MSTing: "Name of the Game"

--- Part 8 of 8 ---

[OPEN ON: Theater.  Pearl, sitting with the mysterious blue 
 dragon-demon Scratch painfully clamped to her head, continues 
 riffing. Magic Voice assists.]

>
> --------
>
>She decided that full disclosure wasn't really necessary, and what
> really was a half hour more or less?

MADGE: Hm... He left at 9, she said 3:30...
SCRATCH: It's the eighteen-and-a-half minute gap, squared!

>It was true, she did pass out on the couch,
>but not right after getting in the door.

SCRATCH: There were some offerings to the ceramic goddess, if you 
   follow my insinuations.

>She'd checked Amelia's room,
>saying her roommate might be in or might not be in, and when she saw it
>was empty offered to make coffee.

PEARL (Alexa, seductively): I keep the coffee over here- in the boudoir.

>If Amelia had been in -- she would have had
>to try something different.

MADGE (slyly): Kin-ky!

>She was pouring the beans in the grinder when
>he came up behind her in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her,

PEARL (wrestling announcer): He's setting her up for the suplex!
SCRATCH (same): Yes, but what's this? It's her evil twin Amelia! She's 
   creeping out of the closet- she's got a chair! She's got a metal 
   folding chair! Oh, this is trouble, folks!

>under
>her arms , and buried his face in her hair.

SCRATCH (as Alexa): Yeah, yeah, look Dracula, I'm trying to percolate 
   here!
PEARL (up to Scratch): You can't really do voices, can you.
SCRATCH: Well- I mean, I'm new at this. Give me some time.
PEARL: Time? Don't you get it, you reject from a Land Called Honolee? 
   I am NOT a Day's Inn! You're compressing my spinal column!
SCRATCH: You're an invocation late for regrets, baby.
PEARL: Where the hell's the Shop Vac got to?!

>
>She dropped the beans, which went scattering and wrapped her arms
>around his,

MADGE: Coffee beans have arms?

> then turned to face him, curling her hair behind her ears.

PEARL (sings as Folgers commercial): The best, paaart of gettin' drunk!

>They stared
>at each other a minute more, like they had on the dance floor,

SCRATCH (as Donna Summers): Last da-a-ance... last cha-a-ance -
PEARL (threatens Scratch with newspaper): Stop it now!
SCRATCH (head drooping): Yes ma'am.

>and then he
>bent down to her and they started kissing. It was slower this time, but
>the urgency was still there.

MADGE (Logan): Oh, baby. I'm going take you on the floor and... 
   oh, Seattle's Best! That's hard to get out here!

> On hers his lips soft and wet pushed into her
>until she bent back on the counter. Her stomach began to quiver and she
>tried to imagine what Amelia would have done,

PEARL (Amelia): Well, I think the first incision would be made HERE...
SCRATCH: Pillow fight!

>and doing so led him out to
>the living room sofa, where without a beat they continued their
>kissing.

MADGE: Oh, "without a beat". Her Thelonius Monk album's on.

>Her hands reached up to his hair, something she thought at first he'd
>had too much of, but now it felt thick and beautiful under her hands.

SCRATCH (as Logan): Oh, Amelia! I've loved you from the moment I 
   thought I could bop you!

>He laid
>her back against the pillows on the couch

PEARL: NO shoes on the couch, young man! This is real leather!

>and she pulled his shirt out from
>his pants, running her hands against his back. They kept manipulating
>their positions,

ALL (awkwardly): Oo! Ouch! Ow!
PEARL (Alexa): Let me-
MADGE (Logan): Watch the elbow.
PEARL (Alexa): I'm trying, but your knee is just right in my diaphragm!

>more or less clothed the whole time,

SCRATCH: -until she was more or less pregnant.

>until they were both
>seated, her with her legs across his lap, folded into the crook of his
>arm, taking long, deep breaths.

[Gypsy pops up from beneath the seats.]
GYPSY: EAT DEATH, HAND OF BAALZEBUB!
SCRATCH: Oh, snacks! Great! You got- AUGH!

[Gypsy has opened her mouth to reveal a super soaker inside, which 
 shoots a stream of liquid at Scratch. Pearl shrieks, as, by extension, 
 she is also soaked.]

>He was brushing her hair down with his hand as
>she nuzzled against his chest.
>

PEARL (furiously shaking stuff of her arms): Eww! Yuk! What IS this 
   stuff? Holy water?
GYPSY: Powerade. Same general idea, though.
SCRATCH: Ew, it's gonna dry and I'm gonna be all sticky!

>"What was that," she said quietly, a little shaken by the
> instantaneousness of her reaction.

MADGE: Oh, disorientation, regret, ennui. All part of riding the 
   wild Logan!
GYPSY (to Scratch): So you're not banished to limbo, then?
SCRATCH: Hey, wish I could. Minerva here cast a spell of binding, 
   and I'm stuck as her familiar.
PEARL: Hey, wait, familiar? You mean- you're here to SERVE me?
SCRATCH: Well, in three letters? Yup.

>
>He didn't answer at first, then, "Maybe more of what we were wanting to
>do in the hallway."

MADGE (Alexa): What, ring all the doorbells and run?
PEARL (to Scratch): Well why didn't you say so in the first place?
SCRATCH (to Gypsy): OK. Should I assume stupid questions are the 
   norm here?
GYPSY: In three letters?
PEARL: Hey! Get off my head, FAMILIAR!
SCRATCH (sighing, spreading his wings and flying to an open seat): 
   Spoilsport.
GYPSY (watching Scratch fly): Woo. Pretty.

>
>She looked up at him and he half smiled, and she ran her finger over
>his lips, then cupped his jaw,

MADGE: Reared her fist back, and laid'em out like a yearbook!

>and they kissed once, twice, sanely.

GYPSY: With those two, that's an oxymoron!

> "You can't
>stay," she said, and then surprised herself by yawning. It was back.

ALL: Huh? What?
SCRATCH: Did Stephen King write a sequel?

>
>He nodded. "I had a feeling that was coming."
>
>She shook her head and stifled another yawn. She was good for maybe ten
>minutes more, and then she knew, from experience, she'd be out like a
>light.

MADGE: She passes out on a punchclock?
PEARL: You know, it's sad when Germans get drunk.

>She'd have to be brief. "I'm not going to be just a quick fuck for
>you to laugh to your partner about, Detective Mike," she said quietly.

MADGE: Yeah, knowing Montague it'd go on for at least twelve pages.

>"I might not even be a fuck at all for you."
>
>He sighed, a big long breath. "Oh, really. And how do you figure that."

GYPSY (sighing): There he goes, turning on the charm again.
SCRATCH: Well, look at it this way guys. If couples like this didn't
   breed, where would the next generation of frat boys come from?
PEARL: Oh, big yuks from the lackey! Go get pretzels.
SCRATCH: Say please.
[Pearl threatens with the newspaper. Scratch droops his head.]
SCRATCH (from Amos and Andy): OK, Kingfish.
[Scratch grumbles and leaves the theater.]
GYPSY: Woo. Kinda harsh, Pearl.
PEARL: Why thank you! I try.

>
>"I mean that I don't sleep with anyone, not yet anyway, and I hardly
> think I'm going to throw it all away on someone else's idea of a one
> night stand."

MADGE: I'm going to throw it away on an aging billionaire!

>
>"You haven't done this before?" it rushed out, all at once, and he
> stared at her.

PEARL: If you believe in virgins, clap your hands!

>
>It was the truth, it was some other part of Alexa he now knew. "I've
>done this," she told him, and thumped him on the chest. "I just haven't
>done that, if you know what I mean."

GYPSY (Logan): D'oh, I was told this wouldn't be on the test! No fair!

>
>"So what if I was planning on just sleeping with you and never calling
> you again?"
>
>She felt her eyes droop. "Then....you should probably go now."
>

PEARL: <Knock Knock> Um, this is Trojan Man? Am I late for the 
   commercial?

>Later on, Mike told her how he hadn't really been thinking on it one
>way or the other,

MADGE: Logan's got burning intelligence the way Nero had a burning
   empire.

>that the idea of sleeping with someone who had more money than
>he would make in his lifetime was actually the reason he had come to
>the dance, but there had always been more, that x factor,

GYPSY: Oo, makeup!
MADGE: No, that's Max Factor, Gyps.

> the feeling that all
>wasn't as it seemed, a danger to the liaison, that really spurred him
>on.

PEARL (Michael Douglas): I'm gonna figure you out, lady!

>It was that x factor that made him pause right there. It made her more
>appealing in ways he couldn't describe.

[ALL sigh, wearily and disgustedly.]
MADGE: It's people like this who are the engine of your tattoo-based 
   economies.

>Suddenly he hugged her fiercely and
>kissed the top of her head,

GYPSY (Logan): I love your dandruff so much!

>and sat quietly like that until she fell
>asleep, which wasn't long.

PEARL: Would've been sooner if he'd kept talking.

>When her breathing grew warm and regular on his
>chest he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom she hadn't
>checked for roommate presence in earlier,

MADGE: Is roommate presence like that afghan presence she talked about
   earlier?
PEARL: Yeah, the cheap knock-off version you find at K-mart.

>and laid her down gently on the bed,
>removing her shoes, and pulling a light sheet over her legs.

MADGE (Logan): Um... now I lay her down to sleep... I pray the lord... 
   don't see what I did with her panties.

>By then it was
>already four in the morning, and he knew he was skunked for work, so he
>laid next to her and propped his head up on his hand, watching her
>sleep,

GYPSY: Which is marginally less interesting than Good Morning America.

>and curled up, watching her until he himself fell asleep.
>
>When he woke up the clock told him it was already 9:10, and he peeled
>himself back from her carefully,

MADGE: Make sure you get the pith. It's bitter.
[Scratch flies in, carrying a cloth bag in his talons. He drops the bag 
 in front of Pearl.]
SCRATCH: Your pretzels, mein fuhrer. (He lands back on her head.)
PEARL: Took ya long enough. (pops one in her mouth)
SCRATCH: Yeah, baked'em myself. With my own body heat.
[Pearl does a spit take with the pretzel.]
PEARL, GYPSY, and MADGE: EW! UGH! YUK!

>splashing some water on his face in the
>bathroom, and left a note on her pillow with his number. Let's go
>dancing again, he'd written, and signed it Detective Mike.

MADGE (Logan): P.S. I borrowed some eggs, your Watchman, and a pair 
   of dress shields. I'll explain later.
GYPSY (to Scratch): Why would you SAY something like that?
SCRATCH: Well, I am a dragon. I do belch flames at oven-like 
   temperatures, you know.
PEARL (disgusted, holding a pretzel up to examine it): What ARE these 
   things? What's with the shape?
SCRATCH: Oh, I thought pretzel shapes were boring, so I made them in the 
   shape of souls you tortured as you passed through life! See? That 
   one's Ms. Shechter, the grade school librarian you shot with rubber 
   bullets.
PEARL (gradually recognizing): Oh, yeah! The orphan widower with the 
   cane and anemia and the heart problem.
MADGE: You SHOT a librarian?
PEARL (defensive): Not in the face! There was no visible scarring. She 
   recovered. Lay off. (eats the pretzel) Mm, salty.

> She'd like that, women
>liked that stuff.

MADGE: You know, that whole note-leaving, Weight Watchers, 
   Evelyn and Crabtree kind of crap.

>Then he'd let himself out and downed four cups of coffee
>before he made it to his desk forty minutes late.

SCRATCH: Then got up from his desk, came back, got up again...

>
>Part One, continued
>

PEARL, MADGE, and SCRATCH (crying): Oh-ho-ho, NOOOOOOO!!!
GYPSY (moving out of the theater): No, it's OK guys. We're done. 
   That's a wrap.
PEARL (getting up to leave): Oh, thank god!
SCRATCH: Whew! Thank the other guy!
GYPSY: So could this fanfic have a point, ya think? I mean, could the 
   criminal justice system be divided into the police who investigate 
   the crime, the district attorney who prosecutes the offenders, and 
   the profligate band gypsy who blunders in and screws it all up?
MADGE: Ahhhh... I'm not seeing it, Gyps.
GYPSY: Oo.
SCRATCH (to Pearl): So it's cool that I'm on your head now, right?
PEARL: Mmmmmmmaybe.

/ * \... = 2 =... > 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...

[OPEN ON: Bridge of SOL. Pearl, with Scratch back on her head, is 
 tired and pissed.]

PEARL: That, was the worst posting we've ever done.
MADGE (resentful): It's the only posting you've ever done.
SCRATCH: I liked that part at the end.
PEARL: What?
SCRATCH: Well, you know. Where it stopped.

[Pearl and Madge grudgingly agree when Gypsy lunges in from the left.]

GYPSY: Ship coming in off the port bow! Cambot, give me rocket number
   nine!
PEARL (confused): Satellites don't have rockets.
MADGE: Shh!

[INSERT: An exact duplicate of the SOL, painted a dark grey, floats 
 next to the SOL.]

GYPSY: My stars- it looks exactly like the Satellite of Love!

[ANGLE ON: Hexfield irising open, showing ANOTHER Mary Jo smiling 
 broadly in a sunhat and Hawaiian shirt on the bridge of another SOL.]

PEARL: Aw, crap. It's my good twin!
TRIXIE: Aloha, Pearl! Nice hat!
SCRATCH: Thanks!
PEARL: Trixie! What are you doin' here?
TRIXIE: I sold wrapping paper to help raise money for Edgar's kids at 
   school! As a reward, he invited me to spend a week in his Skylab of
   Lingering Resentment! I don't really get the name, frankly.
SCRATCH: Who's Edgar?
TRIXIE: Evil Mike's twin.
GYPSY (happy): Mike! It's Mike! She knows Mike!
TRIXIE: Oh, no, dear. No. Mike is Evil Mike in a parallel universe. 
   Edgar is Evil Mike's twin.
SCRATCH: Evil Mike has an evil twin?
TRIXIE: No.
GYPSY: Then who's Edgar?
SCRATCH: And who are YOU?
MADGE: Hush, she's Pearl's twin!
TRIXIE: No, actually I'm Pearl in a parallel universe.
PEARL: Wait- we're not related?
TRIXIE: Well, I suppose in a cosmic sense...
PEARL: Then why do you chip in for a Mother's Day gift every year?
TRIXIE: It seemed so important to you.
PEARL: Jeez, there's bein' good, and there's bein' a doormat, Trix!
SCRATCH (stretching neck to Pearl): So this is your antibody?
PEARL: No, Evil Mike is my antibody.
SCRATCH: But I thought he was MIKE'S antibody!
GYPSY: No, Trixie is Mike's antibody!
MADGE (impatient): Trixie is Pearl in a parallel universe!
SCRATCH: Then how does she know Evil Mike?!
TRIXIE: I know his twin!
GYPSY (happy): Mike!
TRIXIE, PEARL, AND MADGE (exasperated): NO!!!
SCRATCH (to Cambot, hopelessly confused): Pat? I'd like to buy a vowel?

[Light flashes.]

PEARL: Oh, hold on. Maybe Edgar McCarthy can straighten this out. 

[Pearl hits the light.]

[CUT TO: The House of Pain. Evil Mike is VERY angry.]

EVIL MIKE: I- AM NOT- MY TWIN- BROTHER!

[Suddenly from the right ANOTHER Michael J. Nelson walks in, cool and 
 cocky, with a shaved head, a backwards cap, Ray-Bans, oversized jeans, 
 lots of rings and gold chains, and a Twins baseball shirt.]

EDGAR: Hey, you're telling me and the whole neighborhood, man. Tone 
   it down to eleven, OK?
EVIL MIKE (annoyed): Eddie! I told you to call first!
EDGAR: Oh. Um, not my fault. I was in a tunnel, man. (covers ears,
   pretends static) Kkkkkkkkkkk!
EVIL MIKE: Eddie, you came by shuttlecraft.
EDGAR: I know, but-
EVIL MIKE: You can't MAKE a tunnel in space. What would you take out?
EDGAR (looks into camera): Hey! A satellite of prisoners! Pretty cool.

[CUT TO: SOL]

PEARL: Hey! I thought you were the GOOD twin.

[CUT TO: House of Pain.]

EDGAR: Hey, naw, baby. I'm the COOL twin. This is Mister Uptight here.
NICE MIKE NELSON (offscreen): NOW!

[Bobo, Mike, Brain Guy, and the Bots let loose a battlecry as they 
 charge from the shadows holding a cargo net. Without even looking 
 behind him, Evil Mike wearily takes a ray gun from his belt and shoots
 them. Their battle cry transmutes to a groan of defeat, as all our
 heroes freeze in place, stopped in the act of trying to throw the
 net over Evil Mike.]

EDGAR (jaw dropping): Lord God KING Uptight!
MIKE (frozen mouth): Um... that coulda gone better.
CROW (his eyes are missing): I closed my eyes. Did we win?
TOM (sarcasm): Oh, sure, Crow! This is what WINNING feels like!
BOBO (happily analytical): Now, to me, this feels more like, oh, 
   humiliating defeat! With a tinge of dread, and just the slightest 
   hint of impending doom!
OBSERVER (grumbling): I swear, the minute I can reach my brain, his 
   head is a pickle.

[FOLLOW Evil Mike as he casually walks offstage to a dark, sparse,
 utilitarian area with cinderblock wall, stage ropes and a ladder in 
 the background.]

EVIL MIKE: And it is at this vaguely awkward moment that we end our
   broadcast day. Is Edgar really my brother? What fate lies in store 
   for Mike? Speed? Racer X? And could Best Brains ever really afford 
   the high-tech processing shots needed to put me in three roles at 
   once?
EDGAR (poking head in from left): Ooh, that's a toughie.
EVIL MIKE: For the answer to these questions, or not, tune in to the 
   next exciting episode of, "Mystery Science Theater, 3000!"
EDGAR: 3000 reflects price after manufacturer's mail-in rebate. 
   Odds of winning dependent on number of entries received. Sorry, 
   no C.O.D.'s!
EVIL MIKE (grinning evilly): Shoot'em, Edgar!
EDGAR (smiling, pointing a ray gun at the camera): Man, nothin' 
   beats a payin' gig!

[Edgar pulls the trigger. We hear a sound like a slamming bank vault 
 in an echo chamber, as white light from the gun engulfs the screen, 
 flashes, and we FADE to black.]

EVIL MIKE (voice over black): Paying?

-------------------------------------------------------

" Oh my God, what the hell
is going on," Laura shrieked
as she walked in!

-------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1999 Brendan Herlihy