inside the tomb, appearing to measure a good 50 by 50 feet, and at least > a hundred feet in height, rested three large statues of Anubus,m TOM: Was that a half-hearted attempt at a trademark? MIKE: You're reading too much into these typos. > encrusted in precious gold, lapis, bronze, and cast in solid bosidian. CROW: [surfer-dude] Anubus looks totally bodacious in bosidian. > There were two guardian figures, an a third in the middle, who resembled > Horus. Joyce approached the walls, they were cobvered with thousands of > images of daily life, scenes of court activities, hunts, and lesser > details of the pharoah's life. TOM: [as Joyce] "There's one of the pharoah eating breakfast. And the pharoah going to the bathroom. And..." > She traced a few with her finger, feeling > the intricate workmanship and marvelling at the details and stunning > beauty. Erin was oin the other side of the chamber doing the same. he as > hard as he could, CROW: Man, this guy can hold an erection longer than Sting. MIKE: Crow... > could not fully fathom the magnitude or th details > whic he was now experiencing. TOM: Oh, _what_ a surprise. > His moth open and his eyes wide, he was > loist in disbelief that so much could be in one place lagely untouched by > the sands of time. CROW: Or, indeed, a spell-checker. > > "Joyce, this is the main chamber..it has to be!" he whispered. Joyce > waked over to him slowly, her eyes transfixed on the intricacies of the > ceiling reliefs and sculptures. " No- no it isn't Erin, there's no > sarchopagus." she muttered. CROW: [as Erin] "Oh, Joyce. Don't be bitter. After all, you still have me." TOM: Small comfort. > "Joyce look, there has to ne more, there just has to be!" he argued. > "Erin Tyler listen to me carefully and understand me! This is IT! There > is no more...this IS the main chamber." CROW: You just said it WASN'T! > "No, it can't be...we can't have come all this way for this.. there has > to be a body...some...some sort of sarcophagus....where the hell is > Chufas?" MIKE: Oh, there's another legend. Look: "HAD TO RUN TO THE SEV, BACK IN A JIF, CHUFAS. P.S.: THEE ART THEE THOU THEE THEE THEE." > Erin look, it's getting late and really cold in here, lets..lets get > going, we have more than enough proof now of who he was , and where he's > at." advised Joyce. TOM: Yeah, they're really _down_ with Chufas. > "No. No I'm not leaving without proof..."began Erin. i need something > totake back to the university, what can you find?" "Erin, this is > serious. Look, we aren't supposed to be here, and we sure as hell aren't > supposed to be stealing from the dead! ALL: But you're ARCHAEOLOGISTS! > "Rte'' lnever miss it! " shot Erin, his eyes fglowing in luminesance. > Besides, I need proof we here here, the university thinks I'm in Luxor > studying Cheops..." TOM: The rubes. > "Erin, look, as senior partner on this expedition and resident > Egyptolgist, I order you to suspend your activities and accompany me back > to Cairo. MIKE: Way to pull rank, Joyce. > "I can't do that Joyce, Not till I have proof!" > "Erin please" she started, grabbing his hand. > "Get off me bitch!" he shouted striking ger in the face. Joyce feel to > the hard tiled floor with a thud, a trickle of blood began to trickle > from her lips. TOM: Opening a trapdoor which swallowed both of them up. The end. > Erin looked at her with indifference. > > "You're jealous Joyce, jealous because I found Chufas, NOT you! Me! a > Wahington husky!!! Another first for UW WAHOOOOO!!!!" he shouted. MIKE: Man, these characters are so deep. CROW: You can't help but see the world through their eyes, you know? TOM: Wait, didn't he go to the University of Indianapolis? CROW: Hey, you're right. And his mascot was a greyhound! What gives? MIKE: I smell a second draft. CROW: No way. Typos like "Rte'' l" do NOT survive a second draft. > Many things began to filter through his mind, never did he believe his > compeptition with his collegiate rival would lead to all of this, least > ways to cold cocking his partner and friend! TOM: But boy did it feel good. > Still Erin believe he had > work to do- something to prove to everyone else. He looked down at Joyce > still unconsious and smiled an evil smile. > > "I told you Joyce, I'm not leaving without proof!" he spat at her. Erin > began to search the cahamber. Proof, He needed proof, MIKE: But this was no time to think about liquor. > something small > and manageable, something he could easily hide. MIKE: Crow, don't even go there. > > He approached the altar area of the chamber, in front of the huge statue > of Horus. Nothing. Wait, what was that, in the corner! TOM: I don't know. You tell me. _You're_ the freaking author. > Erin reached down > and found a small jar, still corked with a bit of resin and alabaster. it > was about the size of a small vodka bottle. CROW: Yep. _Now_ we know what the author was on when he wrote this. > Erin attempted to open > the bottle. Nothing doing. He cursed himself for leaving t his tools out > in the land rover, had he known it would tae this log, he would have > brought them in! MIKE: Man, the author is really pissed about this. > Erin fought with the jar a bit more. > "Damn thing!" he shot, throwing the jar to the ground. he watched as the > jar shattered into millions of shards. Dust, nothing but dust! CROW: But it's really exciting dust! > Erin stooped to stare at the tormentor of his desires. TOM: So, is he staring at the broken bottle or Joyce now? MIKE: I'd vote bottle. Joyce doesn't seem like the "tormentor of desires" type. CROW: Yeah, she's a little too quick to grasp crotches for that. > All this way for a > little jar full of dust! He extended his finger and began to trace in > gray powder "FUCK EGYPT- FUCK YOU CHUFAS!!!" he shouted. MIKE: Could the story please make up its mind? > As he drew in the dust he could slowly feel his throat growing tight. > "Cough cough cough....ughhh! " he began to himself, CROW: Wait, he said "cough"? TOM: Apparently so. CROW: That's like a dog saying "bark." > still stewing over > his lack of "souvenirs". Erin stood up a little, he could feel himself > growing sick to his stomach. "Fuck what's wrong with me!" CROW: I think Joyce already has. > he thought to himself. MIKE: [sternly] Would you quit thinking so loud. > He began to wander > around the chamber > slowly, his head was beginning to spin and he now felt lightheaded and > decidedly different that he had before. "Oh shit! " she sputtered, TOM: Who? Jill? MIKE: No, she left after the orgy. > falling to his knees, he opened his mouth to vomit. Instead he began to > spew blood and fluids, coughing up great clumps of yellow mucous and > water. "Oh shhhit shhhhiittt!" he began, CROW: ...and then segued into his rendition of "Tie a Yellow Ribbon." TOM: This guy is a talented vomiter. > feeling cold chils beginning to weaken > and invade his body. he > could feel flue like symptoms TOM: Like being stuck in a chimney. > coming on, o something like food poisoning > beginning to rip his system apart, > "Oh christ make it stop!" he shouted. CROW: Hey, Erin. I got news for ya. Christ ain't doing this. > Erin doubled over in pain, he > could feel his ribs cracking and his bones pushing this way and that. he > opeed his mouth again to vomit. MIKE: Because he just couldn't get enough of it. > great rivers of bodily waste soon began > to exit his body from both ends, he could feel his penis explode from the > buildup of pressure, sending a force full stream of urine into his pants. > Seconds later he lost his bowels and his pants filled with watery > excrement. CROW: Hey, did William S. Burroughs ghost-write this? > "Aghhhh oughhhh aghhh! mmmaaaaa!!!!!" he cried, MIKE: Hmm, what would Freud say about that outburst? TOM: Probably something in German, if he weren't dead. > as his body continued to > flush itself. CROW: Couldn't this story flush itself? > Erin looked down at his hands and feel twitch were > beginning to burn and swell, he watched with horror as his fingers and > toes began to retract- his nails lengthened into little scimitars. "Oh > shit I'm hot!" MIKE: [as Erin] "The girls will be all over me when I get back to UW." TOM: Or the University of Indianapolis. Take your pick. > he complained, tearing his shirt and pants off, he > scraped his chest with one malformed hand, five fingers of blood began to > seep and swell his chest. MIKE: So he's turning into Freddy Krueger? > "God what the hell is this ! Oh please somebody HELP ME!!!!!" he > continued, feeling his chest > compact and his organ shift. CROW: Uhh, I don't want to even touch that. > He screamed as he lost his eyesight and > hearing. His face began to > squash up and push out slightly, his nose turning up and retracting. TOM: Oh, I see. He's just received a large inheritance. > He could feel his eyes folding > inward and up and away from the front of his face. Erin tried to breathe > , finding it difficult to do so, he could feel a tremendous amount of > pressure in his throat and in his back, his ass felt like it was ready to > explode! CROW: Burroughs _did_ ghost-write this! MIKE: Why do you keeping saying "ghost"? CROW: Well, he's dead, isn't he? > A few moments later, Erin again regained control of his > sight, and peered from one eye TOM: _After_ it unfolded. > to catch his reflection in a bronze > shield. > "AGHHHHHHH AGHHHHH NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!1" MIKE: Oops. Looks like he ran through his quota of exclamation points. > he bellowed, his screams rising in > pitch to howls and hisses. He watched as his once human features slowly > gave way to a more correct feline form. He watched as his ears opened up > and pushed to the top of his skull, coming to rest on the sides, his > trianglar ears pitching this way and that, grasping for any sound as > though they had minds of their own. Erin began to cough again, more > mucous emitted from his mouth, now a disgusting very animalistic yellow, > thinned with bile and water. "THIS ISN'T HAPPENING TO ME THIS ISN'T > HAPPENING TO ME!!!!!!" he MIKE: But luckily he was able to borrow some from a friend. TOM: Exclamation points. Another non-renewable resource. > screamed into the reflection, The twin moon bean eyes glared back at him, > now wet with moisture- CROW: Quite unlike human eyes, which are entirely dry and chalky. > their half slits open to allow the room > light in. Erin continued to watch as his whiskers began to push from his > cheeks, and above his eyes. his skin, once tender and rosy pink, MIKE: "Tender and rosy pink?" Erin just looks less and less rugged the more I hear. > was beginning to carpet itself in a thin layer of black. TOM: You spoke too soon, Mike! He's more "rugged" now, get it? MIKE: [says nothing] > he began to cough > more as the fur began to envelope his face, throat, and around his eyes. > He could feel himself being slowly suffocated with the new coat. "I'm- > allergic....to cats....." he spit into the reflection, CROW: Oh, how _ironic._ > watching as > his limbs began to push into > more feline orientation. he watched as his tail erupted MIKE: [getting out of his seat] Okay. Now that's over the line. I have seen some smutty stuff in my day, but I don't have to sit here and-- CROW: Mike, I think it's really supposed to be a tail. MIKE: [sitting down] Oh, well that's all right then. > and snaked > between his legs, flicking this way and that. > Erin attempted to stand. He found he could, but his legs ached and his > muscle strained as he tried to keep his balance. TOM: And which muscle would this be? CROW: Oh, I think you know! > He got back down, MIKE: And he got back funky. > sensing somehow that was where he was meant to be. After minutes of > agonizing pain, Erin stared down at his new still shifting fingers and > toes- each now capped in little balls of black fur. He turned then over > what he still could and inspected the pink pads rising like little loaves > of bread from his fingertips. MIKE: I don't want to know where this guy buys his bread. > Instinctively, and without > consiousness, TOM: Ah, so he's fainted, then. > he brought each one in turn to his face and began to groom > himself, a long pink sand paper tongue lapping each over and over, > trying to ease the pain. > He stared back into the shield, still attempting to make sense of it all. MIKE: Nearly a decade later, Erin still didn't know who killed Laura Palmer. > he stared with facination at the black image across from him, it's > eyes blinking in undeniable feline intelligence, CROW: Well, if there's anything more intelligent than Erin, it must be a cat. > betraying a mystery no > human will ever understand. He opened his mouth to scream one last time > as his hips shifted, forcing him forever onto four perfectly balanced > legs, light and springy to the touch. His scream was met with a simple > meow. TOM: "Hi, scream. I'm a simple meow. How are you?" MIKE: Stop. > Now somewhat facinated by the unknown stranger in the shield, The black > cat approached t cautiously, allowing feline intellect and device to > sustain. The cat lifted it's small muzzle and sniffed the metallic > stranger, whiskers bristling in curiosity. Sensing something of value, > the cat proceeded to attempt to mount the image. It could feel a marked > change in it's body, something it hadn't felt before- no penis. CROW: Clearing up once and for all the gender confusion which has plagued this story from the outset. TOM: I told you "Erin" isn't a guy's name. The universe has restored order. > Three hours later, as the sun began to melt MIKE: ...a small child's ice cream cone... > into the western Sahara, > Joyce Ash awoke, still in the CROW: ...throes of passion. In her dream, she had been tied down by several Egyptian busboys and-- MIKE: Cut it out, Crow. > tomb. She quickly discovered she'd been sleeping on a large tile relief > map of ancient Egypt, with some rather strange markings in sanskrit she'd > never seen before. TOM: They said, "You are here." > She stared at the hieroglyphics > beneath her. From what she could discern, it told of a cat like people > who came from the heavens to bring goddess and life to the Egyptian. MIKE: Which one? > There was a small figure of a woman with a cat head and a human female > head in a basket. CROW: You know, you shouldn't put all your heads in one basket. > The other figures were as yet unknown to her. She > wiped her mouth free of the caked blood and felt for the knot on her > head. TOM: What, did she try to hang herself? MIKE: If only. > "Erin! Erin? Erin where are you!" she called into the chamber. Her reply > was the luminecant flash of two amber eyes on the altar. Joyce held her > breath as the cat jumped off the altar and strutted toward her, ears > lowered in apprehension. She gasped as she saw the black form come > closer. CROW: She had never known the love of a black man before. Was it true that-- MIKE: I said knock it off. > Lodged in the center of it's throat TOM: Was a hairball. > was the largest piece of the moist > beautiful jade she'd ever seen. MIKE: Well, I would expect the jade to be moist if it was...oh, never mind. > "Erin? Is that...you?" she whispered extending a hand. CROW: Now _that's_ jumping to a major conclusion based on little to no evidence. > Her eyes widened > as she stroked the cat and allowed it to lick her hand like an old > friend. MIKE: "Lick an Old Friend's Hand" -- Tiffany's comeback album. > The car began to resonate and rub her. TOM: Now it's turning into a David Cronenberg film. > Joyce carefully ran her > hands through the ricj dark coal coat, feeling the small animal for > imperfections, MIKE: [as Joyce] "Oh, look. One of your legs is shorter than the other one. I guess that means I can sell you for medical experiments now." > The jade in it's throat began to reflect the warm light > as it mewed to her- its eyes pleasing CROW: Do you find me pleasing? > for help. TOM: Next time on ARTIFACT... > A week later Joyce Ash, weary of her travels and adventures in Egypt , > sat tired and alone in the Cairo International airport, eagerly awaiting > her boarding of a plane bound for England- first stop on the way home. CROW: Do we really need to know that Joyce's flight has a stopover in England? MIKE: Apparently that's the kind of detail the author thought would bring an air of realism to an otherwise ludicrous story. CROW: Oh... > She sat and debated what > she would tell the university about Erin. She doubted anyone would > believe her, or the fact they'd discovered the tomb of an ancient > astronaut.... TOM: You mean John Glenn? But he isn't dead. > Thirty minutes later she was in front of the customs desk, watching > helplessly as the customs agents began to search her personal effects. MIKE: [as Joyce] "Please, oh please. Don't let them find my hash." > "Anything to claim today? Any souvenirs artifacts, memorabilia..." the > agent began. CROW: ...unzipping Joyce's blouse-- MIKE: Crow, this is the last time I let you read anything even _vaguely_ pornographic. > "Just me and my cat...." answered Joyce. The agent peered into the cat > carrier. "Ah, he is a nice one indeed, " the agent complimented. TOM: [as agent] "The jade lodged in his throat is a nice touch." MIKE: Wait. I thought the point was that Erin was now a _female_ cat. TOM: Hey, if the author doesn't care, then neither do I. > "Thanks , we 've been everywhere together...." answered Joyce with a > smile > > ************** > Copyright 1997: Ocicat TOM: Wait, that's it? The author doesn't even have decency to end his story with a freaking period? CROW: Well, maybe it's not Joyce's time of the month-- MIKE: Crow, I'm not in the mood. Let's just get the hell out of here. > All rights reserved- Ocelot studios > Be kind to cats! [Ka-thunk...2...3...4...5...6...SoL Bridge] CROW: Mike, is it just me, or-- MIKE: Yes, it's just you. CROW: Hey, no fair! You haven't even heard my question yet. MIKE: True, but knowing you, I'd say it's fair to assume that it's just you. CROW: Will you at least hear me out first? MIKE: Okay, I'll think about it. CROW: Great. Mike, you know at the end of "ARTIFACT" when the customs person makes that remark about Joyce's cat and she says that they've been _everywhere_ together? MIKE: Uhh, yes. That was just a minute ago. CROW: Okay, now is it just me, or was the author sort of implying that Joyce and the cat had been intimate with one another? [There is a short pause while Mike considers this.] MIKE: You know, I was right the first time. It is just you. Say Servo, how are you getting on with that archaeology thing? CROW: No, wait, Mike. Please let me get to my punchline or else I'm liable to blow a logic circuit. MIKE: Maybe later. Now Servo, what have you got there? TOM: The expedition is progressing swimmingly, Mike. After a thorough and painstaking excavation of my room, I have unearthed a number of volumes of ancient archaic encyclopedias in the smiley-face boxers stratum. If you would be so kind, Mike, as to take that lint roller there... MIKE: Ah, okay... [does so] CROW: It's just that this story was supposedly written by an ocelot and-- MIKE: I said later, Crow, I'm helping Servo with his archaeology stuff. Now what am I doing here, Tom? TOM: Simply take one of the volumes from the stack in front of me, and carefully remove the lint of the epochs from its spine. MIKE: Ah! [Makes quick but careful work of the task] Wow, Tom, it looks like you've got Volume Four, HER through KLO. TOM: Ooh! Ooh! That's excellent! Do the next one! Do the next one! CROW: And an ocelot is actually a kind of cat so-- MIKE: [continuing to ignore Crow] Hmm, looks like Volume Elev--no, it's Twelve... TOM: What is it? What is it? Is it the Z's? I love the Z's! MIKE: No, but you're close: URA through WOO. TOM: Wow! This is an incredible find, Mike! You see, every fragment gives us clues about the nature of the whole set. MIKE: Really? Like what? [Crow, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly jittery and beginning to emit smoke.] TOM: Well, from what we've catalogued so far, we can extrapolate that Volumes Five through Eleven contain subjects ranging from Klutziness to Upset Stomachs. MIKE: Wow, you really know your stuff. TOM: That's why I'm the archaeologist. CROW: WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY WAS, "IS THAT WHAT THEY MEAN BY KITTY PORN ON THE INTERNET?" HA HA! HA HA! WASN'T THAT FUNNY? WELL, I THINK I'LL GO LIE DOWN NOW. GOODBYE! [And he stumbles off, a smoking, jittery mess. Mike watches him go.] MIKE: Whoa. Guess I should have let him finish his little joke. TOM: You want to dust off the last one there, Mike? MIKE: Oh! Sure. Hmm... Volume Nine -- Q. TOM: Q to what? MIKE: Just Q. TOM: How odd. [The light flashes.] MIKE: Oh, Castle Wolfenstein is calling. [taps the light] [CF] DR.F: Yes, Mike, I've made something of a discovery of my own... I've been having a chat with Observer and Professor Bobo here, and we seem to have reached a rather interesting conclusion. Now, Professor, you were telling me that my late mother treated you like an ignorant monkey from the very moment she met you. BOBO: That's correct, Dr. Forrester. DR.F: And even though you hold degrees in several disciplines, and had tenure at your planet's leading university for many years, my mother somehow compelled you to behave as foolishly as she expected you to. BOBO: Sad but true. I was acting like a complete buffoon, and I didn't even know why. For Pete's sake, I don't even like bananas. DR.F: And you, Observer, an Omnipotent Being, found yourself in the same situation. OBSERVER: Quite right. I'm terribly ashamed. DR.F: I sense that we're on to something very significant here. If I could somehow harness this effect, I could make everyone on this planet behave exactly as I expect them to. Why, this could be the key to world domination that I've been searching for all these years. OBSERVER: Might I suggest that the medium of television is an ideal vehicle for this phenomenon. It has, in fact, been used this way in the past, with great success. DR.F: Fascinating, Mr. Observer. Continue. OBSERVER: What? Oh, I'm sorry, this is usually the point at which Pearl would strike me for being insubordinate and then claim my idea as her own. DR.F: There will be time for that later. Please, go on. OBSERVER: Well, we could devise an entertainment program of sorts to draw in viewers, who could then be subject to your control. DR.F: Hmm, I like this idea. The problem is how to reach beyond the confines of basic cable. [Dr. Forrester ponders this for a few moments.] DR.F: I clearly need some time to think about this. First order of business, though. Observer, could you install a button to be pushed at the end of every transmission? OBSERVER: Will do. [SFX: Observer puts hand to his head to illustrate that he is doing something with his mind beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.] OBSERVER: Done. DR.F: Wonderful. Push the button, Professor Bobo. BOBO: What, why me? DR.F: Just push it, monkey-boy. BOBO: Oo! Oh! Okay. \ | / \ | / ---o--- / | \ / | \ MSTed by Kevin Pease and Craig J. Clark Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters, situations, and other such things are copyright 1994 Best Brains, Inc. This MSTing is not authorized, endorsed, or supported by anyone, but it is Y2K compliant. This article may be freely distributed as long as this notice remains intact. No undue disrespect is intended to the author of "ARTIFACT." Keep 'em coming, we say. Everything else is copyright 1999 by Kevin Pease and Craig J. Clark, so there. > "Rte'' lnever miss it! " shot Erin, his eyes fglowing in luminesance. =========================================================================== There it is. This is our first misting and I hope it brought joy and only a certain amount of pain to all. Craig J. Clark cjclark@earthlink