MISTING - "Tommy" by Jackson Mileur [PROSE, MEMIST] MiSTed by RiverCityRandom and Typewriter Monkey MiSTer's Note: Okay, so this is my first MiSTing, based off a horrible English 1A essay I wrote when I was a college freshman oh so many years ago. I find it's a lot easier to MiST your own work because you don't have to worry about offending the author :) I got help on several riffs from my sister, Typewriter Monkey, who under the name Angeltenshi riffed the "Sailor Trek" series once featured on Shinji's Vault. I appreciate any and all feedback, so please send any comments, criticism, death threats or Meta-MSTing dibs to rivercityrandom@hotpop.com. Thanks! --River City Random (aka Jackson Mileur)) February 19, 2003 Other MiSter's Note: Hi. if you read Angeltenshi's Sailor Trek MSTing, I'm sorry I didn't finish. If not... Hi. *waves* Enjoy. If you laughed really hard, I wrote those lines. ^_~ You know the drill, but it bears repeating... The Essay is RCR's and he's more than welcome to it. The MST3k gang belongs to Best Brains, so there. SWF, 5'2" brown/blue seeks non-related friend for MSTing and Long walks on the beach. Too bad she's 100 miles away from the nearest body of water. No Robots need apply. Ok, _Some_ robots. ~~Typewriter Monkey (esperlydia@hotmail.com) February 19, 2003 [Mystery Science Theater 3000 season 9 opening credits] [SOL Bridge. Tom is wearing a sweatband over his dome, and Crow is wearing a Timberland sweatshirt.] Crow: [bouncing up and down as if he is jogging in place] C'mon Servo! Feel the BURN! No pain, no gain! Tom: [hoverskirt firmly planted on the saddle of an exercise bike, his springy arms attached to the handlebars] I'm trying, but I can't seem to figure out how to make the pedals go. Crow: Hmmm... [looks at Tom, glancing down at the pedals where Tom's nonexistant legs should be] Maybe you need to adjust the tension controls? [Mike wanders in, stage right. He is bleary-eyed and bent over as if he has just woken up.] Mike: Huh? What's all the noise about? What did you wake me up for at this ungodly hour of the morning? Tom: Good morning Mike! Ready for your ten-K run around the track? Crow: Yep, nothing better than prolongued strenuous athletic activity to start the day off right! Tom: Indeed... getting up with the sun, eating a natural diet, being out in nature, pushing our bodies to the limit--that's what life is all about! [starts bouncing up and down on one of the bike's pedals] Crow: And what's more, we're fighting off heart disease, building muscle tone, and being good to the environment, too! Mike: [still groggy] Uh... what time is it? Tom: It's 6:53 am, Mike! We've been up for hours, hitting the trails, and we've just come back for our mid-morning calisthenics session! Mike: What are you talking about? We're on a satellite. There *are* no outdoors. And what's more, you can't gain muscle tone or fight heart disease--you're robots! Tom: What? [slams down too hard on the pedal, causing the pedal to swing around and launch him in the air] Aaaaaahhh! Crow: Oh, Mike, you're such a pessimist! With you it's "can't" this and "half- empty" that. Always content to sit at home and get fat when you could be living life to the EXTREME! Mike: [nonplussed] You guys fell asleep watching OLN, didn't you? Tom: [V.O.] Hey, could someone get me down from here? [Mike and Crow look up] Oh hey, these rafters would make a *great* climbing wall! Mike: But Servo, your arms don't... [Arms stuck to the ceiling, Tom falls onstage] Tom: Aaaaugh! [Tom's springs shoot him up again] Mike: [slumps down in a catatonic stupor, shaking his head] Uhhhh..... we'll be-- Tom: Mommmmmeeeee! [bobs down again] Mike: ... right back. [Commercials: When is a diet pill worth $153 dollars a bottle? When you've got more money than good sense... Talk to a debt consolidation counselor today, so we can lower your monthly payments, thus weedling even *more* interest out of you! ... Tonight on SCI-FI: SEX!--I mean LEXX! And so much more...] [We're back. Mike is more awake. He clutches a cup of coffee.] Tom: [dragging his stretched-out arms around] Thanks for getting me down, Mike. Mike: No problem, pal. I feel much more awake now that I've had some coffee. Tom: You mean, that wholesome, all-natural health coffee me and Crow whipped up? Mike: I was kind of wondering about the gritty texture. What's in it? Tom: Oh, the usual--corn, green peppers, chicken, *yawn* onions, ground up ram chips, motor oil, sawdust, a couple pairs of underwear... Mike: Uhhhhhhrrhgg... [looks at the "coffee" sickeningly, then takes another swig] Well, at least it beats Maxwell House... Hey, where's Crow? [Crow walks in. He appears to have gained some weight. Actually, he's just wearing a gold-painted trash bag filled with foam peanuts, but hey, it's a low budget show, ok?] Crow: Look at me, Mike! I miss *half* of my exercise session and now I look like *this!* Mike: Well, that just means there's more of you to love, Crow. [Mads light blinks] Oh hey, another early riser. Couldn't sleep either, Pearl? [A plain-looking office. Bookshelves line the walls. Pearl is sitting behind the desk, with a stack of papers in her hand.] Pearl: Oh hey, Mike, Tom, beach ball. I just wanted to tell you I landed a sweet new job as a freshman English teacher at the local junior college. From here I can control the young writing minds of America! I've been feeding them a straight diet of nothing but the worst Ratliffs, Gontermans, Dr. Thinkers... pretty soon I will have them writing awful fanfics, embarassing self-insertions, convoluted crossovers, raving conspiratorial rants... and then I, Pearl Forrester, will RULE THE WORLD! [SOL Bridge] Mike: Well, that's all fine and good, but doesn't a literature professor have to use actual *literature* in the curriculum? [Professor's Office of Doom] Pearl: That's the easy part, Mike, it's called *diversity*. Schools nowadays are more worried about not offending anybody than actually teaching students, so I can sneak in any crap I want into the classroom and they can't say a thing! Plus, some of these fanfic writers are so far from the mainstream, they might as well represent a different culture... hehehe... Anyway, I've started the kiddies writing essays about *themselves*... that should start them on the long road to that special kind of self-absorbtion and completely clueless attitude that separates the true fanfic masters from ... writers of great literature, or something. My TAs are grading the papers now. [The camera pans to a small table, where Bobo and Observer are sitting. The table is covered with stacks of papers reaching to the roof.] Observer: [rifling through an essay, grumbling] What is this? A past participle where a subjunctive gerund should be? Where did this individual learn to conjugate, for the sake of Pete? Don't the English teachers even teach English anymore? Bobo: [picks up an essay] Hoho, what's this? AAAAAHHHHHH!!!! [runs to a corner, shaking wildly] Pearl: [looks up] Hello, what have we here? [picks up Bobo's essay] Yes... yes... this is *perfect*... just the right mix of pretentiousness and vanity... coupled with an intense sense of sexual confusion and an inappropriately morbid sense of humor... [looks at Mike and the bots] Well, I was going to send you the latest Ratliff, but I think this will do much better. It's a tragic tale of love I like to call "Tommy", by one of my A+ students of evil. I'll expect a full draft revision and peer review, of course... [SOL Bridge] ALL: WE'VE GOT ENGLISH ESSAY SIGN!!! [Mike picks up Tom and scrambles into the theater] Crow: *huff, pant* Hey... wait up... *huff, wheeze* I'm not as *choke* spry as I used to be... *plop* [6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...] [THEATER. Tom and Mike take their usual spots.] > Final Draft—Essay 2 Tom: Sylvester Stallone returns as an English teacher gone wrong in the action sequel "Final Draft: Essay 2!" [Crow waltzes in, back to his normal svelte self.] Mike: Hey, Crow, where'd all the weight go? Crow: Eh, I did a couple jumping jacks coming into the theater. I have a high metabolism, after all. > Jackson Mileur Bots: *screaming* No!!!! NO!!! Not him!!! Anything but him!! AAAAAHHH! Mike: What are you two yelling about? You've never even heard of this guy. Tom: Just setting the mood, Mike. > English 1A Sec. 12 Crow: Can I Section 12 my way out of this story, Mike? Mike: I think that's Section 8, Crow, and no you can't. You'd have to be crazy. Crow: Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a roo-- Mike: *clamps Crow's mouth shut, looming over him in frustration* What did I tell you about this the first 99 times??? Crow: *slumps in his chair* I'll be good... > October 28, 1996 Mike: A day which shall live in infamy! > Tommy Tom: Don't call me that! > In ninth grade I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. Crow: I had to read this story. > I was lonely, and very depressed. Mike: and this had nothing to do with the fact I'm a teenager. >I felt as though no one cared about > me—not even my parents. I was on the verge of suicide—until I met Tom. Mike and Crow: *look at Tom threateningly* Tom: Hey! Don't blame this on me! > > One day, my P.E. class was engaged Crow: To a P.E class in Korea in a mass Moonie wedding. >in the game of basketball. Crow: Oh. Tom: To dribble and to pass, to shoot and to score, till halftime do you part. Mike: But what would the children look like? > We had a substitute teacher, Tom: We've secretly replaced their teacher with Folger's Crystals. Let's see if anyone notices. > who just got the balls out for us Tom and Mike: *gasps* WHAAA? Crow: Say what you want about the teacher, he at least had-- Mike: Crow! Crow: --an easy job that day. > and basically left us to our own devices. I was sitting on the sidelines, > bemoaning the fact that no one wanted me on their team. Tom: With much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I expect. > Overwhelmed by feelings of rejection and sadness, I started crying. Mike: The Home-ec class next door was cutting onions. > Tears washed down my face as I sunk lower and lower into the pits of > despair. Crow: [Monty Python guy] Hey look! it's the old man fron scene 35! > Then a warm, gentle hand rested on my shoulder Tom: Ah, thank you, Thing! > as a voice cried out, Mike: Take him to Pilate! Tom: Stop talking, Johnny Longbow! Crow: [Columbo] Just one more question... >"Are you okay?" Mike: [Jackson] Scroll up, you moron, and tell me what *you* think! Tom: The self-help book of the Nineties: "Are You Okay? Am I Okay?" > I looked up. I saw a boy, deeply tanned and fairly handsome, > looking down at me with two large, inquisitive amber-colored eyes. Tom: He was too beautiful to be human... I had to kill him. Crow: Tell me a girl wrote this! Tell me! > Shocked and afraid, I turned back my head. Crow: And vomited all over his shoes. > "What’s the matter?" He slid to my left Tom: [Tommy] AAAAAAUGH!!! *crashes into wall* Mike: That'll teach him to not wear street shoes on the gym floor. > and sat down. "You look like you’ve lost your best friend or something." Crow: [Jackson] I am my best friend... and I hate myself!!! > "Uh... uh..." I stammered, trying to hold back the tears. > "I—well—you wouldn’t understand..." > > "Try me." Tom: I've got a ninety-day warranty and a full money-back guarantee. > He smiled, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. > > "Well—It’s just that—oh, I don’t know!" I tried to tell him, > but the words held back, like refuse in a backed-up drain. Mike: Obviously the author truly values his own work. Crow: With beautiful imagery like *that*, how could he not? > "The guys—they—they didn’t—nobody wanted me on their team—said I was no > good..." Mike: [Jackson] I'm so nerdy, they kicked me out of glee club! Crow: [Jackson] The D & D group won't even return my calls! Tom: [Jackson] At least I've got my Star Trek novels... *pets a model of the Enterprise* My precious... > "What? Those guys sure are jerks, aren’t they? Why don’t you > play with us?" Mike: Golly gee, it will sure be swell! > He gestured towards a group of boys standing on one of > the basketball courts. > > "Well—I’d like to—but..." I completely broke down. "I’d be—no > help--at all! I can’t—don’t know—how to--shoot the ball!" Tom: Well, what kind of gun are you using? > "Well, I can help you there," said he. "I’ll show you how to > shoot like I do. Trust me—I’m on the basketball team." Tom: [Darth Vader] Join me. It is your destiny. > "Eh...why not?" All that crying had made me tired, but I dared > not refuse him. He helped me up to a standing position. Mike: This sentence brought to you by the Superflous Foundation. > "Your name’s Jack, right? I saw you around church. My name’s > Tom. Nice to meet you." He shook my hand. Crow: [Jackson] *gasp* He touched me! > Ah, so that’s where I remember him from! At the behest of two > young men in suits, ties, and black name badges, Tom: Nazis? > my family had decided to go to their church after a long period of > religious inactivity. I saw Tom around church, but I was too shy to say > hello. Mike: Being that he was so... pretty... and all... > He took me aside to the court where his friends were. Tom said > that they were from his church, too. He introduced me to each of them, Tom: [Jackson] But I'm too wrapped up in myself to tell you their names. Crow: Just be grateful this wasn't a *Ratliff* introduction scene! > then he showed me how to shoot, by putting the shooting hand under the Tom: ...pillow, to muffle the shot! > ball and using the other hand as balance, tossing it high and slow. He > gestured for me to take a shot. After a few tries, I made a shot that > got into the basket! "Wow, great shot, Jack!" Crow: [Tom] If we were playing soccer...! > he exclaimed, patting me on the back. Mike: [Jackson] I was so elated I did not notice he put a "Kick Me" sign back there. > His friends cheered. Then we played a game of basketball. No one had actually > wanted me on their team before. Tom: Could the fact that you do nothing but moan and cry and whimper have anything to do with it? > But Tom chose me first. I felt so happy to actually have a friend. Mike: [Jackson] Too bad only I could see him. > Time passed, and I started seeing more of Tom. Crow: [Jackson] I stalked him secretly, watching him as he slept. > He guided me around church, telling me where I was supposed to be and what I was > supposed to do. Tom: [Jackson] Teaching me all the secret passwords... Mike: [Tom] No no no! Here, _this_ is how you sacrifice the goat! > He introduced me to a lot of people who were also very > friendly, Crow: [church person] Have some delicious Kool-Aid! > including his father, Bishop Warner. All: HELLOOOOOOO NURSE! Mike: He was later excommunicated for declaring Jesus his "special friend" and baptizing people with a bottle of seltzer water. Tom: [parishioner] When he read from the Wheel of Morality during his sermon, we knew it was time for him to go. > He shared with me his testimony of what he believed in. Crow: [child's voice] i'd like to bear my testimony i know the church is true i love my mommy and daddy in the name of jesus christ amen. Tom: *bursts into tears* That's so beautiful! > He discussed with me the many different points of Church doctrine. Mike: I'm sorry, could you explain again why an all-merciful and benevolent god allows suffering into the world? Crow: Yeah, and could you run by me the part in the Bible where it says Harry Potter and Pokemon are tools of Satan? Tom: And how *exactly* did Samson kill 10,000 Philistines with the jawbone of an ass? Wouldn't they wise up after he killed the first thousand or so and rework their battle strategy just a tad? And how did the jawbone's structural integrity hold after repeated beatings? Come on, inquiring minds want to know! > He even gave a speech when I got baptized. Mike: [Jackson] Of course I couldn't hear it, because I was under water at the time. > Tom was a real role model in every sense of the word. He was > the incarnate form of everything I wished to be. Crow: He was a girl? > He was highly active > in sports. In football, basketball, or baseball (you could play all > three in a school as small as mine) he always excelled, his muscular > yet graceful form Tom: What is this kid, a gazelle? > never failing to hit the home run, score the > touchdown, or shoot the 3-pointer from the end zone. Crow: [Jackson] In writing, I always excelled, never failing to mix my sports metaphors. > He held himself in a confident manner--no drooping down or shying away, like me. Mike: His finishing school posture lessons finally paid off. > He was popular among everyone, especially the ladies. He knew exactly how > to turn Tom: [Jackson] Me on. > them on. Tom: [Jackson] Oh of course... that's what I meant to say... oh, silly me... is it hot in here or is it just--aaaaaaahhh!!! *runs off* > He never lost his temper, even when things were at > their worst. Mike: Of course, today we'd call that *emotionally stunted*... Tom: [Michael Palin] Help, Help! I'm being Repressed! > He never swore or used foul language. He was always > helpful and kind. I know that he was always there when I needed him. > In a platonic, non-homosexual way, I loved Tom. Crow: *voice dripping with sarcasm* And I can't emphasize "non-homosexual" enough... (Bots chuckle) Mike: Now, now guys... don't laugh. Literature is replete of examples of the deep and completely non-sexual friendship that only two men can share. Well, what about David and Jonathan? Bots: *snicker* Mike: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson? *trying to have himself heard through the bots' roaring guffaws* Um, Kirk and Spock? Frodo and Sam? Goofus and Gallant? Tom: *puts arm around Mike's shoulder* Mike, I think it's time we had a talk. Mike: *slumps in his chair* I give up. *sigh* > One night, I felt this feeling of love and admiration very > grandly. Tom: *bursts into song* It's a graaaaaand night! for singing.... > Tom was like a god to me, almost. Mike: [Jackson] So I built an altar to him in my basement. Crow: [Jackson] I did get a little weirded out, though, when I started seeing his face on office buildings and garage doors... > I had to let him know how much of a difference he had made in my life. > However, I couldn’t tell him straight out. I would choke on the words again. Tom: Autopsies later revealed a wad of letters stuck in his trachea. > I decided to write him a letter and tell him how I felt. > "Dear Tom..." I began. My emotions, already on overdrive, > spilled out on the paper, gushing from my hand like blood from a > punctured artery. All: EWWWWWWW! Mike: Hey, kid, why don't you leave the metaphors to the professionals? I don't think I can... *stomach* too many more of these. > I told him everything I thought him to be. It was > quite a long letter when I finished. I thought that a letter of this > magnitude should be delivered in person. The next day was Sunday, so I Crow: Skipped church and watched the Super Bowl instead. Tom: But only for the commercials. > could give it to him at church. So I folded my letter into a little > square and stuck it in my pocket. > After sacrament meeting, he came up to me and said hello. "Hi, > Tom!" I said. "Hey, listen—I have something for you." Crow: [Mae West] Is that a sappy gushy love letter in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? > "Really? What?" > I handed him my folded-up piece of paper. "You don’t have to > read it now if you don’t want." > "Gee, thanks, Jack." He put it in his pocket. "Uh, by the > way, Jack, could you clean up the chapel for me? Tom: She got a little dirty when Spock threw the soup at her. > It’s my turn to do it, but I’m kind of busy somewhere else." Crow: [Tom] Oh, and I'm sleeping with your girlfriend, is that ok? > "Would I?" I jumped at the chance at helping my friend. Tom: [Tom] Hey wait, you didn't ask me 'how high' yet! Mike: [Jackson] *bang, crash* So _that's_ what the second floor looks like... > "Okay!" > "Thanks, Jack; you’re a lifesaver." Crow: [Jack] So why don't you put me in your-- Mike: *holding Crow's mouth shut* [Darth Vader] Don't make me destroy you. > I picked up the trash in the chapel as quickly as I could, and > then I thought that the chapel could use a good sweeping. I went to > the janitorial closet down the hall to grab the broom. As I passed > through the hall, I could hear voices coming out of a classroom. Tom: [Jackson] 'If you build it, he will come?' What the hell is that supposed to mean? > "You are the best friend I have ever had," I heard someone say > in an uproarious, mocking tone. "You are the nicest person I have > ever had the pleasure of knowing! Ha ha ha!" Mike: [Tom] Ha ha ha ha ha... he thinks I'm a nice guy... what a laugh riot! > Wait a minute there! That sounds like my letter! > > "You are the sunshine in my rainy day! Tom: [Emma Bunton] It makes my soul drip, drip, drip away... Crow: Oh, just like this story does... > I never feel complete without you!" > > Huh? What’s going on here? Tom: That's what *we'd* like to know. > As this guy read off my heart and > soul, I wondered where was Tom to permit this to happen. > > My question was answered. Mike: Oh, so that's how many angels can dance on the head of a pin! Crow: Oh, so that's why hot dogs come in packages of ten and hot dog buns come in packages of eight! Tom: Oh, so that's how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop! > "And it gets better," Tom said. "Go down to the last paragraph." Crow: Flip to the *lemon scene*... heh heh... > "Because of you, I have had the strength to keep on going. I > love you!" Tom’s buddy sounded shocked. "Ooooooh, Tommy!" Tom: [Tom's friend] Oooooh, you have a girlfriend! Um, this was from a... girl, right? > I couldn’t believe my ears. After all the nice things he’s > done— Mike: [Jackson] Like making me do his chores and stuff... > how could he stab me in the back like this? I threw down the broom > and ran home crying. Crow: Unfortunately, home was twelve miles away. > The next day, I did my best to avoid Tom. The very sight of > him was like pouring salt on my open, festering wounds. (All gulp disgustedly) Tom: Man, this kid has missed his calling... he should be a... a... greeting card writer, or something... Crow: Yeah, if you're selling to the Addams Family. > I managed to elude his detection for most of the day, Mike: [Jackson] Wearing my tinfoil beanie to block his mind rays. > until the end of school. On the bus, he came and sat down right beside me. > > "Hey, Jack, what happened?" he said. "I thought we were going > to play some basketball at lunch today." > > "You read my letter out loud," I mumbled sullenly. Mike: [Jackson] How dare you read letters addressed to you! > "Huh? Oh. Jack, about your letter..." Tom: [Tom] Tell me you were high when you wrote this. Or at least drunk? Please? > "What are you going to say about it now?" I yelled, unable to > control my rage. "That I’m nuts, that I’m a faggot? Crow: *snickers* You said it, not me. > Or maybe you’re > going to read it in front of the whole school this time?" > The bus fell strangely silent. I could feel heads turning > around. I shrunk back. Tom: To a size five after taking some strange diet pills. Crow: I was sure they would work! They cost $153 a bottle! > "Jack, well..." Tom scratched his head, running his fingers > through his wavy brown hair. "Oh. About yesterday... Well, it’s just > that I had trouble understanding what you were saying in the letter..." Mike: [yokel] 'Cause it had all these "words" and stuff... > "Uh-huh." I was not convinced. > "Uh...Oh, Jack, those were the nicest things that anyone’s ever > said to me!" Crow: [Tom] Let's get married! > Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He was crying! My > anger disappeared. Then, almost instinctively, we met in a warm > embrace, squeezing each other for what seemed like a long time, Tom: ...until we asphyxiated each other, the two of us falling dead in each other's arms... Mike: That's kind of dark, Tom. Tom: *smiles* Why, thank you, Mike! I do try. > but was really only a few seconds. However, noticing the crowd of eyes that > had gathered around us, we quickly separated. Mike: Hey, who summoned all these Beholders in here? > Regaining his composure, Tom continued. "But, Jack... I’m no > god. There’s only one God in this world, and I’m not him." Crow: Aerosmith is God! Didn't you know that? > "That’s okay," I said. "You don’t have to be a god. Just a friend. Mike: [Jackson] I guess you won't be helping me with my "turning water into wine" science project, will you? Tom: *livid* So he writes him a lovey-dovey letter, they have a big emotional embrace, and then he "just friends" him? What the hell? I thought only immature teenage girls... Crow: The author *is* a teenage girl, Servo. She has to be... It's the only possible explanation. > So, Tom, are you up for some hoops tomorrow?" > > "Wouldn’t miss it for the world." Tom: I don't shoot to *miss*... guwahahahaha! > THE END Mike: Let's get out of here, you guys. *picks up Tom and they leave the theater* [1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...] [SOL Bridge. Tom and Crow are off to stage right, holding papers in their hands. Mike walks in.] Mike: Hey, fellas, what'cha up to? Tom: Well, Mike, we got so inspired by plucky young letter-writing hero in the story that we've decided to write love letters--to *each other!* Crow: In a completely platonic, non-homosexual, just friends, nothing-even-barely- resembling-feelings-of-any-sort kind of way, of course. Mike: *chuckling* Of course. Tom: Crow, you are like a god to me. I insist that you start first. Crow: Well, ok. "Dear Servo... I think you're pretty keen, for a self-absorbed, squat fire hydrant at any rate. You're the best friend that any robot could have, if they didn't care too much about your body odor and utter lack of good taste. In fact, I care for you so much, that if you were being torn apart by a pack of wild hyenas, I would tape your grisly death and sell it to Fox, so that everybody could know about you, my favorite spitoon in the whole wide world, and all-around perfect paperweight, Tom Servo. Yours Truly, Crow T. Robot." Tom: *sniff* Oh, Crow... That was so *beautiful*! I never knew you cared for me so... deeply!!! *squeak* I'd hug you if I had working arms... Crow: Uh, ooookay... I'm glad you, um, liked it... even if the overlying subtext was intended to... oh, never mind, what about your letter? Tom: Anything for you, pal! "Dear Crow... My admiration for you is like a ring of rusty barbed wire encircling my heart, bleeding crimson drops of love from my pulsating left ventricle. I cannot live without your presence, which thrills me and fills me like the smell of putrefying flesh, coming from a gangrenous, maggot-ridden corpse. When you are near me, I just come apart, much like the necrotic limbs of a pus-filled leper. Indeed, you are on me so deeply, you are like a case of genital--" Mike: Well, I think that's about enough of that... *nervous chuckle* Why don't we... uhm... see... what's going on down on the planet... how're your pen-powered protégés, Professor Pearl? [Back to the office, which is now packed up in boxes.] Pearl: Mike, it's horrible! The faculty kicked me out of school... something about my credentials, or something... Observer: This would have never happened if you hadn't gotten your English degree from "Crazy Eddie's College of Literature and Bait Shop," Pearl... Pearl: Oh, shut up, Brain-load! [Points to the huge stack of essays still on the table] But I still have *these!* So there will be many more experiments where this one came from! [SOL Bridge] Tom: Aaaugh... this situation is like a fetid mass of bloody-- Mike: *cradling Tom in his arms* Oh, Tom... I'm sure that whatever irreversable psychological damage the story gave you today will be all gone and forgotten by the next experiment... I promise. Tom: *sobs* You really mean it? Mike: Sure, that's how it works on television. *bang, crash* Ah, not again! damn pesky fourth wall... [The ex-Professor's Office of Doom] Pearl: Eh, we're out of here. Bobo, could you be a dear and fetch that stack of papers for me, please? Bobo: Would I? Okay! [Bobo picks up the immense stack of papers, then realizes the intense weight and height of the stack... and he collapses in a pile of essays.] Ohhh, Lawgiver... is this love, or just a fractured vertebra? [The End.] All MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 related characters, trademarks and related indicia copyright (c) Best Brains Inc. "Tommy" is copyright (c) 1996 by Jackson Mileur, and he shouldn't mind too much, because he's me. This MiSTing is copyright (c) 2003 River City Random and Typewriter Monkey. All rights reserved. Offer void in Utah. ----------------------------------------------- > My emotions, already on overdrive, spilled out on the paper, gushing from my hand > like blood from a punctured artery.