<<MSTing: "Windmills of the Gods" - Part I>>
DISCLAIMER
Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are copyright
1998 Best Brains, Inc. Windmills of the Gods copyright 1987 by Sheldon
Literary Trust. Edited for time and content. This publication is for
entertainment use only. You put it together. This publication is not meant
as a personal attack on Sidney Sheldon, nor is it meant to infringe on any
copyrights held by Best Brains, Sci Fi Channel, Sheldon Literary Trust, or
their employees. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball. Copyright 1998 Brendan
Herlihy.
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Our psychics are waiting to hear from you- now! Let's listen in.
[OPEN ON two female psychics seated on a couch, listening to the caller.
Card Psychic (Mary Jo) is dealing tarot cards onto a coffee table, while
Spoon Psychic (Bridget) is holding a spoon and staring at it, trying to
bend it with her will.]
CARD PSYCHIC: Your name is Bike?
MIKE (over phone): Mike, actually. Mike Nelson? But that's-
CARD PSYCHIC: And you're from Kashmir.
MIKE: Wisconsin! I was born and raised in Wisconsin!
CARD PSYCHIC: You worked... as a dancer, or in something dance-related,
such as music, professional representation, certified public accounting?
MIKE: Well, no, I was a temp at a cheese factory, but that's not why-
SPOON PSYCHIC: I sense you've been dislocated, you've fallen out of your
normal routine.
MIKE: I've been shot into space by evil scientists! I've been trying to
tell you that ever since I got on the line! I'm calling you from the
Satellite of Love, where they're holding me prisoner. If you could just
call the authorities-
CARD PSYCHIC: And as a Taurus, this distresses you?
MIKE: Of course it distresses me! I'm being used as a guinea pig in
their hideous experiments, forced to watch bad movies and read bad fiction
against my will! The food sucks, I get maybe two hours of sleep a night,
and my whole right side sometimes just (Mike hiccups and stops for a beat
before continuing) twitches thinking about it.
SPOON PSYCHIC: And you've survived only by immersing yourself in your
love of Civil War re-enactments, is that right?
MIKE: The only way I survive is by talking back to the movie, making
jokes about how awful it is, or how it's derivative of something else. We
call it "riffing".
CARD PSYCHIC: Ah, "we". This, combined with Venus rising in your eight of
cups, makes me sense other presences near you. Is this correct?
MIKE: Well, yeah, Tom Servo, Crow, and Gypsy. They're robots the subject
of the previous experiment built to keep himself company. They're like my
family up here. They're real funny, but quite a handful.
CARD PSYCHIC: Are any of them Libra?
MIKE: Well, I don't know. I mean, they're robots and all... Look, at
least call my mom and let her know I'm OK!
SPOON PSYCHIC: I sense a- (suddenly does poor acting job) Oh, what's
that?
[INSERT stock footage of lion roaring.]
[CUT BACK to Spoon Psychic, triumphantly holding up her bent spoon.]
CARD PSYCHIC: I sense an alpha female, a strong, domineering force holding
you back.
MIKE: Uh-huh. That would be Pearl Forrester.
CARD PSYCHIC: Would her name be Pat?
MIKE: What? No, it's Pearl! Pearl Forrester! She's the mother of the
evil scientist who shot me into space. Now that he's dead, she's pursuing
me throughout space, continuing his evil work, assisted by Professor Bobo,
a talking ape from Earth's future, and Observer, an omnipotent being from
across the galaxy who keeps his brain in a pan he carries around with him.
SPOON PSYCHIC: I see. Now, Bike, is your daughter a model, or are you?
Because I'm sensing...
MIKE (sighs): Boy, that twelve minutes free is just worth every penny,
isn't it.
[Click. Dial tone.]
SPOON PSYCHIC: ...I'm sensing a real, model-ly vibe here.
[CUT TO: MYSTERY SCIENCE THETER 3000 OPENING THEME MUSIC]
"I should really just relax!
On
M Y S T E R Y
S C I E N C E
T H E A T R E,
3 0 0 0 !
BRANG!"
/ * \... = 2 =...> 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
[OPEN ON: SOL. The deck is decorated with white trellises and tasteful
floral bouquets. Tom and Crow, dressed in tuxedos, are poring through
bridal catalogues. Mike enters and positions himself between the two.]
MIKE: Hey, everyone, welcome to the Satellite of Love.
TOM: Apricot?
CROW: Nah, too tasteful. Aquamarine?
TOM: Uh-uh. Too subtle. Mauve?
CROW: Mmm, too much dignity.
MIKE: If this sounds confusing to you folks at home, well, let me catch
you up. My robots told me they were bored, so I suggested they read
Marcia Seligson's classic, "The Eternal Bliss Machine".
TOM: Yes indeed. A hilarious, yet searing indictment of the run-amok
wedding industry, which exists solely to turn one of the happiest days of
your life into one of the most stressful and expensive.
MIKE: And naturally, what makes you and I say, "Lord, save us from
ourselves", makes Tom Servo and Crow say-
TOM and CROW: GIVE US A PIECE OF THAT ACTION!
MIKE: I think, once again, they've missed the point.
CROW: Oh, you're just jealous you don't have our forethought, our fine eye
for detail, our sensitivity to the very real needs of the vulnerable
bride-to-be.
MIKE: Uh-huh. And that would be typified by?
CROW: Our choice of color for bridesmaid's dresses.
TOM: Crow! Lime green blouse, salmon sash with sequined highlights, topped
off with a Chiquita banana hat made out of rancid organ meat!
CROW: Whoo! All right Tommy! No question whose day it is now, eh? Maid
of Honor? Try maid of unmarried LOSER, you barren, frigid piece of-
MIKE (clamping Crow's mouth shut): It's like rain on your wedding day.
We'll be right back.
[Logo, commercial- where's the damn remote?]
- - - - - - - - - - - -
[OPEN on bridge. CLOSE on Mike, looking over Tom's shoulder at
wedding plans, pointing at various things as they discuss sotto voce.
Camera slowly PULLS BACK to reveal Mike is butt naked except for
a diaper, a quiver of arrows and some wings. Yeah, he holds a
bow in his right hand, what'd you think? Crow enters.]
CROW: Tom, the rental place is on the line! Did we want the tux in
midnight black, charcoal black, onyx black, Shirley Temple black, or...
[Mike looks up. Crow notices his Cupid outfit, then nervously backs a way
a few steps.]
CROW: Heh-heh. Hi, Mike. Guess this means you're on the payroll now, huh?
MIKE: No, the subject never came up really. Why do you ask?
TOM: I was just explaining to Mike, Crow, that when you hold your wedding
at Our Satellite of Perpetual Love, we handle every single detail of
ceremony, so you can just sit back and stare in abject terror at the
prison of lifetime commitment that is your future.
MIKE: All details, wow. So you guys would be in charge of, like, rice.
[Crow and Tom laugh dismissively.]
TOM: Mike, Mike, Mike. Rice is the last thing a modern wedding uses.
CROW: It's bad for the birds.
TOM: Now, take our outdoor ceremony. Picture, if you will, a perfect day
in May. Pink buds are radiantly blooming from the cherry trees.
CROW: And flanking the aisle on each side, twelve ten-story panes of
transparent sheet glass! 100 feet tall, totally invisible, bone-
crushingly solid, their very structure screams the enormity of your love.
MIKE: Sheet glass? But- but the birds are going to fly into it and break
their necks! Why don't you just have rice?
TOM: Mike, we told you, it's bad for the birds! Now after the couple
exchanges vows, instead of the traditional wedding march, we just power up
this romantic Delta-surplus 707 jet engine.
MIKE: But - what! The birds'll get sucked in the-
CROW: Yeah! Yeah! And to wish them long life and prosperity, at the
moment they kiss, 100 majestic white cats are released into the wild!
MIKE (as signal light goes on): What? Cats? But that's- Oh, now Les, Lee
and Warren are calling. Why don't you just have rice?
CROW: Let fly the wedding kestrel! Whoo!
[CUT TO <Planet>- barren and foreboding. Pearl and Observer are outside
the van. Bobo, dressed in a L.A. style white tieless suit, is a
short distance away, setting up an eight-foot logo remarkably similar to,
but not infringing on any copyrights of, the Oscar.]
PEARL: Hey, Nel-scum. Say, it's been two hours since I've done anything
evil! So I asked Brain Guy here to scare up a planet for me to dominate.
Though it's not what I specifically asked for (threatening look).
OBSERVER: Oh, please, did you really think there was a planet inhabited
solely by subservient slave clones of David Duchovny?
[BOBO finishes the logo, goes off and brings back a podium.]
PEARL: But I must say, as a secondary domination option, this dump does
have potential. Good climate, conveniently located, and free cable!
OBSERVER: Well, I suppose since there is no life on the planet capable of
broadcasting anything or demanding financial renumerations, technically it
is true that there is-
PEARL: FREE CABLE! And that's just what the billboard will say. Two
miles high, advertising the vacation condos of my dreams. Available for
reasonable down-payments, less than reasonable interest rates, and
ignominious maintenance fees! Oooh, it's so good to be bad!
[BOBO set himself up with a microphone at the podium, and the feedback
gets Pearl's attention.]
BOBO: Whoap! Didn't know the thing was loaded. Heh-heh. Ladies and
gentlemen. Film is that most unique art form. It can make us laugh. It
can make us cry. It can move us, it can make us laugh. It can even make
us cry. And yet, it can make us laugh. And even as it does all these
things, it feeds us Milk Duds and Goobers and Jujubees and those yummy
little ice cream nuggets with the milk chocolate-
PEARL: Bobo!
BOBO: Oh! Um, yes, well. The nominees for Best Planet in a Supporting
Role are-
[PEARL grabs the Oscarish logo and slams Bobo with it.]
PEARL: DOMINATE! You simian clod! Not nominate!
BOBO: Ouch! You don't like me! You really don't like me!
PEARL: Quiet, Bested Boy! All right, satel-losers, the award for today's
fiction goes to- (opens envelope) Sidney Sheldon! Wow, Sidney's won an
Oscar! And a Tony! Now he's won the right to rub your mind against Book
One of his mental cheese grater, "Windmills of the Gods"! It may be
edited for content, but it hasn't been edited for pain! Brain Guy? Have
my people call their people.
OBSERVER (to SOL): Love ya. Let's lose lunch.
[SOUND FX as Brain Guy sends them the novel.]
[CUT TO SOL. Crow and Servo are surrounded by the lifeless carcasses of
hundreds of birds.]
CROW (blows feathers from his mouth): Fft! Well, I guess that makes the
catering a whole lot cheaper.
TOM: Chicken, poultry, or fowl, Mike? You get a side dish with that, of
course. How about some rice?
MIKE (as buzzer sounds): Why you- we got fiction sign- I'm gonna moidelize
you knucklenobs!
| 6 |... ( 5 )... [ 4 ]... > 3 <... = 2 =... / * \
[CUT TO Theater. Mike and the bots take their seats.]
>
> S I D N E Y S H E L D O N
>
MIKE: Ugh! Horrible names for twins.
CROW: No, he's the Australian Indiana Jones!
>
> " W I N D M I L L S O F T H E G O D S "
>
TOM (sings): Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel...
MIKE: I just don't see any grandiose mythos set in Holland.
CROW: I am Odin, grandest milkmaid of them all!
>
>For Jorja
>
TOM (sings): Just an ol' sweet song...
MIKE: Sheldon is such a jenius.
CROW: A real master of the jenre!
TOM (sings): ...keeps Jorja on my mind!
>
>"We are all victims, Anselmo. Our destinies are decided by a cosmic roll
> of the dice,
MIKE (as Einstein): God does not play dice with the universe.
CROW: No, he takes it to the roulette wheel.
TOM: Just don't put it on the slots. Then, you're just crapping the
universe away.
>-the winds of the stars, that vagrant breezes of fortune that blow from
> the windmills of the gods." - H.L. Dietrich, "A Final Destiny"
CROW: The breezy vagrants that hang out on street corners, cleaning the
windshields of the gods.
TOM: Shouldn't you include a witty retort from Sgt. Harris with that quote
from Dietrich?
MIKE: I don't think fans of Sidney Sheldon and Barney Miller cross over
much, Tom.
>
>PROLOGUE
>
CROW: Pro log? The logging industry made this book!
TOM: Yes, it's the heart-warming story of a misfit band of family pets
lost in Yosemite National forest - and only the clear-cutting of a
thousand acres of old-growth sequoias can save them.
> Perho, Finland
>
CROW: Ah, the glamorous life of a political operative. Podunk by morning,
Perho at night.
TOM: Hey, that's how a pimp splits his money- per ho! Ha ha!
MIKE: Stop it.
> The meeting took place in a comfortable weather-proofed cabin-
CROW: It had a roof and stuff.
>-in a remote, wooded area 200 miles from Helsinki, near the Russian
> border. The members of the Western branch of the Committee had arrived
> discreetly-
ALL: TAILGATE PARTY!!! WHOOOOOO!!! GO PACKERS!!!
>-at irregular intervals. They came from eight different countries, but
>their visit had been quietly arranged by a senior minister in the
>Valtioneuvusto, the Finnish council of state -
TOM: Popeye.
MIKE: Popeye?
TOM: Cuz' he's strong to the Finnish! Ba-da-bing! Ha ha!
MIKE (groaning): Oooh, no.
>-and there was no record of entry in their passports. Upon their
> arrival, armed guards escorted them into the cabin, and when the last
> visitor appeared, the cabin door was locked and the guards took up
> positions in the full-throated January winds-
ALL: AAAAAAAAAUGH!
>-alert for any signs of intruders.
CROW (as guard): Hmm, "Intruder On Board". Sorry, you'll have to turn
back.
> The members seated around the large rectangular table were men in
>powerful positions, high in the councils of their respective governments.
MIKE (as committee member): Why can't I meet a nice girl?
>They had met before under less clandestine circumstances, and they
> trusted one another because they had no choice.
TOM: Like any good marriage!
>For added security, each had been assigned a code name.
CROW: My code name's not Doodyhead. Your code name's Doodyhead.
MIKE: Mom, tell him my code name's not Doodyhead!
> The meeting has lasted almost five hours, and the discussion was
>heated.
TOM: On defrost, in the microwave.
> Finally, the chairman decided the time had come to call for a vote.
> He rose, standing tall, and turned to the man seated at his right.
> "Sigurd?"
> "Yes."
> "Odin?"
CROW: Super-secret underground governments should not pick their own
code names.
> "Yes."
> "Balder?"
MIKE (laughs): Balder? A dominating Ubermeister with low self-esteem?
CROW: Man, you spend all that money on a rug, and then choose the spy
name Balder!
TOM: Thank god they're not all that truthful. I don't want the world
bein' saved by Secret Agent Painfully Constipated.
> "We're moving too hastily. If this should be exposed, our lives
> would be-"
> "Yes or no, please?"
> "No..."
> "Freyr?"
MIKE: Tuck.
> "Yes."
> "Sigmund?"
TOM: The sea monster.
> "Nein. The danger-"
> "Thor?"
CROW: Yeth, I'm thor! You thaid you'd call!
> "Yes."
> "Tyr?"
MIKE: Blue. No wait! Yeeeeelllloow...
> "Yes."
> "I vote yes. The resolution is passed. I will so inform the
>Controller.
CROW: New Jif does taste more like fresh roasted peanuts!
>At our next meeting, I will give you the recommendation for the person
> best qualified to carry out the motion.
MIKE: My cousin Vinnie!
>We will observe the usual precautions and leave at twenty-five minute
>intervals. Thank you, gentlemen."
TOM: Cripes, that was the worst Promise Keepers meeting ever.
CROW: "Employees must wash hands before manipulating the masses."
> Two hours and forty-five minutes later, the cabin was deserted.
MIKE: Well, if you keep the projector on the table loaded with slides of
your grandkids...
>A crew of experts carrying kerosene moved in and set the cabin on fire,
> the red flames licked by the hungry winds.
TOM (as wind): Oh, no, thanks, I couldn't eat another... aw, hell, I can
always put in another ten miles on the Blowmaster!
> When the palokunta, the fire brigade from Perho, finally reached the
>scene, there was nothing left to see but the smoldering embers that
> outlined the cabin against the hissing snow.
CROW: Janet Reno's gonna get blamed for this.
MIKE: Oh no! David Koresh left the iron on!
> The assistant to the fire chief approached the ashes, bent down, and
>sniffed. "Kerosene," he said. "Arson."
> The fire chief was staring at the ruins, a puzzled expression on his
>face. "That's strange," he muttered.
> "What?"
> "I was hunting in these woods last week. There was no cabin."
MIKE (terror): My God- they have the power to build without permits!
CROW: Yeah, Sidney Sheldon is like a contractor's Stephen King.
TOM: You know, if I could get a patio deck built in a week, I wouldn't
care if they burned it down afterwards.
>
>BOOK ONE
>
>1
>
>Washington, D.C.
TOM: You'll want to hold onto your wallet for this section of the book,
folks.
MIKE: Why aren't political thrillers ever set in Washington state?
> Stanton Rogers was destined to be President of the United States.
CROW: He was born with two faces.
> He was a charismatic politician, highly visible to an approving public,
> and backed by powerful friends. Unfortunately for Rogers, his libido
> got in the way of his career. Or, as the Washington mavens put it: "Old
> Stanton *****d himself out of the presidency."
ALL: Hey!
TOM: Must be a pre-Clinton tome.
> It was not that Stanton Rogers fancied himself a Casanova.
ALL: No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no.
>On the contrary,
MIKE: He was a Marquis deSade man.
>until that one fatal bedroom escapade,
CROW: What, they caught him in bed with his wife?
>he had been a model husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and on his way to
>one of the most important positions in the world
MIKE: The cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue!
>and although he had ample opportunity to cheat on his wife, he had never
>given another woman a thought.
TOM: Treating them just like any other registered voter!
> There was a second, perhaps greater, irony:
MIKE: Ha-ha, right. What was the first one, again?
>Stanton Rogers's wife, Elizabeth, was social, beautiful, and intelligent,
>and the two of them shared a common interest in almost everything,
> whereas Barbara, the woman Rogers fell in love with and eventually
> married after a much-headlined divorce, was five years older than
> Stanton, pleasant-faced rather than pretty, and seemed to have nothing
> in common with him.
CROW: This is all so much more important than his stand on the minimum wage.
>Stanton was athletic; Barbara hated all forms of exercise. Stanton was
>gregarious; Barbara preferred to be alone with her husband or to
> entertain small groups.
TOM: Barbara enjoyed wearing skimpy women's lingerie... heh-heh, well
maybe they had one thing in common.
>The biggest surprise to those who knew Stanton Rogers-
MIKE: You know, when your friends refer to you by your full name- they're
not really your friends.
TOM: Yeah, like anyone's gonna pass up the opportunity to call this guy
"Mister Rogers".
CROW (sings): It's a beautiful day in the paradigm...
> -was the political differences. Stanton was a liberal, while Barbara
> had grown up in a family of archconservatives.
TOM: You leave our arch alone!
> Paul Ellison, Stanton's closest friend, had said, "You must be out
> of your mind, chum!
CROW: Eh what, ol' bean?
>You and Liz are practically in The Guiness World Book of Records as the
>perfect married couple.
MIKE: Right after Joel Steinberg and Hedda Nussbaum!
>You can't throw that away for some quick lay."
TOM: That's not fair, I was very tired that night!
> Stanton Rogers had replied tightly, "Back off, Paul.
CROW (as Stanton): Stanton Rogers doesn't need Paul Ellison to tell
him Liz Rogers is liked by John Q. Public.
>I'm in love with Barbara. As soon as I get a divorce, we're getting
>married."
TOM (as Stanton): Stanton Rogers just needs her John Hancock.
> "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to your career?"
> "Half the marriages in this country end in divorce. It won't
>do anything," Stanton Rogers had replied.
MIKE: Yeah, it's fly to dump your old lady when a better gig comes along.
> He had proved to be a poor prophet. News of the bitterly fought
>divorce was manna for the press,
TOM (deep voice): Until Moses caught them with the golden calf. They did
not deserve these Ten Commandments!
>and the gossip papers played it up as luridly as possible, with pictures
> of Stanton Rogers's love nest and stories of secret midnight trysts.
MIKE: Which... we won't bore you with the details of.
CROW: God, this affair sounds as lurid as Mary Worth in a wimple.
>The newspapers kept the story alive as long as they could, and when the
>furor died down, the powerful friends who had backed Stanton Rogers for
> the presidency quietly disappeared.
TOM: Hm, must have got their own show on the Dubba Dubba.
>They found a new white knight to champion: Paul Ellison.
>
CROW (sings to "Lite Brite" jingle): White knight, makin' things with
white knight! What a sight...
> Ellison was a sound choice. While he had neither Stanton Rogers's
> good looks nor his charisma,
MIKE: -he had a porn collection that made Japanese businessmen blush.
>he was intelligent, likable, and had the right background. He was short
> in stature, with regular, even features and candid blue eyes. He had
> been happily married for ten years to the daughter of a steel magnate,
> and he and Alice were known as a warm and loving couple.
CROW: Mike, is it wrong for me to want to move to Canada at this point?
MIKE: No, I think their health care system would do our churning
stomachs a world of good.
> Like Stanton Rogers, Paul Ellison has attended Yale and was
> graduated from Harvard Law School. The two men had grown up together.
> Their families had had adjoining summer homes at Southampton,
CROW: Why doesn't that surprise me?
TOM: Southampton: Breeding pompous white men since 1642.
> -and the boys swam together, organized baseball teams, and later,
> double-dated.
CROW: Yeah, one of those double-dates where the boys go under the
boardwalk and the girls walk down the beach holding hands.
MIKE: Oh, now, Crow, that's not fair. These are future Congressmen,
I'm sure there was some good-hearted date raping going on.
>They were in the same class at Harvard. Paul Ellison did well, but it
> was Stanton Rogers who was the star pupil. Stanton Rogers's father was
> a senior partner in a prestigious Wall Street law firm,
TOM: Wilson, Ernst, Stanton Rogers's Father and Young
>and when Stanton worked there summers, he arranged for Paul to be there.
>Once out of law school, Stanton Rogers's political star began rising
>meteorically, and if he was the comet, Paul Ellison was the tail.
CROW: Comet Stanton Kahoutek! And his loyal tail, Squiggy!
MIKE: Jeez, what is it with all the full names?!
TOM: Well, before he made his name, Sheldon got paid by the word, and his
first book, "The Very Very Very Very Very Very Very Thin Gray Line" just
didn't sell.
MIKE: So his success lies in finding thrilling new ways to be redundant.
CROW: Clever.
> The divorce changed everything. It was now Stanton Rogers who
> became the appendage to Paul Ellison.
CROW: Yeah, he was the dangling little-
MIKE: Crow!
CROW: Toe! I was gonna say toe. Heh-heh.
>The trail leading to the top of the mountain took almost fifteen years.
>Ellison lost an election for the Senate, won the following one, and in
> the next few years became a highly popular, articulate lawmaker. He
> fought against waste in government and Washington beaurocracy.
TOM: Finally, a politician willing to take unpopular positions!
CROW: Wait, wait, I'm getting something... he's also for lower taxes,
strengthening our families, taking on the special interests, and fighting
to keep this nation strong!
MIKE: I haven't seen so many bland offerings since that Chevy Chase film
festival.
>He was popular, and believed in international Détente. He was asked to
> give nominating speech for an incumbent President running for
> reelection. It was a brilliant, impassioned speech-
TOM: Hi-ho! Kermit the hatchet man here...
>-that made everyone sit up and take notice.
MIKE: My god! That man's nominating the President with a hand puppet!
>Four years later, Paul Ellison was elected President of the United
> States.
CROW: Running as head of the Ambiguous Party.
TOM: Aw man, the opposition must have nominated the festering, maggot-
ridden corpse of a child molester who died from leprosy.
MIKE: Wheeled him around on a dolly, yelling, "You've all got the IQ of
yellow gunk on a dirty Q-tip! Vote for the corpse! DO IT!"
>His first appointment was Stanton Rogers as presidential foreign affairs
>adviser.
CROW: I advise you to have foreign affairs. Whoo-hoo!
> Marshall McLuhan's theory that television would turn the world into
> a global village had become a reality.
TOM: Then Rupert Murdoch came and turned it into a global sewer! Ha!
Thank you!
>The inauguration of the forty-second President of the United States was
>carried by satellite to more than 190 countries.
CROW: Fourteen countries in Bosnia alone!
> In the Black Rooster, a Washington D.C. hangout for newsmen, Ben
> Cohn, a veteran political reporter for the Washington Post, was seated
> at a table with four colleagues, watching the inauguration on the large
> television set over the bar.
TOM: Oh, Ben Cohn, I rubbed him on my sore back once! He's terrific!
MIKE: No, Tom. No.
> "The son of a bitch cost me fifty bucks," one of the reporters
>complained.
MIKE: Well, now that he's President, I'm sure he'll stop selling those ab
rollers and buckwheat pillows.
> "I warned you not to bet against Ellison," Ben Cohn chided. "He's
> got the magic, baby. You'd better believe it."
CROW: Frank Sinatra is Dustin Hoffman as Bob Woodward in: "All the
President's Dooby-Dooby Men"
> The camera panned to show the massive crowds gathered on
> Pennsylvania Avenue, huddled inside their own overcoats against the
> bitter January wind, listening to the ceremony on loudspeakers set up
> around the podium.
TOM (as Lynyrd Skynyrd): What song is it y'all wanna hear?
ALL: FREE BIRD!
>Jason Merlin, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, finished
> the swearing-in oath, and the new President shook his hand and stepped
> up to the microphone.
MIKE: Yeah, that's right, I'm President, this is mine now! Back off!
TOM: Let the raping and pillaging begin!
> "Look at those idiots standing out there freezing their asses off,"
> Ben Cohn commented. "Do you know why they aren't home like normal human
> beings, watching it on television?"
> "Why?"
CROW (as Sinatra): Steve! Edie! Tell'em why.
> "Because a man is making history, my friends. One day all those
> people are going to tell their children and grandchildren that they were
> there on the day Paul Ellison was sworn in. And they're all going to
> brag,
MIKE (sings as Sinatra): I DID IT MYYYYY WAYYYYY!
>'I was so close to him I could have touched him'"
> "You're a cynic, Cohn."
> "And proud of it.
TOM: I'm from Cynic-Cohn Valley! Hee hee! What- ow! Hey!
MIKE: Well, it's your third one today. Now calm down.
CROW: Yeah, watch it.
>Every politician in the world comes out of the same cookie cutter.
> They're all in it for what they can get out of it.
CROW (Sinatra): Like strangers in the night, exchanging glances, baby.
>Face it, fellas, our new President is a liberal and an idealist. That's
>enough to give any intelligent man nightmares.
TOM: Frank Sinatra is Charlton Heston as Rush Limbaugh in:
See, I Told You So.
>My definition of a liberal is a man who has his ass firmly stuck in
> clouds of cotton wool."
MIKE: Ha ha! Oh, Ben Cohn, you're a riot when you're incomprehensible.
CROW: I grew cotton wool last year, from Burpee's New Zealand Sheep seeds.
It's great.
> The truth was that Ben Cohn was not as cynical as he sounded. He
> had covered Paul Ellison's career from the beginning, and while it was
> true that he had not been impressed at first,
TOM: -it was also true he wasn't impressed now.
>as Ellison moved up the political ladder Ben Cohn began to change his
>opinion. He was an oak in a forest of willows.
MIKE: A babbling brook in a glen of ineptitude.
CROW: A little teapot in a kitchen of feebs.
> Outside, the sky exploded into icy sheets of rain.
TOM: Ya know, Sheldon uses metaphor like a fisherman uses a club.
MIKE: Ha. True.
>Ben Cohn hoped the weather was not an omen of the four years that lay
> ahead. He turned his attention back to the television set.
CROW: Huh, look at that. "Melrose" is still on the air.
> "The presidency of the United States is a torch lit by the American
>people and passed from hand to hand every four years.
MIKE: Ooch! Ow! Here, take this.
CROW: Ahh! It burns! Tom, here.
TOM: Nyyyyah-hoo!
>The torch that has been entrusted to my care is the most powerful weapon in
>the world.
MIKE: $265 billion for defense, and you bought a torch?!
TOM: The citronella kind. Schwartzkoff hates mosquitoes. They chomp his
white butt.
> It is powerful enough to burn down civilization as we know it, or to be
> a beacon that will light the future for us and for the rest of the
> world.
CROW: Of course, it won't do either right now. Lame duck dickweed
incumbent left it running all night, now the battery's dead.
>It is our choice to make. I speak today not only to our allies, but to
>those countries in the Soviet camp.
MIKE: Ah, Soviet camp, those wacky '60 TV programs where everyone's in
goofy costumes. My favorite was the stuff done by Sid and Marty
Krofftslanikov.
TOM: Oh, you mean "A Day in the Life of H.R. Puffenstuffovich"?
CROW (as the Magic Flute): Jimmy! Jimmy! Witchie-poo is leading the
kossacks in a pogrom of Liddsvillegrad!
>I say to them now, as we prepare to move into the twenty-first century,
> that there is no longer any room for the confrontation and that we must
> learn to make the phrase 'one world' become a reality.
MIKE: Man, since he started talking, three different independent counsels
have been named.
TOM: Two just to investigate that hairpiece.
>Any other course can only create a holocaust from which no nation would
> ever recover. I am well aware of the vast chasms that lie between us
> and the iron curtain countries, but the first priority of this
> administration will be to build unshakable bridges across those chasms."
ALL (sing): HA-A-A-A-A-ANDS ACROSS HYPERBOLE!
> His words rang out with a deep, heartfelt sincerity. He means it,
> Ben thought. I hope no one assassinates the bastard.
ALL: Pk-kshew! Bang! Kapow!
TOM: Oh my god, the President is in flames ladies and gentlemen! Oh, the
humanity!
MIKE: What if Ben Cohn is the voice those serial killers hear in their
heads?
CROW: Serves'em right.
> In Junction City, Kansas, it was a potbellied stove kind of day,
CROW (sings as Bob Dole): Chestnuts roasting on Bob Dole's open fire...
> bleak and raw, and snowing so hard that the visibility on Highway 6 was
>almost zero.
TOM: What? I'm sorry, are we starting another book here?
MIKE: Well, if the first one's not going anywhere, why not?
>Mary Ashley cautiously steered her old station wagon toward the center of
>the highway, where the snowplows had been at work. The storm was going
> to make her late for the class she was teaching.
CROW: The Sheriff from Fargo is teaching class?
TOM (as Sheriff from Fargo): Oh, yah, everybody uses them 3-cent stamps,
don'tcha know.
>She drove slowly, careful not to let the car go into a skid. From the
> car radio came the President's voice:
> "...are many in government as well as in private life who insist
> that America build more moats instead of bridges.
TOM: Stuffing instead of potatoes!
>My answer to that is-
MIKE: -sad.
>-that we can no longer afford to condemn ourselves or our children to a
>future threatened by global confrontations, and nuclear war."
CROW: Screw our children!
TOM: Yeah, give us tax cuts!
MIKE: More greenhouse gases!
CROW: Deregulate thalidomide!
> Mary Ashley thought: I'm glad I voted for him. Paul Ellison is
> going to make a great President.
MIKE: -as soon as he stops living with his mother and gets a girlfriend.
> Her grip tightened on the wheel as the snow became a blinding white
>whirlwind.
CROW: Mary Ashley thought of Paul Ellison as Jack Frost sent her to meet
the Grim Reaper.
> In Bucharest, it was evening. The winter had turned unexpectedly
> mild and the streets of the late marketplaces were crowded with citizens
> lined up to shop in the unseasonably warm weather.
MIKE: Is this the line for the raisin rations?
CROW: No, this is for rum rations. Raisin rations is that line over
there.
MIKE: Man, it's tough makin' a fruitcake in the Soviet bloc.
> Romanian President Alexander Ionescu sat in his office in Peles, the
>old Palace, on Caleae Victoriei, surrounded by half a dozen aides,
> listening to the broadcast on a short-wave radio.
CROW (as toked-out radio listener): Aw, man, Shadoe Stevens is just
another corporate shill, man.
TOM: Yeah, dude. Since they axed Casey Kasem, American Top 40 is nothin'
but a hollow lie.
> "...I have no intention of stopping there," the American President
> was saying. "Albania broke off all diplomatic relations with the United
> States in 1946. I intend to reestablish those ties. In addition, I
> intend to strengthen our diplomatic relations with Bulgaria, with
> Czechoslovakia, and with East Germany."
> Over the radio came the sounds of cheers and applause.
MIKE: Wow, I had no idea there were so many Albania groupies out there.
TOM (sings to "When the Saints Come Marching In" as Coach from Cheers):
Albania, Albania, you border on- the- A-dri-atic...
> "Sending our ambassador to Romania is the beginning of a worldwide
>people-to-people movement.
CROW: That's why I propose trading Texas for Qatar, Botswana, and a
banana republic to be named later.
>Let us never forget that all mankind shares a common ultimate fate.
[ALL clear their throats, pretend to act naturally, and avoid eye contact.]
TOM: Oh, man, I can't believe he brought that up.
CROW: Yeah, instead of "Hail to the Chief", it's gonna be four years of
Morrissey songs.
MIKE (sings as Morrissey): Then it's the bomb that will bring us together...
CROW and TOM: SHUT UP!
>Let us remember that the problems we share are greater than the problems
> that divide us, and that what divides us is of our own making."
CROW: The problems that divide us are pellet with the poison, but the
vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!
> In a heavily guarded villa in Neuilly, a suburb of Paris, the
> Romanian revolutionary leader, Marin Groza, was watching the President
> on Chaine 2 Television.
TOM: Great, the President's being dubbed by Jerry Lewis.
> "...I promise you now that I will do my best and that I will seek
> out the best in others."
CROW (as Jerry Lewis): HOH! Nice lady! With the promise and the pledging
and the seeking!
TOM and MIKE (French): Genius! Oui-oui!
> The applause lasted fully five minutes.
> Marin Groza said, thoughtfully, "I think our time has come, Lev. He
>really means it."
MIKE: The anniversary diamond. Say you'd give clandestine aid all over
again.
> Lev Pasternak, his security chief, replied, "Won't this help
> Ionescu?"
> Marin Groza shook his head. "Ionescu is a tyrant, so in the end,
> nothing will help him.
TOM: But doesn't new Aleve keep tyrants going eight hours strong?
>But I must be very careful with my timing.
MIKE: Yeah, like shooting the President before loading my gun. Damn,
that was embarrassing.
CROW: This guy makes Squeaky Fromme look like Florence Harding.
>I failed when I tried to overthrow Ceausescu. I must not fail again."
TOM (Gilligan's Island theme): Ba-da-da-da-dup, ba-da-dup, ba-da-dup, ba!
MIKE (as Skipper): Gilligan, you failed again!
> Pete Connors was not drunk- not as drunk as he intended to get.
CROW: Not Boris Yeltsin drunk.
>He had finished almost a fifth of Scotch, when Nancy, the secretary he
> lived with, said,
TOM (as Secretary): Now is the winter of our discontent...
>"Don't you think you've had enough, Pete?" He smiled and slapped her.
MIKE: Hey!
ALL: Booooooo!
CROW: I didn't know they had side hacking in Washington.
> "Our President's talkin'. You gotta show some respect." He turned
> to look at the image on the television set. "You communist son of a
> bitch," he yelled at the screen.
MIKE: What, he got a Chinese television?
>"This is my country, and the CIA's not gonna let you give it away.
TOM (sings as Lee Greenwood): An' I'm proud to be an Ame-ri-CAN!
MIKE: Yeah, sure, Lee. We gotta go.
CROW: What, at the first plot point?
MIKE: There'll be another one. Eventually. Come on.
>We're gonna stop you, Charlie. You can bet your ass on it."
TOM: I'm betting my nose hair. Hee hee!
/ * \... = 2 =...> 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |
[CUT TO SOL Bridge. Dark, illuminated ominously by hundreds of candles.
A sinister logo is displayed on a podium. Mike, in black robes and a
cowl, steps up to the podium.]
MIKE: The time has come to take the vote. When I call your secret code
name, come forth and cast your ballot. Janus?
[CROW comes forth in a cowl, votes, then exits.]
CROW: Aye.
MIKE: Hermes?
[TOM comes forth similarly clad, votes and exits.]
TOM: Nay.
MIKE: Pericles?
[CROW returns.]
CROW (as Tim Conway's Swedish businessman): By yimminy, ah vote-a no!
[MIKE tips up his cowl and speaks sotto voce.]
MIKE: Wait, Crow? I don't get this. I mean, the motion written here is,
"Should we do a sketch based on the creepy, stilted ballot scene from
Windmills of the Gods?" How can you do a sketch about taking a ballot
about whether to do a sketch on taking ballot? It makes no sense!
CROW (still as Conway): Oh, so the all-a-knowing Missus-A-Hwiggins has
gotten a degree in-a how to run-a de underground government in-a-between
sharpenin' those pencils there. Just get back-a to work, before you break
a nail and perform a lobotomy on yourself or something.
MIKE: OK, OK. Motorhead?
TOM (returning): Pants.
MIKE: You can't vote pants, it's yes or no!
TOM: Look, Marcia, when we want your opinion, we'll interrupt your
manicure and tell ya, got it?
MIKE: Oh, sure. Fine...Tennessee Ernie Ford?
CROW: Pants.
MIKE: Shakes the Clown???
TOM: Pants.
MIKE: SNUGGLES THE FABRIC SOFTENER BEAR?!? Oh, cripes, that's it!
[MIKE pulls off the cowl and leaves the podium.]
CROW and TOM: What?! What?!
MIKE: That's it, I've had it. You know, your father and I thought you
two were old enough to have your own little super-secret underground
government, but it seems you're not quite up to the responsibility,
because I'm the one who cuts the crusts off the sandwiches for your
meetings, I'm the one who has to clean up your shredded documents, and
I'm the one who had to explain to the Washington press corps why Lake
Champlain is filled with strawberry-banana gelatin!
TOM: Well we couldn't very well fill it with cranberry gelatin!
CROW: Yeah, it've been silly!
TOM: Aw c'mon, Mike, we'll be good. Please?
MIKE: Mmmmmm... oh, all right, you little pixies. But I want you taking
the responsibility of world domination a little more seriously now, and
give a good think on how your actions affect others.
CROW: Oh, but we will Mike. From now on, we're ruling with the wisdom of
Lincoln, the fairness of FDR, and dignity of Winston Churchill.
MIKE: All right then, let's continue where we left off. (raises list,
reads it carefully to himself then announces the next name) Buttwipe?
TOM: Pants!
MIKE: Kissyface?
CROW: Pants, pants, pants!
MIKE (as light flashes): Captain Starhips? We'll be right back.
[TOM and Crow chant, "Pants! Pants! Pants!" over the spinning logo.]
[Commericals. "The Maniac Who Tried to Blow Up the World" - A Sci-Fi
Channel original motion picture!]
--- End Part 1 ---
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