Path: archiver1.google.com!postnews1.google.com!not-for-mail From: pinkbo...@hotmail.com (pinkboy) Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc Subject: MSTing! "My Attorney" [Pt 1 of 2] Date: 25 Oct 2001 05:42:43 -0700 Organization: http://groups.google.com/ Lines: 798 Message-ID: <429f942f.0110250442.646270c5@posting.google.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 170.28.128.102 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Trace: posting.google.com 1004013763 14518 127.0.0.1 (25 Oct 2001 12:42:43 GMT) X-Complaints-To: groups...@google.com NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 Oct 2001 12:42:43 GMT Xref: archiver1.google.com rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc:48057 WARNING! This MSTing contains inappropriate language, scenes of extreme violence, and Mark Russel. It is therefore not appropriate for children under 14. Children over 14 won't be too thrilled with it, either. Hispanic bus dispatchers will sort of stare past the text, shaking their heads to signify their quiet disdain. Menopausal women? Tch! They'll slap you just for mentioning the title. Mystery Science Theater 3000: "My Attorney" [Spam] (with "Animal Instinct" by Shadowfax) MSTed by Brendan Herlihy -------------------------------------------------------------- DISCLAIMER Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are copyright Best Brains, Inc. "Animal Instinct" copyright Shadowfax. "Quantum Leap", its characters, and situations copyright Belisarius Productions and Universal Studios. Kermit the Frog copyright Henson Studios. "My Attorney" is received spam- hardcore title rules apply (no DQ's, falls count anywhere). Thrilling headgear! Spine-tingling toast! Copyright 2001 Brendan Herlihy. --------------------------------------------------------------- @ TURN DOWN YOUR BRAIN @ (where available) [Season 10 Opening Sequence] o/~ For MYSTERY SCEINCE THEATER, 3000! o/~ o/~ B-R-R-R-ANG! o/~ / * \... = 2 =... > 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |... [OPEN ON: SOL Bridge. Mike is in the middle of peeling an apple (he's taking the peel off in a long, thin, continuous strip very impressively) as Crow watches. On the desk to their right are two raw pie shells filled with sliced apples.] MIKE: You want cheese on yours? CROW: Hey, I've heard of putting cheese on apple pie! Maybe a smoked gouda, or a nicely aged Vermont cheddar? MIKE: We've got block Velveeta that's been left out on the counter a week. CROW: Perfect! [Stage left, TOM enters, earnestly and excited.] TOM: Mike! Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike! Mi-i-i-ike! MIKE: [shrugging] OK. TOM: You remember how, last night, at the Annual SOL Robot Weenie Roast Singalong Jamboree, how you took out your old six string and sang how, if you had a hammer, you'd hammer in the morning, you'd hammer in the evening, all over this land? MIKE: [nodding happily] Oh yeah. I got to wear my Ranger Rick uniform with the snappy iron-on badges. Neat. TOM: Well, I was rummaging through the old storage closet over by the hydroponics bay, and guess what? [Tom indicates something below the desk. Mike warily ducks under, and comes up with an ordinary old claw hammer. He holds it up with his fingertips at each end, as if it were a delicate antique.] MIKE: Huh. CROW: Look at that. MIKE: Weird. TOM: [a little anxious] Well? Aren't you gonna…? MIKE: [catching on] Oh. OK, sure. [Mike rubs the handle a little bit (a la a baseball bat), then grabs the hammer in one hand, raises it awkwardly, and weakly brings it down softly through the air without making contact with anything. He makes a quarter turn to the right, again raises it awkwardly, again takes a half-hearted, lazy swing. Quarter turn to the left, one last time.] MIKE: [gently laying the hammer down] I liked that. That was fun. TOM: [angry] What, that's it?! A few swooshy swings barely worthy of Emo Phillips? This constitutes "hammering in the evening" to you? MIKE: Tom, it's quarter to five. Hardly the evening. TOM: What, so waiting an hour and a half would make it more inspiring?! And what about "all over this land"? You said you'd hammer all over this land! WHAT ABOUT THAT, HUH?! CROW: Tom, we're in space. This desk IS our land. TOM: So, MIKE. In summary, what you MEANT to sing was, if you had a hammer, you'd hold it limply in your hand, give a swing so pathetic even air molecules wouldn't bother to get out of the way, half-heartedly repeat the action more out of a sense of obligation than moral authority, then QUIT when it got boring, all without moving your PASTY WHITE BUTT one FLIPPIN' INCH FROM THE DESK!!! MIKE: [considering] Yeah. Yeah, I guess that is what I meant to sing! CROW: Thanks for clearing that up, Tommy. TOM: [bawling] Oh, bite me, you disillusioning freaks! [Tom sobs uncontrollably. Mike and Crow watch.] CROW: [to Mike] Jeez, thank god you didn't do "This Land Is Your Land", or he'd be doing a title search. MIKE: [while comforting Tom] We'll be right back. TOM: [still crying] It's not even a hammer of justice, is it? MIKE: Hm, let me check. [holds hammer up to examine] Nope! Says here, "Craftsman". It's a hammer of Craftsman. TOM: God damn your empty soul! [CUT TO: Planet bumper, Commercials] ======= [OPEN ON: SOL Bridge. Tom is weeping softly. Mike has his guitar strapped around his neck, and he's strumming.] MIKE: Oh, now, buck up, Servo. C'mon, I promise we'll find you a folk song with a literal meaning we can all feel comfortable with. How about this? [Mike strums the strings to tune, then starts playing:] MIKE: o/~He's got the whole, wo-orld! In his hands! He's got- o/~ [stops short] No, I guess that's a non-starter, isn't it. CROW: What with the world being so… TOM: And hands being so… MIKE: Yeah. Let's try another. [starts again] o/~ Michael rowed the boat ashore! Hal-le-luuuu, jah! Michael rowed the boat ashore! Hal-le-luu, uuu-! o/~ TOM: [interrupting] Mike? Excuse me. You? Rowing a boat ashore? We barely have confidence in your abilities to open a jar of mayonnaise! You think we're gonna buy you rowing a boat ashore? CROW: Without repeated pratfalls into the lake, ocean, or rivulet being traversed. MIKE: [pathetic protests] But it's a different Michael… CROW: And what's with this "Hallelujah" thing? You're performing a mundane, everyday watersport activity, not finding a cure for cervical cancer! TOM: Face it, Nelson, there's only one context in which this song makes sense: Sarcasm! MIKE: Sarcasm? CROW: Yeah. You start, we'll punctuate. MIKE: [uneasy] Well, OK. [starts strumming] o/~ Michael rowed the boat ashore! o/~ BOTS: [sarcastic, more spoken than sung] HAL-L-L-L-LELUJAH! MIKE: o/~ Michael rowed the boat ashore! o/~ TOM: [same] Oh Hosanna on highest! Hallelujah! Good one Nelson! [Planet sign flashes. Mike notices as he continues to sing.] MIKE: o/~ Pearl is calling on the light o/~ CROW: [fairly dripping sarcasm now] Oo, projected luminescence! Hallelujah! MIKE: [still sort of singing] No guys, I'm serious, it's not part of the song. TOM: [still sarcastic] Oo, Mike breaks from the lyric to impart information. Can I hear an amen? Hallelujah! [Mike hits the light.] [CUT TO: Castle Forrester. Pearl is in the middle of peeling a banana as Bobo watches. She's using a vegetable peeler, yet somehow taking the peel off in a long, thin, continuous strip. On the desk to their right are two raw pie shells filled with sliced bananas.] PEARL: You want cheese on yours? BOBO: Hey, I've heard of putting cheese on banana cream pie! Maybe a smoked gouda, or a nicely aged Vermont cheddar? PEARL: We've got block Velveeta that's been left out on the counter a week. BOBO: Perfect! [Brain Guy enters, stage left.] BRAIN GUY: Pearl! Pearl Pearl Pearl Pearl Pearl! Pe-e-e-e-earl! PEARL: [shrugging] OK. BRAIN GUY: You remember how, last night, at the Annual Castle Forrester Talking Ape/Omnipotent Being/Mad Scientist Weenie Roast Singalong Jamboree, how you took out your old six string- [CUT TO: SOL. They are in disbelief.] TOM: [shaking his head] You know, I should be angry. But I'm too filled with pity. CROW: [amused] Ridiculous! Cheese on pie? MIKE: [double-take to Crow] Would you forget about the pie! [to castle] Pearl, what in the name of Kinko's going on down there?! [CUT TO: Castle. Brain Guy is yelling at Pearl, who's standing there clueless, holding a sledgehammer.] BRAIN GUY: And what about "all over this land"? You said you'd hammer all over this land! WHAT ABOUT THAT, HUH?! BOBO: Brain Guy, we're in space. [Pearl drops out of character a fraction of a second to stomp the handle of the sledge into Bobo's foot.] BOBO: OOCH! I mean, in a castle. The torture rack IS our land. [CUT TO: SOL.] TOM: [pitying] I feel like we should be calling someone. MIKE: Pearl? Care to contribute some exposition at this point? [CUT TO: The Castle. Brain Guy collapses in tears.] BRAIN GUY: Oh, bite me, you disillusioning freaks! [Off camera, we hear a single person clapping. On stage walks Paul Chaplin in a casual suit, as MARLON, the Cable TV Executive. Everyone gathers around him and revels in their success.] MARLON: Marvelous! Pearl, darling, one word: I really, really loved it! PEARL: We did catch a vibe and run with it, didn't we? BRAIN GUY: We have another sketch. PEARL: Which we also wrote! BOBO: All by ourselves! PEARL: It goes like this. [All three quickly produce life-sized cardboard cut-outs of themselves, and wield them as they sing.] ALL: o/~ HOB, goblins! HOB, goblins! What do you get with those HOB, goblins? o/~ MARLON: [laughing] Delightful! As a prominent Cable Television Executive, I feel confident that your proposal for a new comedy television series shows great potential. John Q. Public will eat you up with sauce on the side. I'm prepared to offer a twenty-four episode contract! [CUT TO: SOL.] ALL: [resentful] HEY! [CUT TO: Castle. Marlon is looking in camera, confused. Pearl guides him away.] PEARL: Running gag. Throughout the show, they cut into the skits we wrote and go, "HEEEY!". MARLON: Ah! Just the thing to attract Johnny Skateboard to our network. How "totally", "righteous", "dude", as it were. Now, before we set things to paper, of course we'll need to discuss the inevitable retooling. PEARL: [offended] Retooling?! You said we were great! MARLON: Oh, let's face it, Pearl. People don't tune in to watch non-famous people gad about with pies. No, no. FAMOUS people with pies! That's what Joe Sixpack and Jane Sixpack and their two children, Becky and Troy Sixpack, want to see! PEARL: [pouting, but resigned] Well, if it'll get us our show… MARLON: I've shaken a few comedy trees, as it were, and I'm pleased to announce that three very respected names in the field have agreed to sign on, as it were. I've taken the liberty of drugging them with sodium pentathol, as it were, and shooting them, as it were as it were as it were, up in one of those discount Russian satellites so popular with Mickey Nasa these days. As it were. They should be approaching your little orbiting television studio as we speak. [CUT TO: SOL.] MIKE: What, here?! You can't send three more people up here, there's no room! [CUT TO: Castle. Pearl has her hands on a great big lever, with a big, well lit, and very obvious sign that says "SOL Trap Door Activation Lever!". Various arrows and pointing fingers lead from the sign to the lever. The lever itself has a sign saying, "Yes! This one! Here!"] PEARL: Good point, Nelson. But I think your argument would be more effective if you were all… oh, maybe… two steps to the left. [CUT TO: SOL.] MIKE: Well, I don't see how… TOM: C'mon, Mike, take some constructive criticism for once. CROW: She's just trying to make your presentation more effective. TOM: And effective presentations are the lifeblood of the modern decision-making process so vital to today's Internet-economy-on-the-go! MIKE: [warily] Well, OK… [takes two steps, as do Tom and Crow] From here? PEARL: [off screen] Little more! [Mike and the bots mumble and move as she suggests.] MIKE: Now? PEARL: Perfect! [FX of a huge gears clunking into place. The trap door opens, and all three of our heroes scream as they plummet through trap door.] [INSERT: Exterior shot of SOL. Three tiny figures plummet out of the Satellite, screaming.] [CUT TO: Castle. Marlon is softly clapping, he's delighted.] MARLON: Ah-ha, stellar asphyxiation, yes. Just what Tommy Von Target Demographic wants to see, as it were. Now, the new cast should be docking any moment. I'll leave it to you to film the pilot, Pearl. PEARL: Yes, of course. I'll hire the crew, start script meetings on Tuesday- MARLON: No rush, as long as we have a taped show in the can by… [looks at his watch] sixteen minutes from now. PEARL: WHAT?! [MARLON's cell phone rings.] MARLON: That'll be the money. Pardon me while I take this somewhere that isn't here. [Marlon exits, as Pearl panics. She grabs Brain Guy and shakes him.] PEARL: Whaddawedowhaddawedowhaddawedo?! BRAIN GUY: I suppose we could send them that short we were going to send Michael. PEARL: Yes! Yes! Then have them pad the rest of the show with some dull, boring yak yak we can call improv! Brilliant! [Pearl quickly dons her floppy director's beret and megaphone.] PEARL: [through megaphone] OK, talent on center stage! Doing this in one take! Chop chop! Switching to Satellite feed… now! [CUT TO: SOL Bridge. It's dark and empty. Hold for a beat. Then, slowly popping his head onto the screen, is…] ANDY DICK: Oh, wow. Guys? [Dick touches the lens of Cambot experimentally. He is discomfortingly close to the camera.] ANDY: Guys, check this out. I think we're on "Spy TV" or something. [Dick flattens his cheek and nose against the lens. Suddenly we hear a crescendo from a piano. Cambot immediately PANS to the left, giving Dick a nasty crack and knocking him backwards over the desk. Cambot pans to MARK RUSSEL, standing at a red, white, and blue piano, bursting into a bouncy song which starts not unlike "Baby Face".] RUSSEL: o/~ Oh! Spy TV! You thought it's "Friends", but no! It's Spy TV! By Ian Flemming! If you ever see a spy, And he's up on your TV, You might call Donald Rumsfeld, But don't call Dick Che-ney! He'll be WAAA-tching! SPY, T! VEEEEEE! o/~ [Two chord finale.] [CUT TO: Pearl. She is deep in a crestfallen shock.] PEARL: If there is any sense of order, justice and decency in the universe, please tell me you're not the talent. [CUT TO: SOL. Dick begins to preen and play with his shirt, and massage Russel's shoulders in a quasi-sexy way that is just not right. Russel mugs for the camera.] ANDY: Oo, yeah, baby. We're hot burning slabs of laughter-causing machinery, ready and willing to rock your world! RUSSEL: Oh, and Brian there. [Russel indicates something beneath the piano. Cambot pans, and indeed, there is a quiet, 30-something, scraggly bearded young man down there, sitting Indian style, trying not to be noticed. He won't look at the camera.] BRIAN: [softly] Hi. [CUT TO: Castle. Pearl knows she is screwed, so resorts to sarcasm.] PEARL: Brian! Well of course! Brian! Hello Brian! So I suppose you're a randy, saucy encyclopedia of tasteless off-color jokes, right? [CUT to Brian. He shyly, quickly shakes his head, looking away in his own private world.] BRIAN: No. [CUT to Pearl.] PEARL: No? Then you sing songs? Dance a jolly Highland Fling, perhaps? [CUT to Brain. Same reaction as before.] BRIAN: No. [CUT to Pearl.] PEARL: Well, then, Brian, would you mind telling me exactly WHAT YOU DO BRING TO THE TABLE?! [CUT to Brian. From behind his back, he brings forward KERMIT THE FROG, for sad as it may seem, this is BRIAN HENSON.] BRIAN: I brought my father's puppet? [Buzzers sound. Lights flash. PAN up to the desk so we can see Andy and Mark. The apple pie from before is back on the desk.] ANDY: Oh, my god! Fire drill! RUSSEL: [playing] o/~ Burning down the house! o/~ PEARL: [v.o. through megaphone] It's fiction sign, you News Radi-yutz! Get in the theater! AND BRING THAT PIE! BRIAN: [holds Kermit awkwardly, does voice and shakes puppet] YAAAAAAY! | 6 |... ( 5 )... [ 4 ]... * * * * * * * [CUT from door sequence. Play 1950's Intermission-style music, perky, bouncy. INSERT a screen reading, ====================== Meanwhile, one half-mile below the satellite… ====================== ] [CUT TO: Deep space. Mike, Crow, and Tom are plummeting to their deaths.] ALL: [looking down in sheer terror] WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! [All scream until they run out of breath. All stop, gasp for breath for several seconds. Mike clutches Crow's shoulder to gather himself. Then they inhale and resume.] ALL: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! [All run out of breath, again gasp desperately to regain their breath. Then inhale, and:] ALL: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! [All run out of breath. Gasp, gasp, gasp, gasp.] MIKE: One more time? TOM: [pleasantly] Sure! CROW: I'm game. ALL: [terror resuming] YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! [Mike and the bots gasp. Mike clutches his side. When they have their breath, they pause, and look around.] CROW: Nope. Still plummeting to our deaths. MIKE: Well heck. I'm out of ideas. Anyone else? * * * * * * * [CUT TO: The SOL theater. Normal shadow of seats, but there's a grand piano with a raised wing on the left. ANDY and BRIAN file into the theater on the right. Andy is carrying the pie. Brian holds Kermit slightly, almost timidly, over his head.] ANDY: [in awe] Man, would you look at the trailer I got for this gig! This must be that "buzz" my agent is always talking about. KERMIT: [his lips completely out of sych] Hi ho! [Suddenly we hear Magic Voice announce:] MADGE: Ladies and gentlemen, live from WGBH affiliate on the Satellite of Love, please welcome Mark Russel! [FX of applause as Mark files in the theater, waving to no one. He awkwardly shuffles past Brian and Andy.] KERMIT: [mouth still out of synch] Hey, watch it! MARK: Thank you! ANDY: [his foot stepped on] Ow! That's my corn! MARK: Thank you for that heartfelt and underwhelming ovation. [takes his seat at the piano] You know, folks, musical parody and political satire both have long proud traditions, and with your kind indulgence, I'll be betraying the hell out of'em for the next thirty minutes. >Animal Instincts >by Shadowfax > MARK: [playing] o/~ Oh, elephants and donkeys, political mammals! They screw us like they do on the Discovery channel! o/~ [Brian makes Kermit laugh like Ernie on Sesame Street.] >Rated G > >Standard disclaimers apply. > ANDY: [fawning over Kermit] Wow, that is so neat! KERMIT: Thank you. ANDY: I used to collect these! Until I dropped $16K on a used Rainbow Happy Bear off eBay. Whew! My accountant used swears I'd never heard before. Loooong, boring accountant swears. KERMIT: [arms flopping sadly] YAAAAAAY! ANDY: [amazed] How do you make it talk like that? >Sam shook his head slowly. What happened? A minute ago he had >been about to kiss the very pretty girl who had just agreed to >marry him, and now he was on his hands and knees in some alley, >looking down at a bunch of garbage. MARK: [as he tunes up] Speaking of looking down at a bunch of garbage, let's welcome my co-stars, Andy Something and a green sock. How ya doin', Andy? ANDY: Well- MARK: [quickly] I don't care. [plays to the "Doublemint" jingle] o/~ 'W' pleasure! 'W' fun! George Bush in office, except it's his son! o/~ ANDY: Oh wow, gum! I like gum. KEMRIT: Speaking as a frog, I have no opinion on gum. * * * * * * * [CUT AWAY. INSERT PLACARD reading:] ======================= Meanwhile, just above the earth's atmosphere… ======================= [CUT to Outer Space. Mike, Tom and Crow are still falling. Tom and Crow are joking around. Mike, however, seems depressed.] TOM: [to Crow] So I said, "MOTT the Hoople?! I hardly KNOW the Hoople!" [Tom and Crow laugh boisterously. As they peter out, Tom notices Mike is not laughing.] TOM: [to Mike] Heeeey, sunshine? Why that mopy mug? MIKE: Oh, I don't know, guys. I was just thinkin'… why am I so unlucky? CROW: Unlucky? MIKE: You know… [uneasily pointing downward] TOM: Aw, c'mon, Mike. It's all a matter of perspective. CROW: Yeah! I mean, think about it. We're surrounded by the vacuum of space! By all rights, the lack of atmospheric pressure should've caused your body to explode in a single, catastrophic- and may I add, gooey- spurt of entrails! But have you? MIKE: Well… no, I guess not. TOM: Right! And what about the lack of air? I mean, really. Would an "unlucky" person be able to survive a complete absence of oxygenated red blood cells? CROW: Call me a gold-painted optimist, but I think not! MIKE: [coming around] Gosh. I… I never thought of it that way! CROW: Yeah, and how about this gravity we're experiencing? Why, your normal, average, everyday schmoes would probably be drifting off into the inky vastness of space, receding until they were a speck on a freckle on the flea of existence, never to be seen, heard from, or tasted again! TOM: But not us! CROW: Nuh-uh. See Mike, we choose to recognize how blessed we've been blessed, and focus on our embarrassment of life's rose-colored bounty- which is always greener on the other side of the septic tank! MIKE: [getting teary-eyed] Aw, gee. I must be just about the luckiest man speeding towards the face of the earth! [All drink in the moment. Then:] TOM: Assuming you don't burn to a cinder upon hitting the atmosphere. [Mike double-takes.] CROW: Don't be ridiculous, Servo! He'd never survive the re-entry forces shearing his body apart like a belt sander! * * * * * * * [CUT BACK to SOL theater. Mark, Andy and Kermit/Brian are still in their own world, seemingly oblivious to the fic.] >He must have leaped again. > >Why was he on his hands and knees, though? Had some*thing* or >some*one* just knocked him down? ANDY: Oh, guys! I gotta show you this. I've been working on my Tom Green impression. Watch. [Andy begins to climb upon his seat.] >He looked around cautiously, >but there was no one else in the alley with him. Might as well >stand up, then. > ANDY: Lookit! Lookit! Watch. [he rubs his butt on the top of the seat] My bum is on the seat. My bum is on the seat. KERMIT: [wary] Um… MARK: Why, that looks like a man who needs a little butt-rubbing music, ifyaknowwhatImean. [playing] o/~ Oh, rub-a-bum! Rub-a-bum! Butt, butt- o/~ [he stops abruptly] I have no pride. >But when he tried to stand, his legs wouldn't work right and he >somehow couldn't get his balance. ANDY: Ooh! How about- [he scooches his butt toward Kermit] My butt is on the frog. KERMIT: [shocked] Wha- DON'T butt on the frog! ANDY: [moving closer] My butt is on the frog. KERMIT: You get that butt off the frog right now, mister! MARK: [bursting into song] o/~ Jeremiah was a butt frog! o/~ KERMIT: He was not!! >He felt a moment of panic. >Had his legs been injured? He wasn't the man with no legs >again, was he? MARK: [continuing] o/~ Was a good friend of mine! o/~ [stops] Then some other stuff, blah blah. And it ends with "Senator Mike DeWine!" [resumes] o/~ Yes we always had some Michael DeWine! o/~ ANDY: Ooh! My butt is Mike DeWine! [does a deep, deep voice while he moves his butt cheeks to pretend it's talking] Helloooooo, little beanie buddy! I'm Mike DeWine! Kiss me! [Kermit shudders and cowers and the butt approaches him.] * * * * * * * [INSERT screen reading: ======================= Meanwhile, at an altitude of 50,000 feet… ======================= [CUT TO: Earth's atmosphere. Mike, Crow, and Tom, still falling. Mike is holding a "Bop-It".] BOP-IT: Twist it! [Mike does, and passes it to Crow.] BOP-IT: Bop it! [Crow pecks it with his beak. Mike takes it from him.] BOP-IT: Pull it! [Mike, does and passes it to Tom. But with no working arms, it just bounces off his body and floats away. All watch in despair as it leaves.] BOP-IT: [receding] Damn it! Curse it! Screw it! Fu… [Everyone winces, but thankfully the volume drops before we hear the rest of its diatribe.] CROW: Ho, great. Now what do we do? MIKE: [after a beat] I've got a pocket Scrabble set. [Mike takes set from inside his jumpsuit. He opens it, and the tiles and racks clatter up and away.] MIKE: [watching them go] Oh. Right. * * * * * * * [CUT BACK to the theater. Andy's still threatening to rub his butt on Kermit, and he's got him cornered. Kermit is trembling.] >He turned to look behind him at his legs and was >startled to see a big hairy tail waving at him. [Just before the butt touches Kermit, the puppet tries something.] KERMIT: [desperate] Wait! Wait! Andy! Do you have a cold?! ANDY: [dropping his butt routine, concerned] No, I don't think so. Why? KERMIT: There's a frog in your throat. [Kermit suddenly violently shoves himself down Andy's throat. Dick grabs his neck, choking.] >He jumped and >the tail disappeared, tucking itself between his legs. *His* >legs ... *Sam's* legs. *He had a tail!* What was going on >here??!? [Andy is punching at Brian's arm, weakly, as he runs out of air.] MARK: o/~ He's got, you! Under your skin! Can't someone, do trach-e-o-to-my? o/~ BRIAN: [in Kermit's voice, pleasant] Keep singing, Mark! You're the next to die! >He began to run on all fours - all four *legs*' he had four >legs! - through the alley. > >Spotting part of a broken mirror that someone had propped >against a garbage can, he paused to look into it. [Andy Dick slumps to the floor, dead. Kermit slowly rises, as he and Brian deliberately advance on the piano playing satirist.] MARK: Oh my! [nervous, but plays quickly] o/~ I better run for my life if I can, Colin Powell! "Puppet Master 6" should be banned, Colin Powell! If the dummy is un-mannnnned, that's the ennnn-duh! Colin Powell! o/~ >The >reflection staring back at him was that of a little black dog >with perky ears and a long nose. [Brian shoves Kermit into the terrified face of Mark Russel.] KERMIT/BRIAN: Didn't you know satire is a dying art? [Brian, in his free hand, shoves an apple pie in Russel's face with a SPLORT! Mark's head is pushed into the body of the piano. Kermit swiftly grabs the prop holding up the piano's top, which falls, crushes Mark's head. The echo of vibrating piano wires reverberates throughout the theater. The body spasms and goes limp.] >Sam's mouth dropped open and >the dog began to pant. > [Brian has started to hyperventilate. Something inside him is struggling to get out. He's tearing at his clothes with his free hand.] BRIAN: [gasping, child-like] Daddy?! Daddy?! You promised we'd do finger puppets, Daddy! [However, the hand holding Kermit is composed. The frog puppet looks at him crossly.] KERMIT: Daddy is busy, Brian. Go in the corner and he'll call for you later. BRIAN: But-! KERMIT: In the corner, Brian! BRIAN: [crushed, but holding back the tears] Yes, daddy. [With that, Brian swoons into a faint, collapsing off the screen completely. The hand holding Kermit remains up and functional.] >He was a dog! He had leaped into a dog! > >"Ro, roy," barked Sam. > [Kermit looks around at the bodies surrounding him.] KERMIT: Jeez. That kid sure does leave a mess. [Kermit ducks down under the seats.] > >The End > > [Kermit pops back up wearing a pair of goggles, wielding an electric carving knife.] KERMIT: OK, Dick. Time to play "What Happens Next?: The Corpse Disposal Game!". ANDY: [popping up] I'm not dead. KERMIT: [shaking his head] Andy, Andy, Andy… [Kermit turns on the carving knife, and leaps on a protesting Andy Dick as we…] [CUT TO Door Sequence. BUT in mid-run we… CUT AWAY] * * * * * * * [INSERT screen reading: ======================= Meanwhile… aw, hell, you figure it out. ======================= [CUT TO: Sky. Mike, Tom, Crow, still falling. Mike is on a cell phone.] MIKE: No ma'am. No. No, I don't want a trial subscription to the Fresno Bee. [pause] Or to get "Paycheck Protection" for my Visa or MasterCard. [pause] Or to enjoy the benefits of genuine vinyl siding. [Mike covers the receiver and talks to Crow and Tom] Man, these telemarketers call at the worst times! TOM and CROW: Yeah/I know what you mean… MIKE: [resumes talking to phone] See ma'am, we're currently plummeting to our deaths, so if you could- what? [pause, sudden interest] I've got fast-track approval for a home improvement loan? TOM: [enthusiastic] Wow! A home improvement loan?! CROW: Ask about their special rates, Mike! [Mike nods and talks to the lady in earnest.] >>> END Part 1 of 2 Path: archiver1.google.com!postnews1.google.com!not-for-mail From: pinkbo...@hotmail.com (pinkboy) Newsgroups: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc Subject: MSTing! "My Attorney" [Pt 2 of 2] Date: 25 Oct 2001 05:46:55 -0700 Organization: http://groups.google.com/ Lines: 769 Message-ID: <429f942f.0110250446.1c14d7a5@posting.google.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 170.28.128.102 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Trace: posting.google.com 1004014016 14600 127.0.0.1 (25 Oct 2001 12:46:56 GMT) X-Complaints-To: groups...@google.com NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 Oct 2001 12:46:56 GMT Xref: archiver1.google.com rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc:48059 * * * * * * * [CUT TO: The SOL Bridge, darkened. A low, pulsing tone is playing in the background. It's all very tense. We hear BRIAN panting for breath, but he's not on screen. Hold for a moment, then a single bloody hand rises up from behind the desk. It fumbles to grab the desk for support. Disoriented and panicked, Brian raises himself up. He tries to get his bearings, but immediately sees-] BRIAN: There's blood on my hands… There's blood… [Brian brings up his puppet hand. On it sits Kermit, completely spattered with the stuff. Kermit stares at Brian. Brian reacts, horrified.] BRIAN: Oh my god! Kermit! You told me that film editor at Dreamworks was the last one! KERMIT: Well, he still WAS the last one. What we have here, see, is the NEXT one. BRIAN: ONE?! The next ONE?! KERMIT: All right, TWO, Mr. Anal Exactitude. Mr. Cadaver Tracker. Mr. Precision Body Count Odometer, Just $199, Exclusive to Sharper Image. BRIAN: [covering his ears] Stop it! KERMIT: Oh, the real world getting a little hard to deal with again, Brian? BRIAN: [fumbling in his pockets] My pills! Where are my pills?! KERMIT: Oh grow up, loser! This ain't Sesame Street! Unless that's what you want. Do you want life to be like Sesame Street, Brian? [starts to dance and sing] o/~ I've killed two men! One, two! And I'll do it again! One, two! o/~ BRIAN: Oh, don't play the parent-friendly educational rogue with me, you butcher! I never wanted to be a puppeteer! KERMIT: Sure, Brian. You never wanted to make your father proud of you. BRAIN: Stop that! KERMIT: You never wanted to keep his dream alive. You never wanted fame, money, recognition… BRIAN: SHUT UP! KERMIT: But hey! It's not too late! You can still toss me over the side! Yeah, c'mon, tough guy, show me how much you don't need me! Take me off! Kill your dad all over again! BRIAN: Why you… ! KERMIT: Is your hand cold, Brain? It's still up my butt! BRIAN: You REPTILE! KERMIT: Hey! Amphibian, if you don't mind! BRIAN: You're not my father! My father wasn't YOU! He was a brilliant, one-of-a-kind visionary. And you're not going to make me be his cheap, third-rate imitation anymore! You're going to retire, Kermit! I'll pack you away, with the mothballs and old clothes and… [gropes for word] mothballs… and whatever else things get packed away with, oh god why did dad have to home-school me?! KERMIT: [parental] OK, Brian. If that's the way you want it. But... I don't think it's the way Animal the Drummer would've handled this situation, do you? [The smile leaves Brian's face. This is obviously an important factor he hadn't considered.] BRIAN: [quietly] No. KERMIT: No what? BRIAN: No sir. KERMIT: Do you know what Animal the Drummer would have done, Brian? BRIAN: Yes, sir. KERMIT: [firmly] OK then. Get to it. And don't fuck it up this time! [An eerie calm envelops Brian, as he seems resigned to his fate. He puts Kermit down beneath the desk, and begins to wrap a bandana around his head, slowly weeping as he softly sings.] BRIAN: o/~ When green is all, there is to be… It kinda makes you stop and wonder o/~ [Brian now unbuttons his shirt, revealing rows and rows of dynamite strapped to his body.] BRIAN: o/~ But why wonder? Why… wonder. I'm green… it'll do fine. o/~ [He pulls a push-button trigger from inside his vest, and holds his thumb ready. He's in tears.] BRIAN: o/~ It's.. beautiful! And I think it's… what I wanna be! o/~ [quickly] I love you daddy! [Brian winces as he presses the button.] [CUT TO: Exterior of the SOL. The thing EXPLODES in a stunning fireball.] [CUT TO: Castle. Pearl and Brain Guy stare at the screen, eyes wide and jaws agape. Bobo is also transfixed, but in more satisfied way.] BRAIN GUY: Oh my. BOBO: Boy, them Garuccis really outdid themselves this year! PEARL: [sullen] This, is an absolute, disaster. [She grabs Brain Guy by the "lapels".] PEARL: THEY'RE STILL FIVE MINUTES SHORT! BRAIN GUY: W-w-w-well- PEARL: [looking at watch] There's only five minutes LEFT! That leaves… [Pearl goes dizzy trying to calculate the difference.] BRAIN GUY: [patiently] No minutes. PEARL: [still figuring] Carry the two… BRAIN GUY: [less patient] NO, minutes. Five minutes, minus five minutes… PEARL: [grabbing Brain Guy] You! [grabbing Bobo] You! Think of something! Anything! Do what ever the networks do when they run out of ideas! BRAIN GUY: [sotto voce] You mean, besides start the cameras. PEARL: [dashing off stage] I gotta stall! [calling as she runs] Marlon! Have I told you how warm and inviting your buttocks look today? [Brain Guy and Bobo watch Pearl go, cringing.] BRAIN GUY: I see we're choosing death WITHOUT dignity today. BOBO: One of my favorites! BRAIN GUY: In a way, I'm not surprised it came to this. I mean, the man did work with puppets all day. BOBO: Yeah. [oddly directed at someone off screen] It's a wonder more folks forced to work with puppets don't suddenly snap and kill their co-workers! BRAIN GUY: [same] Yes! It seems like it should happen more often! BOBO: And yet it doesn't. BRAIN GUY: Weird. [Both are now finished with their strange little episode. They sit down, in thinking poses.] BRAIN GUY: Hmmm… now what do the networks do when they have no new material… [Bobo chuckles. Brain Guy stares at him.] BOBO: Oh! Sorry. I was just thinking about that time when we set Mike and the bots that terrible spam about how the afterlife is really just God, the Devil and Jesus starring in a bad episode of "Night Court"? BRAIN GUY: [laughing in recognition] Oh, right! "My Attorney"! Oh, man, was that lame! BOBO: [looking thoughtful] Why, I remember it like it was only yesterday! [Brain Guy and Bobo put their heads together in reminiscent thought. The sides of the screen go swimmy, and we DREAM CUT to:] [DREAM CUT DOOR SEQUENCE. Just like the regular sequence, but we hear nothing but harp music, and the edges are soft.] [OPEN ON: The SOL Theater. Mike and the bots file in. Mike is in a huge stove pipe hat that's covering his entire head, and is NAKED otherwise (not that you'd see any naughty bits in his silhouette). Tom has lit sparklers taped all over his entire body. In place of his webbing, Crow has a model of the Eiffel Tower stuck to his head.] MIKE: [removing hat] Man! I can't believe they let us do full frontal! TOM: It was essential to the skit's overall comment on campaign finance reform! CROW: So when will this swelling go down, Mike? MIKE: Soon. Soon. >Subject: My Attorney CROW: The remake of "My Bodyguard", with Frankie Muniz and Barry Scheck! >After living a "decent" life, MIKE: [narrator] I use the quotes 'cuz I masturbate! > my time on earth came >to an end. TOM: Alas, poor Yorrick. Still, better him than me! >The first thing I remember is sitting on a >bench in the waiting room of what I thought to be a courthouse. MIKE: I sat next to Robert Downey Jr. Nice guy. TOM: [grumbling] Aw, jeez. If Judy Sheinhold has anything to do with handing out eternal rewards, forget it! I ain't dyin'! >The >doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by > the defense table. CROW: Take a load off! Have an iced tea! Gloria made gingerbread! >As I looked around I saw the "prosecutor." He was a villainous >looking gent who snarled as he stared at me. MIKE: Vince McMahon! >He definitely was the most evil >person I have ever seen. > MIKE: It IS Mr. McMahon! TOM: Mr. XFL himself! >I sat down and looked to my left and there sat my >lawyer, a kind and gentle looking man whose appearance seemed >familiar to me. CROW: [defendant] Didn't you used to play acoustic guitar in the subway? >The corner door flew open and here appeared the judge in >full flowing robes. He commanded an awesome presence as he > moved across the room. TOM: Then his robe tripped him and he cracked his head on the bench. > I couldn't take my eyes off of him. As he took his >seat behind the bench, he said, MIKE: [judge] Stop undressing me with your eyes! I have feelings, you know! >"Let us begin." > >The prosecutor rose and said, "My name is Satan CROW: [Gump] People call me Forrest Satan. >and I am >here to show you why this man belongs in hell." MIKE: [Satan] I've prepared a little Powerpoint demo, if you'd dim the lights a tad. Claire? >He proceeded to tell >of lies that I told, TOM: But enough about my chat room avatar. >things that I stole, CROW: Things? Like, stereos? Cable? Weapons-grade uranium? What? >and in the past when I >cheated others. Satan told of other horrible perversions that > were once in my life MIKE: [calling] We need details! CROW: Full names, current phone numbers, cup sizes! That kind of thing! >and the more he spoke, >the further down in my seat I sank. TOM: [defendant] Oh, man, I thought Eighth Amendment privacy rights carried over to the sweet hereafter! >I was so >embarrassed that I couldn't look at anyone, even my >own lawyer, as the Devil told of sins that even I had >completely forgotten about. MIKE: [defendant] And I log my sins on my Palm Pilot! TOM: Man, he thinks this is bad, wait'll they get to the DNA evidence. >As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things >about me, MIKE: Shyah! Satan. What a prissy little tittle-tattle! >I was equally upset at my representative who sat >there silently not offering any form of defense at all. CROW: [defendant] That's the last time I hire Smith, Jacoby, Life-Sized Wax Figure & Clark! >I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had >done some good in my life - couldn't that at least equal out >part of the harm I've done? TOM: Only if portrayed with equivalent ambiguity. > >Satan finished with a fury MIKE: Not like a woman scorned, of course, but still… >and said, "This man >belongs in hell, he is guilty of all that I have charged and >there is not a person who can prove otherwise. > CROW: You ARE the weakest link. Goodbye! >When it was his turn, my lawyer first asked if he >might approach the bench. TOM: [defendant] He told the bench it had nice inlays, and asked if it wanted to see his etchings. >The judge allowed this over the >strong objection of Satan, and beckoned him to come forward. MIKE: [Wizard of Oz] Come forward, cowardly lawyer! > As he got >up and started walking, I was able to see him in his full > splendor and majesty. CROW: [shocked] Bobby Flay! >I realized why he seemed so familiar. This was Jesus >representing me, ALL: D'OOH! >my Lord and my Savior. MIKE: [defendant] Pudgier than you'd think! TOM: In fairness, I could see where Jesus might have to do this, what with all the real lawyers burnin' in hell and all. >He stopped at the bench and softly said to the >judge, "Hi Dad," and then he turned to address the court. > MIKE: [sighing, rubbing his head] Yup. This is a fair trial, all right. CROW: Man, if Satan agreed to this setup, hell must be one stupid-ass place! TOM: He's not a fallen angel so much as he flunked the SAT. >"Satan was correct in saying that this man had sinned, CROW: [Jesus] But let he who is without sin cast the first- Dad, put the rock down. I'm preaching to the converted here. > I >won't deny any of these allegations. And yes the wage of sin is >death, MIKE: A third of which goes to the feds in withholding taxes. >and this man deserves to be punished. TOM: [J] Let's give him Martin Short's movie career! >" Jesus took a deep breath and turned to his Father >with outstretched arms and proclaimed, CROW: [J] I caught a soul THIS BIG yesterday! >"However, I died on >the cross so that this person might have eternal life MIKE: Man, talk about a martyr complex. >and >he has accepted me as his Savior, so he is mine." > TOM: [J] No, really. Watch, I'll make him lick spit off the table. It's cool. >My Lord continued with, "His name is written in the >book of life CROW: The manuscript even Mikey likes! MIKE: So, the never-ending battle between good and evil depends on Satan not getting a bottle of White-Out. >and no one can snatch him from me. Satan >still does not understand yet. TOM: [J] But then, we've only been through this 783 million times since the dawn of creation, I'm sure he'll catch on eventually. MIKE: Satan! The pitchfork-wielding Dan Quayle of the netherworlds! >This man is not to be given justice, >but rather mercy." > CROW: [J] Well… mercy, a blonde wig, silicone implants, a pogo stick, and a hot pink halter top. >As Jesus sat down, he quietly paused, looked at his >Father and replied, CROW: Replied? MIKE: Let it go, son. CROW: But- MIKE: [touching Crow's shoulder] Let it go. >There is nothing else that needs >to be done. MIKE: [J] We can just hang, watch the game, drink a Bud. >I've done it all." > TOM: [J] And yet I feel so empty. > >The judge lifted his mighty hand and slammed the >gavel down. CROW: Gavel! The sports drink for judges! TOM: Now in a wide-neck bottle. >The following words bellowed from his lips... TOM: o/~ I, LIKE, BIG, BUTTS! And I don't… o/~ >"This man is free. MIKE: When you purchase a second man at the regular price. >The penalty for him has already been paid in full. >Case dismissed. > CROW: [God] OK, that one ran a little long, so let's have a quick recess, then just bang out these other eight million souls before lunch. >"As my Lord led me away, I could hear Satan ranting >and raving, "I won't give up, I'll win the next one." MIKE: [Satan] This next guy's a Seventh Day Adventist! TOM: Can't Satan just get Roy Cohn to represent him? >I >asked Jesus as he gave me my instructions where to go next, >"Have you ever lost a case?" MIKE: [J] Every time I fly Delta! POOM! Thank you, I'm the Son of God, thank you very much! > Christ lovingly smiled and said, "Everyone >that has come to me and asked me to represent them has received > the same verdict as you, Paid in Full." > >===== CROW: [J] As opposed to your bill, which won't be for some time. TOM: So I guess the next scene is Satan and Angie Harmon bitching about the judge to Diane Wiest. > >If you do not pass this along to 15 people >immediately, MIKE: You'll keep almost sixteen friends. >absolutely nothing will happen. No curse, no bad >fortune, absolutely nothing. TOM: Well you will go to hell. But apart from that, nothing! > Passing this on to anyone you consider a >friend, CROW: -may cause dryness, irritation, and bloody discharge. MIKE: You think maybe we're overdoing the drug commercial references? TOM: Mm. Maybe we should give'm up for Lent. >(as I have done here), will bless you both, that is what Jesus >promised us all. MIKE: Not to nitpick, but I don't recall spam being a large part of Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. >===== >If God is your co-pilot, change places........ [All rise to leave.] TOM: Bring God coffee in a tight little stewardess outfit! MIKE: [Jackson Browne] o/~ It's the mating call, of! Lawyers in Hell! o/~ CROW: So how do those Dancing Itos figure into all this? / * \... = 2 =... > 3 <... [Before Door Sequence ends we quickly:] [DREAM CUT back to the castle. Brain Guy is speaking; Bobo, Pearl and Marlon listen raptly and reflectively.] BRAIN GUY: [wistfully] …and that's how Bobo, Pearl and I learned a valuable lesson. While it's great to know that there does exist a force of limitless unconditional love in the universe, it's far more important to ensure that a faceless and cold-hearted entertainment conglomerate has enough barely acceptable minutes of video feed to fulfill our contractual obligations to them. MARLON: [weepily] Oh it's so true! Sometimes it's so easy to lose sight of that simple fact! [Marlon blows his nose; then Pearl joins him stage front.] PEARL: So! Shall we? MARLON: [bringing forth a contract] Of course! Sign this, Pearl, and the cable deal is yours! PEARL: [cackling] With pleasure. Man, I can't believe this worked! Why, not even that goody-good Michael J. Nelson could stop me now! [As Pearl begins to sign, we hear the FX of a descending tone, sounding like something falling. Pearl and Marlon stop, startled, looking up to see what it is. Then they step back to reveal that it is Bobo, playing with a slide whistle. They glare at him.] BOBO: [cowed] Sorry. [Bobo sulks off stage. Once he's off, Pearl and Marlon start to laugh.] PEARL: Like anyone's going to fall from the sky, crash on top of me and prevent me from signing this contract. MARLON: Absurd! PEARL: Preposterous! MARLON: Of course, the contract does have the standard "Signee Hit by Person Falling From Space" escape clause. PEARL: [stops] Pardon? MARLON: Well certainly. It's boilerplate. PEARL: [flipping through contract, finding clause] I never saw any "Signing Person Hitting Bad Thing" dealie… MARLON: It's just to keep Larry Legal Department and Kevin Rabid Corporate Lawyer happy. Afraid it's a bit of a dealbreaker. But if you're unhappy with it- PEARL: [snatching papers back] No no! No! I'm happy! Look: [clears throat, spreads arms] "I'm happy." See? MARLON: Excellent! [Pearl takes the contract, takes the pen, and begins to sign the contract. As she does, we hear the increasing volume of a man and two robots screaming in terror as they fall from the sky.] PEARL: [as she signs] Pearl… Lucretia… Morgan… Winslet… Serena… [Pearl pauses and stares at the pen- it seems to be running a little dry. She lifts it, shakes it a bit, then resumes. The screams continue to increase in volume.] PEARL: …Elizabeth… Roseanne… Delilah… Roseanne… [Pearl pauses to lick the tip of the pen. The screams continue to increase in volume, and include desperate phrases like "I love you Tom!" "I love you Mike!" "Don't fall on my butt Crow!".] PEARL: …Mary… [She licks the tip of the pen again. The screams are quite loud now.] PEARL: …Roseanne… Uma… Roseanne… Joan… Sibilance… [We hear a crash. The camera shakes violently. Debris falls from the ceiling as finally, Tom, Crow, and Mike fall into Castle Forrester… a good fifteen feet behind the action. They smash into the floor with three successive thuds. It has no effect on anything whatsoever.] PEARL: [oblivious] …Tanya… Forrester… the Second! There! MARLON: Thank you! I'll take that pen, if you would? PEARL: With pleasure! MARLON: Ah, I have a good feeling about this partnership, Pearl! I think that, together, with your gift for comedy, and my strong commitment to supporting your dream when it suits me, why, you and your jolly friends could be on the air for an entire decade! PEARL: [whose face has fallen a little as Marlon has talked] You know what? I'm tired of this skit now. MARLON: What? BRAIN GUY: [entering stage left] I concur. This whole "TV Executive" plot has been done to death. MARLON: Wait a minute! PEARL: [to Brain Guy] "Hail to the Queen"? BRAIN GUY: [nodding] "Hail to the Queen". PEARL: [despairing] Oh, man. I can't believe I forgot "Hail to the Queen"! That was so much better than this. MARLON: No! No! That was completely different! There the executives took you over! Here I was working with you! You were working with me! An entirely new concept! PEARL: [descending into full sulk] Now I'm just embarrassed. BOBO: [entering stage right] Well you don't have to convince me. I've been bored out of my shaggy ape hair for an hour now. MARLON: But-but you can't give up on me now! We're almost done! Look, see? I'm about to get this cell phone call- PEARL: Go away. MARLON: But wait! Listen! You get dumped for a reality show involving six photogenic twenty-somethings shackled together in a mudpit! And it's hosted by ANDY DICK!! It's irony! Don't you GET that? PEARL: [indicating Marlon] Brain Guy? [Brain Guy does his head shake, and with a POP, a protesting Marlon disappears.] PEARL: [calling behind her] Guys? You got that judge thing I sent you last week? [The group separates so we can see the lifeless body of Mike Nelson sprawled on the floor. Inexplicably, he pops right up and makes his way toward them.] MIKE: [waving crumpled page] Yes, ma'am! Got it right here! PEARL: Let's do it. Put this puppy to bed. CROW: [popping in] Then maybe hit Ché Caron's for cocktails and antipasti? PEARL: Art darling, you read my evil mind. Servile? [Tom pops in stage right, with a hand taped to his "ear". A stage microphone rises in front of him.] TOM: Right-O! PEARL: On five. Ready? [Everyone clears the stage except Tom. Tom prepares.] TOM: [softly to himself] Three… four… [clears throat and speaks as announcer] There's a new sheriff in town! And this time, she's a judge! And not a sheriff. She's Judge Hatchet! [Pearl comes stage front, dressed in a judge's robes. Crow comes stage right, hand raised as if taking an oath.] PEARL: Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? CROW: I do. PEARL: The claimant states you sold her fourteen picograms of gold in the form of a glass of seawater. CROW: Yes. I- PEARL: GUILTY! [Pearl suddenly pulls a hatchet from her robes and slams it down a la a gavel, against Crow. Crow's arm falls off. He wails in shock and terror, and flees the set.] TOM: Judge Hatchet rules with an iron fist that's exquisitely manicured, and not really made of iron. It's a metaphor! Like when I said she was a sheriff, when in reality, she wasn't! [Bobo enters, places his hand on the bible.] BOBO: I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but- PEARL: GUILTY! [Pearl swings her hatchet down on the bible. A spurt of blood comes out, Bobo clutches his hand and moans wildly as he exits.] TOM: Judge Hatchet! Coming to your house this fall! And this time, it's not a metaphor! [Mike and Brain Guy, carrying his brain, approach. Their faces register sufficient desperation.] PEARL: [twirling hatchet] So. What's your story? Any beefs? Huh? MIKE and BRAIN GUY: [terror] No! No! PEARL: Quarrels? Wrangles? C'mon, bicker a bit! Let's hear ya! BRAIN GUY: We've… settled! MIKE: Out of court! BRAIN GUY: And bought you a cake! MIKE: [bringing cake forward] A blackout cake! BRAIN GUY: And not one of the discount ones where the top layer has sort of slid off the bottom so it's not even! MIKE: [bringing a bowl of chocolate crumbs] You want the crumbs? We saved the crumbs. Because they weren't ours. They're yours! PEARL: Well isn't that nice! I guess that means we're done! [Mike and Brain Guy breathe a sigh of relief.] PEARL: Case dismissed! [Pearl raises the hatchet and brings it down on Brain Guy's brain. Brain Guy's eyes bug out in a double-take just as the screen goes:] --- PWOOOSH --- MYSTERY SCEINCE THEATER 3000 EPISODE NNN201 "My Attorney" with "Animal Instincts" featuring marlon PAUL CHAPLIN the talent ANDY DICK BRIAN HENSON MARK RUSSEL and special guest SHARI LEWIS as kermit the frog writers BRENDAN HERLIHY (head writer) dibs list maintained by MIKE NEYLON isnt it funny when THE CREDITS FORM SENTENCES its like e e cummings GOT A JOB IN POST PRODUCTION OR SOMETHING you know when i format a joke like this BILL LIVINGSTON GETS A ROYALTY if its 2024 and im still writing mstings KILL ME This publication is for entertainment use only, and is not meant as a personal attack on Shadowfax, Andy Dick, Mark Russel, Brian Henson, Kermit the Frog, spam, cable television executives, Mott the Hoople, Christianity, Bill Livingston, or Seventh Day Adventists; nor is it meant to infringe on any copyrights held by Best Brains, Sci Fi Channel, Shadowfax, Jim Henson, Brian Henson, Belsarius Productions, Universal Studios, God, Satan, or any of their holy/vile manifestations. e-mail PINKBO...@HOTMAIL.COM visit the pink boy buffet PINK_BOY.TRIPOD.COM executive producer BRENDAN HERLIHY It's only clay. < < < B-R-R-R-ANG! > > > ------------------------------------------------------ [In place of a stinger, the copyright screen consists of a camcorder shot of what looks like a wrap party on the set. Mark Russel is playing a Casio keyboard. Mike, in his Ranger Rick costume with the snappy iron-on badges, accompanies on acoustic guitar. Andy Dick and Kermit harmonize while Brian shakes a tamborine. The cast and crew clap along and smile appreciatively.] ANDY/KERMIT: o/~ Oh, I come from Alabammy with a banjo on my knee! And the doctors say, to take it off, requires surgery. Anasthesia! Apply it locally! It's the only way I'm gettin' this damn banjo off my- o/~ [CUT to black]. ------------------------------------------------------ Copyright 2001 Brendan Herlihy