Witch Hunting for Fun and Prophet ... a MiSTing
by David J Rust - August, 1999
Read the Original Message
(Opening Credits - Mike/Pearl/Bots)
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(Scene: SOL Interior. Darkness gives way to a high-res video-camera extreme close-up of TOM's head. He's wearing a stocking cap ala Heather from "The Blair Witch Project" and is partially washed out by a bright light.)
TOM: (stammering as if afraid) I ... I have to admit it; it...it's all my fault. I know that now and I want to say ... I...I'm sorry. (he looks off to one side as if startled and then back at the camera) I never would have come to the Satellite of Love if I'd known how horribly wrong it all would go. (he sniffles) Crow ... Crow's been gone for days now and ... and Mike and I have been hearing these strange noises in the night. I ... I don't know how much longer I can take it...
(Switch to normal-camera mode as the camera pans back and to the left as the lights come up on the console room. A stick man made of pine branches is hanging in the center and three piles of stones are set on the console. TOM turns and sees them, yells and goes running off-camera.)
TOM: Yaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!
(After a moment, MIKE walks in with CROW from the other side of the console room.)
MIKE: Well Crow, your sabbatical certainly seems to have fired your creative instincts.
CROW: Yeah! Nature art really is my calling!
(MIKE walks up and examines the hanging stick man.)
MIKE: Well, uh, it's good. Kinda nice in a Druidic, natural sorta-way...
CROW: I thought you'd like it! And what do you think of my mini-Stonehenge?
MIKE: (nodding) Well, they *are* kinda small...
CROW: (dejected) Yeah, I ran outta rocks after only three mounds...
MIKE: (trying to sound enthused) Well, it's still a good effort! I'm sure Tom will love 'em... (shouting to off-camera) Tom? Oh, Tom! Crow's back! Come and see what's he's been doing!
(Commercial sign lights start flashing.)
CROW: Hunh.
MIKE: Hmmmm... He must be out of earshot. Well, we'll be right back. (he taps the lights)
(----------go to commercial----------)
(--------back from commercial--------)
(SOL Interior. MIKE is comforting TOM and patting him on the shoulder.)
TOM: (sniffling) So ... so it was just Crow and this weird art-thing all along?
MIKE: Yes, Tom... That's all. There was nothing to be afraid of... Everything's all right.
(Suddenly, creepy knocking/echoing noises come from off-camera, resonating through the console room. TOM yells and goes running off again.)
TOM: Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!
MIKE: (calling after TOM) No, Tom! Wait!
(The Mad's light starts flashing as CROW comes in with some sticks in his hands.)
CROW: Hey Mike, how do you like my new stick-music? It's all natural; just like my art!
MIKE: (sighing) Its great, Crow; just great... (he taps the lights) Yes, Pearl?
(Castle Forrester Interior. PEARL is sitting across a small end-table from MOTHER NATURE from "Boost Your Sex Appeal". MOTHER_N looks like Bridget Jones with fake plants in her hair and wearing a white gown. OBSERVER is wearing a lacy apron and serving them tea and Fig Newtons.)
MOTHER_N: Oh, Pearl, you don't know how *awful* I felt after ripping your castle to shreds like that... Who'd've *known* ninety-mile-per-hour straight-line winds could do so much damage?
PEARL: Well, think nothing of it... Just a little spackle and some shingles will fix everything. (she turns to the camera and smiles) Well, hi there Nelwich. I believe you already know my new, close-n-personal friend Mother Nature here, don't you?
(OBSERVER pours a cup of tea, looking embarrassed by his circumstances.)
OBSERVER: Madame, would you be caring for the petitfors yet?
PEARL: (in an aristocratic tone) Not quite yet, Brain Guy... (she gestures with idle flourish) Why don't you go and see how Bobo is doing with the canapes?
OBSERVER: (rolling his eyes) At once, madam... (he goes off-camera)
PEARL: (to the camera again, in a whisper) This is great, guys! One of the most powerful figures in contemporary mythology and she's mine, all mine! The world will be at my feet within a *week*! (turning back to MOTHER_N and speaking in her normal voice) So, how are you enjoying your stay at Castle Forrester?
MOTHER_N: (looking about and nodding politely) Well, you certainly *have* done wonders with the place...
PEARL: Why thank you! That's uncommonly kind of you to say so... (smiling back to the camera) Well, in the interests of my new-found friend's beliefs and philosophies, I have something of a treat for you this week, guys... In honor of my burying the hatchet with Mother N here, I've decided to send you a recent article from the Plains Dealer decrying Witches in the armed forces. But first, just to whet your appetite, I've finally gotten ahold of the press release that started this Witch Hunt, Bob Barr's rant on Witchcraft in the military. Enjoy!
(MOTHER_N has picked up a Fig Newton and is eyeing it suspiciously.)
(SOL. Movie sign lights are flashing.)
CROW: Mother Nature?
TOM: With Pearl?
MIKE: No time to worry about that now guys, we've got Internet siiiiiign!
(MIKE and the bots yell frantically and go running off-camera.)
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(Scene: Theater Interior. The guys enter and sit down as the press release loads on the screen.)
> May 18, 1999 > > BARR DEMANDS END TO TAXPAYER-FUNDED WITCHCRAFT ON AMERICAN MILITARY BASES
MIKE: (incredulously) Mr. Good-Barr?!! Noooo!!
CROW: It's gotta be one of those black-line items in the Pentagon budget.
> > WASHINGTON, DC --
TOM: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy...
> U.S. Representative Bob Barr (GA-7) has demanded an > end to the taxpayer-supported practice of witchcraft on military bases.
CROW: For those of you who didn't figure that out from the title of the press release.
MIKE: So, is this like the 1970's Pentagon research into remote sensing or ESP?
TOM: (in an old crone's voice) Double, double, toil and trouble... Gringrich burn and Clinton bubble...
> > Barr's request came in response to reports that chaplains at Fort Hood, > and other bases, are sanctioning, if not supporting, the practice of > witchcraft as a "religion" by soldiers on military bases.
CROW: (in a hick-like accent) Why Land-o-goshen, Jeri! There's witches in th' army!
TOM: What's Barr all worked up about anyway? Hasn't Wicca been a recognized religion since the mid-80's?
MIKE: Well, what with defending the institution of marriage from gays, being an active member on the board of the N.R.A. and renaming the Washington International Airport after Ronald Reagan, he's understandably a bit behind on current events...
> > "This move sets a dangerous precedent
TOM: ...that could eventually lead to all *sorts* of non-Christians leading normal, healthy lives...
> that could easily result in the > practice of all sorts of bizarre practices being supported by the > military under the rubric of 'religion.'
CROW: Rubric's Religion? Man, that puzzle went out with Culture Club...
MIKE: (sighing) I really wish you wouldn't knock the 80's Crow; I had a great time back then...
TOM: Don't worry Mike, I have it on good authority that Crow's still got a Duran-Duran poster in his room next to an 8" x 10" glossy of Menudo.
CROW: (defensively) I do not!
TOM: Besides Crow, you only gave up Rubric's Cube because you couldn't solve it.
CROW: (in a petulant tone) Yeah? Well *you* try and get a solid Savior on one side while lining up the Anti-Christ on the other!
> What's next?
TOM: (indignantly) Yeah? What's next? Equal rights for all? (in an annoyed tone) The nerve of those liberals; where do they think they are? Canada?
> Will armored > divisions be forced to travel with sacrificial animals for Satanic > rituals?
MIKE: Naw...! I'm sure they can find plenty of goats and rats on the battlefield.
TOM: (in a drill-sergant's voice) Atten-hut! Did you pack your ration kit with your ritualistically prepared vampire bats, private?!!
CROW: (in a nervous, teen's voice) Uh, yessir; but what about my curved dagger and altar to the Dark One?
TOM: (still in the same voice) Well, tarnation son, do you expect the United States Army to do *everything* for you?!! Drop and give me six-hundred-sixty-six push-ups!
CROW: Yessir!
> Will Rastifarians demand the inclusion of ritualistic > marijuana cigarettes in their rations?," said Barr, in letters to > military and congressional leaders.
CROW: Woo-hoo! I-ree, mon... I-ree...
TOM: Well, Bob's obviously on *something*; he didn't even run "Rastafarians" through his spellchecker.
> > In support of his request, Barr noted the Supreme Court's decision in > Goldman v. Weinberger, 475 U.S. 503 (1986), in which Chief Justice > Rehnquist wrote,
MIKE: (in a dreamy, teenager's voice) Dear diary, I never thought it would happen to me... But there he was: Chris O'Donnell standing on my doorstep waiting to take me to the prom...
> "[t]he military need not encourage debate or tolerate > protest to the extent that such tolerance is required of the civilian > state by the First Amendment;
TOM: Who's debating? I thought it was just a bunch of Wiccan soldiers holding a religious service...
MIKE: Well, maybe Mr. Barr sees any expression of Pagan theology to be an inherent form of protest.
CROW: Or maybe Bobby-boy just finished reading "The Hammer Against Witches" and is looking for a little practice.
TOM: Either that or "Mein Kampf".
> to accomplish its mission, the military > must foster instinctive obedience, unity, commitment, and esprit de > corps..."
MIKE: Y'know, you wouldn't think a Supreme Court Justice would use the words "Esprit de corps".
CROW: Yeah, you just *know* he lounges about in his sun room, listening to Mozart, sipping General Food International Coffees...
TOM: Would you like some cream with your Viennese Chocolate Cafe, Judge Thomas?
CROW: (dubiously, as Clarence Thomas) Does it have a pubic hair in it?
MIKE: CROW!!!
CROW: (defensively) What?!!
> > "A print of the painting, "The Prayer At Valley Forge," depicting George > Washington on bended knee, praying in the hard snow at Valley Forge, > hangs over the desk in my office.
TOM: *I* wanted to call it "George and the Man in the Yellow Hat", but my secretary told me that would be too silly.
> If the practice of witchcraft, such > as is allowed now at Fort Hood, is permitted to stand, one wonders what > paintings will grace the walls of future generations,"
MIKE: I dunno; groups of religious figures in robes with burning incense and lit candles...?
TOM: (in a bad, English accent) It's a Witch! Burn her!
MIKE: Uh, actually Tom, I was describing a Catholic Priest.
TOM: Oh... Sorry. My bad.
MIKE: That's Ok; it's easy to get them mixed up...
> Barr concluded in > his letters.
CROW: Barr's Letters to the Corinthians?
MIKE: (picking up TOM and starting to head out, past CROW) Nothing so profound Crow. They're probably more akin to "Letters to Penthouse".
> > Barr, a former United States Attorney, serves on the House Judiciary, > Government Reform, and Banking committees. >
TOM: (from off-screen) ...And during a brief mix-up, serving as Girl Scout Leader for Troop 72.
(CROW follows as the guys leave the theater.)
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(SOL Interior. TOM and CROW are sitting in the console room dressed in green cloth, googly, Kermit-the-frog-type eyes and wearing little green flippers. MIKE walks in between them.)
MIKE: Hey there fellahs, what's going on?
CROW: (sighing) Well, we're frogs Mike.
TOM: Yep, frogs... And y'know? It's not really all that bad!
MIKE: (slowly) Frogs...
CROW: Well, yeah!
TOM: You losin' your eyesight there, Mike?
CROW: It seems that Gypsy's actually a Witch, Mike. And, well, we were being too noisy out here...
MIKE: (nodding) ...and she turned you into frogs as punishment...
TOM: Yep!
CROW: I'm afraid so.
(MIKE continues nodding with a skeptical smile on his face.)
MIKE: Y'know what guys? Nothing personal, mind you, but I have the feeling that you might not actually *be* frogs...
CROW: Whatta ya mean, Mike? We're green; we have flippers...
TOM: I even have a craving for flies!
MIKE: Well, be that as it may, wouldn't it be more likely that Gypsy's *not* a Witch and that you two dressed yourselves up like this in some lame attempt to cash in on public sympathy aroused by Bob Barr's fire-and-brimstone press release?
TOM: (sounding wounded) Why Mike! How could you?
CROW: Yeah? How could you mock our condition like that... It's ... it's...
MIKE: (finishing CROW's statement) It's true, isn't it?
(The bots pause and look at each other. Then, after a moment, both of them break down, sobbing.)
TOM: Oh, it's true... It's true!
CROW: We are *so* lame!
TOM: This was the worst idea for a sketch *ever*!
MIKE: (patting both bots comfortingly) There, there... It's not all that bad...
(The commercial sign lights start flashing as GYPSY, wearing a black, pointed hat enters from stage-right.)
GYPSY: I thought I told you guys to be quiet! Don't force me to put enchanted poppies in your rooms to make you sleep!
MIKE: (staring at GYPSY oddly and speaking in a slow tone) Uh, we'll be right back. (he taps the lights.)
(----------go to commercial----------)
(--------back from commercial--------)
(Scene: Theater Interior. The guys take their seats as the article loads on the screen.)
> Be all and anything you want in the Army
CROW: It's a *man's* life in the British Dental Association!
> > Monday, June 21, 1999 > > By DICK FEAGLER
TOM: Now *there's* a name that conjures up images of Dana Carvey's "Effeminate Heterosexual"...
> THE PLAIN DEALER
CROW: Does that mean he's playing with a blank deck?
TOM: (singing as Kenny Rogers) You got t' know when to hold up; know when t' fold up...
> > My old alma mater, the United States Army, has officially sanctioned > witchcraft. With Army approval, a coven of witches is doing its thing > at Fort Hood, Texas.
MIKE: (in a blase, matter-of-fact tone) Turning princes into frogs, poisoning apples, having houses fall on them... The usual.
> > The Army gave them a grassy field to hop around in, and even lent them > a confused chaplain.
TOM: (as Dick Feagler) And by "confused" I mean that he went along with respecting the theological needs of the Wiccan soldiers without condemning them.
> > This is what we in the non-witch community call diversity run amok.
CROW: We *tried* calling it "being accommodating" but it sounded too alien...
> > The army was always big on diversity. Now it has become madly big on > it.
TOM: Yeah, I'm sure the number of Blacks serving alongside Whites in 1876 was stunning!
> Future war movies will certainly insert a witch into the rich, > diverse mixture of the Hollywood rifle platoon.
CROW: Uhhh... Yeah? And...?
MIKE: I think he's implying that this would be a *bad* thing, Crow.
TOM: Does this mean Spielberg will produce "Saving Private Baba-Yaga"?
> > As movie-house warriors know, the Hollywood rifle platoon always > contained a diversity stew fresh from the ovens of Central Casting.
CROW: (snickering) Nothin' says lovin' like somethin' from th' Coven...
(TOM and MIKE groan)
TOM: Geez, Crow! Can you *please* think of some original material?
MIKE: Yeah Crow, that one's so old my *Great-Great-Grandfather* used to threaten me with it as pun-ishment.
TOM: (turning to MIKE) You can be replaced, you know...
MIKE: (chuckling) Sorry, sorry...
> For example, there was always a guy from Brooklyn who wanted to know > how the Dodgers were doing.
CROW: But his commanding officer was a Cubs fan and had him shot for insubordination...
> > When he died on screen, oozing ketchup blood,
CROW: ...You want fries with that?
> his dying words were > about "da bums."
TOM: Emmet Kelly and Boxcar Willy?
> > "Did da bums beat da Yankees?" he would ask with his last breath.
CROW: And he'd be answered, "'Fraid not; sorry... Uh, now about that five bucks you owe me?"
> "Five to four with a home run by Snider in the ninth," his buddy would > tell him. And then he could die blissfully.
TOM: Why would his buddy die? He wasn't the one shot.
MIKE: Well, I dunno Tom, but I don't think anyone can die blissfully on a battlefield.
> > Then there was the Southerner who played the harmonica.
MIKE: The Scotsman playing bagpipes was just never as popular until Mel Gibson came along.
> He was an > essential part of Hollywood diversity too. He was a crack shot and he > usually picked off two or three hundred Germans before a Hollywood > bullet pierced a vital organ in the last reel.
TOM: (aghast) My Cassio! Oh, what did it ever do *you*?!!
> > "Tell Bobby Jo I died game," he would say.
MIKE: (in a falsetto as "Bobby Jo") Where's mah beloved, harmonica-playin' crack-shot?
CROW: (gravely) Well, Bobby Jo, let's just say he ain't got game no more...
> "And tell her to say > good-bye to Ol' Blue for me." Ol' Blue was a coon dawg and a damn good > one.
MIKE: (sobbing tearfully) Old Blue?!! Noooooooo!!!
TOM: Doesn't quite have the same ring as "Old Yeller", does it?
> > After the Army desegregated, it became mandatory to have a black guy > in every Hollywood rifle platoon.
CROW: Further proof for the Republicans that Affirmative Action must be stopped at all costs!
> This insertion, in the name of > diversity, used to infuriate my black friend, Stanley.
TOM: (insistently) See? I'm not intolerant! I know a black person named Stanley!
MIKE: And you simply *have* to meet my friend the Jew, Michael! Oy!
CROW: But I *still* wouldn't befriend a French person... Whatta ya think I am? Stupid?
MIKE: (sighing and hanging his head) Crow, Crow, Crow... What am I going to do with you?
CROW: Give me a macaroon?
> > "The black guy always dies saving the white guy," he complained. "Why > isn't it ever the other way around?
TOM: (in his William F. Buckley voice) Well, you see, ah, Hollywood knows a good formula when it sees one. By painting the stereotypical quote-unquote African-American as the suffering hero, they feel they can cash in more readily on the emotions of the audience.
MIKE: Well, that may be true Tom, but the author's friend *does* have a point here... It *is* getting a trifle old.
TOM: Well, so the article makes one decent observation... Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
> The Southerner with the coon dawg > hates the black guy, and then the black guy dies going out to save > him.
CROW: But not before trying to fix him a pot of jambalaya, a few corn fritters and some crawdaddy gumbo t' wash it all down...
> Every time I see a black guy in a Hollywood rifle platoon, I want > to yell 'Hey, man. Be careful! You're gonna get shot saving some > cracker!"
MIKE: Well, it'd better be a Ritz; because no Saltine is worth dying for...
> > The fellow who always survived was the white, Anglo-Saxon, Dana > Andrews type. He spoke with no accent, owned no hound dawgs and played > no musical instrument.
TOM: (in a 1950's announcer's voice) He was a manly-man! A doughy man! A man who could knock back three martinis in one sitting while chewing the gristle off his 24 ounce porterhouse steak!
> But he was always around in the end, walking > through the carnage, to comment on the noble futility of it all. >
CROW: (as Ted Theodore Logan in angst-mode) Whoa... Dude!
> Now that the Army has recognized witches, a witch will certainly have > to join the Hollywood rifle platoon:
TOM: And I think it might go, something ... like ... this...
> > "Mighty quiet out there, Morlock." > > "Too quiet." > > "Whatcha thinkin' about, Morlock?"
CROW: Oh, I dunno... Not gettin' killed, trying to get home in one piece, why on Earth Feagler would name me "Morlock"...
TOM: He was probably up late reading Wells' "Time Machine" again.
> > "Oh, I was just thinking about home. I was thinking about a night with > no moon when we would strip buck naked and jump around the campfire > and the high priestess would take a big knife and sacrifice a goat."
MIKE: (wincing) Yow!
TOM/CROW: Yeesh...!
TOM: Whoa, so *that's* what evaporating journalistic integrity looks like!
MIKE: Y'know, I'd always wondered...
CROW: Gee, thanks for giving us *that* out-of-date image, Dick. Sheesh!
> > "Yeah, I know what you mean." > > "You do?"
TOM: Given that the author of this article has imbued his fictional Hollywood cast with the perspectives and knowledge of several hundred years of anti-Witch propaganda, I kinda doubt Morlock's buddy knows all that much.
> > "Yeah, I know what you mean in a diverse sense. In my case it was > walking down to the river with my girl and putting my arm around her
CROW: ...unbuttoning her white, anglo-saxon blouse; kissing her Christian lips; fondling her non-Wiccan-tainted br...
MIKE: (interrupting and grabbing CROW's beak) I think that's enough of that...
> waist and listening to the crickets sing. But it's all the same thing, > diversity-speaking." > > "That's right. Hot, throbbing goat's blood or a stroll by the river.
TOM: "Throbbing blood?"
CROW: (turning to his left) Y'know Mike, it strikes me that Dick would also have been one of those people who just wouldn't have gotten what those Women's Suffrage chicks were talkin' about in the 1920's...
TOM: ...Or why Jews would form an Anti-Defamation League...
MIKE: Well guys, there's always at least one person in every generation who sees subtle changes as unnecessary. I mean even *after* that meteor hit the Earth 65 million years ago there were probably still a few carnivores running about saying "Grow smaller and smarter? What for?"
> Your thing and my thing. That's what we're fighting for. So each of us > can do his own thing." > > "Right, Morlock."
TOM: Feagler's sarcasm aside, I thought that's what we *were* fighting for...
> > I haven't worked out who gets killed in this script yet.
CROW: But I have figured out that the butler did it...
TOM: Alfred Pennyworth?!! Noooo!
> My last > mandatory class in diversity training didn't include witches. The Army > is way ahead of us.
MIKE: Y'know, where respect and tolerance are concerned, a Neanderthal is probably way ahead of him...
> Apparently when they said "be all that you can > be," they weren't kidding. > > But knowing how these things work, I guess the politically correct > sympathies are supposed to be on the side of the witches.
TOM: It's always interesting to see people use the specter of out-of-control political correctness to mask the simple fact that they just don't want to have to tolerate their fellow man...
> In the world > of diversity, we are supposed to embrace the kooks and crazies and > pretend we think they are neither.
CROW: Ok, so a follower of a man who got nailed to a tree and then got up and walked around a few days later isn't as crazy as Goddess worshipers who treat nature as a part of themselves?
> > Knowing the Army's love for field manuals, I expect that soon there > will be a buff-covered book titled "FM 22-666, Witches Drill and > Ceremonies."
TOM: (dryly) "FM 22-*666*" ... how original...
MIKE: (sighing) Y'know, the more he goes on with this whole Satanistic Witches thing, the more I'm realizing he needs to actually *meet* one or two of these people.
> This will contain commands such as, "Right > Shouldaaa-Broom!" and "Poooo-oort, Broom!"
CROW: "Feagler's butt ... Broom!"
MIKE: (standing up and grabbing CROW's beak again) All-right, young man... I think you've earned a "time-out"...
(MIKE stands up and pulls CROW after him.)
CROW: (from off-camera) Awww, c'mon Mike! I was only kidding!
TOM: (shouting after them) Hey! No fair! Mike! I don't wanna watch this alone!
> > Also on the Army's list for potential approval is the Church of Satan. > News accounts say ...
MIKE: (from off-camera) Just hang in there, Tom... It won't be much longer!
TOM: (nervously) But ... but he's talking about the Church of Satan now!
(We hear CROW's muffled yelps)
MIKE: Keep goin' Tom; I'm scrubbing Crow's mouth out with soap!
> > ...I don't know if I can continue this column. It's beginning to read > like a newsletter in a mental ward.
TOM: (looking back at the screen) Whoa... Remember Dick: you said it ... not me. (he looks off to the right) Uh, Mike? Need any help there?
MIKE: (off-camera and over CROW's continued muffled yelps) No, just stay there and finish the article!
> > Once, a columnist could make a living by warning that the country was > going to hell.
TOM: Ah yes, the glory days of the McCarthy Era...
> Now, that ain't news. A little sanity would be news. > But where do you go to find it?
TOM: Well, certainly not here. (TOM starts bobbing his way to the right)
(MIKE sticks his head in and looks at the screen.)
MIKE: Oh... Did I miss the end?
TOM: Yeah, well, you weren't missing much.
(MIKE picks up TOM and departs the theater)
> >©1999 THE PLAIN DEALER. >
TOM: (off-camera) So, how's Crow?
MIKE: (off-camera) Oh, he's fine.
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(SOL Interior. CROW is dressed in a Marine's uniform but is wearing a Witches' hat and has a broom instead of a cutlass at his side. TOM and MIKE enter from stage-left.)
MIKE: (upon seeing CROW) Uh, Crow... Why're you dressed like that?
CROW: Ahem... Well, seeing as you feel it's your duty to punish me with impunity, I decided to take my defense into my own hands and become a military Witch!
TOM: Hunh?
CROW: (to TOM) Oh, bite me, Servo... (to MIKE) Yep, you'd better watch your step when you think of punishing me again Mike, or I'll just turn you into a newt or something!
MIKE: ...a newt...
CROW: Yep! Well, sort of... (he sighs) You see, Wiccans apparently have this thing called the Three-Fold Law. Whatever I do comes back onto *me* three times over...
TOM: So what you're saying is that...
CROW: (interrupting) Oh, this is just a temporary set-back! As soon as I find a loophole in this Law, you can bet Mike'll be looking up at me from a Newt's-eye perspective!
MIKE: (chuckling) Well, that's all fine and good Crow, but how about this... (he pulls out a box of macaroons from behind his back) Washing out your mouth with soap *was* a bit harsh. I'm sorry.
TOM: Wow!
CROW: Hey! Cool!
MIKE: (after opening the box and putting a macaroon down next to CROW) So, all better?
CROW: You bet! (he dives on the macaroon as the Mad's lights flash) Heck, I wasn't serious about turning you into a newt anyway...
TOM: (in a quiet voice) ...Hey, I want a macaroon too...
MIKE (pushing the box to TOM and answering CROW) Oh?
CROW: Yeah, you'd make a much better chihuahua.
(MIKE taps the lights and chuckles.)
MIKE: Whatever you say, Crow...
(Castle. A wrestling ring has been set up in the middle of the room with MOTHER_N and PEARL fighting it out. BOBO is dressed in a referee's shirt and is officiating. OBSERVER is standing in the foreground, his brain on the counter next to him.)
OBSERVER: Well Mike, it seems that things have gone South here rather quickly...
MOTHER_N: Oh, think you can power-bomb the Mistress of the Elements, do you? Well try *this* on for size! (she lunges across the ring to grapple with PEARL.)
PEARL: Bring it on, tree-hugger!
BOBO: Come on, break it up... We want to see a fight, not a slow-dance!
OBSERVER: (shaking his head solemnly) Everything was going just splendidly until Pearl told Mother N about what a Chicago chemist had told her regarding the filling of Fig Newtons. Ever since then, she's been ... well, like a raging river!
PEARL: Enough with the metaphors Brain Guy, get her offa me!
MOTHER_N: Oh, gotta get your friends to help you, eh? Who's next? Hollywood Hogan? Rick Flair?
PEARL: (breaking the hold and tossing MOTHER_N back on her rear) Who needs those old farts? How about a chair?!! Bobo!
(BOBO quickly reaches over the side of the ring's ropes and pulls up a folding chair, handing it to PEARL.)
PEARL: There can be only one!
(PEARL swings the chair around, trying to hit MOTHER_N. Instead, she loses her grip and it flies off and knocks OBSERVER's brain off the counter with a crash. OBSERVER yowls in pain and crumples in a heap on the floor. The screen goes black.)
-----x-----
PEARL: (from off-camera) Ooops.
CREDITS:
Mystery Science Theater 3000 was created by Joel Hodgson.
This MiSTing is the mental work and suffering of David J Rust.
Chemist-from-Chicago ... Dr. Sam.
Dr. Forrester, Pearl Forrester, Brain Guy, The Observer, Professor Bobo, TV's Frank, Joel Robinson, Mike Nelson, Crow T. Robot, Tom Servo, Gypsy, Cambot, Magic Voice, Deep 13, the Satellite of Love and other specific contents are copyright (c) 1999 (currently) of Best Brains, Incorporated and is used without permission as an act of parody. All rights reserved.
Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks held by Best Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred.
(Keep Circulating The Tapes)
> "That's right. Hot, throbbing goat's blood or a stroll by the river.