MSTing: "Bloodlines: The Calling",
and "An Open Window Observing the Battleground"
--- Part 1 of 3 ---
DISCLAIMER (deep breath now!)
Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are
copyright 1998 Best Brains, Inc. "Bloodlines: The Calling" copyright
1998 FireRose. "An Open Window Observing the Battleground" copyright
1995, Reverend Tony Ponticello. Edited for time. This publication is
for entertainment use only. Malibu Dreamhouse sold separately. Stop
reading, you'll spoil the big surprise! Beavis and Butthead copyright
1998 Mike Judge. The MacLaughlin Group copyright 1998 John MacLaughlin.
You kept reading! You ruined everything! Just like you always do! Oh,
why didn't I listen to mother? Write for an obedient audience, she
said. Don't let those ruffians on the Internet see it. This publication is
not meant as a personal attack on FireRose or Rev. Ponticello, nor an
attack on A COURSE IN MIRACLES, its followers, or any church affiliated
with its teachings. This publication is not meant to infringe on any
copyrights held by Best Brains, Sci Fi Channel, MTV, Mike Judge, John
MacLaughlin, FireRose, the Foundation for Inner Peace, the Community
Miracles Center, or any employees thereof. The jugged fish
IS halibut. Copyright 1998 Brendan Herlihy.
(And... exhale!)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
[OPEN ON STILL FRAME: Pearl and Observer are in the middle of arguing
on the barren landscape of a planet. After Tom's voice-over, play clips
as described.]
TOM (over-dramatic voice-over): Last week, on "Mod Squad"!
PEARL (threateningly): You! You landed us on one of them living planet
deals, didn't you?
[CUT TO: Same, a little later]
OBSERVER: -the planet now considers us a harmful infection, is
generating antibodies to eliminate the infection, and they should be
here to kill us in about twenty minutes, making us dead... oh, in a
half hour or so.
[CUT TO: Interior of Pearl's Van in full flight as they try to escape
the planet. Bobo is hanging out of the van, as Observer leans out the
open door to help him up.]
OBSERVER (reaching out): For the love of life, give me your hand!
BOBO: Don't mind if I do.
[BOBO grabs Observer's hand and pulls him roughly out of the van.
Observer yelps and falls off the screen into the unknown.]
[CUT TO: Pearl driving, Bobo entering van.]
BOBO: Oh-ho, now Lawgiver, there's no way I could possibly be Bobo's
swarthy antibody.
PEARL: Oh yeah? Why's that?
[BOBO takes his hand beneath his chin and pulls it off like a mask.
Close-up. It's... EVIL MIKE from the Mirror Mirror episode!!!]
EVIL MIKE (grinning): Because I'm YOUR swarthy antibody!
[Musical sting! Evil Mike laughs diabolically. Pearl freezes with her
mouth open in terror.]
[CUT TO: Opening Title Sequence]
"...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 E R,
3 0 0 0 !
BRANG!"
/ * \... = 2 =...> 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
[OPEN ON: <SOL Bridge>, dark. We can make out the silhouettes of the
bots and Mike, lined up in a row, evenly spaced, behind the desk. The
bots are standing perfectly still. Mike is sitting on a stool. From
left to right, the order is Gypsy, Mike, Tom, and Crow.]
[Before each bot/Mike speaks, Cambot turns a single blue spotlight on
them from directly above, then switches it off when they've finished.]
GYPS: I was five when I first understood real pain. My creator was
gone. Like a summer breeze, a spring rain, a Van Damme movie after its
opening week... gone.
CROW (solemnly): Horse. Lick the horse.
MIKE (normally cheery): Hi, everyone, welcome to the Satellite of
Love. You know, they say the neon lights are bright on Broadway, but
off-Broadway, they flicker and fade with all the shame of a Budweiser
sign in an Alc-Anon meeting hall. (spotlight turns off) Hey, I wasn't
finished!
TOM: It snowed the day I was born. I recall my maker's beloved
crescent wrench. Its cold, firm grip on my bolts, its sure torque
securing my head into place. The way he would chase me with it after
we jettisoned his underwear out the airlock. Cruel, wonderous circles.
CROW: Horse. Lick the horse.
MIKE (still in the dark): Can I talk now?
[Lights go on to Tom and Crow briefly.]
TOM and CROW: NO!
GYPS: Oh, why must I hide behind this cowish façade? Why subjugate my
mind, my humor, to that jump-suited boobie-head?
MIKE (in dark): Hey!
GYPS (apologetic, after her light leaves): It's in the script, Mike.
TOM: Hard! Hard doth the thumb of Nelsonism quash the spirit of
freedom and liberty! Wicked come his edicts! Far, far doth he hide
the Scooter pies and Mallomars!
MIKE (in dark): You were going to spoil your dinner!
TOM (off script): Himmler said the same thing, fascist!
[Cambot turns the light on Crow, and slowly zooms into a close-up on
Crow while playing a low, pulsing tone. By the time Crow finishes only
his eyes are in the shot.]
CROW: God has left us. A crow sits on a wire. Ennui. Loathing.
Lick the lonely horse.
[Mike pokes his head into the shot.]
MIKE (sighs): Welp, I'm getting a crescent wrench. We'll be right back.
[Logo, Commercials. You didn't seem so chipper last night- when you
were constipated!]
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
[OPEN ON: <SOL Bridge> Crow, wearing vulcan ears, talking to Gypsy, who
has a metallic ">" to the right of her eye. They are in front and to
the right of the desk.]
CROW: So I says to the director, sure! This high-brow stuff might have
played for Harold Pinter and Bertolt Brecht-
[We hear Tom off stage yelling, "Nyaaaa-hooo!" and running across the
set in back of the desk. Mike, wielding a crescent wrench over his
head, follows a beat behind him. Neither Crow nor Gypsy pay them any
heed.]
CROW: -but get with it! This is the nineties! So I've written an
accompanying piece. Something raw, emotional, dripping
with conflict and agitas! Something from Star Trek: Voyager.
GYPSY: Oo, that makes good sense.
CROW: So let's read through. I'm Tuvak, confronting Seven of Nine.
[Crow clears his throat. Servo again runs panicked past the desk, Mike
chasing, and again they ignore them. Crow begins in emotionless monotone.]
CROW (Tuvak): Seven of Nine. If you do not control your emotional
outbursts, you could destroy the Enterpri- um, I mean, Voyager.
GYPSY (Seven, in an identical monotone): Why must you lash out at me.
Your temper cuts deeper, than a knife ever could.
CROW: It is because I, care so deeply, that I am so, impassioned.
GYPSY: It moves me, that you are unashamed, to express your,
feelings. I am as giddy, as a little girl.
[Planet sign flashes. Tom starts to run past again.]
CROW: I am gladdened. That we can be friends, despite being, so,
different.
[Mike catches up to Tom, swings the wrench hard down onto his
head.
We hear a clank, and Tom groans and falls off screen with the wrench.
Crow turns to Mike.]
CROW (still Tuvak): Captain. You have let, planet sign flash, for almost
five seconds. Now, you must die.
MIKE: Oh, you wanna piece of me, Spockette? Huh? Bring it on,
Vul-crow, c'mon.
[CUT TO: Close-up on Pearl. REALLY close-up- all we see is her head.]
PEARL (abnormally happy): Hey! Nel-sunny Came Home! And your Vengeance!
How absolutely fabulous to see you!
[CUT TO: SOL. Gypsy and Tom are stage front. Tom has a crescent wrench
sticking snugly out of a dent in his dome, but seems unaffected by
it.
In the background, Crow is on top of Mike, choking him, saying in his
dull
monotone, "Die, captain."]
TOM: Uh-oh. Charm. This is not good.
GYPSY: What happened, Pearl?
[CUT TO: Close-up of Pearl's face.]
PEARL: How magnificently decent of you to ask! The funniest thing!
[As Pearl continues, PULL BACK to reveal that her hands and feet
are chained behind her back, and she's hanging stomach-down
from the ceiling of a dungeon.]
PEARL: Turns out, I've been captured by my evil antibody, strung up
like a cured ham, and I can only assume that in a matter of moments,
I'm... gonna... DIE! Yourself?
[CUT TO: SOL. Tom still has wrench in his head. Mike is slamming
Crow's head repeatedly against the desk. Crow: "Ouch, captain."]
GYPSY: Crow's killing Mike.
TOM (proudly): I've got an internal brain hemorrhage!
[CUT TO: Dungeon, Pearl]
PEARL: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, Brain Guy and Bobo seem to have bought
the farm. I'm kinda lost without them. Do you think, maybe, you could
see your way clear to...?
EVIL MIKE (scolding from off-screen): Ah-ah-ah!
[CUT TO: Entry to dungeon. Evil Mike is brightly backlit, clad in
leather similar to Sting in "Dune", and playfully dangling a whip.
A smoke machine is billowing out atmosphere. Suddenly, with a musical
sting, the camera closes on his face and he's front-lit, laughing
maniacally.]
[ANGLE ON: Evil Mike, confidently striding around Mrs. F.]
EVIL MIKE: Welcome to my House of Pain, Pearl!
PEARL: Can it be? The spitting likeness of Michael J. Nelson... yet as
cunning and immoral as any real estate agent?
EVIL MIKE: Oh, and more so! It's so delicious to have you in my
clutches, Pearl. No doubt you're wondering how it is that I, Mike
Nelson's evil counterpart from a parallel universe, came into being!
Well, my tale begins in an alternate galaxy, where, deep in the heart
of distant black ho-
PEARL (interrupting): Uh, Evil Mike? Sorry. We don't really do
backstory around here.
EVIL MIKE: We don't? Oh. Well, I'm sure you're curious as to how I
could come through to your world without your Nelson switching places
with me! Well, one night, as a terrible ion storm ferociously-
PEARL (interrupting): Or! Or, continuity, either.
[Evil Mike and Pearl start to talk over each other.]
EVIL MIKE: Jeez, what, you just slap these evil plots together? I mean,
I'd expect such qualities from, oh, I don't know, a cable access puppet
show or something, but...
PEARL (simultaneously): Well, sometimes a villain can get so caught up
in the little details, they lose sight of the big evil picture, you
know?
EVIL MIKE: ALL RIGHT, ENOUGH! (looks to SOL) What are you looking at?
[CUT TO <SOL>. Crow and Mike are wielding foils. Crow: "Touche, captain."]
GYPSY: Sir? Are you going to kill Pearl?
[CUT TO: A Kitchen Cabinet in the House of Pain. Evil Mike is
rummaging
through a junk drawer, tossing odd tools, papers, and ball point pens
away as he talks.]
EVIL MIKE: I am going to... remove all of her bones, one at a time,
in alphabetical order, using a spork... once I find one. (Holds up
an unidentifiable useless object) What the hey?
[CUT TO: SOL. Mike and Crow are playing cards. Crow: "Spit, captain."]
GYPSY: That's wrong.
TOM: Yeah, what are we supposed to do in the meantime?
[CUT TO: House of Pain. Evil Mike is taping Pearl's mouth shut.]
EVIL MIKE: Oh, how callous of me! Of course with Pearl's so-called
"Brain Personage" out of the way, she has no control over your ship...
[CUT TO: SOL. All are in party hats, confetti. Mike and Crow are now
playing Twister.]
GYPSY and TOM: Yay!
CROW: Right hand red, captain.
MIKE: Shut up!
[CUT TO: <House of Pain> Evil Mike is putting a tape measure in various
places against the apprehensive Pearl, and making dotted lines on her
with a piece of chalk.]
EVIL MIKE: -but I thought it'd be a larf to re-establish it. You see,
Pearl, as the crowning touch to my triumph, whilst I carve your life
tissue away like so much Boston Chicken, your former prisoners are
going to be partying like it's 2099! I'm sending them the classic
fantasy, "The Phantom Tollbooth", by Norton Juster! (to SOL) Ice
cream and cake, kids! (to Pearl, holding a spork) Now, don't worry,
this won't not hurt a bit. Mwah-hah-hah-hah!
[CUT TO: SOL. Mike and Crow are tangled up like a cat's ball of string.
Mike's bent backwards with his legs over his shoulders. Crow's head is
coming out of Mike's pants leg, and his hands and arms are in other
impossible and somewhat embarrassing positions.]
TOM: Hey, guys, come on! D'ja hear? It's "Phantom Tollbooth"! And
ice cream and cake! And I'll bet he's even got an old restored Donkey
Kong machine in there too, all set up so you can play it without
quarters or anything!
MIKE (trying to move, failing): Aw, criminy. Crow, why the blazes did
you attack me like that anyway?
CROW: You would not understand, captain. It is a black vulcan thing.
[Buzzer sounds.]
ALL: We've got Phantom Tollbooth sign!
| 6 |... ( 5 )... [ 4 ]... > 3 <... = 2 =... / * \...
[CUT TO: Theater. Mike and the Bots enter.]
TOM: Ah, "The Phantom Tollbooth". You know, Jules Feiffer's
illustration of Milo is highly influenced by Edvard Munch's "The
Scream".
MIKE: Hey, you know, I never thought of it before, but yeah!
CROW: "For Milo, who always has plenty of time." A classic.
>
> BloodLines: The Calling
>
TOM (singing): He ran calling BlooooooodLines! Hee hee!
MIKE: Um. Wait a minute. That's not the title of "Phantom Tollbooth".
CROW: Yeah, the title of "Phantom Tollbooth" is a lot different than
that.
>
> by FireRose
TOM: No. No, that's... I mean, that's not Slash's chat room handle,
is it?
CROW (scared): Hold me, Mike.
MIKE (nervous): Now, cool it, guys, let's not jump to conclusions.
The Mads and Pearl are evil, and all, but they never lied to us about
the experiment. I'm sure Watchdog and the Humbug are just around the
corner here. I hope.
>
> The BtVS personia are not mine and nether are the personia
> of Highlander, X-Files,
CROW (in terror): Oh my god, IT'S A HIGHLANDER/X-FILES CROSSOVER!
ALL (in soul-wrenching pain): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!!
MIKE (clutching his head): YOU SOLD US OUT, EVIL MIKE!
> Nor the Personia concepts in WhiteWolf's games belong to me.
TOM: Yeah, well I got something that DOES belong to you pal! It's
right here, in my clenched fists, and you better get down here, on
your hands and knees, and take it like a man if you know what's good
for ya!
CROW (sobbing): But... it was gonna be "Phantom Tollbooth"! With the
Dodecahedron, and Rhyme and Reason, and the Terrible Dinn, and...
MIKE (hugging Crow): Oh, hush, now, little buddy, it's OK! (simmering)
Boy, when I get my hands on that me...
> All of these things belong to their respectfull owners I just
> barrowed them
TOM (sobbing): Oh-ho, no, RATLIFF SPELLING!
ALL: AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!
MIKE (rises from his seat): ALL RIGHT, THAT'S IT! THIS ENDS NOW!
> for my
> sick little games
MIKE (still standing, Joe Pesci but somehow serious): Oh, so we amuse you?
We are like a clown to you, is that what you're saying?
TOM (concerned): Mike? C'mon, buddy, sit down.
MIKE: No way! I have done everything they've asked, sat through every
crummy movie, spam, and fanfic, but this is the last straw!
> and shall return them ASAP unharmed and
> a little wiser for the experience.
[Suddenly there is a quick, almost blinding flash of light from behind
the text of the fanfic. Mike covers his eyes and falls back to his
seat.]
ALL: Yah!
MIKE (rubbing his eyes): Man, I'll go with the wiser bit, but unharmed
I'm not so sure.
CROW: When they said, "Do not look directly at fanfic," they weren't
kidding.
TOM: Jeez, I'd blink if I had eyes.
> PS don't sue it could
> be tramatizing
CROW: Oh, so if the government won't build a public tram, this may be
an option.
TOM (deep-voiced narrator): This fanfic is a tramatization of actual
events. Some names, locations, characters, motivations, facts and
storylines have been changed 'cuz we felt like it.
MIKE: Um- hey guys, is it me, or is there something forming behind
the text there?
> to my creativy and inevitably cause my
> mentle dmise
[An old, hunching figure in white robes and a cane walks from the text
into the theater.]
ALL (startled): GAH!
FIGURE IN WHITE: GrEeTiNgS.
MIKE: Don't DO that! You'll cause MY mentle dmise.
TOM: If you do, Mike, we'll keep your remains- on the mentlepiece!
CROW: Ha! That was a real creativy comment there, Tom.
TOM: Why thank you!
FIGURE IN WHITE (confused): HeLlO?
> plus I have no money with witch to placate
> you
CROW: Are you a money witch, or an idea witch?
MIKE: Hey, he's not a witch at all! You're Torgo!
TORGO: ToRgO '98, tO bE pReCiSe. LiKe ToRgO '95, bUt mY kNeEs aRe
InTeRnEt rEaDy!
TOM: Wow! Cool!
TORGO: I wOuLd hAvE CoMe SoOnEr, BuT... tHe MaAaS-tEr... cOuLdN't GeT
hIs AoL cOnNeCtIoN rUnNiNg.
> and that would make me feel bad. ;P Feed back please.
CROW: Hey, so why you bustin' in, Torgo?
TORGO: PlEaSe, I nEeD yOuR HeLp. EvIl mIkE's PrEsEnCe hAs BlOwN ThE
eQuIlIbRiUm Of ToTaLiTy AsUnDeR. If He Is NoT sToPpEd, AlL mAtTeR- iN
BoTh uNiVeRsEs- wIlL cOnFlAgRaTe tO NoThInGnEsS.
MIKE: I have no idea what that means, but I bet Joseph Campbell could
wax philosophically about it for hours on public television.
TOM: What Mike is trying to say, Torgo, is, "Duuuuuuuuuh... OK!"
> This is a first for me. Have lots of ideas just afrad to
> post them. :(
TORGO: CoMe, My cHiLdReN. ThIs Way.
CROW: But wait, won't Evil Mike see we're gone?
TORGO: I wIlL UsE tHe PoWeR of... tHe MaAa-sTer... To dIvErT tHe
fAnFiC sIgNaL.
TOM: Wow, so you mean, someone ELSE will be stuck reading this
Chernobyl Gym Sock of a crossover? Wicked awesome!
MIKE: Well, gee. I don't know.
> but I'm Happy that I have now beter late
> than never.
[Torgo walks back into the text, beckoning.]
TORGO: CoMe. YoUr DeStInY AwAiTs. It SmElLs lIkE BaCoN!
BOTS: Yay! Bacon-bacon-bacon where's the BACON!
> :) Thanks for being my lab rats.
[Mike picks up Tom, and with Crow, begins to follow Torgo into the text.]
TOM: And thanks for the cheese, Catnip, but we're outta here!
Literally! Goodbye, Vietnam! C'mon guys!
CROW: Gosh, Mike. After eight years, we're free! Stop looking so
darned apprehensive.
MIKE: Well, I feel like Gumby. Plus, I can't help worrying about where
that fanfic is going.
[A soft white glow engulfs the theater, and Mike and the bots disappear.]
[CUT TO: A dirty couch in a dark, untended Living Room, upon which lie
the silhouetted sleeping forms of two teenage boys. Suddenly the TV
jumps to life with static, then it begins broadcasting the fanfic.]
> -----------------------------------------------------------
>
> Part One
>
>
> -----------------------------------------------------------
[The two boys, startled, jump awake.]
BOTH: Ahhhhh!
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, Beavis, I told you to stop sleeping on the remote.
BEAVIS: Oh, yeah. Heh-heh. Sorry about that.
>
> Its 8,225 B.C.
BUTTHEAD: Do you know where your children are?
BEAVIS: Heh-heh. Yeah. They're like, at the Kwik-E-Mart, stuffing
nachos in their pants.
> and a tribe is fighting for is life aginst
> demons and other forces.
BUTTHEAD (chortling): You made a cheese log.
BEAVIS (chortling): Heh-heh. Yeah. Chili dog. Heh-heh, heh.
BUTTHEAD: Cocktail wiener.
[Both chortle at double speed.]
> They are being pushed back
> farther and father from their home land. They retreat to
> the north to a land now called Ireland and Scotland.
BEAVIS: Hey Butthead, is this like, "Braveheart"? Maybe we'll see guys
throwing rocks at each other and stuff.
BUTTHEAD: Cool! Throwing stuff rules!
>
> A lone man that was not of their tribe came to them out of
> the darkness to help them.
BEAVIS (chuckling): Heh-heh. Hey, Butthead, check it out.
[Close on Beavis. He cocks his head, pumps his arms and screams.]
BEAVIS (Mel Gibson): But you can't take away, our FREEEEEEEDOM! FREEEED-
[Butthead smacks Beavis upside the head.]
BEAVIS: Ahhhhh!
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, Beavis, that sucked when that Mel Costner
buttmunch screamed it. What makes you think I wanna hear you do it?
BEAVIS: Oh yeah. Hnh-hnh. You gotta point there, Butthead.
> With him he broght news of a
> woman worrior that was to be born among them that would
> have the ability to fight the demons that had pushed them
> so far north and that had persued them as well.
BEAVIS: Hey! Hey! Xena, Butthead! Xena!
BUTTHEAD: YES!
[TWO SHOT, Beavis and Butthead wave their fists in the air,
banging their heads.]
BUTTHEAD: Xena kicks ass!
> Life goes
> on and the man takes a wife that he cares for but does not
> particterly love.
BEAVIS: Dammit, screw love! Get to the fight! Fight! Fight!
> In the next two years life is good but
> the woman has not shown
BUTTHEAD: Uhh... wait a minute...
BEAVIS: No, that sounds pretty cool, Butthead. His wife didn't show,
so it's like, you can get married, and still get chicks.
BUTTHEAD: Yeah, but like, who's going fix us nachos and flush the
toilet and change the channel on the TV when stuff sucks?
> so the man tells them of a nother
> worrior and that when he showes up the girl will be born
> to the tribe.
BEAVIS: Dammit, stop talking already! Fight! Xena would've kicked
twenty asses by now.
BUTTHEAD: Yeah. This show's starting to piss me off.
[Butthead uses the remote. The screen goes static, then the fanfic
comes back on.]
> Two days after ten man has told his proficy
BUTTHEAD (groaning): Oh, no.
BEAVIS: Wow, cool. Tin man! The Wizard of Oz, Butthead, check it
out.
[CUT to one-shot of Beavis.]
BEAVIS (sings): If I only had a schlong! Heh-heh, heh.
[CUT to one-shot of Butthead.]
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, The Wizard of Oz isn't cool, wipe jockey. It sucks
almost as much as that Phantom Tollbooth crap.
> a strange man showes up and on that very day
BEAVIS: No way, Butthead. Oz rules! Why do you think Ozzy's so cool?
'Cuz it's like, he gets dark powers from Oz! He's got, like, a whole
horde of those satanic flying monkeys, and at concerts he lets'em out,
and they poop on the audience and stuff. And then he bites the heads
off munchkins, and...
BUTTHEAD: Beavis? If you ever repeat that, to anyone we know, I am
going to beat the living crap out of you.
> the first
> mans wife has a female child with a couirous birth mark on
> her lower back.
BUTTHEAD: Ozzy's probably on his way here right now to kick your ass
for saying that.
BEAVIS: That's cool, I'll just hide behind the curtain, ya know.
[Butthead stares at Beavis.]
> The birth mark is a small red splouch in
> the shape of a rose on fire.
BUTTHEAD: What the hell are you talking about, buttmunch?
BEAVIS: Well, I'm just sayin', ya know, when Ozzy comes, I'll just
hide behind the curtain, then when he comes in, I'll go,
[CUT TO one-shot of Beavis speaking loudly.]
BEAVIS: PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN! AND KICK
BUTTHEAD IN THE NADS! HEH-HEH! YEAH! HEH-HEH!
AGAIN! KICK HIM
AGAIN! STOMP ON HIM!
[CUT TO two-shot. Butthead smacks Beavis upside the head twice.]
BEAVIS: Ahhhh! AHHHHHH!
>
>
> The first man greted the second and they exchange names.
BEAVIS (woozy from being hit): Whoa, what happened?
BUTTHEAD: Uhhh... I beat the crap out of you for being a dork.
BEAVIS: Whoa! I had the strangest dream. And you were there,
Butthead.
>
> "Caine" the first man says in a dark voice.
BEAVIS: Whoa! And he was there too!
>
> "Dumas" the second replies.
BEAVIS: "Dumbass"?! Whoa! Him too! Yeah! We were all dressed in
weird clothes, wayward travellers, having remarkable adventures,
trying to find our way home.
BUTTHEAD: Beavis?
BEAVIS: And then, like, the ship hit an iceberg! And there weren't
enough lifeboats! And aliens blew up the White House!
BUTTHEAD: Why do I even bother kicking the snot out of you?
> They shake hands, look each
> other in the eyes and see somthing in the others eyes that
> makes them not human.
BUTTHEAD (groaning): Oh, no. It's that... uhhhh... Crapstreet Boys
video for, like, Rocky Horror or something.
BEAVIS: Change it, Butthead. Change it!
[Butthead uses the remote. The screen goes static, then the fanfic
comes back on.]
>
> They know each others history
BUTTHEAD: History sucks!
BEAVIS: Wait, Butthead. Maybe it's, like, E! Entertainment Television,
and it's the History of Victoria's Secret Boobs, or something.
BUTTHEAD (catching on): Oh, yeah. Uh-huh-huh. If it's 36D, then it's
on E!
[Both chortle.]
> their past is mard with
> darkness but they strive for redemption every moment of
> their lives
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, there's no boobs here, dumbass! It's just about
returning empties for money.
BEAVIS: Well, I don't know, Butthead. Money's pretty cool.
BUTTHEAD: Yeah, but this kind of money involves work.
BEAVIS: AAUGH!
[Beavis stabs at the remote still in Butthead's hand. The screen goes
static, then the fanfic comes back on.]
> and this child is the begining of a long ,long
> friendship.
BUTTHEAD (heated): Do that again and this remote is passing up your
bunghole, bunghole!
BEAVIS: Well, that's not that bad, Butthead. I mean, it's like, you
won't touch something that's up my butt.
BUTTHEAD: You won't touch it either, fartknocker! It's up your butt!
BEAVIS: 'S'OK, it's like, I could probably still get a finger up
there, or something.
>
> "The slayer of vampires is born to the very man that
> created the kindred. How ironic." Dumas rumbled in a
> lashing voice.
>
BEAVIS: So what, now Buffy's in this? This video is confusing.
BUTTHEAD: Yeah. I mean, it was cool when Xena was in it, but then she
just talked about marking her birth and the history of empties, and it
was like, what the hell is this crap?
BEAVIS: Well, maybe Dumbass will, like, drive a stake through a
vampire's butt. Yeah, that'd be cool. Hnh-hnh.
> Caine groweld under his breth not wanting to make a seane
> in front of these people that trusted him.
BEAVIS: Well, dammit, if you didn't want to be seen doing anything,
it's like, why the hell did you make a video in the first place?
BUTTHEAD: Yeah. This guy is like that Sting buttmunch. He could
sell, like, twenty million records, and still when he makes a video
he's like-
[CUT to one-shot of BUTTHEAD.]
BUTTHEAD (pretending to be an English fop): Uh- verilee, you are all
such dumbasses. Prithee, leave me to my lilac baths and scented
candles on the loo.
> He debated
> wether or not to even make the snide coment he had thought
> of at that moment and decied to go with it.
BEAVIS: Yeah! Yeah! Dammit, it pisses me off that that candy-ass
Sting would rip the name off a fine upstanding individual like that
wrestling guy Sting!
BUTTHEAD: Yeah, but I heard that wrestling Sting ripped off that woman
from Kiss, that, uh, Jean Simmons chick?
BEAVIS: Whoa! Jean Simmons? That "Sweatin' to the Oldies" guy?
He was in Kiss? No way!
> "How ironic can
> it be
BEAVIS: Yeah! Yeah! Alanis! Heh-heh! Cool!
BUTTHEAD (as seductively as that bunghole can): Ah, Alanis. I see the
four of you, driving down that wintry, lonely road to nowhere. Listen
to your heart, Alanis. COME to Butthead!
> for an all powerfull Dragon that does nothing to
> save these people whin he very well has the power to do
> so.
BUTTHEAD: I am the black fly in her chardonnay. Uh-huh-huh, huh.
BEAVIS: Heh-heh. Yeah. Me too. I won the lottery, and died the next
day.
> I'll tell you. Not that ironic at all."
BUTTHEAD: Dumbass says you're not ironic, Beavis.
BEAVIS: Gaah, no way! I'm like, um, ten thousand spoons, when all you
need is love, or something.
> Caine uttered
> in so low a voice that only Dumas heared his words. Whil
> this conversation was going on the tribe was celebrating
> the berth of the first Slayer.
BUTTHEAD: VH1 presents, "Behind the Music" with Slayer.
BEAVIS: Whoa! Cool! Really?
BUTTHEAD: Uh... no, Beavis. That show only does stuff that sucks,
like Meatloaf, the Beach Boys, Cyndi Lauper...
BEAVIS: Dammit! If they've gotta do stuff that sucks, it's like, why
can't they just do it one show and get it over with?
BUTTHEAD: Yeah. Get all the stuff that sucks out the way with one
sucky show, where all you do is talk about how much they suck.
>
> "You'r going to be her mentor Dumas."
BEAVIS: The freshmaker! Heh-heh.
BUTTHEAD: Mentos piss me off. Every time I put one in my mouth, it's
like, what the hell is this crap supposed to be?
> Caine confesed. This
> cought Dumas off gaurd.
>
BEAVIS: Yeah, I know what you mean, Butthead. It's like, it's not a
LifeSaver, so you can't make lightning come out of your mouth or
anything.
BUTTHEAD: Yeah, and it's not gum, so you can't stick it between the
pages of Daria's personal journal.
> "What, I thought it was you." Dumas replied in an
> exasperated tone.
>
> "NO, I'm the some what the father."
BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD: Dun-dun-daaaaaaah!
BUTTHEAD: Why don't these asswipes see this coming?
BEAVIS: Yeah! I mean, you'd think, after the hundredth time, that a
bad guy turns out to be the good guy's father, it's like, they'd start
taking a look at their birth certificate before picking a fight!
>
> "What do you mean by some what the father was ther another
> man with your wife."
BEAVIS: Oooooo, yeah. Hn-hnh, hn.
>
> "No, No other man.
BEAVIS: Oooooo, yeah. Hnh-hnh. Heather has two hot mommas.
BUTTHEAD: It's a very special Jerry Springer.
> Its that I can't father childern not
> since I became Kindred and you know that!" Dumas was going
> to cut in.
BUTTHEAD: Ya know, watching Jerry, and those lesbian boxing stripper
whores he has on, makes ME feel pretty special. Uh-huh-huh.
BEAVIS: Heh-heh, yeah, I know what you mean Butthead. He makes you
feel like each show was made just with you in mind, and he has this way
of looking right in the camera when he smiles, and it's like he's
smiling just for you.
[BUTTHEAD looks at Beavis.]
> "Now let me finish will you." Dumas nodds. "I
> belive it was Michel that made this posible. He has the
> power and he's the only Angel that is willing to help me
> have as normal a life as I can.
BEAVIS: Makes you feel really, very special.
BUTTHEAD (laughing): You're a lesbian, Beavis.
BEAVIS: Shut up, asswipe! I am not! I'm just like, sensitive and
stuff, so chicks'll dig me. Yeah! Then I'll score! Hnh-hnh! And
that'll RULE!
> Because I'm no demon you
> know that to but what I'm trying to say is that I'm part
> Angel because of where my blood comes from, Michel made me
> with his blood do you understand."
>
BUTTHEAD: You're never going to score, buttmunch! If a chick ever saw
you act like that, she'd cold-cock you, kick you in the head and feed
your nads to her dog.
> All Dumas could do was stare at Caine in shock. This
> Dragon had thought that the Kindred were Deamons with
> actule emotions and nothing more.
BEAVIS: Gah, no way! I saw it on, like, Sally Jesse Jackson. Chicks
want someone to, um, listen to them, and understand their problems,
and-
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, Beavis, you think chicks are hanging off Snoop Doggy
Dog 'cuz he listens to them? They could tell him they were on fire and
he'd be like,
[ONE-SHOT of Butthead]
BUTTHEAD: You think you're on fire now, baby? Just wait 'til later
tonight. Uh-huh-huh, huh, huh.
> Now he knew just why
> they were split in to two sides and the reason for their
> pasion for any thing they do no mater it good or evil.
BEAVIS: Dumbass is right, Butthead. Chicks want a guy with two sides,
and like, passion for evil!
BUTTHEAD: Chicks want guys with cool cars and money, rimwad! I told
you to stop watching that wussy feminist crap and stick to music
videos.
[BUTTHEAD presses remote several times. Static occurs each time and the
fanfic comes back on.]
> This also led to why he was here and that was because a
> guardia was need for this new type of angel and what beter
> than an all powerful Dragon.
BEAVIS: Hey, Butthead. Didn't we change this a couple of times
already? It's like, on every channel! What's the deal?
BUTTHEAD: Uhhhhhhh... I think it's like one of those, public-ital
debates, or something. Like when that Billy Carter dude talks
about his bitch in the twenty-first century?
>
> And so the first Watcher was chosen for the first Slayer.
BEAVIS: So this has been, like, Xena, debating Buffy? I'm
disappointed, Butthead. I would have expected a lot more
ass-kicking than this.
BUTTHEAD: Well, maybe it's like, they're in different weight classes,
or something?
BEAVIS: Oh, yeah. Hn-hn. So like, maybe Gabrielle's got to take
Xena's place, and show the world, and herself, what she's made of.
BUTTHEAD: Cool! Gabrielle rules! She's, uh-huh-huh, the chick with
the stick.
[Both chortle.]
> He an Angel of the earth and she a kind of hybread of
> Human and Kindred a new kind of worrior for the God and
> Godess.
BUTTHEAD: They're building it up. It's gonna start any minute now.
Gabrielle's probably swinging her stick backstage.
BEAVIS: Hn-hn. Hey, Butthead. I'm getting ready to swing my stick.
[Both chortle.]
> For to save the world they must combind their
> power.
BEAVIS: Combine their power! Whoa! It's a tag team match against
Pacific Blue and the Baywatch babes!
BUTTHEAD (wide-eyed): This will be the coolest thing that hath ever
happened, Beavis.
> One must train the young FireRose the other will be
> her lover.
BEAVIS (wide-eyed, shaking): Gaaaah, turn it up, Butthead. Turn it up.
BUTTHEAD : This will be the highlight of our entire lives.
[Butthead presses the volume control on the remote all the way up.]
>
> To be continued
[BEAVIS and BUTTHEAD scream in frustration at the top of their lungs.]
BEAVIS: GAAAH, YOU RUINED IT, WIPE MONKEY!
BUTTHEAD: Shut up, fartknocker, or I'll jam your teeth up your butt
while they're still in your mouth!
[Beavis and Butthead beat the living crap out of each other.]
---------------------------------------------------------------------
[DOOR SEQUENCE- Cambot goes up through the lid of a toilet, goes toward
the shower curtains which separate, travels over the curtain rod then
through the opening bathroom door, approaches Beavis and Butthead
sitting on the couch from the side, travels in Butthead's left ear and
out the other, in Beavis's ear then out his nostril, goes out the front
door, hikes a sharp right, then another, to the opening living room
window, which then presents us with our normal front view of the two
buttmunches on the couch.]
[ANGLE ON: Couch. Beavis and Butthead are seated, and still. Nothing
remarkable, the set is as ugly as usual. Wait, it's been ten seconds
now, nothing's happened. What the hey-? Hello? Mr. Judge? Is your
mike on? Fifteen seconds- criminy! Finally Magic Voice saves us.]
MAGIC VOICE: And now, for the first time on television. Butthead.
Beavis. The Poetry of Gertrude Stein.
[Title Graphic is superimposed, confirming that yes, indeed, it's "THE
POETRY OF GERTRUDE STEIN". The graphic fades away. Time passes.
Somewhere on earth another puppy is born, somewhere children
shout. Finally one of the buttmunches speaks.]
BUTTHEAD (laughing): Pigeons.
BEAVIS: Hnh-hnh. Yeah. Hnh-hnh, hnh.
[A few more precious moments slip away. The red panda, placid in its
domain, consumes another meal of leaves and grasses.]
BEAVIS (hammering his fists, and slowly chanting): Pigeons, pigeons,
pigeons!
BUTTHEAD: Uh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.
[When planting roses, always dig a hole twice as big as the roots.
CLOSE UP on Beavis.]
BEAVIS: PIGEONS ON THE GRASS, DAMMIT!
[Back to two-shot.]
BUTTHEAD (laughing): Huh-huh-yeah. Pigeons on the grass, my ass.
BEAVIS (getting agitated): Gaaaaaah, I hate'm! Sons a bitches!
BUTTHEAD: Whoa! Settle down, Beavis.
BEAVIS (shaking head wildly): N-n-n-n-n-NO! It's like, the pigeons,
they're on the grass, and that's the grass where I walk, and they're-
they're pooping on the grass! And I can't see it! I walk across the
grass, and- maybe it's to the left. Maybe it's to the right. Maybe
it's right there, and I just stepped in it! AAUGH, I stepped in
pigeon poop! AAUGH!
[Butthead whacks Beavis upside the head.]
BUTTHEAD: Dammit, Beavis, stop acting like a puss.
BEAVIS: AUGH, I'LL KILL YOU, PIGEON STROKER!
[The two roll on the floor fighting.]
[CUT TO: The House of Pain. Evil Mike is staring into the monitor,
dumbstruck, horrified, this can't possibly be happening. He almost
wants to cry. In other words, TV's Frank Look #43.]
EVIL MIKE: No! (Evil Mike checks his instruments, looks to the left
and the right for anyone to help him.) No! What are you doing?
[CUT TO: Beavis is choking Butthead, who is grabbing Beavis's hair.
The two look into the screen, wide-eyed.]
BUTTHEAD: Uhhhh...
EVIL MIKE (on screen): Where are my prisoners? The fireplug? The
dairy rube? That- that bowling trophy thing? (pointing a gun at
them through the screen) I need them for my master plan, now where
are they?!
[Beavis and Butthead's eyes are immense as they stare at the screen.]
BEAVIS: Hey, Butthead. Is that, like, Principal McVicker? I thought
he lived at school.
BUTTHEAD: Shut up, fartknocker! The TV's talking to me. (to TV)
Uhhhhhh. I think they had to, like, leave, or something.
BEAVIS: Hey, Butthead! If he's on TV, maybe he knows the guy that
held Janet Jackson's thingies in that video that one time!
BUTTHEAD (catching on): Oh, yeah.
[CUT TO House of Pain.]
EVIL MIKE (really channeling Shatner now): Shut up! Shut- your stupid-
mouths- before- I carve- a mail slot- into- your imbecillic- throats!
BUTTHEAD (laughing): He said "slot".
[We hear Beavis and Butthead chortle. Evil Mike, fuming, fires his
gun repeatedly into the monitor.]
[CUT TO: Beavis and Butthead, reduced to two smoldering piles of ashes.]
BUTTHEAD (laughing as pile of ashes): That was cool.
[Beavis and Butthead's ashes laugh.]
[Commercial - This is not your father's Oldsmobile.]
--- End Part I ---
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