From bill@Traveller.COM Fri Oct 15 01:24:47 1999 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc,alt.tv.mst3k,alt.fan.mst3k,alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: MiSTed - Roland "Rolaid" Warner's "Hostage" (0/4) From: bill@Traveller.COM (Bill Livingston) Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 06:24:47 GMT Hi. It's me. (Whaddaya mean, "Me Who?") Anyway, the next 4 postings you see (barring anyone sneaking in ahead of me) will be my MiSTing of a story called "Hostage", which was penned by RATMM's own Roland Warner (aka #RATMM's own Rolaid) when he was young and callow. It's a touching scifi story about one lonely man and his lonely cry for help by exposing everyone in the galaxy to a deadly virus. Look for lots of viruses hear. Also, lots of head pieces (and I don't mean hats) and shrinky-dink cars and other wacky future-type stuff. So, with thanks to the Author, and contributing MiSTer Matt Blackwell, I now present - the MiSTing of "HOSTAGE"! Bill L. MiSTie 57776 ####################################################### bill@Traveller.COM http:\\www.hsv.tis.net\~bill He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast - Prov. 15:15b From bill@Traveller.COM Fri Oct 15 01:25:24 1999 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc,alt.tv.mst3k,alt.fan.mst3k,alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: MiSTed - Roland Warner's "Hostage" (1/4) From: bill@Traveller.COM (Bill Livingston) Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 06:25:24 GMT [SATELLITE OF LOVE - Tom & Crow are on the bridge] CROW: Did you call Six Flags? TOM: Yeah. They turned us down. CROW: What!? Aw, man! Why?! TOM: Because there's never actually been six different flags flown over the SOL. CROW: Geez! What a bunch of nitpickers! TOM: What about your idea? CROW: About the IMAX attraction? TOM: NO! Nonononono! That's the *last* thing we need up here! CROW: I think it'd be cool! TOM: So you're really looking forward to 10-story tall apparitions of John Agar & Coleman Francis? CROW: [quickly] Okay, IMAX is *right* out! TOM: What I was referring to was the Colonial style bed and breakfast. CROW: Oh, yeah. That fell through, too. Apparently all the major space programs have some sort of stupid rule about their astronauts only staying at government-approved lodging. TOM: Boy, it's all about who ya know! CROW: Yeah, tell me about it! [Mike enters, carrying a box full of several large balls of string] MIKE: Hey, guys, what's up? CROW: Oh, hi, Mike! Tom and I are trying to figure out some way to stimulate tourism around here. MIKE: Oh, okay, then. Have a good time. [Wanders off] TOM: Hey, how about a historical marker? CROW: That would be great - if anything historical had ever happened here. TOM: Well, there was the time I freed myself from that insidious clump of silly putty! CROW: "Historical", Tom, *not* "Hysterical". TOM: Why, you - I oughtta - [What Tom "oughtta" is cut off as Mike, still carrying the string, wanders back in] MIKE: Guys? 'Scuse me, but did you say "stimulate tourism"? CROW: Yeah. [to Tom] Maybe if we put in a Super-Wal*Mart? TOM: Well, we'd have to get the load pan bay rezoned, and the council is *not* gonna go for - MIKE: Waitasec - how do you expect to get *tourists* on a *satellite*? TOM: Well, we won't unless we come up with some kind of hook! CROW: Yeah, like a theme park or a national monument or something. TOM: We tried to get ourselves designated an official Civil War Battle Site, but there was some big to-do over historical accuracy or some such. CROW: I still say Gypsy's Richard Basehart shrine ought to qualify as some kind of... MIKE: No, what I mean is - we're in *space*! The only "tourists" we ever see up here are stray shuttle flights and the odd alien monstrosity. CROW: Exactly, Mike! And we're trying to change that! We figure if we can get something going, the public demand will bring a concurrent surge in highway and other infrastructure spending. TOM: Right. We're operating under the principal, "If you build it - they will come. CROW: Saaaaay, that's an idea - maybe we can get a major sports franchise up here! Mike, is there enough left on your Optima to put a down payment on, say, the Montreal Expos or the LA Clippers? MIKE: Well, I think I might have a few hun- D'oh! Look, I hate to rain on your parade, but there's no way an orbiting attraction is going to pull in the crowds. CROW: [sigh] Look, Mike, if you're not gonna help us, at least don't spread your negative attitude around. TOM: Yeah, *some* of us are trying to maintain an air of civic pride! MIKE: I just - oh, never mind! [as the lights flashes, he sets the box of string down on the console] Anyway, we got commercial sign, and I gotta make a quick trip to the necessary. Would you two community pillars mind watching this string for me? TOM: Yeah, sure, knock yourself out. [Mike hits button and walks off] CROW: Anyway, how about a museum featuring Joe Don Baker's Death Car! TOM: He's not dead, and anyway - [Crow and Tom look at each other, then at the twine, then at each other. As the meatball appears, we hear the triumphant cry:] CROW & TOM: STRING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ADS: Drop the Chalupa! It's all about suppression! Shezzam! Ah am Sci-Fi! - Jim Nabors [SOL - Tom and Crow are next to a portion of what is obviously a truly big-ass ball of string. Next to them we see tiny clumps of thread labeled "Mini-Strings - $9.99". Behind them are signs for "The Servo Motor Lodge - only 500 yards from the Ball of String" and "Crow T's Family Eats - Home of the World-Famous Stringburger!"] TOM: I tell ya, if this don't get 'em coming in, then the spirit of chintz is really and truly dead! CROW: Don't say that, Tom - not even in jest! [Mike re-enters] MIKE: Okay, guys, I'm back and - GYAH!!! What have you done? CROW: This is our vacation attraction, Mike! The Biggest Ball of String in Outer Space! TOM: Yeah, semi-cephalic tourist types will flock here from all over just to get a glimpse of this baby! And when they do - CROW: When they do, boy, we soak 'em for every cent we can! We got tacky over-priced souvenirs, wretched over-priced food, and run-down over-priced lodging to wring out those bucks! MIKE: Oooo-kay. But how did you get this monstrosity out of those few measly spools I left here? TOM: Well, we did some exploring, and we found a couple hundred balls of the stuff stashed below! MIKE: Tom, that's all Gypsy's. She was going to knit us a cozy! TOM: A cozy? For what? MIKE: The *whole satellite*! TOM: Oops. CROW: Well, we still have the stuff we got when we unraveled all your underwear and added it to the pile. MIKE: Oh, now see, that was a creative way to - you *what*?!? Are you telling me that I'm totally bereft of underwear? TOM: You still have the pair you're wearing. [Long pause] TOM: I said, "You still have the pair you're wearing!" [Long pause] MIKE: Um... BOTS: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!! [Mercifully, the lights begin to flash] MIKE: Oh, the Fruits of the Loom are calling. CROW: Sometimes you scare me, Nelson. And not in any good way! [CASTLE FORRESTER - Bobo is in a cage barely big enough for him stand upright in. He, along with Pearl &, Brain Guy, are being examined by three people in sealed environmental suits] CASEY [Jim, voice of Kevin Spacey imitating Christopher Walken] This one - has suffered severe neurological - dysfunction. His brain - is discolored - and has swollen so much - he's forced to tote it around like a meat - loaf. OBSERVER: It's supposed to look like that, you nitwit. CASEY: Hey - back off, old - man! PEARL: Would you stop prodding me with that stuff? RENEE: [Bridget, with a long red wig sticking out from beneath her helmet]: It's my job! I have to comfort you and relieve your suffering. PEARL: Hey, I'll relieve you of - RENEE: Hey, who are they? [points at viewer] Are they in any danger? PEARL: Huh? Oh, them - they're only in danger from *me*! Hiya, NelSalk! Look, I'd love nothing more than to trade jovial bon mots with you and your metaloid buds, but apparently we've been placed under some kind of stupid quarantine! DUSTY: [Paul, voice of Dustin Hoffman] Yeah, uh, we suspect the monkey here may have brought a highly infectious disease into the country, so we, ah, we gotta test everyone, y'know? BOBO: Look, I may have a few rashes and a couple of running sores and, okay, one or two fungal infections, but just because I'm a smelly, flea-ridden, darn dirty ape doesn't mean that I'm some kind of a disease-ridden pest, pal! CASEY: Uh - oh. Bad news, Dusty. Read - this. [hands Dusty a paper] DUSTY: Oh, great. Yeah, yeah, great. Generals Freeman and Sutherland want ah, want to blow the place up. I - uh - I better drive up there and make a grandstanding speech in front of him. Yeah. I'll just drive up there. Yeah. I'm an excellent driver [leaves] PEARL: Great, give a guy a couple of Academy Award, and suddenly he thinks he's Johnny God. [sigh] Okay, you ninnies - CASEY & RENEE: Yeah? PEARL: No, the other ninnies. Look, this brouhaha may take a while to get straightened out, but I'm not gonna suffer alone. I've got a virulent little story here called "Hostage", and it's all about futuristic viruses and such like. And just to prove there's no hiding place, it's written by an old ally of yours - a certain Mr. Roland Warner, of "James Cameron Conspiracy" fame! Roll up your sleeves, boys - it's time for your booster shot of PAIN! BOBO: Oh boy - that's gonna hurt! CASEY: I - know! [SOL] GYPSY: [OS] Which one of you goons filched all my twine?!? BOTS: Uh-oh! [lights flash] ALL: OH NO! WE GOT BADFIC SIGN!!!!! BOTS: AND JUST IN TIME!!!!! [Chaos, doors, etc.] [6] {5} (4) <3> |2| O [All enter] CROW: That was a narrow escape! TOM: Never thought I'd be grateful for this old theater! > Hostage > > * * * MIKE: Hey, Leonard Maltin gave it three stars. > > The Preparation TOM: Is "H"! CROW & MIKE: Ewww! > > * * * > >He had first conceived the idea when he had heard the idea CROW: ...when he thought about the idea when he mentioned the idea when the idea occurred to him... > after hearing >about the Ebola outbreak on Jupiter in their oxygenated zones. SERVO: Remember, oxygenate your zones twice a day. > It was his >greatest idea he had ever made. MIKE: It was even better than the spec script he'd submitted to "Voyager". > He had previously done several other >criminal activities like attacking Mars and making it look like Earth >attacked them. CROW: He planted Earth's handkerchief in the asteroid belt. MIKE: Good thing Barnaby Jones saw through his little deception. > Earth found the place where he had set up his operation but >couldn't find him. > >He had also killed several presidents, TOM: No one had the heart to tell him Martin Van Buren and Chester A. Arthur were already dead. CROW: Sad, really. > robbed several interuniversal banks, MIKE: He mugged the Sliders! TOM: Good. >committed several virtual reality crimes, he had even managed to create >several secret identities such as Douglas Eunate, TOM: Eunate? CROW: No, Me Doctor, you Nate, your wife patient. > a banker, Timothy Warner, ALL: HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, NURSE! >an architect, Dean King, a cab driver, Crow: It's Moon Knight: The Fanfic! > and other different names by taking >the microchip out of his forehead and reprogramming them with his computer. TOM: Which explains the zipper in his cranium. CROW: Paging Dr. Hrrhfnhrrr. >These identities assisted him in those crimes. > MIKE: Unfortunately, his identities couldn't get along and he eventually broke up. >This idea would put him over the top TOM: I'd say we're already there. > and give him the most pieces he had >ever needed. > CROW: Now he can finally finish that jigsaw puzzle! >He had already started his operation by setting up his own laboratory at >his house. Beside him, he had several vials filled with some of the world's >most deadliest viruses TOM: Melissa, "Good Times", Michaelangelo, "Join the Crew"... > including the newly found viruses, Zaire Pneumonia, >SDS or Sudden Death Syndrome, Martian Fever, and CSP or Clean Slate >Personality. CROW: Rockin' Pneumonia... TOM: The Boogie-Woogie Flu... MIKE: Cat Scratch Fever... > These viruses were the cause of several deaths on Saturn, >Venus, and Jupiter, all of them airborne. MIKE: Boy, that would really be a problem if those planets actually had any air. > There were no cures but were >stopped by sucking them out of the oxygenated zones and sent out into the >lifeless void of space. CROW: Wow! That was one filthy sentence! > The only problem with the idea for sending it out >is that some of the virus clung to either the planet's very small >gravitational pull or clung to the side of the glass like rim of the >oxygenated zones. > TOM: Have you tried chicken soup? It'll probably get rid of those pesky viruses. MIKE: I don't know about him, but I think I'd notice something clinging to my oxygenated zone! >Timothy Warner knew that or that was at least was what he was known as. He >had even forgotten his real name through all of his aliases. CROW: ["Timothy"] Now what *was* my real name? It's on the tip of my tongue! > He knew that >underneath those names, his real name lived on. MIKE: Not that it makes any difference, since he can't remember it. TOM: That Sounds like the theme song for "Titanic 2: Across the Sea of Years". > He'd planned to make his >way to Venus where he'd heard of a hidden tunnel that held a virus that >became very viral when brought into air. TOM: Look out!! The virus is becoming viral!!! > It was only a rumor but Timothy >expected to actually find it. > CROW: That's just how thick he actually was. >He placed the vials back inside the secret panel in his house and grabbed a >suitcase beside him and opened a drawer beside him. Inside the drawer, >there was a sealed gray metal box inside. TOM: And inside that box was a container. And inside that container, there was a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma. > He placed the box inside the >suitcase which contained a two things he would need to make his trip: two >vials, a change of clothes, and 4 black boxes. MIKE: Of course, by "two things", they actually mean "a large number of things". CROW: Well, precision may be a little much to expect here, Mike. > Hidden inside the pile of >clothes, he had a space suit made to resemble clothes, his own special >design. TOM: Of course, since his clothes were all made to resemble space suits, dressing was a bit difficult. > The suit could form it's own air and keep the person inside it >alive for an extended amount of time. CROW: Hey, neat! It formed air out of thin air. Which - I guess - really - isn't all that hard. > He then pressed a button on a small >computer console and the lab he had shrunk to a black box. TOM: Special effects courtesy of Tex Avery. > He tossed the >computer and the box into the suitcase. > >Timothy pulled out a little car and pushed a button on the bottom and >watched the car expand. MIKE: Inflatable Hot Wheels - the cars of the new millennium! > He then placed the suitcase in the passenger seat >of his car and he sat in the driver's seat. > CROW: Instantly, the urge to drive through a fruitcart at high speeds began to overwhelm him. >"Autocar: Spaceport." Timothy commanded. TOM: Are we suddenly trapped in SuperMarionation? MIKE: Roland Warner's Hostage is GO!!!!! > The car's steering wheel folded >into a triangular shaped object and shrunk back into the car's engine. The >car started in motion and began moving down the road, doing 70 m.p.h. > CROW: If the car is voice activated to begin with, why does it even need a steering triangle? TOM: In case there's an urgent need to stop suddenly for a yard sale. >The world had changed through the many years of his life, when he was a >child, his father was a member of a street gang called White Supremist >Movement who believed that there were too many blacks out on the street and >that white's should rule the street. MIKE: Pat Buchanan, Jr., ladies and gentlemen. > His father was shot down in the middle >of a protest in front of city hall. CROW: Wow! The debate on the school bond issue sure took a nasty turn! TOM: Ironically, they were protesting in *support* of police brutality. > The government had found his father >attacking a black person in front of city hall after the man had cursed >them for their thoughts. TOM: [Bester] The Corps is mother and father! > Timothy's father jumped the guy as he turned the >corner and stabbed him. A policeman watched this happen and had gotten out >of his car too late because Timothy's father had already stabbed the man in >the head and began running. CROW: [Tim's father] I'd stab you in the torso, but that's such a minority thing to do! TOM: Miss Manners says "It's only proper to say goodbye and leave a condolence note after sticking a shiv into someone." > The policeman began running and gained about 12 >feet between them. MIKE: [policeman] Okay, I'll take these 6 feet, and you can have those 6 feet. Now let's head to Thom McAnn's. > Timothy's father pulled out a gun and fired three shots, >hitting it's target twice. MIKE: The third shot traveled back in time and struck the Archduke Ferdinand. TOM: Oh, the humanity! > The policeman fell to the ground with a bullet >in the arm and in the leg. CROW: And according the Warren Commission, it was the same bullet. > Timothy's father jumped into a car and ripped >open the sheathing underneath the wheel and began to hot-wire the car. TOM: Why do I feel like I'm trapped in a "Starsky and Hutch" rerun? > It >started up and he placed his foot on the pedal and the car moved into >motion. MIKE: Since moving into motionlessness would be both impossible and quite rude. TOM: But very Zen. MIKE: True. > The only thing that he didn't expect was that the policeman had >staggered to his feet and stumbled across the pavement. ALL: [dully] We didn't expect that. > The policeman drew >his gun and shot Timothy's father. The car began speeding down the road and >crashed into a store one block from where the policeman was. > TOM: The car escaped with minor injuries. >Timothy began to block the thought from his mind. Even though he wasn't >there when his father was shot, he still could gather a image of what >occurred that night. > CROW: Action News 19: On the spot, traumatizing youth around the clock! >After his father's death, Timothy felt free. TOM: He was free, young and fresh. Sadly, the trauma had turned Timothy into a Mentos kid. > His father had been very >abusive to him and his mother. Timothy left home when he was 16 and moved >his way across country doing odd jobs for people. CROW: This is bad: Timothy is a direct linear descendent of Torgo, Ortega, and Mikey the Gardener. > Half of his earnings he >sent to his mother, the other half he used for himself. MIKE: Maybe his mother can tell him what his real name is. CROW: She probably forgot, too. Lord knows I would now, if I could. > He began to become >very interested in technology after taking a brief tour through a computer >company. TOM: Wow! These TRS-80's are just so cool! > He started visiting a library in a small town that he would never >leave for a very long time, Kilroy, North Carolina. > Crow: Secret, secret. He's got a secret. Mike: Well, Timothy *is* a modren man. >The library had Internet access and he would visit all kinds of home pages >for various people. TOM: He got to see thousands of resumes, cat pictures, animated "Under Construction" GIF's, and "Favorite CD's" lists. > He enrolled in the local college, Kilroy College, CROW: Made possible by a grant from the Styx Foundation. > and >was accepted. He found a job, working in a local computer store. He used >his salary to pay for a small apartment and his college payment. > TOM: And a few brewskis on the side. >In college, he enrolled in computer science and architecture. During his >college years, he was a straight A student and passed all his quizzes and >graduated with honors. > MIKE: You'd think someone would have been suspicious when he aced his "Advanced Viral Terrorism" classes! CROW: Especially after he wrecked the curve for everybody else. >After college, he discovered his hidden talents in criminology and took it >to his advantage. > TOM: So is there really that big a demand for Criminal Computer Architect Supergeniuses? MIKE: This is the future, Tom - *everyone* can be a Criminal Computer Architect Supergenius. >All the technology came to his advantage. Cars became more advanced with an >autodrive sequence, narrower exterior for smaller lanes with a larger >inside to hold more people. CROW: The 2196 Ford Taurus: 500 feet long and 2 feet wide! > Housing became more available for the less >fortunate. MIKE: And strangely, less available for the more fortunate. > Everybody had microchips in their foreheads which were used as a >credit card, wallet, ID, passport, driver's license, and many other things. MIKE: It can be used as an oil filter. CROW: A can opener. TOM: A deep fryer. CROW: A pet taxi. TOM: A magic marker. MIKE: A subjunctive verb. TOM: Fellas, it can be all this! ALL: AND MORE!!! > > * * * > >The car slowed to a stop as it reached the spaceport. Timothy got out of >the car and pressed a button on the dashboard. CROW: It's not as impressive as using the Club, is it? > He watched as the car shrunk >to about the size of a toy car. MIKE: A toy car that weighing 3000 pounds. > He placed the car in his suitcase and >opened the door to the spaceport. > MIKE: And boy, is it embarrassing when it just pops open in the middle of a flight or something. TOM: [stewardess] Sir, would your please remove your Lexus from the carry-on rack? >The receptionist greeted him at the front desk with a cheerful smile. > >"Good day, sir. How may I help you?" She greeted him. > >"I would like a non-smoking rocket to Boulder, Venus." CROW: He'll be visiting Mork and Exidor. MIKE: [receptionist] I'm sorry, all we have available is a smoking rocket to Winston-Salem, Mars. > >"Yes sir, hold on one second." > >The receptionist typed something in on her computer console in front of her >she scanned the screen for a moment and turned to Timothy. > CROW: Ironically, the Computer had a virus. >"There's a flight leaving in four hours sir, shall I book you a seat?" > MIKE: [Timothy] Yep. I have 300,000,000 frequent flier miles to use. TOM: [receptionist] Okay, that qualifies you for a free pack of honey roasted peanuts, sir. >"That would be fine, ma'am. Is there a seat in first class available?" > >The lady turned her head back to the console. "Yes there is. It costs 50 >pieces." > CROW: So what are these supposed to be pieces *of*? MIKE: I think it's just imaginary money. Sort of like "Credits" on Star Trek. CROW: You mean before Star Trek decided they didn't use money any more. TOM: Except for gold-pressed latinum. MIKE: Exactly. >"I'll take it." > >"All right sir, just put your forehead against this plate here." > MIKE: [Timothy] No! There's still meat loaf and green beans on it! >Timothy placed his forehead against a bent metal plate and a whirring sound >started up. TOM: Then he was sucked into the wood chipper and the story ended. MIKE: You wish. > He felt a little twinge in the middle of his forehead as a >metal eye scanned it for the chip and a click as it acknowledged the >existance of it. TOM: [sarcastic] Ooooooooooooh, thank you *so much* for noticing I exist! > The computer beeped and brought up all the pieces he had >on the chip. So far, he had 1,550 pieces in his forehead CROW: Which explains that strange rattle when he nods. > and was reduced to >1,500 pieces as the computer reduced the amount of credits in the chip. The >only thing not marked in his forehead that the computer couldn't read was a >chip behind his ear that held all the pieces he had stolen from other >banks. [All laugh] TOM: Not a very effective place to stash your loot, is it? MIKE: Hey Tim, what's that huge misshapen bulge behind your ear? CROW: It's, uh, where I keep my bowling ball. TOM: So I guess when they say being a criminal is all in your head, this is the sort of thing they have in mind. > He had a wire linking the chip to his forehead where he could add >pieces to the microchip. CROW: Of course, running across his face as it did, it was a bit conspicuous. > Even though he could add aliases to his forehead, >he couldn't create pieces in that chip. When he stole pieces from a bank or >something, he would steal a giant hard drive from the bank's main console >and make off with it. TOM: So he can use his computer to create totally new identities for himself, but he can't counterfeit a few lousy holo-dollars? CROW: PGP's come a long way! > He was able to scan the hard drive for bugs that >would indicate where he went with the money. MIKE: The new Pentium VII - now with built-in Jiminy Cricket firewall/ conscience protection. > After removing a bug if there >was one, he would then go to a small bathroom or a place where android >police would least expect him to go. MIKE: [Android Cop] Do you think he's in the can? TOM: [Android Cop] Don't be silly - no one ever goes in there! > He would then run a small wire from >the hard drive's main wire to a small hole where the microchip was placed >and begin the transfer. TOM: Seems like they'd be able to avoid most bank robberies just by installing SurfWatch. > He would then dump the hard drive in a incinerator >along with any other trash he had and the transfer would be complete. > CROW: Thank goodness those hard drives are completely, 100% flammable. MIKE: Who knew silicon chips and copper wiring would be replaced by flash paper and cordite? >"All right, Mr. Warner. You have been marked for a flight on a Hercules >Rocket to Boulder, Venus at 7:00 p.m. Is this right?" > TOM: [Ben Stein] Well, it's correct, but it's *hardly* right. >"Yes it is ma'am. Thank you." Timothy said as he removed his head > MIKE: Now he's just the eerie, disembodied head of Timothy Warner. CROW: This way, when the faces of those he's wronged float up before him, he can float right back up at them. >"Thank you for flying Hercules." TOM: [ticket woman] Have a Legendary Journey. > >Timothy turned and left the building. Around the corner, there was a real >estate machine that could give information on such things as what houses >were on the market, what apartments were for sale, and other useful >information. > MIKE: Such as where the really good Venusian restaurants were. CROW: Hmmm - "Vend-a-Mortgage"? I dunno... >He placed his forehead against the metal plate on the machine and the >mechanical eye scanned it. As his forehead was against the plate the >machine began to talk to him. > MIKE: It told him his neighbors were spying on him and he should "take care" of them! >"Good day, Mr. Warner! and what would be your pleasure?" > CROW: [Timothy] Well, it involves Jenna Elfmana and a tub of Cool Whip. >"I'd like to put an house up for sale." > TOM: [Python] Oooooooooh!!! We'd like to sell "an house", would we?!? >"Okay, and exactly how much would you like to sell it for?" > >"500 pieces." > CROW: Squawk! Pieces of Eight! Pieces of Eight! Squawk! >"Let me check my data files and see if we have any who are looking for a >house like your's from the blueprints marked in your microchip." > >Timothy did not remove his forehead from the plate. TOM: [falsetto] I said no dessert until you clean your plate, young man! And that includes your forehead! MIKE: [Whiny] Aw, ma-a-a-a-a!!! > If you removed your >head, that would alter the amount of pieces you had and probably destroy >the chip. > CROW: Also, if you wore a hat, the computer would think you were Abe Vigoda. >Moments later, the computer started back up. > MIKE: And it still makes that stupid "Microsoft Sound" when it does. >"I have found a couple in Charlotte, North Carolina who would like a house >exactly like yours in the price range of your money, TOM: "The price range of his Monet"? How'd he get an impressionist? CROW: "Money", Tom - "money"! TOM: Yeah, it took a *lot* of money to get a painting like that. CROW & MIKE: D'OH!!!! > shall I let them buy >it?" > >"Yes." > CROW: Well, that's convenient. TOM: [House Machine] Okay, and closing costs come to... 600,000 pieces. >"Thank you sir, I have marked you microchip with the 500 pieces. Anything >else, sir?" > CROW: [Warner] Yeah, where's the vending machine that'll let me buy Trump Towers? >"Yes, are there any apartments available in the are of Boulder, Venus. > >"Let me check my data files. Any specific kind of apartment?" > >"A nice one, top floor." > MIKE: Is it really necessary to specify "a nice one"? TOM: [Gruff] Yeah, I want a filthy, run-down roach-infested dump somewhere. Preferably with rent-control. >"Please wait." > >A few moment's later, the computer started back up. > >"Yes, there's one available at the Vacation hotel on 64th Street for 300 >pieces, shall I purchase it for you?" > CROW: [Warner] Would you? Thanks, now I can save all that money I was going to spend! >"That would be fine." > >"We appreciate you using Monday Realty for you housing needs." > MIKE: [singing] Monday, Monday, so good to me... >"Thank you." > >Timothy walked five blocks down to Buddy's Bar where he always visited to >get a glass of Buddy's special, CROW: Unfortunately, Buddy's special was a chunk of lard and a moldy grilled cheese sandwich. > a slab of grilled sirloin steak, fries, >baked potato, and a glass of Moon Sprit. MIKE: Fries *and* a baked potato? TOM: Yeah, Mike! Slam that with a glass of Moon Sprit, and it's... TOM & CROW: EXTREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEME POTATOES!!!!! > He entered the bar, sat down at a >table, and ordered Buddy's special. As he was waiting, he began to think >about how technology had advanced since he was a child. TOM: Why, back then, they hadn't even invented Lipton's Cup of Canned Ham! > He remembered how >everybody believed that aliens existed and that some of them he had talked >to believed that we would find them in the near future. MIKE: It was easy. Just turn on any given episode of Star Trek or B5, and there they were. > That was in the >1990's. This is the 2020's. CROW: When ABC Newsmagazines ruled the world! > No aliens have ever been found. > TOM: Well, except for that Nimoy guy, and turned out he was faking it. >Even the entire galaxy had been settled after the great population boom of >1999. There were now such places as Harbinger, Mars; Jackson Jupiter; >Houston, Saturn; and Boulder, Venus. MIKE: And who could forget San Diego, Mercury; or Chattanooga, Pluto; or The Dells, Neptune? TOM: You forgot Uranus. CROW: *mmmmmmmmmmmWAH!* Good night, everybody! > Boulder was located near the fabled >cave where the hidden virus lay. > >A small shaft beside Timothy opened up and slowly brought out his food. > CROW: Man! That shaft is one bad food dispens- MIKE & TOM: Shut your mouth! CROW: Just talkin' 'bout that shaft. MIKE & TOM: We can dig it! >"Anything else, sir?" > >"No, thank you." > >"Thank you." > TOM: Um, who's he talkin' to, here? MIKE: Probably that 6" Richard Roundtree. >"Well, if it ain't my good friend, Dean King, or have you changed your name >again?" A small man said as he sat down in a chair across from Timothy's >table. > >"Hey! How ya doin, Clark?" > CROW: [basso] Fine, Lois. >"Fine, I noticed you walking down the sidewalk outside and tried to stop >you but you didn't so I decided to come in and have a drink with my pal. TOM: [Clark] But he's not here, so I'll just stay and annoy you. >You planning on doing any more robberies or are you a killer now?" > CROW: D'oh! TOM: I guess Timmy doesn't pick his pals based on their discretion. >"First, the name's Timothy, Timothy Warner. ALL: [a la James Bond theme] Ba-DUM-da-DUM-dada-DUM!!! > Second, I'm neither. Do you >want anything?" > >"No thanks, what are you doing these days?" > >"Looking for a job. I'm going to Boulder to see if I can find an available >job." > CROW: [Warner] I understand the police department needs all the help it can get. >Timothy pressed a button beside the panel in the wall and ordered a refill >of Moon Sprit. > >"I can't seem to find a job either, mind if I tag along with you?" > MIKE: Apparently, all the great jobs are on Venus! >Timothy thought about this. "OK, but when we reach Boulder, you're on your >own. Okay?" > >"Sure. I'll go buy a ticket right now." > >"Buy it coach, that's what mine is." > CROW: Craig T. Nelson - he's ready when you are. >"Sure do fly elaborate, don't you." > >"You bet." > TOM: He flaps his arms all over the place. >Clark left the table and walked out of the bar and Timothy continued >eating. MIKE: Boy, the action just never lets up! TOM: Good thing I took my heart pills. > The panel had brought Timothy his refill of Moon Sprit CROW: After which the panel returned to the set of "Meet the Press". > and took the >old glass. > MIKE: And got the 10¢ deposit back. >After he had finished eating, Timothy sat at his table checking his >suitcase to make sure he had everything properly placed in it for case >checking at the terminal. > TOM: Yeah, rifling through personal belongings in plain sight in a public place is how most terrorists lull the police into complacency. >The panel opened up and brought out a metal plate for Timothy to pay for >his meal. CROW: Cool! The limited edition "Iron Maiden" Collector's Plate! I heard that plate may increase in value as much as 500%. MIKE: Of course, past performance is no guarantee of future returns. CROW: Well, thanks a lot, Nelson! You've shattered my dreams yet again! > He placed his head against it and the machine began whirring and >clicking. TOM: But all that came up were lemons. > After paying, Clark came back and they both left the bar. > MIKE: Hey, a Clark Bar. >Timothy still had three hours and a half to spare before time for them to >leave. Clark made a stop at a housing machine to sell his house. After >selling it, CROW: Apparently in this future, Century 21 *won't* be calling. TOM: Yeah, no more little ReMax balloons floating around - darn shame. > Clark left Timothy alone to go get his suitcase from his house. > >Timothy opened up his suitcase and pulled out the miniature car. He pressed >a button underneath it and the car expanded to it's regular size. He got >into the car and towards his house. > TOM: And he drove off so fast, he left his action verb behind. >When he reached home, Timothy packed up all his belongings and tossed them >in the Goodwill bin. > CROW: He's the charitable terrorist. TOM: Sort of a 21st century Robin Hood. MIKE: More likely a 21st century Robin Givens. >Two hours still remained before he had to leave so he decided to rest until >6:50 and then drive to the airport. CROW: That daring rebel! He's ignoring FAA recommendations and not showing up an hour before the flight! TOM: And the point of this scene is... MIKE: Never embark on a germ warfare campaign when you're tired. > >At the airport, he met Clark in the lobby and they proceeded up the >escalator. He tossed his suitcase in the baggage area for those heading >towards Boulder, Venus. CROW: Where the spaceline's crack Luggage Losing Squad immediately shipped it to Pocatella, Vulcan. > He then entered a long hallway to the rocket. If it >weren't for the floor beneath him, he would have felt as though he were >walking on air. TOM: He had his answer! > All the walls beside him were pure and clean glass. Timothy >thought to himself that they were to show what went on at a spaceport for >the curious. He could see cars moving about the cement filling rockets to >prepare them for take off, CROW: Cement filling rockets? MIKE: Kids still love those construction vehicles. > rockets entering the wash to clean off for take >off. > CROW: In space, no one can hear you rinse! >He entered through the doors of the rocket and was led to a seat in coach. >He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out Viruses: Myths and Facts about >the truths and untruths of the viruses plaguing the entire galaxy. MIKE: Is this what they mean by "hiding in plain sight"? TOM: I think it's what they mean by "sack of hammers"! > The book >confirmed that the fabled Henroid Syndrome in the mines of Venus below >Boulder did not exist. TOM: It was just swamp gas. > Timothy didn't believe that because he had seen the >effects of it through hologram images from his informant, Harry Lowell. CROW: I get the feeling we're gonna need a scorecard to keep up with all these people. Possibly an Oracle database. >Lowell had assisted him an several other crimes and never asked for a >single piece in return. Lowell has been a shady character ever since >Timothy was known to him. CROW: Before that, though, he was perfectly respectable. > He would meet Lowell at the exit to the airport >and they both would go to the entrance to the mine. > >"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are go for lift off. Please strap in and brace >yourself, you might feel a little push." The captain announced over the >intercom. > TOM: [Pilot] It'll probably be the kid in the seat behind you. Feel free to make faces at him. >Timothy pulled the two straps around his shoulders and hooked them together >at the chest. The engines fired up and Timothy felt himself forced against >his seat cushions, as did everyone else around him. CROW: Thanks you for flying Grope Spacelines. > As of what Timothy >could see outside, the clouds were rushing towards him as though it were >ready to attack him with a bound. MIKE: [British] What about with pointed sticks? > Then in less than the blink of an eye, a >bird struck the window in the front seat, slapping each window behind it as >though it were attached to the plane but couldn't pull off. TOM: It's the rare and beautiful Curlybird. CROW: Listen to its wistful call: "NYUK-NYUK-NYUK-NYUK! NYAAAAAAAAAAH!" > In a split >second, it hit Timothy's windows and he saw that the bird was dead. His >eyes were wide open and his chest was cut. CROW: My, what a pleasant image. MIKE: Thank you, story. We really needed to see that. TOM: Wait, guys, maybe it's symbolic or something. CROW: Yeah, it's symbolic of this story jumping up my butt! > The rocket wasn't knocked off >course since the bird was too small to do any serious damage. That was the >one thing that always struck a cord with Timothy, an animal lying dead in >the road would always make him feel a slight shiver down his spine. TOM: He's not worried about all those people he killed, but a dead bird makes him all misty-eyed. CROW: He must be an Earth-Firster. > Then >he'd just shake it off and begin concentrating on the road. He felt that >shiver coming back. He knew it couldn't have been helped but maybe if the >rocket had started a little earlier it would have missed the bird. CROW: Of course, it would have rammed that 747 smack-dab in the side! MIKE: Never mind that, man! There are birds to protect! > He shook >off the shiver and started back up at reading his book. The stewardesses >began gliding up and down the walkway TOM: Aaaaaah! Wraiths! > taking people's orders for dinner. >Timothy ordered a glass of Juniper wine. > CROW: Spodee-Odee. >Up front, the award winning movie, Venus Murders started playing. Timothy >pulled away from his novel and began watching the movie. It started out as >an adventure movie based in Highlands, Venus. ALL: [dully] There can be only one. > A person had broken into the >Venus bank vaults and stolen thousands in pieces. Eventually, it turned >into a romance story between a robber and an undercover police officer. By >the end, the police officer committed suicide by leaping into the vacuum of >space. over her love for both the robber and the hatred over what he had >done. MIKE: It starts off as "It Takes a Thief", slides into "Out of Sight", and ends up as "Romeo + Juliet". TOM: Actually, it's not much different than a lot of movies today. > A few cried but Timothy didn't really care about the film. He just >began reading his book again and ignored the next movie, Rupert J. Ming. CROW: Flash Gordon conquers the FOX network! > As >the movie ended, the captain began speaking over the intercom again. > TOM: [Captain] For your viewing pleasure, we will now be smashing into several more flocks of birds. >"Ladies and gentlemen, I hoped you enjoyed the movie. We'll be entering >Boulder in about 10 minutes, MIKE: [Captain] The police will begin the questioning about Jon-Benet Ramsey shortly, so please remain seated. > please strap in and I hope you enjoy your stay >here on Venus." > TOM: [Captain] Goddess of love that she is, over. >Timothy exited the rocket and Clark wished him well. They parted and >Timothy walked over to the baggage claim and picked up his suitcase. CROW: And the Clark portion of our story comes to an abrupt halt. > He >began wandering down the hallways looking for Lowell. He pulled out a >snapshot of Lowell in the Martian Craters. He was wearing a trenchcoat and >a burnt sienna hat. TOM: *After* Labor Day? Hmph! MIKE: Special guest star Kid Rock, ladies and gentlemen! > Around the corner, Lowell was waiting for Timothy. > >"All right, I have these vials here, what do I do now?" > MIKE: We need a specimen. Use the men's room over there. >"Follow me, I'll take you to the airlock." > >Lowell left the airport, followed by Timothy. Lowell opened up the flap in >his pocket and pulled out his little car. CROW: Pervert! > He pressed a button and the car >expanded to it's original size and they pulled out onto the highway and >drove down about five miles. TOM: Hey, this story's given me an idea. MIKE: Y'know, I think you're right. CROW: This could make us rich, fellas! TOM: Let's go! [All leave] O |2| <3> (4) {5} [6] [SOL - In front of Tom is what appears to be a Matchbox car with a Skittle or an M&M on top.] TOM: I'm tellin' you guys, Roland's hit the nail on the head here with this whole expandable miniature car deal! CROW: Yeah, imagine someday being able to run an entire used car lot out of a beat-up old attaché case. MIKE: I know some guys who do that now. TOM: Anyway, this is my stab at creating that blessed utopia. Behold - a fully miniaturized Chrysler Concorde LX, with full options - power windows, anti-lock brakes, disengageable airbags, handsome leather interior, fully rust-proofed and it gets 29 mpg city, 41 highway! MIKE: Wow! Tom, that's amazing! CROW: And it expands just by pushing the button? TOM: Plus, chrome hubcaps, whitewalls - even has built-in CD! CROW: And it expands just by pushing the button, right? TOM: And check this out - tinted glass! CROW: C'mon, push the button and expand it! TOM: Uh, heh heh heh, did I, uh, mention the power windows? MIKE: Tom - TOM: Okay, look, I haven't quite got all the bugs worked out CROW: It doesn't expand? TOM: Not yet!! I'm working on it, though! MIKE: Well, in the meantime, if the cast of "A Bug's Life" wants a nice car, you've got it covered. CROW: Wanna see mine? MIKE: Lead on, MacDuff. CROW: Check out the viewscreen! [The Hexfield opens to show a full-size auto with a gigantic red button on the roof] CROW: It's a shrinkable Toyota Celica. MIKE: Hey, not bad. TOM: I'll admit, it's pretty nice. Go ahead and shrink it so we can scope it out. CROW: It is shrunk. [pause] MIKE: What do you mean, "it *is* shrunk"? CROW: This model is fully miniaturizable to 99.5% of full size. MIKE: "99.5%". CROW: Yep. I wanted to start off slow. TOM: So in other words, a 21-foot long car shrinks to - CROW: That's right, 20 feet, 10.74 inches. Light, compact, and easy to transport! TOM: Uh-huh. CROW: Hey, at least mine actually changes size! MIKE: Just, uh, just keep up the research. We'll be r- CROW: Hey, what about you? MIKE: What? CROW: Well, I thought you were working on it, too. MIKE: Oh, I was kinda hoping you'd forget. See, I was a little unclear on the concept and - well - [Mike reaches beneath the console and produces a scrunched up cube of metal, glass and plastic] MIKE: There it is, a miniaturized Buick Roadmaster. TOM: Oh. CROW: Uh-huh. MIKE: [Keeps pulling out car cubes] Yeah, and here's a Ford Escort - and a Honda Accord - this is one of them new Volkswagen Beetles - and here's an entire 18-wheel Mack truck. CROW: [shakes head] Poor sap. [Lights flash] TOM: We'll be back, folks. MIKE: Oh, I'm actually sort of proud of this one - it's a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. CROW: Really?!? MIKE: Yep. Every piece was hand crafted and flown in from England before being crushed into an unrecognizable heap. TOM & CROW: Ooooooooh! [Meatball] ADS: Psychics, psychics, psychics! Everyone in Steel Wool! I am Sci-Fi in Disguise! - Chris Gaines (continued) ####################################################### bill@Traveller.COM http:\\www.hsv.tis.net\~bill He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast - Prov. 15:15b From bill@Traveller.COM Fri Oct 15 01:26:23 1999 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc,alt.tv.mst3k,alt.fan.mst3k,alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: MiSTed - Roland Warner's "Hostage" (2/4) From: bill@Traveller.COM (Bill Livingston) Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 06:26:23 GMT [All enter] CROW: Maybe Legos is the answer! MIKE: Well, think about it for a while. > The were surrounded by several shields of >glass. It resembled twentieth century window panels on doors. The outside >showed absolutely nothing. > TOM: So the only thing between him and horrible asphyxiation is a few inches of glass? MIKE: It's storm window technology of the future! >They passed several stores including Steffano's Neptunian Food Supply, >Northern Dolls, Old Times Dance Floor, Lightning VR, and several other >stores with interesting names. MIKE: Unlike these. > The car pulled off the highway and followed >a deserted street. The car stopped behind a rock and Lowell exited the car >and pressed a button on the side. The car shrunk and he placed the it in >his pocket. CROW: Blithely ignoring several laws of physical mass to do so. > Timothy picked up a suit and pulled it over his body. He handed >Lowell a suit and Lowell did the same thing. TOM: Hey! Union rules say use a phone booth to change into the long johns there, pal! CROW: There's just no respect for tradition any more. > They walked over to the >secured exit to dome and Lowell entered a four digit code into the >computer. He then placed his forehead against the wall. TOM: Soon he was fast asleep. > Then, he placed his >finger against another metal panel. Last, he did a retina scan and a door >opened. > >"Sure your not missing anything?" Timothy remarked and smiled at his own >comment. MIKE: Well, at least *someone* did. > Lowell showed no reaction as he pushed a button on the wall. The >door closed and another opened to a cave. Lowell entered the opening and >pushed the button on the other side. The door closed and they were on the >outside. TOM: HOT - DOOR - ACTION! > Timothy had always fantasized about visiting the outside of any >planet, this was his first time. The cave was very twisty and dark. CROW: Much like the plot. > Lowell >started up a flashlight from his little suitcase he brought with him. The >light showed nothing interesting to them but somewhere down there, Timothy >knew it was a gold mine. > MIKE: Wait, I thought he wanted viruses. TOM: He's learned to keep his goals flexible. >"Follow me, if you get lost, it's not my fault. This could be dangerous. >Don't trip. Watch what you pick up, it could tear a hole in your suit." > CROW: And no running with scissors! >"Okay, mother." > TOM: [Norman Bates] Oh God, Mother! Blood! >He followed the path until it separated into two paths. Lowell took the one >on the right. There were several other twists but Lowell managed to take >the right spot. > >"This is the spot." Lowell said as they came to a stop. "Pull out your >vials and get it." > TOM: Boy, Lowell doesn't fool around with small talk, huh? MIKE: I don't think he meant it like that. >"Sure, hold on, let me get them." > >Timothy pulled out the two vials and exposed them to the virus. He then >covered them back up and it turned purple. > CROW: That's why you should always practice Safe Virus-ing. >"That's just the pressure against the virus." > >He placed the vial inside the box and sucked the virus that seeped into it. > ALL: Ewwwwwwwww! >They then followed the same path back out of the cave. As they reached the >door, Lowell pushed the button and the door opened. He then pulled a gun on >Timothy. > MIKE: [Lowell] You bastard! I pushed the button - now where's my yummy food pellet?!? >"CIA. Put your hands up, your under arrest Mr. Warner, or should I say, Mr. >Douglas Eunate." > >"What are you doing, Lowell? I thought you were helping me?" > >"Under cover cop, Lloyd Hienrich, come with me." > TOM: Cop, CIA - same thing, really. CROW: [Lloyd] Freeze! Generic law-enforcement official! >Lloyd entered the room and turned to watch Timothy enter the room. > >There was no Timothy. > TOM: No "thing" called Douglas Eunate. Roland Warner was found, unharmed and of normal size, 2000 miles away. >"Dammit, Timothy! Where are you?" Lloyd called as if he expected an answer. > CROW: [Timothy] Over here. [pause] Oh, what a giveaway! >He entered back into the cave and looked all around the area he was >currently in. Then came the two passages. He chose the one to the right. He >entered and saw nothing. But the one thing he did hear was deep breathing. > MIKE: Huuuh huuuh huuuh, what kind of shoes are you wearing? Huuuh huuuh huuuh. >He's got to be around here, but where. Probably waiting for me. Got to be >cautious. Lloyd thought to himself. > >Then a yell rang out TOM: Somebody must have fired a shout! > and a rock was thrown onto Lloyd's head and he >stumbled to the ground and fell to the ground, CROW: This image brought to you by the Ground Council. > alive but unconscious. > >Timothy ran out of the cave and took a disinfectant shower and left the >little chamber. He was back in the oxygenated zone. MIKE: [sportscaster] He's in the Oxygenated Zone - he's breathing at will! > He got out of his suit >and pulled out his car from his suitcase he had left behind. He drove back >onto the highway and noticed that night had already come. He needed to get >back to his apartment and into a bed. CROW: Once he pulled the covers over his head, he'd be safe. > As he pulled back onto the highway, a >band of police vehicles roared down the streets towards the cave Timothy >had just left. TOM: Aaaah! I'm getting "It Lives By Night" flashbacks! CROW: You better cut that squeak out! > Later, he would learn that Hienrich had woken up and called >the police from his car radio. > TOM: He was the 10th caller and won $100. >He pulled into Vacation motel and rode the elevator to the top floor. After >he entered his room, he immediately fell asleep on the bed. MIKE: [Tim] I better get my things and get outta heZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!! > The next >morning, before he finished taking his shower, he wandered over to the >intercom and ordered scrambled eggs, orange juice, and toast. TOM: And as a result, got soap suds all over the carpet. CROW: There goes the damage deposit. > As he >finished his shower, the maid had brought the food for him and took the >money he had left on the counter. CROW: Ew, he left her part of his forehead! > Behind the head of the bed, there was a >giant open window. Outside, you could see Venus all the way to the line of >the horizon. There were several oddly shaped towers, most were used by >banks and businesses of high income. MIKE: And a dark tower with a gunslinger standing outside. > There was a small passenger jet flying >just below the frame of the dome. The streets were semi-clear of traffic >except for the people beginning their shifts early or leavig the night >shift. The next building was a pyramid shaped attourneys office. CROW: Ah, the offices of Tutenkhamen, Nefertiti, Cheops & Smith. > Timothy >left the window and walked over to the round corner table. He cut the >holovision on and started to eat. The news anchorman, George O'Hare, MIKE: The busiest anchorman in America... >began talking about what had occurred the day before. > >". . . Agent Z, as the police are referring to him, TOM: It's the Blood Waters of Agent Z. CROW: [Dr. Z] Henroid - Virus of Deceit! > was found near the >Venusian Caverns where the fabled Henroid Syndrome was said to have been >found. The only thing police are telling us is that the famous Hunter is >involved. TOM: White hunter, black heart! > Bob, can we have a picture on the screen?" > MIKE: [Bob] Here's a ducky, and here's a bunny, and here's a horsie, and... >The platform popped up with a hologram of Timothy in the cave the night of >the incident. > >"This is Timothy Warner. If you see him, call 555-6496." > CROW: And remember, if Timothy Warner's not at your house in 30 minutes or less, the next virus is free. >"Thank you, George. In other news tonight, Uranus had a short . . ." MIKE: "Uranus had a short *BLANK*". Charles Nelson Reilly? TOM: [Charles Nelson Reilly] I said "Keister", Gene! A-huh-huh! >Timothy shut off the holovision. > >"I shouldn't have trusted him. He . . ." The doorbell rang. > >Timothy peered through the hole in the door and saw the manager of the >resort at his door. Below in his hands, he had a Sun 65 Shock Laser. > MIKE: [manager] Take the towels out of the suitcase, and no one gets hurt! >Another knock. > >"Mr. Warner, open the door, please." > >"Hang on." > >He searched the room for another way out. He looked for a fire escape but >found none. He opened the window to see what had happened and saw it >hanging in shambles on the ground. He had only one solution left. TOM: Ending the story now! Please?!? > He ran >into his room and grabbed his suitcase. As he was running back to the >kitchen windows, he heard a crack at the door. He grabbed onto the ledge >and eased himself outside. He was pulling his foot out when the door let >loose with a giant crack and the manager entered the room. > CROW: Boy, they're really strict on that 11:00 AM check-out! >"Mr. Warner, I need to speak to you." > TOM: [Manager] Have you ever considered the advantages of switching to that dime-a-minute long distance service?!? >Timothy pulled his left foot across his right and did an about face. MIKE: Then he did the hokey-pokey and turned himself about! CROW: Y'know, I've been thinking - that really *is* what it's al about! > He >reached up towards the roof and hauled himself onto it. The roof was at a >slant but not very steep. He turned and looked across the gap CROW: Nooooo! That means they're still running those stupid ads after all these years! TOM: Everybody in Viruses. > between the >resort and the attourney building across the street. Not much more than >about 5 yards since the building expands as it grows. MIKE: Night of the Living Motel! > He turns around and >starts walking towards the center of the building. A million thoughts raced >through his mind as he turned to face the gap. CROW: For example, how he was just mad about Saffron. > His footsteps thundered as >he ran across the roof and jumped with a bound. He began falling. After his >foot left the ledge, he quickly went for his rocket switch. MIKE: Wait, don't tell me - he has a Saturn V in his suitcase along with the car! > After a few >jiggles, the rockets still wouldn't come out. CROW: Well, it's like they always say: No matter how you wiggle and dance, the last rocket always lands in your pants. > The fall continued. 30. 29. >28. At floor 27, he grabbed on to the ledge up above it and flew into the >window. He landed on a desk where an attourney's hard work was demolished. > MIKE: Well, see - the guy did at least *one* good thing in the story. >"What the hell?" The attourney backed away from his desk. "What are you >doing? You just ruined two straight days worth of work!" > >"So sue me." TOM: And he did. And the guy lost everything and the story was over. The end. MIKE: That's never going to work. TOM: Ha! They told that to Alexander Graham Cracker just before he invented the busy signal! > Timothy picked himself off the desk and checked to make sure >he was all right. After checking, he ran through the hallway and ducking >into an closet as one attourney was exiting his office. > CROW: So his brilliant escape plan is - hide in a closet. MIKE: How devilishly clever! No wonder the police have never caught him! >The people in the other rooms began clambering through the halls. Timothy >acted quickly and ran into a door across the hallway. He found himself in a >small junk room filled with old twentieth century computers and file >cabinets that were either damaged or taken apart. CROW: "File Manager has encountered a General Protection Fault. (A)bort/(R)etry/(F)ail?" > Timothy pulled a wire >from one of the computers against the wall and opened up his suitcase. He >attached the wire to the computer console and ran it up to the microchip >behind his ear. He booted up the computer and the screen popped up: TOM: "You've Got Mail" > > _________________________________________________________________ > > Main Menu > CROW: I'll have the grilled pork chops with corn and creamed potatoes, a salad with bleu cheese dressing, and a glass of Moon Sprit. > This is the main menu for computer console #52706. If you have any > questions, call the number on the bottom. > MIKE: 1-800-VIRUS-FUN! > These are the following commands usable on this server. > > 1) Pieces Exchange > 2) Make a New Command TOM: Sit! MIKE: Roll Over! CROW: Shake! Good Head Computer! > 3) Name Server > 4) Program on Disk > 5) New Commands > > _________________________________________________________________ > >He then pressed 3 for name server. The screen showed this text: > > _________________________________________________________________ CROW: Not very descriptive, is it? > > Name Menu MIKE: I name this menu "Steve"! > > Current name:Timothy Warner > > Existing names:Brian Hardy TOM: Erhardt? CROW: Tom! No, shhh! > Douglas Eunate > Henry Collinger > Earl Smith > Dean King > > 1. Delete Name > 2. Enter New Name > 3. Switch Name ALL: Jimmy Smits. > 4. Description of Name > 5. Change Name Description > 6. Return to Main Menu > _________________________________________________________________ > >Timothy pressed 3 and typed in Dean King. The computer screen promptly >replaced the name and returned to the name menu. He pressed 1 and typed in >two names, Timothy Warner and Douglas Eunate. The computer erased the two >names from it's hard drive and returned back to the name menu again. MIKE: And we get to hear every excruciating detail of it! > >He pressed 6 and then 2 for Piece Exchange. > > _________________________________________________________________ > > Money Exchange > MIKE: Buy dollars! Sell Krugerands! Exchange Zlotys for Pongos! CROW: Careful, currency speculation can wipe you out! > This is the menu for Piece Exchange, this will change your Piece flow from > the small chip to the main chip in the forehead. > > These are the following commands: > TOM: [Mojo Jojo] These are the commands that follow! These commands, which I am about to tell you, will be following, because I am going to tell you these commands! The following commands are these! These commands, which I shall now tell you, shall be the commands that follow! > 1) Transfer Pieces from Forehead to Small Chip > 2) Transfer Pieces from Small Chip to Forehead > 3) Transfer Pieces from Hard Drive to Small Chip MIKE: Transfer Forehead From Chip to Small Hard Pieces. CROW: Transfer Potato Chip from Chinette Pieces to Onion Dip. TOM: Transfer Story from Head to Some Misbegotten Limbo. > 4) Return to the Main Menu > > _________________________________________________________________ > >He pressed 2. > TOM: And his head produced a General Protection Fault and shut down. The End. MIKE You keep doing that, and it keeps not working. >"How much would you like to transfer? You currently have 2,000 pieces in >the forehead chip and 100, 000 in the small chip." > >"600" He typed in. > CROW: Oooooh, last of the big spenders. >He could feel the computer vibrating as it exchanged the money from behind >his ear to the forehead chip. > MIKE: Now that's just obscene! CROW: Oh, yeah, baby! Do my financial transactions just like that! >Moments later, the computer started back up. > TOM: [Computer] I WASN'T ASLEEP! Huh? Wha? >"Done, you now have 2,600 pieces in your forehead chip and 99,400 pieces in >the small chip. Would you like to transfer more? Y (Yes) or N (No)." > >"N" > CROW: He may be a terrorist, but at least he's thrifty. >The computer returned to the main menu and Dean shut it off. He detached >the wire from behind his ear and the console. TOM: That'd be pretty neat - just put in an auxiliary jack and presto! Built-in Walkman! > He then closed the console >and placed it inside of the suitcase. He could hear no voices in the >hallway MIKE: Just in his head. > and considered it clear. He walked down the hallway and pressed the >button for the transporter. CROW: [Scotty] Cap'n ah canna do it! We need moor powerrrrrrrr! > He stepped onto the platform and called out >"Floor one." MIKE: For all your futuristic wicker needs! > Instantly, a beam faded him from sight and reformed him on the >first floor. > TOM: [singing] Quicker than a ray of light... >He exited the building and pulled the little miniature car from his pocket. >He pressed the button on the bottom of the car and watched it expand. CROW: Soon the button was over 40 feet wide. > He >tossed the suitcase in and drove onto the street. At the next building, he >stopped to use the Monday Realty machine to buy a house. Then, he drove to >Jupiter's Pet Store and purchased a big hamster. > TOM: Uh-oh. I don't like where this is heading! >After he reached his new home, TOM: Whew! MIKE: What? TOM: Nothing, now. But if he had headed to the hardware store and bought duct tape, I was going to self-destruct. > he pulled out his computer console again and >pulled a pipe from the inside of the console. CROW: Yes, even interplanetary criminals enjoy the full rich taste of Sir Walter Raleigh pipe tobacco. > He then attached the small >black box inside his suitcase to the computer console, started up the >computer, and pressed 6 at the main menu. > >___________________________________________________________________________ TOM: He flatlined! MEDIC!!!!!!! > > New Commands Menu > > This is the menu for commands or programs that have either installed or > made by the user. These are the programs: > > 1) Bio-safety Level 4 Lab Builder. MIKE: A.K.A. "My First Germ Warfare Workshop" > 2) Return to Main Menu > >___________________________________________________________________________ > >He pressed 1 and the console began working. It unfolded into a room of >about 15 feet long and 15 feet wide. Inside the room, it had a giant pane >with two rubber gloves hanging in it. > TOM: Which is ironic, seeing as how this whole story is a giant pain! >He opened a small drawer on the side of the lab, inserted the box with the >vials inside it, and pressed a button the side. The cubicle spewed out the >oxygen inside it. > ALL: *Spew and a half!!!* >Dean opened the door, entered the mini-lab, and placed his hands inside the >rubber gloves. TOM: Then he got out the Clorox and started scrubbing away. > He reached to the side, pulled the box over to glass frame, >and opened it. Inside contained ten vials including the Henroid Syndrome. MIKE: According to Revelations, he's running a 3 vial surplus. >He pulled the top off of the vial marked "CSP" and released it into the >air. Then, "Ebola Air", "Zaire Pneumonia", "SDS", "Martian Fever", "Henroid >Syndrome", "AIDS Air", "Cold", and several assorted bacteria mixed together >in the last vial. > CROW: This is the weirdest potato salad recipe I've ever seen. >He pulled out of the lab, picked up the cage with the hamster in it, placed >it in another drawer on the other side of the mini-lab, and pushed a >button. The cage then was exposed to the lethal air, started bleed, and, a >minute later, exploded. > CROW: Cages got blood? TOM: Fortunately, the hamster inside the cage was perfectly unharmed. >Dean felt the shiver entering back into his spine as he watched the hamster >explode as he entered the mini-lab. CROW: Boy, first disemboweled birds, now exploding hamsters. MIKE: Sounds like someone has animal issues. TOM: "Mr. Warner? PETA on line one." > He pressed another button on the inside >panel and watched the air pressure enter the lab. He could hear the whoosh >of air as the box sucked the virus into it and slammed it shut. He pressed >another button and the box left the lab. CROW: Then he pressed another button, and even more buttons appeared. Dean was in the grip of Buttonmania! > He released a little of the virus >back into the lab and it quickly multiplied inside it. > TOM: So by mixing whole lot of old viruses, you create an entirely brand new virus? MIKE: Roland probably just saw how they mix paint and thought, "Hey!!!!!" >He exited it and stepped on a pedal. MIKE: Imagine his embarrassment when it turned out to be his mouse. > The lab began to whir and click. From >the four corners, there were black metal plates which began covering the >entire lab. The lab began looking like a medium sized egg. TOM: A really *big* medium sized egg, of course. > He left the room >and entered the bedroom where he slept for the rest of the night. > >The next morning, Dean quickly packed up his belongings, exited his house, >and left the black egg behind. He pulled the car out of his pocket and >inflated it. CROW: And boy, are his lungs tired. MIKE: Hope he didn't burn his lips on the tailpipe. > He entered the car when Clark entered the car in the passenger >side. > TOM: The random return of the random character. >"I saw the news this morning, you haven't gone straight. Timothy, what are >you doing?" > >"First, it's Dean King now. CROW: He's put his hair up in spikes, and he's looking for somebody to throw a fight. > Second, get out of the car." > >"All right then, Dean, I want to know what you are doing. Maybe I can >help." > MIKE: A friend is someone who will help you wage horrible biowarfare on the entire galaxy. >"You can't help." > >"You were found in the construction cave where the Henroid Syndrome was >found. That means that whatever you were doing, deals with a virus. What >are you up to?" > MIKE: Wow, viruses are popular in the future. TOM: Yeah, that's just this month. Next month, Bacteriophages will be all the rage. >"Clark, listen to me. When I was in that cave, I had a informant I thought >I could trust. MIKE: Unfortunately, it was Linda Tripp. > That trust was broken when he turned on me and I found out >he was an undercover agent. I don't trust anyone anymore. TOM: [Dean] Not even my other identities! They're all laughing at me! > Get out of the >car." > >"I'm afraid I can't do that." CROW: [HAL9000] Dave. > Clark pulled out a laser. "You see, I want to >know what you are up to with that virus." > >"All right then, you follow me to Saturn and we'll talk there but only >there." > >"Only if I drive." > >"Sure." > TOM: Oh, it's a friendly, low-key kind of kidnapping. >Clark moved into the driver's side and started up the car. He began driving >down the road when Dean slipped his hand to his watch and pressed two >buttons. TOM: Then he turned invisible. CROW: It's just an OPTICAL ILUUUUUUUUUUUUSION! MIKE: Cut it out, fellas! You'll invoke the presence of Jim Stafford! TOM & CROW: GAAAHHHH! > The car began to swerve and hit the side of the Boulder Museum. > TOM: Slightly damaging some of the precious boulders inside. >The foam cushioned Dean on his side but nothing came out on Clark's side. >He was flung out through the windshield and landed directly on in the >twentieth century display of knives. > CROW: Get the point? MIKE & TOM: D'OH! >Dean left the car with his suitcase and ran across the sidewalk, past >several zero-gravity bikes and mind cars. TOM: "Mind Cars"? CROW: You know: like the Ford Cerebellum, or the Pontiac Medulla SX2000. > He slowed to a walk as the police >cars ran past him and to the accident. He now needed another car. > >Nearby, there was a Gerald Cars machine sitting along Hansen Avenue. CROW: [singing] Mmmmmmmmmmmm-bop, bop-shwop-shbop-mmmmmmmmm- MIKE: Plese, no. > Dean >rushed over to the machine and placed his forehead against the machine. > TOM: [Car machine] Hey! Not on the first date, pal! >"Hello Mr. King, what would you like?" > MIKE: [King] Well, let's see, I'm standing here at a car machine, with my wallet sticking out my forehead - I think I'd like a beer. >"I'd like to buy a car." > >"What type of car would you like?" > >"A Lester Style 2015 make and model." > CROW: Let's see, the car machine is Gerald, and the car is Lester. MIKE: This must be Roland's way of giving a shout out to his pals. >"Okay, that'll be 150 pieces or would you like to pay it in installments?" > >"I'll pay it now." > >The machine whirred and clicked. > TOM: Typical! That's all machines ever get to do - whir and click, click and whir! CROW: We are *soooooo* stereotyped, it's not even funny! MIKE: Look, let it go - you two were just wrong for the lead roles in "Dogma"! CROW: I'd expect that kind of answer from *you*, Nelson! TOM: Yeah, ya big robophobe! >"The payment has been made, you now have 2,450 pieces. Would you like to do >anything else?" > MIKE: Well, one day, I want the chance to direct. >"No." > >"Thank you, have a nice day." > >"The machine dropped a miniature car into a compartment below. Dean picked >up the car, turned it over, and pressed the button on the bottom. > TOM: [Dr. Evil] I shall call it - Mini-Miata! >The car expanded into an red oval shape. > MIKE: It's turning into a box of Post Toasties. >Dean opened the door and entered the car. Inside, he called "Autocar: >Spaceport." > CROW: But the car didn't say anything, so he just kind of sat there, feeling like a boob. >The car immediately began driving down the interstate towards the Ambrosia >Inter-Galactic Spaceport. MIKE: [basso] It was the Spaceport of the Gods! > He passed several shops, malls, banks, hotels, >motels, and many other businesses until he reached the Spaceport on the >edge of town. > TOM: Oh, it's one of those little small town spaceports. MIKE: Yeah, all the flights have to go through Atlanta, Tattooine. >He bought himself a seat on the next flight to Terrace, Saturn. On the >flight, he purchased a bottle of Moon Sprit, which he had finished by the >end of the flight and a packet of dehydrated chocolate flavored ice-cream. CROW: Bleah! MIKE: He's serious, Crow. Astronauts used to eat that stuff. TOM: Yeah, and you know why? MIKE: I'll regret this, but why? TOM: Because in space, no one can hear ice cream! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! CROW: You're one sick bot, Servo. >He settled back, watched the in-flight movie, Benjamin's Love, TOM: Kasidy Yates? > and finished >reading Virus: Myths and Facts. > CROW: Way to not give yourself away there, Dean! >On Saturn, ALL: Ring around the planet! Ring around the planet! > he proceeded to purchase a house. When he reached his house, he >cut on the holovision to the News and sat to watch it. > >"This is SUN Network News at 11 o'clock with Jackson Struthers and Sally >Underwood reporting." > MIKE: [Sally Struthers] Won't you please give - for the children? >"Today, our hit story is the peace making in the Allied Galaxy. CROW: This story is number one on the Pop, R&B and Dance charts! > The >peacemakers have finally reached an agreement which will combine all the >countries and planets into one giant nation. TOM: Unfortunately, that nation is Canada. MIKE: Y'know, when Mounties storm the satellite and haul your robotic butt back to Ottawa for trial, don't say I didn't warn you. > There are several viewpoints >on this, let's go out to the streets with Greg Lacroix." > TOM: [Lacroix from "Forever Knight] Greetings, Nicolai. >The platform switched to a hologram image of a reporter on the streets of >Abernay, Jupiter and beside him was a old country looking man in a >twentieth century get-up. > MIKE: It's the "Fred Ziffel" cult of the future! >"Thank you, Jackson. Uh, sir, can you tell us what you think of the >Inter-Galactic peace treaty." > >"I think it's a dadburn great idea. TOM: [Boomhauer] Yeahatdadburnoldtreaty,ahtellyawhut,at'ssomethinelseman, allathetfigthinandstuffcomeonupandbangbangbang,thensallgone,yeahboy, ahtellyawhut,sumpthinawright,man. > Less taxes fer the people, less >confusion in government activities, no bother to change the money when you >visit far off places. It's an excellent idea and it should be enforced >every single place you visit." > MIKE: This must be that "New World Order" Bush kept talking so much about. >"Thank you sir. And how about you, ma'am?" > >The camera moved to a black lady wearing a "Coonts Band" t-shirt and pants >that resembled bell bottom pants but came down to three rings. > >"The peace treaty sucks. CROW: [lady] Peace is, like, so totally bogus! > No more excitement, unlike the last man, I think >it makes the government more complicated." > TOM: Stupid old separation of powers! >"Care to elaborate on that?" > >"The government changes. We need to know what our rights are, MIKE: [Clint Eastwood] What about the rights of that little girl?!? > what is >against the law, and what powers the government has. If you'll excuse me, I >have to go home and cook dinner for my kids." > CROW: [Reporter] No problem, we'll just tag along. We're not having baked chicken again, are we? >"Thank you, what's your opinion sir?" > >"On what?" > >"The Inter-Galactic peace treaty." > >"What the hell is that?" > MIKE: Hey kid, don't putcher lips on it! >"It's an agreement with the entire galaxy to pull it together into one >nation." > >"I don't give a shit about some damn thing with a name that's hard as hell >to say." > TOM: [Dumb Guy] Like that there whaddayacallit, carido-vacuslar system. I'll never need that! Take it away! CROW: Howard Stern IV, ladies and gentlemen. >"Good night sir." > >"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever." > >"There you go, a view from the public eye, back to you Jackson." > TOM: [Jackson] God, they're so stupid! I'm glad I'm a journalist, and not one of those pea-brained morons like - I'm on?!? Crap!!! >"Thank you, Greg. In other news tonight, there was another sighting of the >famed 'Hunter' in Boulder, Venus. Earlier this week, Hunter was seen in the >cave where construction had begun a year ago. CROW: How much construction is necessary for a *cave*? > He nearly killed Agent Z >yesterday and eluded a hotel manager by jumping from the top of a building >to the bank next door today. MIKE: The Justice League of Hotel Managers is now on full alert. > Also today, an old friend of his, Clark >Grismond, CROW: Formerly of Wallyworld... > was found dead in the Boulder Museum twentieth century knife >display. So far police have found two identities he has used, Douglas >Eunate and Timothy Warner. TOM: But they're shot to hell by us telling you about them! > If you have any idea of the whereabouts of this >man, please call 1-800-394-8045." > MIKE: But be sure to dial 10-10-10-10-10-3210-10-10-555-10 first. >The camera switched to Sally Underwood. > TOM: By day, an ordinary camera, by night it becomes - SALLY UNDERWOOD!!! >"Joining me tonight is the head police investigator, Marshall Ford." MIKE: [announcer] Come on down to Marshall Ford for Price Buster Days! Corner of U.S. 31 and the Beltline! > She >turned and the camera backed away to fit both Sally and Marshall in the >screen. "Mr. Ford, can you tell us anything about what Hunter might be >planning?" > CROW: [Ford] We think he plans to go into the woods, try to shoot some deer or elk, then get stinking drunk, pass out, and come home smelling like moose urine. >"Uh, well, Mrs. Underwood, we do know that Hunter is planning to do >something dealing with viruses. TOM: Really?!? I must have missed that part. MIKE: There were subtle clues, but you had to read carefully. > I will be the first to admit this, the >rumors of the Henroid Syndrome in the construction zone are correct. Hunter >will find a use for this virus. So far, there is no need for panic. CROW: [Ford] Plus, we think he may have a nuclear weapon and several canisters of nerve toxin, plus several platoons of trained, rabid bats under his command. At this time, we again stress, there is no need to panic! TOM: "Reassuring the Public"? Hah! That's for sissies! > If he >has this virus, he should be handling it with care or else he will die of >it. MIKE: [Ford] Of course, if he *is* careful, everybody else dies. So please, no panicking. > That's all I'm permitted to say. CROW: [Ford] At least without my nurse present. > Good night." > TOM: [Ford] And remember, NO PANICKING!!!!!!!!!!!!! >"Thank you Mr. Ford." Sally turned and motioned for Jackson to start. > >"Today, a man by the name of Harley Turner escaped from prison today. TOM: So this happened today? MIKE: No, I think it must've happened today. CROW: In any event, today was when he did it. ALL: [a la Neil Diamond] TODAY!!! >Turner has been involved in a series of terrorist attacks on several >buildings. The police are issuing a warning saying that this man is >dangerous and should be considered armed and dangerous. MIKE: Dangerous today. > Going on to a >different sort of topic, the missing . . ." Dean shut off the holovision >and went to bed. > CROW: We're seeing a lot of scenes of this guy sleeping. MIKE: Maybe he has narcolepsy. >The next morning, he woke up and proceeded to pull out another black box >and attached it to the computer. TOM: Hunter - terrorist, virusologist, and sometime FAA investigator. > The box grew into a lab and he exposed the >virus to the air inside it. He then grabbed the box and pulled it out of >the lab. The lab then turned into a giant black egg. > CROW: Which he then sold to a giant for a handful of magic fairy beans. >He then left his house and drove to the Spaceport. At the Spaceport, he >caught a rocket to Mars. The in-flight movie shown was Road to Nowhere. MIKE: Starring Bob Nihilism and Bing Oblivion. >Halfway through the movie, the film was suddenly ripped off the projector. CROW: We can only hope it was a Pauly Shore film. TOM: Oh please, oh please, oh please... >A slow murmur began to rumble through first class. > TOM: It must have been a hell of a murmur. >"Calm down ladies and gentlemen," announced over the intercom. "just some >minor technical difficulties." > CROW: [Intercom] And whatever you do, don't panic, or that weird cop will come back and lecture us again! >Timothy nodded off and began to dream. In his dream, he was the first man >on the moon way before Neil Armstrong ever visited it. MIKE: So he began cackling wildly and dumping tons of viruses in the Sea of Tranquillity. > The only thing he >had for a rocket was late-eighteen hundreds three car passenger train. The >train was filled to the bone with people wanting to visit the moon. TOM: Trains got bones? > The >only problem was that there was a robber on board. He knew there was one, >he just didn't know who it was. His mind began to think. MIKE: Since his lungs and liver were incapable of it. > What would a >robber planning to try and take over a passenger train look like. He >searched the first passenger car but found nobody who looked suspicious. He >searched the second passenger car and still found nobody. CROW: Henry Fonda? > Then, he had an >idea. He ran into the engine room and whispered something into the >engineers ear. TOM: [whispering] Your fly is open! > Dean ran behind the door while the engineer picked up an >intercom microphone. > >"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a bandit on board. Don't panic." > MIKE: Apparently, his dream's being run by that same policeman. TOM: We're all going to die a horrible screaming death, so don't even *think* about having a panic! >Just then the door burst open and a man ran in with a gun and aimed it at >the engineer. CROW: Take this train to Havana!!! > Dean silently ran up behind the man and slammed him on the >shoulder with all his might. The man fell unconscious. Dean turned him over >and recognized the face of Harley Turner. TOM: Okay, waitasec, who's Harley Turner? CROW: He's, um - lemme consult the master database. [much rustling of paper] Ah! He's a terrorist mentioned in one sentence of the newscast! Well, that or he's a journeyman southpaw currently pitching for the Twins. > He woke up in a cold sweat and >rushed toward the head of the rocket. > TOM: He should've gone before he left Venus. >"Captain, we have a terrorist on board." > >"Who?" > >"I think it's Harley Turner." > >"How can you be so sure?" > CROW: [Hunter] I dreamt about him on my moon train, you fool! >"I just know so. Stop the rocket." > MIKE: Pull over to the side of space. >"I can't stop the rocket. I have an idea. Wait behind the doorway." > CROW: [captain] We'll dump a bucket of water on him! It'll be so cool!! >Dean backed against the wall, while the captain made the announcement over >the intercom that he made in his dream. The door opened up and a man >entered the room. MIKE: Hey, I ordered a woman! > As the man pulled out a laser and took aim at the pilot, >Dean balled up his fists and slammed them onto the back of the man's neck. >The man fell onto the ground unconscious. The captain set the rocket on >automatic and rolled the man over. TOM: He *always* steals the covers! > The body on the ground was not Harley >Turner, but Jackson Crow, CROW: GAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! > who had escaped from an asylum four years ago >after he had done several insane acts of violence. TOM: I take back what I said about your descendants, Mike. They may be insufferable ape-loving goons, but at least they top Crow's MIKE: Thanks - I think. CROW: [sobbing] Oh, my family honor! > He had planned and >carried out several robberies, murders, VR criminal activities, and many >other things. Then, the door swung open and Harley Turner walked into the >room carrying two lasers in each hand. > >"This rocket is now mine." TOM: [Daffy Duck] Mine, y'unnerthtand! Mine mine mine! Down down down! Go go go! Mine all mine! There'th only enough for ME!!! > Harley said as three other people entered the >room. The four terrorists looked at each other and their chins dropped. > ALL: D'OH!!!! >"Who the hell are you?" They said in unison as their lasers began to raise. > >"I'm taking this ship hostage." One said. > >"No, I am." Another yelled. "None of you are." MIKE: It's the Wacky Fun Terrorists! TOM: Looks like the spaceline's "Hijackers Ride Free Thursdays" program still has a few flaws in it. > Harley said and shot one of >the terrorists. The man's body began shrinking and disappeared. CROW: Another Jenny Craig success story! >"What kind of gun you using?" Terrorist number three said. > MIKE: [#3] NO! NO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- Hey, are those Bugle Boy jeans? >"My own design." Harley pointed the two lasers at the next two terrorists >and shot them. He pulled them over onto Dean and the pilot and fired. With >less than a second remaining, Dean grabbed the pilot and ran against the >wall, TOM: Knocking them both out, and ending everything. The end! CROW: Tom... TOM: I know, I know, but it's better than living without hope! > just barely dodging the red streak which hit the window. The bullet >hit the window but only mad a hole the size of a silver dollar. The vacuum >began sucking the air from the rocket, ALL: ["Spaceballs"] Suck! Suck! Suck! Suck! > pulling the door shut. Dean move >struggled toward the door and tried to pull it open. > MIKE: [muffled] Hey! There's someone in here! Wait your turn, pal! >"It's locked. When the seal is broken anywhere around the cockpit, the door >is closed automatically and locked to protect the passengers." The pilot >yelled over the vacuum. > CROW: It's a giant Tupperware ship, and they're being burped to death! >Harley's grip against the wall loosened and his body was spun toward the >window. The special glass did not break but Harley died the instant his >body hit the window. TOM: Just like that. > The rocket began nearing Mars. Harley's body ripped a >small hole in the back and blood began spewing from the hole. > CROW: [Hunter] Boy, this is even better than when the bird bought it! >"361 Galaxy Gold, this is Mars Control. Do you read, over?" > TOM: [pilot] I browsed through the latest Tom Clancy novel, and I enjoy a good Zane Gray from time to time. Over. >The pilot rushed to the speaker and picked it up. "Mars Control, this is >361 Galaxy Gold. We had a problem with a terrorist attack on here but we're >okay now. ALL: So NO PANICKING!!!! > There's a small hole in the windshield but one of the terrorists >slipped up and is now blocking the hole. I do know two of the terrorists >names. We have Harley Turner and Jackson Crow. TOM: Whaddaya know - it really *is* one "O". Heh heh heh. CROW: Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! > The other two Are no longer >here. Harley used his own laser and made the two shrink into nothing. MIKE: 'Cuz, y'know, lasers shrink things and stuff. CROW: This must be the new Preparation H lasers. TOM: Hey, it ties back in with my first riff! Neat! >Thanks to this man, uh, what's your name?" > >"Uh, Ben Hyde." > TOM: ["Hyde"] And it's not a phony name! Really! I'm not a bioterrorist! >"Thanks to Mr. Hyde, I am still alive right now." > MIKE: [Captain] He really beat the *crap* out of Dr. Jeckyll! >"Are you ready to land?" > >"Sure am." > CROW: [Pilot] There's probably not any more bad guys around, so cancel all the security precautions and stuff. >"Then prepare to land." > >"Signing off." > >"10-4" > MIKE: You're wall-to-wall and tree-top tall good buddy! Any smokies out there, c'mon back? TOM: Let's go. I can use a break. MIKE: Or in this case, a "breaker, breaker", huh? Ha? TOM: That's pretty pathetic, Nelson. MIKE: Yeah, I know, sorry - I got that "Convoy" song stuck in my head. [All leave] ADS: Obey Your Thirst! Morose Cartoons nod, push button! Bob Dole is Sci-Fi! - Bob Dole (continued) ####################################################### bill@Traveller.COM http:\\www.hsv.tis.net\~bill He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast - Prov. 15:15b From bill@Traveller.COM Fri Oct 15 01:27:25 1999 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc,alt.tv.mst3k,alt.fan.mst3k,alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: MiSTed - Roland Warner's "Hostage" (3/4) From: bill@Traveller.COM (Bill Livingston) Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 06:27:25 GMT [SOL - Mike and Tom are playing a rousing game of Uno.] TOM: Green 7. MIKE: Red 7. TOM: Red 0. MIKE: Red 2. TOM: Red Skip. Blue Skip. Blue Reverse. Wild Draw 4. MIKE: D'OH! TOM: Hah! And now a Yellow - MIKE: Wait, you didn't say Uno! TOM: D'OH! [Crow wanders in. He has a wire running from his temple to a small device he's holding that looks like a PalmPilot] CROW: Hey, guys. TOM: Crow. MIKE: Hi, Crow. CROW: Who? TOM: Huh? CROW: I'm sorry, you were talking to - MIKE: You. You, Crow. We said "Hi" to you. CROW: I know you said "Hi" to Crow. But my name's not Crow. TOM: Uh-oh. Here we go. MIKE: You, uh, you say you're not Crow? CROW: I'm afraid not. My name is Jebediah Oliver Pennypacker. But wait - [he "types" on the small panel] Jebediah Oliver Pennypacker is no more. Say hello to Pierre Armand DeVallgard. TOM: Oh, c'mon, Crow, we know it's you! CROW: I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with this "Crow" person. I'm plain, simple Pierre DeVallgard. Or am I? [more typing] Well, whaddaya know. Apparently, I'm actually Leonid Pavlovitch Valinkov. MIKE: So is there a reason you're changing your identity every few minutes? TOM: Other than simple insanity, that is? CROW: Look, guys, I'd like to help you help this "Crow" person with his little problem, but speaking as [types] plain, simple Fao Chung-Wan, I'm not in a position to. Sorry. MIKE: Look, just changing a name on a head chip won't - TOM: Oh, wait... *I* know what this is about. Crow, you're just upset that there's a lameoid bad guy in this story whose last name is "Crow", aren't you? CROW: [laughs nervously] Upset? Why should I - I mean, why should this poor, pathetic wretch named Crow be upset about that?!? I mean, just because my - *HIS*! His name has been usurped and attached to a common crook for a cheap laugh?!?!? And - and - and a totally pathetic, bottom of the barrel, no-good loser crook at, at, thaaAAAAAAAAUUUGHHHHH!!!!! [breaks down sobbing] MIKE: [comforting Crow] Oh, c'mon, cowboy - you gotta learn to take these things in stride. Look, I didn't get all upset when we saw [basso] DOCTOR TED NELSON [regular] did I? Servo didn't get all huffy when he found out Sheriff Geronimo's first name was "Tom" did he? TOM: WHAT?!?!?!? MIKE: You didn't know? TOM: No! No one said anything to me! MIKE: Huh. Well - anyway, Crow, think about all the famous and successful Crows there are - Counting Crows, The Black Crows, Russell Crowe, Cameron Crowe... CROW: You're right Mike - I'm going to stop running from my heritage. [types] World, say hello to - *Sheryl Crow*! [singing] If it makes you happy... TOM: [sighs] *Good One*, Nelson! And incidentally, thanks ever so much for sticking my self-esteem in the crapper - *Ted*! [Light flash] ALL: AND WE GOT VIRUS SIGN!!!!!!!!!!!! CROW: [singing] All I wanna do, is have some fun... [Chaos, doors, etc.] [6] {5} (4) <3> |2| O [All enter] TOM: So do we call you "Sheryl" now, or... CROW: Huh? Oh - nah. I'm done with that. MIKE: Our little talk finally sunk in, huh? CROW: Nope, I just realized my last name's not even "Crow" - it's "Robot". MIKE & TOM: D'OH!!! >The captain flipped one switch and then another. > MIKE: Soon, two switches had been flipped! >"Ladies and gentlemen, we are preparing for landing. Please strap in, you >might feel a jolt." > MIKE: [captain] Or you might feel yourself being thrown into the bulkhead at incredible speeds. One of the two. >Dean sat in a seat beside the pilot and looked out the windshield. CROW: And around the desiccated corpse of Harley Turner. > A panel >began rising and a purple ray hit the nose of the rocket and began pulling >it into a room just the right size for the rocket. The panel began closing. >When it stopped, the rocket shook and the room the rocket was in began to >oxygenize. The floor below the rocket gave way TOM: And it fell to the ground and everyone died. The end. MIKE: You're just making it harder on yourself, y'know. > and the purple ray pulled >the rocket into the Martian Oxygenated area. It was pulled in beside a >unloading dock and the passengers began unloading. > TOM: [Airplane] I'm telling you, there's just no stopping in a red zone! >Dean left the rocket and waited in the baggage claim for his suitcase. As >he picked up the suitcase, a man tapped Dean on the shoulder. > MIKE: Remember - gentle pressure. >"Mr. Hyde, I'm the head of this Spaceport. TOM: [Pernell Roberts] My job. My way. > I'd like to personally thank you >for saving Mr. Junet's life and the rest of the passengers. CROW: [Spaceport guy] I'd offer you money, but I wouldn't want to make you feel crass and used. You understand. TOM: Wait, who's "Mr. Junet"? MIKE: The guy whose life the terrorist just saved. TOM: Um, okay. > I just have one >question, how did you know that there was a, er, four terrorists on board?" > >"I only knew of one terrorist, Harley Turner. I had a strange dream about a >bandit on the train. MIKE: Somewhere, Agent Dale Cooper is smiling. > I did basically the same thing I did in the dream in >real life. TOM: He took off his clothes and ran naked through the produce section at Krogers? > The first guy to come in wasn't Harley but Jackson Crow. Harley >came in next, MIKE: Then the Marlboro Man. > then the next two. I'm still trying to get the figures on the >odds for something like that happening to one ship." > CROW: I think it has something to do with hell freezing over. >"I don't know, but I sure do appreciate what you did up there. By the way, >you look familiar. I think I saw you on television or somewhere." > TOM: Yeah! Hey, you're that John Stamos guy, aintcha? >"I get that alot. They say I look like someone named 'Hunter'. CROW: Fred Dryer, in the role of a lifetime. > I'm still >trying to figure out how." > TOM: ["Hyde"] 'Cuz I'm notm y'know! Him, that is! Hunter! Heh! >"Well, they say that for every person, there is a twin somewhere. MIKE: Especially if your name's Mary-Kate or Ashley Olson. > I've got >to get back to take care of some business, good bye." The man smiled and >turned around a corner. > TOM: [Spaceport guy] And remember, cash rewards cheapen us all! Bye! >Dean turned and walked down the staircase. He made a quick stop by the >Spaceport restaurant and purchased a large burger and some strawberry >flavored Martian Rocks, CROW: I hear if you eat strawberry Martian rocks and then drink Moon Sprit, your stomach will explode. Really. > which he finished on his way to the exit. Outside, >he saw several police cruisers waiting for him. > TOM: For me?!? Aw, you guys shouldn't have! >"HUNTER, COME OUT NOW OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO SHOOT YOU!" > MIKE: [police] OF COURSE TO SHOOT YOU, YOU'D HAVE TO COME OUT FIRST! SO FORGET THAT PART! I WAS THINKING OF SOMETHING ELSE! SORRY! >Dean ran behind a large post TOM: Probably a binary. > as the repetitive laser began shooting. He >looked at his feet and saw a sewer cover a foot from his feet. CROW: Nonono, now is *not* the time to worry about your scrap metal collection! > He struggled >to pull the cover off, attached his suitcase to his belt, and jumped down >the hole. He landed in a rush of water, heading towards an opening. MIKE: Suddenly, Harrison Ford speeds by, with Tommy Lee Jones hot on his trail. > Past >the opening, he could hear a rush of water. The water speeded Dean up and >over the edge. Past the end, he found a giant box, filling up with water. > CROW: He's stumbled across the Martian Budweiser brewery! >This must be the Martian Sewage Container. He thought. TOM: *There's* a brilliant deduction! Where did he think the sewer was leading, SeaWorld Mars?!? > >He reached down to his belt and quickly jiggled a gold switch. TOM: [singing] Nananananana - gettin' jiggly wid it! MIKE: Actually, if I understood anything about this whole Pokemon craze, this would be a perfect spot for a Jigglypuff riff. CROW: How fortunate for you that you're clueless, then. MIKE: Yeah, it's really a - hey! > Two boxes, >one on the right and left sides of his belt, opened up and two rockets >pulled out. The rockets began firing and slowed Dean's plummet to the >sewage below. > TOM: And the rockets ignited the flammable gasses and the guy blew up. The end. CROW: Keep dreamin'. >He aimed the rockets back into the sewer tunnels and back through the sewer >opening he came through. > CROW: It's POO-GAS MAN!!!!! >Outside, the police were preparing to descend into the sewer when Dean flew >through the opening. CROW: [Ace Ventura] Do NOT go in there!!! Woooooooooooo!!!! > He crashed through the windows and up, about 10 feet >from the glass-like frame support of the oxygenated dome. He then glided >down to a stop near the small town of Harlow. MIKE: Mars needs blonde bombshells! > Dean walked up Fifth Avenue >and stopped at a housing machine and purchased a house for 450 in Harlow. TOM: Huh. Good job everyone in Harlow wears rockets. >He entered his newly purchased house and set up the black egg with the >virus inside it. He watched holovision for the remainder of the day and >slept. > MIKE: Sounds like a day at my Uncle Ralph's place. >For the next three days, he would place two more black eggs Earlington, >Jupiter; Monroe, North Carolina, Earth without any problem from the >Intergalactic police. > CROW: Who were all too busy telling people not to panic to actually take time to try and find him. >He established his base of operation on Earth in a small town of Monroe, >North Carolina, close to the egg for a strategic purposes. TOM: He was worried the egg would go bad and stink up the place. > He had changed >his name three times from Earl Smith to Henry Collinger, and now, it was >Brian Hardy. CROW: Straight from Ward E. > He had also added four more names to the memory bank in the >computer, Frank Underwood, MIKE: Hey, I love his deviled ham. > Brent Summers, CROW: He's gonna hide out on the set of "Match Game". > Gabriel Hart, TOM: [Lionel Stander] He's quite a guy. And dis is Mrs.H. > and Andrew Cook. ALL: Bo-ring! > >He was ready. > TOM: To end the story. So he did. The end. > * * * > > The Operation MIKE: The goofy game for dopey terrorists. > >Two days after Hunter had set up his base in Monroe, Lloyd Hienrich waited >by the scanner hoping to hear anything more about Hunter. CROW: [sigh] He's just so *dreamy*!!! > Nothing came up >but more homicides, rapes, and several other crimes and disputes between >people. TOM: Nothing for him to worry his pretty little law-enforcement head about. > Lloyd had a small grasp about what Hunter had been planning to do. CROW: Which, ironically, puts him one step ahead of the reader. >He had been with him at the Venusian Caverns where he had gathered the >virus and saw the other vials inside the suitcase he was carrying. Lloyd >had deduced that he would use the virus for a hostage situation. TOM: Well, sure, what else - huh? MIKE: That was a Mannix-sized leap of logic. > If it were >a small one, he would have done it after the Venusian Caves and he wouldn't >have been spotted in any of those places. He suspected that it would be a >very big one since it had been quite a while and had been spotted on >several planets. TOM: He probably plans on holding all of Larry King's ex-wives hostage. > The only thing left was that he planned to use those >viruses on several planets. Maybe he was planning to test out the >Inter-Galactic Treaty's effectiveness. > MIKE: [sniffs] You smell what I smell, guys? TOM: Mmmmm, the fragrant flavor of red herring! >Over the scanner, Hunter's voice came on. > >"Lloyd Hienrich, if your listening answer right now." > CROW: [Hunter] If you're not, then, uh, then don't, I guess. >Lloyd pressed the trace button and picked up the mike. > >"Yes, Hunter?" > >"Give me your holophone number so I can call you on your phone." > MIKE: Boy, I hate it when someone's too lazy to just look in the directory! >"What do you want Hunter?" > >"Give me your holophone number or I will be forced to do something >terrible." > TOM: [Hunter] I'll call you collect and put David Arquette on! CROW: [Lloyd] NOOOOOOO!!!!! YOU FIEND!!!! >"555-4986." > MIKE: Wait a minute! That's the Movieline phone number! What gives? >"Okay." > >Lloyd heard a click on the other end and checked the trace. The trace >brought nothing up in the whereabouts of Hunter. TOM: NBC had canceled it, and the Superstation wasn't showing any reruns. > Two minutes later, Lloyd's >holophone rang. He walked over to the square box with a round circle on top >and pressed the red button. MIKE: And chose Bruce Villanch to block. > Static appeared over the black circle but the >voice came loud and clear. > >"Yes?" Lloyd asked. > >"Lloyd, how's the head?" > CROW: Just because they're mortal enemies is no reason they can't enjoy a little chit-chat from time to time. >"Much better, what do you want Hunter?" > >"Six billion pieces." > >"Or what?" > MIKE: [Hunter] Or more! >"For every hour that you don't give me the pieces, I will set off one black >egg full of my own virus on one planet. TOM: How are we supposed to take a panty-hose virus seriously? CROW: Nothing beats a great pair of DEATHS!!!! > In about an hour, you will find a >package at the station. Inside the package are the remains of one of the >victims of it. The package will be safe to open, it is virus free but this >will be a warning." > CROW: Just say "no" to viruses! MIKE: Stop the madness! >"We can't get four billion pieces. It's an impossible amount." > MIKE: [Hunter] But I wanted six billion pieces. TOM: [Lloyd] Oh. Well, that's different. No problem, then. >"That hasn't stopped you people before. After you get the box, you will >comply." > MIKE: Ha! You didn't say "Simon Says" so I don't have to! Nyah! >The static image disappeared. For the whole hour, Lloyd answered calls from >the head police chief, Galactic President, and the head of the FBI. CROW: Hunter must have written his number on the bathroom wall. > At the >stroke of five, there came a knock at the police station door. TOM: I see the cops are still operating out of that one-room efficiency station. > Lloyd opened >the door but no one was there. Down around his feet there was a box. He >opened the box and found chunks of rat skin and a pool of blood in a >plastic bag. CROW: [Lloyd] So *that's* where I left my lunch. > No bone were left in the bag. Lloyd turned his head away from >the box in disgust from the sight and the stench the box emitted. > MIKE: Must be an Adam Sandler movie in there. >The Holophone rang. > >Lloyd pressed the button. "Yes?" > >"Did you get the package?" > >"Yes I did. Interesting piece of work you got there. How long did it take?" > TOM: [Hunter] Well, I mailed it Tuesday, so let's see - three days. >"Only a minute." > >"Damn! That's fast." > MIKE: Sure beats overnight delivery! >"Started gathering the pieces." > >"I'll see what I can do." > CROW: [Lloyd] I'll try, but they're kinda squishy. >"You've got till tomorrow at noon. Any later and I'll set the virus off one >planet at a time." The static cut off. > >Lloyd dialed up the president. > MIKE: But he was busy trying to get his wife a senate seat so's to keep her off his back. >"Hello?" The gray haired, slim figured person said over the viewer. > TOM: Well, it's obviously not Slick. MIKE: Unless he's joined Metabalife. >"Mr. President, I've just received another phone call from Hunter. He's got >a virus that kills within a minute. Melts away the bones and internal >organs CROW: Leaving you with that slim, girlish figure you've always dreamed of! > and the skin tears into pieces. I need those pieces by tomorrow at >noon. TOM: [Prez] But I don't *have* any extra pieces of skin! > Any time after that, he'll set off the virus on the population." > MIKE: [Prez] Well, find out who voted for me and start inoculating them. >"I've gotten 1 billion together already from the new Mars Union. Another >billion will becoming in later tonight. TOM: They started gathering a ransom before they even knew there was a problem? Boy, that's efficient. CROW: This guy ran under the slogan "I'll never negotiate with terrorists - I'll just cave at the first sign of trouble!" > I don't know about tomorrow. We >have got to find him soon or else he'll put the whole galaxy in debt." > MIKE: That's what you get for believing his "6.9% APR" sales pitch! >"Well, Mr. President, I'm working on a plan. I have no idea what I'll do >but I'm working on one. CROW: If you don't know what you're going to do, does it really count as a plan? MIKE: [George Peppard] I love it when a plan is vaguely insinuated. > Back in the Venusian Caverns, I thought I had him >but he got the best of me. I was lucky that my shield didn't bust or else >I'd be dead instantly." > TOM: Yeah, then we'd probably have someone smarter and more careful running this investigation, and we *couldn't* have *that*! >The second holophone rang. Lloyd ran over to it and pressed the button. > >"Hello, FBI." > CROW: Huh? Okay, wait! Is Lloyd a cop, a CIA guy, or an FBI agent?!? TOM: Maybe he's just holding down several jobs at once MIKE: Yeah, the future's probably kind of expensive. >"FBI, I've found this black egg within a house at 561 Thirtieth Street, >Monroe, North Carolina, Earth. Can you please come down and identify what >it is please?" > CROW: It's a black egg. You just said so yourself! >"I'll be down there in two hours." > >"Okay. Bye." > >"Mr. President, did you get that?" > TOM: [Prez] Of course you're more than just an intern to me, sweetcheeks! Now let me see those lacy lit- Huh?!? Wha?!? >"Yeah, you go down there and check it out." > >"Sure thing, I'll get back to you after I come back." > >"Bye." > >Lloyd left the FBI building and drove not too far down the road, making a >few turns until he hit 74 MIKE: Kinda old for an FBI agent, isn't he? > and drove the rest of the way. When he reached >the address, before he even reached the driveway, he could see the black >egg in the building. CROW: The egg came to him in a vision. TOM: In this story? I'd believe it. > He entered the house and examined the egg but could >see no other feature than the blackness of it. > TOM: And the egg-ness of it, as well. >A blond, tall, bright-eyed lady entered the room. > CROW: Hudson Leick! Yowza! >"This is the egg?" Lloyd asked. > MIKE: [woman] No, it's the tetrahedron. *Of course* it's the egg, you big knob! >"Well, it ain't changed any, now has it?" > >"When did you find it?" > >"I work for Monday Realty. MIKE: A division of TGI Fridays. > We've started this new program where we go >around and check on new customers. Mr. Collinger purchased the place and >left this egg sitting here." > TOM: [woman] It was in the middle of great big giant nest. >Lloyd picked up the egg, which was surprisingly light and managed to fit it >through the doorway with the help of the lady. He tossed the egg in the >back of his truck and drove back to the FBI building. > CROW: So is Hunter the eggman and Lloyd the Walrus, or vice-versa? >He brought the egg in and gave it to the specialists who worked in the >building. MIKE: Soon, the tantalizing scent of omelets filled the hallways. > Lloyd sent out five agents to ask questions through the >neighborhood. The holophone rang again and Lloyd answered it. > >"Hello Mr. Heinrich, I'm just checking up and see how your doing with my >pieces?" > CROW: That's rather a personal question, isn't it? >"Let me see." Lloyd dialed up the president on the second phone. > >"Hello?" > >"How're we doing with the money, Mr. President?" > TOM: [Prez] It's all hidden in Swiss and Caribbean accounts, just like we planned! >"2.5 billion pieces. Hunter on the other line?" > >"Yeah, he . . ." > >"Put him on my line." Interrupted the president. > >"Yes sir." Lloyd pressed the green and blue buttons at the same time. > MIKE: Blue and green together? Tacky. >"Hunter?" asked the president. > >"Hello, Mr. President. What do you want? I've already told you all you need >to do." > TOM: [President] Actually, I was hoping you could see your way clear to make a small contribution to my re-election campaign. >"We need more time to get your pieces. Give us until tomorrow night." > >"All right, tomorrow afternoon, five o'clock. Drop it off at the corner of >Laurel and Grady Streets. CROW: Look for a thin guy in a bowler hat standing next to Whitman Mayo. > Nobody had better be around there. It's a >completely clear spot so that no one can hide." > MIKE: [British] Unless they've learned how not to be seen. >"I guess I can do that." > >"You'd better." The static disappeared. > >"Mr. President, we've found a egg. TOM: It says "Yey for Easter". > I think it might be one of his bombs. >The specialists here are examining the egg at this very moment. I'll call >you once we know exactly what it is." > >"Very well. Anything else?" > CROW: [Lloyd] Well, I got this parking ticket the other day, and I was hoping you could see your way clear to, y'know... >"Any other money coming in?" > >"Five million from both houses of the Galactic Congress. Not sure about the >new states. Hopefully New Russian States will donate at least three million >pieces. MIKE: Mainly, pieces of the Mir. > The Jupitarian Western States are giving two million. Our computer >is still broken and we can't create any more pieces until next Monday in >the least. TOM: Okay, wait! I call foul! MIKE: What? TOM: I know governments aren't the most efficient organizations, but wouldn't they have, oh, say, a *back-up server* for their money- creating hard drive?!? CROW: They did. But Hadley downloaded an infected file off the internet. [pause] ALL: *Hadley!* > The hard drive we have. You have a suitcase anywhere?" > >"Hang on." Lloyd searched through the closet and found a airtight silver >suitcase. > CROW: He forgot it was the one that had all his "special" toys in it. MIKE: Thanks for trying to make me violently ill, Crow. CROW: Oh, anytime, Mike. >He walked across the carpet to the phone and held the suitcase to the >viewer. > >"Right here." > TOM: Of course, it's all full of viruses and stuff. >"That's good enough. Russia just confirmed that they will donate two >million and Saturn confirmed one billion. CROW: Russia - the international equivalent of the guy who orders lobster at dinner, then demands you split the check up evenly. > I've just received word that >there is a pilot who will fly the rocket to gather all this money CROW: Too bad Western Union went out of business. TOM: [singing] Everybody needs some pieces sometime... > so all we >need to worry about it getting a tracking device within the suitcase and >getting the money together. I've got to get this paperwork finished. I'll >call you back when we get anymore money." MIKE: Lovely. The Galaxy's in danger, and he's still working on his declaration to celebrate National Scrod Week! > The president's image >disappeared. Lloyd dialed Louis Davidson, the one-armed multi-billionaire CROW: And David Jannsen's arch-nemesis! >and owner of the entire VR market. > MIKE: Ladies and gentlemen, a legitimate one-armed bandit. >"Hello?" > >"Louis, it's Lloyd. We're having a major problem here." > >"What's wrong?" > CROW: [Lloyd] Our whole plotline. It's just too contrived. >"You remember Hunter?" > MIKE: [Louis] Sure. I used to watch it all the time. Man, that Stephanie Kramer was a real fox! >"Yeah. The guy who took my arm while I was protecting the president." > TOM: And he *still* won't give it back, that dirty bum! >"That's him. He's placed the galaxy hostage and demanding six billion >pieces. CROW: On what basis does an overgrown egg and a few scraps of squirrel fur equal galactic doom? > We have 4 billion so far. I was hoping that you could donate some >money." > MIKE: Let's see, donate money to save the galaxy, let me see here, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, ah! [pause] No. >"What's he using to do this?" > >"A combination of several viruses. There's no name for it." > CROW: Except "Cheap Plot Device", but that's a little obvious. >"I'll donate two billion and clear up the ransom." > MIKE: After all these years, Mel Gibson, Rene Russo and Ving Rhames have it expunged from their record. >"Thanks." Lloyd relaxed. "Can you put those pieces on a hard drive with a >small transmitter so that it's an essential part of the hard drive by >tomorrow afternoon?" > >"Sure thing, you can get the money tonight around eight o'clock." > TOM: Knock twice, pause, then twice more. Ask for "Bruno". >Lloyd checked his watch. 8:00. Hunter called five hours ago. Three hours >after he found the bomb. Louis lived in Charlotte, Lloyd's FBI headquarters >is in Monroe, the right amount of time. MIKE: So one day, the center of the all-powerful galactic government will be - North Carolina?!? CROW: Boy, wait till this Hunter guy runs up against Sheriff Andy Taylor! > >"Thanks Louis, call me when you finish with the hard drive. Bye." > >Davidson's image disappeared. > >Lloyd started up the holophone again and dialed the president. > TOM: [Prez] No, you don't get all our nuclear codes until *after* the money's in my off-shore acc- huh? Oh, hi! >"Yes?" > >"Mr. President, any more confirmations on money?" > CROW: Let's go to the toteboard and see! >"No, not at the moment." > >"Remember Louis Davidson?" > >"Yeah, how can't I? He saved my life at Sacremento when I was the U.S. >president. Why?" > MIKE: [Lloyd] We don't know why, either, since your Gallup numbers were around 30%. Oh, wait, you mean... >"He just gave us two billion dollars and a hard drive with a transmittor as >the essential part of the hard drive." > TOM: Which would be good if they still actually used dollars. CROW: [Lloyd] He also mentioned something about renaming South Dakota "Louisland", but I'm sure that's not important. >"Good job, Lloyd," the president said cheerfully. "I see a big promotion >for you in the future." > CROW: Call the Psychic Presidents' Hotline today! >"Mr. Heinrich?" Margaret Hatcher, one of the FBI's specialists, ran up to >Lloyd. > MIKE: From Prime Minister to FBI gopher. Sad how the mighty have fallen. >"Please, call me Lloyd." > TOM: [Lloyd] Hey, baby, after we save the galaxy, let's go back to your place and let me find out why they call you "Iron Maggie"! >"Lloyd, here's the data sheet on the egg you gave us." > >"Thanks." Lloyd took the sheet and read it. > >"Well, what does it say?" > MIKE: [Lloyd] They scrambled it, and it was delicious. >"The egg I gave them was a bomb full of a virus. Hunter really wasn't >kidding. They've defused the bomb but after testing it on lab animals, CROW: ...they were slapped with a multi-trillion piece lawsuit by PETA. >found out that the virus hit's the blood system and causes the bone marrow >to rapidly create more and more blood cells until the body can't hold it >any more. MIKE: Sounds like a frat boy kegger type of virus. > Blood pours out of the body's orifices, and when it becomes >completly full, TOM: You wet 'em. > the body explodes. CROW: So, the bomb turns people into living blackheads? TOM: Something Mike should be quite familiar with. MIKE: Hey! > They've appropriately named this, The >Bomb Strain. CROW: Word! This virus is Da Bomb! I'm givin' it props! > They have sent a sample to the CDC in the former state of >Georgia CROW: It's The State Formerly Known As Georgia. MIKE: Atlanta, Unpronounceable Symbol. > and a sample to Washington, D.C." > >"I'll have to be there when we test it. Call me when you have that hard >drive ready." > >"Sure thing." The president's imaged fizzled away. > CROW: New Alka-Seltzer vision! >Lloyd began to think. TOM: It's about time! > If he saw Hunter on Jupiter, probably with the last >virus he needed, the next sighting was on Saturn. MIKE: A different kind of terrorist. A different kind of car. > He never heard anything >else about Hunter on the news but, if he wanted the money placed in Monroe, CROW: Then he needed to see the Kennedys. >the same place he was, Hunter must be up to an idea. Either that, or he was >aimlessly thinking. TOM: Which seems to be the norm around here... > Lloyd pondered the thought until 8:00 when a knock came >at the door. He still couldn't think of any possible solution. Lloyd opened >the door and picked up a small foot high and wide box. > MIKE: [British] Darling, it's the Virus of the Month Club. They say we've won the M-4 Motorway. >Lloyd opened the box and a white circular inch high hard drive sitting in >it. He sat down at his computer and wired the hard drive to it. > TOM: Via the SCSI interface in his forehead. MIKE: Uh, that was the other guy, I think. TOM: Who can tell?!? CROW: Yeah, I lost track of who was who halfway through the second page. MIKE: Yeah, but you always do that. CROW: Oh sure, bring that up! >The computer started up and brought him to a screen telling him that there >was 2 billion pieces in the bank and asked to transfer pieces. Lloyd shut >off the computer. The hard drive was working. > CROW: So he started downloading dirty pictures of Seven of Nine. >He dialed up the president on the holophone. > TOM: [Prez] Yeah, I know the other land deal went belly up, but this one is a sure-fire can't lose proposi- Lloyd! Hi there! >"Yes?" > >"Mr. President, I have the hard drive here with the two bill' Hunter wants. >It has the tracking device installed in it as I asked Louis to do. I'm just >waiting for the rest of the pieces to come in." > MIKE: [Lloyd] Right now, it looks like the puzzle's gonna be Big Ben. >"All right, you can get the rest of the pieces tomorrow afternoon around 5 >o'clock. Tell Louis I said hi and thanks." > TOM: [Prez] I'd do it myself, but I got a very important humanitarian trip to the Riviera I gotta plan for. >"Bye, Mr. President." > >"Bye." The image disappeared. > >Lloyd went into the next room and slept until 12:07 that night when Hunter >called again. > TOM: Strangely, though, the clock read "10:13". CROW: [Mulder] Forget it - *this*, I don't want to believe. MIKE: I'd love to fight this particular future. >"Hello?" Lloyd asked sleepily. > >"Well, have you got the pieces yet?" The static image asked. > >"Don't you sleep?" > TOM: If not, you really should SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! >"That's not an answer, I'm asking you, do you have my money?" > >"Yes, no, dammit, CROW: Higher! Lower! PASS!! PASS!! > can't you just wait?" > >"Remember, tonight, 8:00, don't forget." > TOM: Every time he calls, he slips his deadline a little. CROW: Sign him up with "Friends and Family", and the galaxy's safe! >"Yeah, yeah, whatever." > MIKE: The life of everyone in the galaxy is in this guy's hands - yeah, I feel real secure. >"Hey, Lloyd, how's the head?" > TOM: Hunter - the polite, considerate terrorist. >" I dunno, it's ok. Go to sleep." > >"I rarely sleep. MIKE: And by "rarely" he means "nearly constantly". > Good night." The static disappeared. > >Lloyd tried for the next two hours to sleep but the sandman had run out of >sand for him. CROW: Oh, this is a Vertigo Comic! That explains everything! > Finally, he fell asleep at two in the morning. > MIKE: And oh, how I envy him. TOM: Hey, we gotta hurry - it's time for practice. CROW: Let's go, then. [All leave] O |2| <3> (4) {5} [6] [SOL - Bridge] TOM: Okay, what's the most important thing to remember? MIKE: Never panic. CROW: Right. Under no circumstances is panicking allowed. TOM: Exactly. Panicking is *verboten*! MIKE: Right. CROW: Good. TOM: Fine. [Pause] CROW: Anyone panicking yet? MIKE: Ummmmm, nope, not me. TOM: Me either, pal! I'm 110% unpanicked! CROW: Same here. MIKE: Way to go! Keep up the good work, guys! [Pause. Gypsy enters] GYPSY: What's going on? MIKE: We're practicing not panicking. GYPSY: Oh? CROW: Yep. We're definitely not panicking at all. GYPSY: Oh, okay. [pause] Is it working? TOM: You bet! I've never felt so not panicked! GYPSY: Oh. Well, good, then. [looks down] Oooooh, a spider. TOM: HUH?!?!?! Spspspspspspspider?!?!? MIKE: It could be poisonous!!!! CROW: What're we gonna do, guys? I mean, it looks vicious! TOM: Look, just, just stay clam! I mean calm! MIKE: Th-th-that's right. We have to remember, above all else, that we *must* *not* *pan- GYAAAAH!!!! IT MOVED!!!! CROW: OH DEAR SWEET HEAVENS ABOVE, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!! M&TB: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!!!!!!!! [Gypsy continues looking down as Mike, Crow & Tom, fearing for their lives, flee in terror] GYPSY: Oh, wait, I was wrong, it's just a dust bunny. Sorry about that, fe- Fellas? Guys? Hello? [looks around] Huh. I guess they wanted to not panic somewhere else for a while. [lights flash]. So, ummmmmm - we'll be back. [Meatball] ADS: Hair Metal Ballads - Songs too lame for the 80's! Only $8.00 a Trade! I am Sci-Fi, you old poop! - Katherine Hepburn (continued) ####################################################### bill@Traveller.COM http:\\www.hsv.tis.net\~bill He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast - Prov. 15:15b From bill@Traveller.COM Fri Oct 15 01:28:32 1999 Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc,alt.tv.mst3k,alt.fan.mst3k,alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: MiSTed - Roland Warner's "Hostage" (4/4) From: bill@Traveller.COM (Bill Livingston) Date: Fri, 15 Oct 1999 06:28:32 GMT [All enter] TOM: New agreement: the less said about the "dustball" incident, the better. ALL: Agreed. > * * * > >The alarm blasted a song called "Venus Nights" and Lloyd hit the alarm >button. CROW: Punched it straight through the nightstand, in fact. MIKE: Must've been a "New Backstreet Boys" song. > Seven o'clock. He had slept for five hours. The sunlight shone >through his window and brighterned up the room. MIKE: It was bright, cheerful, mass disease kinda day! > Lloyd took a shower, ate >breakfast, and walked into the office room and dialled up the president. > >"Hello?" > TOM: [Prez] Lloyd!! Have you met my, um, personal massage advisor? >"Mr. President, where's that pilot of yours?" > >"He's just left Earth. Remember, you'll get the pieces at five o'clock. >What time is Hunter going to pick up the pieces?" > CROW: Oh, we'll be a long time picking up the pieces from this, my friend. TOM: I may require several years of therapy. MIKE: Oh, c'mon, one day life will seem worth living again. Maybe. >"Eight o'clock tonight." > >"Okay, that'll work. I've got to give a speech to the Inter-galactic >Congress tonight so I won't be able be there when you catch Hunter so I >wish you good luck. I can't be bothered for the rest of today. TOM: [President] I have too much golf to play to worry about the end of life as we know it. > When you get >the pieces, move the pieces to the hard drive Louis gave you. Place it on >the street corner and then you decide what to do then." > MIKE: [Jethro] I wanna be a double-aught agent! And a short-order cook! >"Thank you, Mr. President. Good luck with you speech, bye." > >"Good luck." The president's image disappeared. > CROW: [Prez] Well, enough of that "serving the public" crap! Time to indulge in some serious money-laundering and carousing with cheap, blowzy babes! >Lloyd opened the front door and was flooded by several media reporters >asking questions about the hostage situations. Lloyd denied everything and >slammed the door in the reporters faces. > TOM: So, basically, it's the same as today. CROW: Would it be trite to point out that there are no actual hostages? >One bye one, the people who worked in the FBI struggled through the crowd >of media reporters, denying answers to their questions. TOM: [reporter] What's the meaning of life? MIKE: [agent] No comment. CROW: [reporter] Any truth to this "Blair Witch" story? MIKE: [agent] No comment. TOM: [reporter] Who put the bop in the bop-shu-bop-shu-bop? MIKE: [agent] No comment. CROW: [reporter] What's the value of X for (10x2 - 2x - 36 = 440)? MIKE: [agent] No comment. > Finally, the police >were dispatched and took care of setting up boundaries to hold back the >reporters. > MIKE: Yeah, I'm sure the FBI just loves calling in the local police for crowd control. >The holophone rang and Lloyd answered it. > >"Hello?" > >"I was just watching the news and saw that you've become the victim of the >media circus. Whatever happened to keeping the public calm? I thought that >was your job?" > TOM: Why start now? MIKE: The sun has just gone nova, and temperatures should reach 8 billion degrees in a few minutes. All panickers will be summarily shot! >"My job is none of your business. Why do you care? All you want is to get >your money. Why are you doing this anyway?" > >"Because I know how to do it and I can. You see, if I don't know how to do >it and I know I can't do it, chances are that I'm not going to do it. TOM: So, to sum up - Just Do It. CROW: Sounds like he's already caught the Nike Virus. > I >know what to do with my money after I get it. Don't confirm anything about >this hostage situation the media. CROW: But there are no hostages! Just Mr. Nobody and his magic eggs! MIKE: Hush, Crow - you're blowing the suspension of disbelief here! > It would be terrible if one of those >viruses was to be set off by mistake, wouldn't it?" > >"Good bye, Hunter." > >"See you at eight." The static disappeared. > TOM: Oh, but what shall I wear?!? >Lloyd opened up the desk drawer and pulled out a small rectangular remote >with a television screen at the top. He set the remote inside the computer. >He would have to wait for at least one hour for the remote to gather a map >of the five planets. > MIKE: Couldn't he have just called the Jet Propulsion Labs for that? TOM: Obviously Lloyd's never heard of Mapquest.Com >During that hour, Lloyd watched the news in front of the FBI office. They >were declaring that they wouldn't leave the office building until one of >the people inside gave a Q/A session about the hostage situation. > CROW: Like, for example, how you can have a hostage crisis with no discernible hostages. >At the end of the hour, the remote was done and Lloyd set the remote onto >the hard drive and allowed it to set the fequencies to the same wavelength >which took twenty minutes. > MIKE: Almost as long that whole sentence. >Outside, the noise grew louder and louder. TOM: RHUBARB! CROW: CANTALOUPE! TOM: RHUBARB! CROW: CANTALOUPE! TOM: RHUBARB! CROW: CANTALOUPE! > He finally gave in and walked >outside to do a the Q/A session with the media. Some where not far off, he >could imagine Hunter laughing at him. > >"I'm here to answer only six questions. TOM: [Lloyd] Five of which have to do with flower arranging. > Then I'm going off. MIKE: [British] That's it! I'm off then! > Yes, you sir?" >Lloyd pointed to a balding tanned reporter. > CROW: [reporter] Sir? would this question count as a question? MIKE: [Lloyd] Yes. CROW: [reporter] How about this one? MIKE: [Lloyd] That one too. >"Jack Lowenstein, VPEN News. Is there a hostage situation going on right >now and if there is, who does it involve?" > >"That's two, no, there is no hostage situation and it involves nobody. CROW: See? *One* character agrees with me! > Yes >ma'am?" > >"Lauren Higgins, The Martian Eye. MIKE: [Tim Conway] Uh, Mrs-a Higgins, could you-a please come in-a here for just a min- TOM: [Carol Burnett] Hello? > If there is no hostage situation, what is >Hunter planning on doing with the virus he got in the Venusian Caverns? >After all, you were with him when he got it." > >"I have no comment. CROW: [Lloyd] And remember, if you panic, we'll have to kill you. > Third row, lady in the black shirt." MIKE: Nancy Sue Goerring? > A crowd started >gathering. > >"Megan Smith, civilian. I want to know if I'm safe." > TOM: Considering that the FBI lets perfect strangers penetrate their press conferences? Just bend over and kiss it goodbye now, lady! >"For the meantime, yes you all are safe. Yes, you sir in te blue hat on the >fifth row." > MIKE: Actually, the whole virus thing doesn't bother as much as the fact that a grown man is wearing a blue hat. >"Justin Loch, WQRZ News. Will this cause any problems with the recently >acquired Inter-Galactic Peace Treaty?" > >"I've told you all, there is no problem with a hostage situation. And even >if it were real, there would be no problem. CROW: [Lloyd] And anyway, it's all Richard Jewell's fault. > Yes, you sir?" > >"Eric Mathews, Jupitarian Tribune. MIKE: [Mathews] Any clues to the disappearance of the word "Jovian"? > My paper recieved an anonymous phone >call late yesterday afternoon, declaring that there was a hostage situation >involving the five planets. Can you give us any clue as to who this person >is?" > >"Describe the voice." > >"A scratchy deep voice. There was no picture on the platform." > CROW: It's Colin Quinn! TOM: It's Tom Waits' latest album! MIKE: It's the ghost of Lucille Ball! >"I couldn't really tell you anything about it. My suggestion is that it was >a prank caller. If you don't mind, I'd like to get back inside and complete >some paper work." CROW: ["Riding with Death" guy] I have to finish these patent papers! > Lloyd said and walked back into the building. > >Outside, he could hear the crowd noisily departing. > >The holophone rang. > >Lloyd left the phone ringing. > >"Lloyd, answer the holophone." He heard over the scanner. > TOM: [Hunter] I know you can hear me, so pick up the phone and listen to me! >Lloyd refused to pick up the phone and didn't answer the holophone. > TOM: Correct me if I'm wrong here, guys, but I think the author is trying to communicate that Lloyd wasn't answering the phone. MIKE: Oh, you and your post-modernistic interpretations! >"Lloyd, answer the holohpone or else I will do something drastic." > CROW: [Hunter] I might take some actual hostages, and *then* where will you be, hmmm? >Lloyd walked over to the phone and pressed the buttons. > >"Hello Lloyd, I saw you on the holovision a few minutes ago. I'm surprised, >you were such a good actor at denying all those things. MIKE: [Hunter] In fact, I've nominated you for a "Best Cop in a Supporting Role in a Virus-Related Crime" award. > It's nine o'clock, >11 more hours until the drop off. Be there." The static disappeared. > >"Damn! that guys becoming annoying." Lloyd shouted. > TOM: Once again, Lloyd's shrewd deductive mind comes to an earth-shattering conclusion. >For the next 3 hours, Lloyd would make up for the sleep he missed the night >before. > MIKE: *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ* CROW: *pheeeeeeeeeeeeew* TOM: *Eebeebeebeebeebeebeeb* >At 12, he left the building and went to the area which would be the drop >off point. A giant field with only a few giant trees layed before him. CROW: Or maybe he's just tiny and doesn't realize it. TOM: [Tiny Elvis] Man! That dogwood is *huge*! > As a >kid, there used to be houses and buildings all around him. Now, it was a >clear field with a intersection of roads that were hardly ever used >anymore. TOM: Urban de-newal? > Far off in the distance, he could see a hairling of trees along >the horizon. CROW: Now, see, that's just embarrassing. The horizon's growing its trees huge and then combing them over! > Lloyd began to think of a way in which he could keep an eye on >Hunter and stay hidden. Then an idea came to him. MIKE: Lunch! > He could have his men >climb up the tree and when Hunter came, his men could shoot at him from the >trees. CROW: It's a job for Agent Zacheus! > It was the only way he could do it. That was another hour he had >spent. Two more hours he spent gathering together seven men, TOM: Geez, the FBI's sending out for temp help! > one per tree >and two to stay behind and monitor the base, lasers, battery packs, >headsets, and more. MIKE: [Lloyd] Bob, Dave - you stay here and stare at the equipment! > At three, he briefed his men on the mission they would >undergo and what each one's postion was and what they would do once Hunter >arrived. That took an hour and fifteen minutes. > MIKE: Well, at least we got to skip all the gory details. CROW: We got all the details we needed in the first part of the story! >Lloyd took the men to the area nad TOM: Well!! CROW: Ahem... MIKE: Remember - proofreading can be *your* friend, too! > showed them the places they'd be hiding >at. Lloyd showed them what it would be like by using androids as their >targets. CROW: HEY!!!!!!! TOM: BOOOOOOOO!!!!! CROW: How'd you like it if we took shots at *you*, pal?!? MIKE: Um, actually, you kinda are. TOM: Say, if they have *androids*, why'd they even need the stinking stupid FBI agents?!? CROW: The androids have more dignity than that. > That took about 45 minutes. > >Five o'clock Lloyd TOM: [singing] But it's a Five O'clock Lloyd where the people go... > waited by the door for the hard drives with the pieces >in it. Ten minutes later, the delivery man arrived with the hard drives. > CROW: Brother! This isn't a story - it's an itinerary! >"Sorry I'm late sir, traffic was tied up for the longest time. Here's your >package. Please sign this form." The man held out a pad of paper. MIKE: Federal Express: when you absolutely, positively have to save the galaxy overnight. > Lloyd >took the sheet of paper and without thinking signed it, Lloyd Heinrich, >FBI. > >"Wow, your that guy on holovision this morning. Is it true that . . ." CROW: Yes, it's true. This man has no [different voice] brain. MIKE: What was *that*? CROW: [regular voice] My network dialogue bowdlerization subroutine. >Lloyd left the man hanging in his sentance and walked back into the >building with the package only saying thanks to the man. > >Lloyd opened up the box and found two hard drives, each one had two billion >pieces in it. TOM: Some assembly required. > He took the hard drives and placed them inside the suitcase >along with the other hard drive from Louis. MIKE: I think it would've been easier just to write a check. > After tossing the suitcase into >the back of the FBI van, he gathered together his seven soldiers CROW: Of Victory. > and piled >them into the back of the van. ALL: Ow! Watch it, you... Got your elbow in my... Heyheyhey, that's... Move your big fat... heck off of me!!! > On the way, Lloyd brought out a map of the >area and reminded the soldiers of which tree was theirs and the procedures >of what to do. > CROW: Get ready, get set, annnnnnd - mark your territory! >Once at the crossing, TOM: A train smashed into them and they all died. The end. MIKE: [mournfully] Why don't they look? > thirty minutes remained till Hunter would arrive. >Each soldier climbed into a tree and prepared each station. MIKE: They all built a super-neato treehouse with a big sign outside reading "NO GURLZ ALOWWD". > Lloyd took the >two other soldiers, Jackie Lyons and Henry Doves, to the base of >operations, a quarter of a mile away from the drop off point. CROW: It's Lyons season! TOM: It's Doves season! CROW: Lyons season! TOM: Doves season! CROW: *Lyons season!!* TOM: DOVES SEASON!!! > Jackie would >monitor what each soldier said. Henry would keep watch over where the money >went through a remote televison screen. CROW: And Lloyd would be back at the base, guzzling a pitcher of daiquiris. > And there they sat, waiting for the >arrival of Hunter. > TOM: This fall, on Nick at Nite! > * * * > >The car drove to the corner directly at six o'clock. The sun had gone three >quarters across the sky. MIKE: Ooooh, I love those new 50 State quarters! > Birds began to fly off from the noise the car had >made as it pulled to a halt three feet from the suitcase. TOM: [Tweety] I tawt I taw a tewwowist! > The car remained >sitting there for five minutes. The soldiers could not see what was going >on in the car but they had a pretty good idea about it. CROW: [Python] I bet they did, eh? Eh? Eh? Say no more! > Hunter was scoping >the scene for any traps. Then, one bye one, the five trees which held the >soldiers blew up in rapid succession. MIKE: My Uraniumfruits! TOM: [Tweety} I did! I did taw a tewwowist > Hunter quickly exited his car, >grabbed the suitcase, and drove off. > CROW: Wait! You forgot the matching carry-on bag! >"Sir, we no longer have radio contact with the soldiers!" Jackie yelled. > TOM: [Jackie] Except one guy who said "AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEIIIIIIGHGHGHGH!!!" >"Sir, the bags moving, let's go." Henry handed the remote to Lloyd. Lloyd >jumped into the front seat of the FBI van and began driving down the road. MIKE: [singing] East bound and down, loaded up and truckin'... >Lloyd zigzagged through traffic until he was ten feet from Hunter's car >when Hunter pulled off the road onto an old cracked road. CROW: It's an ambush by Sylvester P. Smythe! > Lloyd pulled out >a Hammert Laser and fired, barely missing the tires. TOM: I guess it wouldn't STOP! Hammert tires! Heheheheheh! MIKE: Tom, I may have to hurt you for that. > Hunter reached through >his window and fired several shots through the window, two shots hit >Lloyd's left arm. > >"Jackie, take over driving for me! I'm going out!" > CROW: [Lloyd] Want anything? >"But your arm . . ." > MIKE: [Lloyd] It's going out, too! >"To hell with my arm! Drive!" > >Jackie sat down at the seat and steadied the car. > >"Get into the left lane, just so that I'm at the back of the car. Once I >jump, keep behind the car. If it slows down, you slow down, do whatever the >car does, you got it?" > MIKE: Agent Jackie was later found with smoke coming from under her hairline and a flat shoe. >"Roger that, good luck." > >"Lord knows I could use it." > CROW: Lord knows we could, too! >Lloyd opened the car door and waited until the precise moment before he >jumped. Once on the back of the car, Lloyd drug himself over the roof, >avoiding the laser shots. MIKE: Well, as long as he avoided the buffalo shots. > Hunter drove the car off the road and into a >field where he stopped, exited the car, and climbed onto the roof. > TOM: [Hunter] If I climb on top of my car, they'll *never* be able to reach me! Heh-heh-heh-heh! >"Looking for me?" A voice behind him said. > >Hunter fell off the car roof and landed on his back. Looking straight up, >he saw a barrel pointed at his forehead. > CROW: He's being threatened with a keg of pilsner! >"Get up! Now!" > >Hunter slowly got up off the ground with his hands in the air. > >"Sir, here's a bandage for your arm!" Henry began to run across the field >waving his hands in the air and distracting Lloyd for the moment. ALL: D'OH! CROW: *Good one*, Henry! > in that >moment, Hunter took his advantage to pull out his laser and point it at >Lloyd before Lloyd could fire his weapon. TOM: [Dark Helmet] I see your Schwartz is as big as mine! > Two dogs of equal strength, which >one wins? > MIKE: The one with the most chew toys. >It was that moment that Hunter realized who he was. MIKE: Jimmy Hoffa? CROW: Judge Crater? TOM: Amelia Earhardt? CROW: Howard Hughes? TOM: J.D. Salinger? MIKE: Wally Johannson? CROW: Who? MIKE: Oh, this guy I went to Junior High with. Haven't seen him in years. > The barrel of the laser >reminded Hunter of his own father pointing guns at him and his mother's >heads just to see the terror on their faces. CROW: Oh, he's Charlton Heston, Jr. > He was no longer Hunter now, >but Ray Gunther, the man he used to be, the child he used to be. MIKE: The load he used to be. > He was no >longer a ruthless killer but the victim of an abusive father. The memories >of his child hood hit him, the time he drew on the walls as a child and >recieved a very sever beating. The time he knocked the family heirloom off >the table and broke it, he recieved a uncalled for harsh whipping. > CROW: Wha...? TOM: Hello?!? Where's all *this* coming from? MIKE: I think the plot just gave me whiplash. >Ray cringed and backed into the side of car, waving his hands in the air, >trying to block the memories from coming back. > CROW: If it works, let us know, okay? >"No, daddy, don't!" He shouted. MIKE: Don't you walk so fast! > Ray continued to shout and curse the name >of his father. Henry slowed down to a walk as he approached Lloyd. > >"What happened?" > TOM: The plot just exploded, that's what! >"Hunter has learned about his true self and his father. His father killed >my father and vice versa. [All groan] CROW: But how does he know that? Are they part of a killer-victim family correspondence program?!? MIKE: Lloyd must've read the *other* version of the script. TOM: Okay, that's it! Story, you go right to your room, and you don't come out until you figure out what it is you're doing! > He told me a while back that he couldn't even >remember his own name and now, he has it figured out.It's like the missing >link has been figured out. MIKE: And on top of everything else, he's the Piltdown Man! > Hunter has been erased and Ray Gunther has been >put back into play." TOM: But he'll be traded to Cleveland for a cornerback and a second-round draft pick. > Ray continued to kick and scream as Lloyd beam-cuffed >him and placed him into the back of the FBI van and they drove him off. CROW: Oh, he's just a little cranky like that before nappy-time. TOM: And they drove him away and no one ever saw him again. The end. > > THE END > TOM: YESSSSSSS!!!!! I *knew* it'd work sooner or later! MIKE: *sigh* Yes, Tom. We know CROW: Let's just split before there's a sequel or something! [All leave] O |2| <3> (4) {5} [6] [SOL - Bridge] CROW: Wow! What an incredibly contrived ending. TOM: To an incredibly insipid story. MIKE: Yeah, but - to be fair, though, Rolaid was only like, what, 13 or so when he wrote it. CROW: I don't care if he was an embryo - there's still no excuse! TOM: Especially that part about mixing all those different viruses to create a whole new species of exploding virus! MIKE: Well, think about it - I mean, you get all those different diseases and stuff interacting, and who knows what might happen? CROW: [sigh] Mike, try not to do any heavy thinking, okay? TOM: Yeah, I mean, if you infected someone with a witch's soup of viruses, you *might* get multiple symptoms or something! But something that drastic and that quick?!? No way, my friend! MIKE: Well, I suppose... TOM: There's no supposing about it! Take a look! [The camera pulls back to show a small black plastic egg, the kind L'eggs pantyhose comes in, on the counter next to them. And it's open.] MIKE: [hand over forehead] Servo - *tell* me you haven't done what I think you've done! TOM: Exactly, Mike. I've mixed together a wide variety of viruses - making sure to remove the *really* fatal ones, of course - and released it into the air. CROW: Uh, Tom, I'm not sure this is such a fantabulous idea. TOM: Oh, don't be a whiner, Crow, Absolutely, positively *nothing* drastic is going to happen to - [Gypsy enters. She now has *two* eyes and is painted red] TOM: - us? GYPSY: [Patrick's normal voice] I don't feel too good, guys. I think I'll go lie down for a while. [exits] [Mike & Crow glare at Tom] TOM: Of course - I could be wrong. CROW: You could be *scrap metal* you - [lights flash] MIKE: Oh, wait, we better see how Pearl's doing with the disinfestation squad. [CF - Pearl & company are still with Casey & Renee] CASEY: I hope - he gets back soon. This monkey - really smells. BOBO: That's just my cologne - Paco Rabonne's "Spoiled Banana Mush". PEARL: Hey, Mike-rocephalic, it looks like - Nelson? Are you guys okay? [SOL - Mike now has a third arm in the middle of his chest and has on a bright orange fright wig. Servo has a head-piece net like Crow's, and his hands have swelled up to 5 times normal size. Crow has three eyes and a very very very short beak] MIKE: Well, Tom's been messing around with some viruses and stuff, but I think we're pretty much okay. CROW: [high-pitched voice] But thanks for asking. [CF - Everyone's gathered around, gawking] OBSERVER: It's just that you look a bit - I don't know, um... BOBO: Weird. OBSERVER: Exactly. [SOL - All three are now sporting Groucho-style fake glasses, eyebrows, moustache and cigar.] CROW: No, we feel fine. Though I can't say how long that'll be true for some of us - *Servo!* TOM: Look, guys, I said I'm sorry! MIKE: Well, just don't do it again. TOM: Believe me, I won't! I've learned my lesson! MIKE: Well, okay. So Pearl, how's everyth- Pearl? Pearl? [CF - Everyone is just staring] [SOL - Mike is now Dr. Peanut. Crow is Krankor. Tom is Roger Miller.] PEANUT: Oh, *I* know! You're waiting for the info and stuff! Why don't you give it to them, Crow! KRANKOR: Very well! To join the MiSTing Authors Dibs List, simply send an e-mail to majordomo@neylonpc.engin.umich.edu with the message "subscribe dibslist []" in the message body. Read the FAQ, do not work blue, and surrender your puny planet to me - or suffer the consequences! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. PEANUT: Thanks, pal! [pause] Wow! For some reason I feel a need to roller skate around in a diaper. Hey, Tom, you better get working on an antidote for this virus thingy. ROGER: [singing] I'll try to find a cure - in the haaaaaarborrrrrr! Why don't you grab a biiiite while I do? [leaves] KRANKOR: So, what do you think down there - ya *scum*? PEANUT: Say, Bobo, I must say you're looking very handsome today! [CF] BOBO: Oh, thanks, Mike. You look very fetching yourself. PEARL: Would you just- [Dusty re-enters] DUSTY: Okay, um, well, the good news is, I convinced the generals not to blow us all up. CASEY: Say, that is - good news, way - to go, Dusty. OBSERVER: Yes, very nice, but when you say "good news" in that manner, it implies "*bad* news" is to follow shortly, yes? DUSTY: Yeah, um, yeah. See, the bad news, guys, is that - okay, now you're all gonna very very upset with me, I can tell. RENEE: Oh, don't be silly. DUSTY: No, no, I can tell, y'know? You, and him, and her, and him, and the ape, are all gonna be ticked. CASEY: C'mon, Dusty we - aren't gonna be upset. DUSTY: I just, I just have this, y'know, this premonition that- PEARL: WILL YOU JUST TELL US, YOU STAMMERING, METHOD-ACTING WEINER?!?! DUSTY: What'd I tell you? OBSERVER: The news, man, the news! DUSTY: Okay. Um, the, uh, the generals want to keep a close eye on this whole monkey/satellite/evil scientist/virus situation, so they've kind of, um, assigned us here - permanently. RENEE: Now, see that wasn't so - [pause] ALL: PERMANENTLY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? OBSERVER: Is this some kind of joke?!? CASEY: Yeah, is this - some kind of - joke?!? PEARL: Hey, I can't have you CDC meatheads running around here! I've got experiments to run, worlds to conquer, bad movies to send, and guinea pigs to mercilessly torture! DUSTY: Hold on, um, it's okay, y'know, I'm, I'm working a really great grandstanding speech to, uh, to get us out of this. RENEE: That's how we got into it IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!! [Pulls off her helmet and grabs Dusty] Look, I've got deals for pictures with Mel Gibson AND Pierce Brosnan, pal, and if I wind up stuck here with Bozo, Bonzo and *this* broad, your life is gonna be *such* a living hell! BOBO: Yeah, and I've only got a couple of pints of bodily fluids left! I can't spare any more for tests! [All start shouting and complaining to Dusty, who backs away cringing as the scene fades out. Then we hear:] PEARL: [V.O.] Look, Dusty, whaddaya say you and your crew just scram, and I'll let you have a crack at - these! [sound of ripping fabric] [Long, long, long pause] DUSTY: [V.O.] Mrs. Forrester, you're trying to nauseate me! Aren't you? OBSERVER: [V.O.] Hey, that's *my* cape and cowl! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "HOSTAGE" BY: Roland "Rolaid" Warner MiSTING BY: Bill "Bill" Livingston ADDITIONAL RIFFS BY: Matt "Mr." Blackwell MiSTING DIBS LIST MAINTAINED BY: Michael "Doc" Neylon POTATO CHIPS BY: Golden Flake I GET BY: With a Little Help From My Friends THEY'RE DINKY: They're Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain. SPECIAL GUEST STARS: Jim Mallon as Casey, Paul Chaplin as Dusty, and Bridget Jones as Renee. THANKS: to MiSTies, MuSTies, the teachers of America, James Cameron, and to that Scottish guy for not interrupting this MiSTing for a quid. "Mystery Science Theater 3000" trademark of and (c) Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved. Electrifying acres of killer earthworms since 1988. Viruses trademark of and (c) Nature (a division of God). All syndromes and pathogens reserved. Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks held by others is intended or should be inferred. No personal insults to author(s), character(s), or situation(s) are or should be implied. All characters in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Anything else you've been told is all lies, do you hear?!? Lies!!!! Think you can take me? Come on ahead! Keep circulating the posts. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- >"Well, Mr. President, I'm working on a plan. I have no idea what I'll do >but I'm working on one. ####################################################### bill@Traveller.COM http:\\www.hsv.tis.net\~bill He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast - Prov. 15:15b