MSTing - "Something in the String of G"
--- Part 6 of 8 ---
[OPEN ON: Theater, the gang contiues riffing.]
>Hannibal mumbled thoughtfully.
>
SCRATCH (Muttly): Murgle-burgle-gurgle Rick Rastardly!
>"I mean, I'll feel like I'm at a damn cattle call.
GYPSY: Nonsense! Now stop griping and chew your cud.
>We're nothing but beef on the hoof to them.
PEARL: Did somebody say, mass bovicide?
>Mere hunks of flesh for these horny old
>broads to feast their eyes upon."
>
>"Sorta like a beauty pageant, huh, Face?"
MADGE: Well, they're not dangling thousand dollar college scholarships as
bait for the skanktrap, but...
>
>"Exactly. It's humiliating."
>
>All the while Face was complaining.
SCRATCH: Oh really? I hadn't noticed.
> Hannibal had been scrutinizing the
>clientele as it entered and had decided that the benefits of this
>unusual job just might outweigh the drawbacks.
PEARL (Hannibal): I can expose myself to women, and they'll scream for a
good reason!
> Several of the ladies
>were extremely attractive. "I don't know, Face. Maybe this job isn't
>so bad after all.
MADGE (Hannibal): This could be a gateway to a lucrative career in
gold digging!
> Men have been ogling women for centuries.
>Why shouldn't the ladies get a turn?"
SCRATCH (warily raising a claw): Um... because treating another human
being as an empty vessel upon which to project our own sexual
needs is wrong regardless of gender?
PEARL (resentfully to Scratch): Shut up!
>"You can't be serious."
>
>The colonel locked eyes with an attractive brunette as she passed by
>and followed her progress to his assigned station.
GYPSY: She won't touch you, Hannibal. You're dirt.
> "I think I have a
>customer, Face." He grinned. "Hand me my tray."
SCRATCH: Careful with that tray, Eugene!
>
>"Hannibal!" But the shout went unheeded.
PEARL: (Hannibal, singing to himself): I'm your private dancer... dancer
for money- hey!
> Tom shoved a tray into the
>younger man's hands and nudged him toward his assigned group of tables.
GYPSY (Tom): Get out there and push those novelty drinks! Remember!
They get to keep the glass!
>"Ohhhh," he moaned as he moved hesitantly toward his first table.
SCRATCH (Popeye): This, is embaraskin'.
>"First one who laughs at me, gets it," he muttered.
MADGE (Face): I'll just... stamp my foot and... and pout really hard!
>
>With a gulp, he approached the three woman at the end table. "Can I
>get you something?"
>
>The redhead looked up and smiled, her eyes traveling down the length of
>his body and back again before she answered. "Yes. A Tom Collins."
GYPSY (introductions): Tom Collins, Rob Roy. Johnnie Walker,
Harvey Wallbanger.
>
>Face jotted the request down and turned to the plump brunette beside
>her.
>
>"I'd like a Pina Colada.
MADGE (patron): And getting caught in the rain. I'm not much into health
food. Could I get a Korbel chaser?
> What's your name?"
>
>"Uh, Templeton Peck."
>
>The women erupted with squeals of delight.
ALL: Wah-wah-waaaah!
SCRATCH (Face, crying/whining): Go ahead, squeal! You're just lucky you're
not laughing at me!
> "You're the one we were told to ask for," the plump one announced.
>
>The redhead's eyes made the journey along his body again. "Now I see
>why."
PEARL (redhead): I could probably take you without taking off my heels!
C'mon, get your arm up here, mama's boy! Wrassle!
>
>Face squirmed, "What about you, Miss?" he asked the third member of
>the group, a gray-haired woman of about fifty.
>
>"Just you, blue eyes.
MADGE (Face): Well, blue irises, actually. The majority of my eye is the
white sclera.
> God, look at that chest. I just love a hairy chest, don't you,
>Diane?"
PEARL (woman to Face): Oh, but yours is fine too, sweetie! Don't feel bad!
>
>Face swallowed awkwardly, praying for a hole to open up in the floor to
>claim him, or, better yet,
SCRATCH: -a horde of rabid land-walking pirhanas to consume every last
character in a satanic fury of gnashing teeth!
> a timely entrance from Colonel Decker.
SCRATCH: Eh. I like mine better.
> "There's a two drink minimum," he managed to squeak out.
>
>"Then bring me two Vodka Gimlets," the older woman smiled.
>
>"Right."
>
>"Oh, Diane," the plump one said, "let's have our picture taken with our
>waiter."
PEARL: You know- establish your (cough) alibi? While your husband has that
(cough) meeting? With Nick (cough) "The Plumber"?
>
>"Oh, no," Face started to say, but before he could back off, Diane had
>clutched his arm and a camera had appeared from somewhere.
MADGE: Face, relax. With a name like "Templeton Peck", you were bound to
wind up here eventually anyway.
SCRATCH: Here, or in a video called "The Blowed and the Beautiful".
>
>"Put your arm around her, gorgeous. God, wait till your husband sees
>this."
>
>Face cringed. "Husband? No, wait...uh...uh..."
>
>"Come on, Templeton. Isn't that a sexy name?
GYPSY: It's the rat from "Charlotte's Web"!
MADGE (laughs): That's what I would have thought.
> Just a quick picture. The girls back in Omaha will never believe
>I've been here if I don't have a picture."
SCRATCH: That indicates some underlying trust issues in your relationship,
that intensive counseling could probably... not do very much about.
>
>Since Diane held his arm with the force of a vice grip, Face could only
>agree, praying fervently that no one would ever see the shots.
>
>"Now smile, gorgeous."
PEARL (photographer, at Face): Not you, her!
>The picture session seemed to last an eternity, but somehow Face
>managed to hide his discomfort and smile to placate the three women.
MADGE (Face, whining): Eh, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk to my
real 80's girlfriend, Victoria Principal! She makes clothing for Sears,
and has like a million billion dollars, and loves me just for being me,
she does!
>Mission accomplished, he grabbed the tray and made a hasty retreat for
>the bar, out of sight of most of the gawking females.
GYPSY (Face): OK! I need two... um, vodka Hamlets, and a Tim Robbins, and
some sort of pin that's been collated.
>
>Safe at last, he leaned against the bar and looked at a fellow waiter
>beside him. He'd only me the other man briefly at the chorus line
>rehearsal, but he thought the guy's name was Mat.
[All chuckle.]
SCRATCH: From the way the other waiters walked all over him?
PEARL: Beatty's got real name issues going on here.
GYPSY: What's his first name, Foto?
> "How do you stand this?" he whined.
>
MADGE (Matt): Well your teammates suggested I think pleasant thoughts
while your mincing little voice washes past my ears like static.
>Matt looked at him and smiled. "You get used to it. They're all
>harmless enough.
PEARL: Oh, so women aren't a threat? They're controllable, insignificant,
is that what you're saying?
> They want to come here and fantasize for a few
>hours."
>
SCRATCH (Matt): Although one word from you may cure them of that.
>"Fantasize?" The implications sent a new rush of color to Face's
>cheeks.
[All laugh.]
MADGE: Whiny, stupid... Face was custom-built for the twentieth century!
SCRATCH: Yeah, if Face had landed on Plymouth Rock, Squanto would have
had such a great time watching him starve!
> He was grateful for the low lighting.
>
>"Yeah. Besides I worked hard for these," he said, indicating his well
>muscled torso. "This job gives me a chance to show it off."
PEARL (standing, trying to rub Matt's tummy): Oooo... six-pack. Yeah, come
to Pearl, Matty.
GYPSY: Pearl? You realize, in real life, nobody acts like this.
PEARL: Shut up, Shop Vac!
MADGE: No, it's true. Public sexual posturing like this exists only within
the odd world of exploitation fiction, known on the Internet as "lemons"!
SCRATCH: Yup! These ridiculous interludes are created as ersatz stimulation
for those sad, lonely individuals too hideously repulsive to engage in
a healthy physical- ach!
[Pearl grabs Scratch by the throat.]
PEARL: You were saying?
SCRATCH (choking): Ach- it seems to have slipped my mind.
PEARL (dropping Scratch): Yeah. I thought it might.
>
>Face nodded, a sickly grin on his face. "Wonderful." The bartender
>placed the three drinks on his tray,
GYPSY: But they ordered four! Well they did! Read it!
>and Face was filled with dread as
>he realized he'd have to face Diane and her cronies again.
>
MADGE (Diane Chambers): Sam. They're not cronies! They're some of the
finest performance artists to be denied government funding in Boston!
>Across the small but crowded club, Hannibal Smith was busy with his
>own band of admirers. Once the shock of the club's true status had
>worn off, and it had worn off rapidly, Hannibal had attacked his job
>with gusto.
SCRATCH: "Gusto" being a small Italian semi-automatic used in urban combat.
> He oozed charm like a 1940's matinee idol,
PEARL: But was really just a washed-up character actor.
>smiling, laughing, and complimenting the ladies on
>everything from their eyes to their choice of handbags.
MADGE: When he started asking to try on their shoes, however, the police
had to escort him off the premises.
>All the undisguised admiration gave a boost to his male ego
>that was akin to a heavy dose of the jazz.
GYPSY (sighing): Well, we've just gone one metaphor too many here.
> Hannibal was having a terrific time.
>
>He smiled at the two blondes he was serving. "I'll prepare your
>drinks with my own hands," he drawled, seductively, and was rewarded
>with delighted, appreciative smiles in return.
PEARL (Hannibal, mixing drinks): OK, that's a handful of scotch, a handful
of soda, splash bitters on my finger and use it to stir the drink.
(licks finger) Mm, nummy!
>
>Sauntering back to the bar, he found a jittery Templeton Peck waiting
>for him. "Hi ya, Face."
SCRATCH (Face, startled): Dah- I wasn't drinkin' grenadine from the bottle!
>
>"Hannibal, that woman just pinched my ass."
>"Really?" Hannibal said, looking back into the crowd.
>
MADGE: Hm. Must be near-sighted.
>"Well, aren't you going to say something?" Face groused.
>
>The colonel shrugged. "She must like your buns."
GYPSY (shudders): Ergh. This whole fanfic is like being at an adult party,
and the host's ten-year-old kid walks in and starts telling off-color
jokes, and Lori thinks it's so cute.
> With a smile worthy
>of the Cheshire Cat himself, he picked up his tray leaving a miserable
>Face behind.
>
>"I hate this job. I hate this club, I hate this costume,
PEARL (Face): I hate yogurt, I hate flossing, I hate the second law of
thermodynamics for not hurrying up and destroying the universe already!
>I hate women...well, not all women. Just these!" Face groaned.
>
>"Peck," Tom called. "Put down your tray. I've got another job for
>you."
>
>Face beamed happily.
MADGE (Face): All right! Something NEW to grouse gratingly about!
> "Oh, good, 'cause you know, I'm not really suited much to serving
>drinks. I keep forgetting what they ordered and I never remember how
>much to charge, and I'm clumsy. Real clumsy. Oh, yeah.
PEARL (John Henson): It's true!
SCRATCH: I've heard Urkel works endless hours refining his craft, so that
one day, he might be this pathetic.
> I've
>dribbled so much liquor on the carpet you'll have to call Stanley
>Steamer first thing in the morning."
MADGE: Stanley Steamer, the wise-cracking chain-smoking clam!
>
>Tom wasn't moved by Face's diatribe. "You'll be selling souvenirs
>until show time."
>
>"Souvenirs?"
>
>"Yeah."
PEARL: So that they'll always remember this night they took the implicit
bond of trust between themselves and their loved ones, and wiped their
bottoms with it!
GYPSY: OK, can we calm down with the attacks on the strip club patrons now?
MADGE (pouting): Beatty started it.
GYPSY: Well you're bigger than she is.
> He placed a heavy tray in Peck's arms. "We sell T-shirts,
>calendars, and G strings."
SCRATCH: And short-term life insurance, for some reason.
>
>Face stiffened. "G strings?"
>
MADGE: You'd be surprised the number of busted Strats the ladies bring in.
>"Red satin with little rhinestones. We take Mastercard,
>Visa and American Express.
GYPSY: What, no Diners Club? I thought this was a class establishment!
>Now hurry. The show starts in 30 minutes."
SCRATCH: Which was nearly an hour ago.
>
>Bemused and feeling worse than when he'd served drinks,
>Face began to wind his way among the crowd. Over the PA system, he
>heard Tom announcing the items that "Templeton" would be displaying
>for purchase.
PEARL: Skittles, ring pops, pixie stix... you know, girl candy!
>Face turned a shade of green not usually associated with human beings.
>
MADGE: Oh, that'll be good for business.
GYPSY (customer): Please, I'll give you this ten if you'll use it to see
a doctor!
>At 8:00, the waiters were all signaled (very subtly, to be
>sure)
SCRATCH (Face): Huh? What are those fireworks spelling out? A-L-L,
W-A-I-T-E-R-S...
>to return to the bar and take their places for the short
>intro-dance that marked the beginning of the floor show.
PEARL (sings Men Without Hats): We can dance if we wannooo...
>Templeton Peck approached his leader with a stunned look,
>dropping his nearly empty tray of souvenirs on the counter.
>"These women are disgusting."
GYPSY (Face): They proposed selling Chrysler stock short and spreading
rumors about a government ban on SUV's!
>
>"How so, Face?" Hannibal asked with a look of sincere interest.
>
>"They should all be locked up. Imprisoned in a tower someplace.
MADGE (Face): Made to do public relations for an HMO!
> Do
>you know how many red satin G strings I've sold tonight?"
SCRATCH (Face): I'm got half a mind to run them in on a 308, "criminal possession of tasteless
underwear"!
>"No. How many?" the colonel asked, always ready to play the straight
>man.
GYPSY (daring): Anybody got any comments about that?
[Pearl, Madge, and Scratch mutter but let it lie.]
GYPSY: Good.
>Face made a few unintelligible sounds.
PEARL: For him, that's an improvement!
> "Well, I don't know
>exactly, but a lot, believe me. And most of them were sold
>to married women. Do you believe that?"
SCRATCH: That you checked the ring fingers of your customers?
>
>Hannibal nodded. "Imagine that. I'd have thought married women would
>have forgotten about sex."
GYPSY: Oh, they've just discovered more exciting forms of entertainment.
Like "Providence"!
>
>Face was too upset to grasp the content of the colonel's jibe. "They
>should be spanked.
[All snicker.]
> No wife of mine would be allowed to come to a place like this.
SCRATCH: No wife of yours would be allowed to hold sharp objects!
> No
>sirree. She'd be home where she belonged."
>
>Hannibal's blue eyes twinkled,
PEARL: Uh-huh. More twinkling. Right.
>but his expression was serious.
>"Barefoot and pregnant, right, Face?"
MADGE: Well slipper-socks are a possible option, if a neutral color like
grey, with slip-resistance soles.
>
> Face nodded emphatically at first, then frowned. "Well..."
>
>"Keep the little women in the kitchen, toiling over a pot of homemade
>stew.
PEARL (Face): What, you expect me eat that Dinty Moore crap?
> She'd be there to greet you each night at the door holding your
>slippers and pipe, a crisp, frilly apron tied around her girlish
>waist."
SCRATCH: Uh-huh. So women have two choices: hedonistic debauchery, or
humiliating indentured servitude.
PEARL: Well, yeah. Seems simple enough to me. What's your problem?
>
> Face looked a bit sheepish now,
GYPSY: They're cloning him?
ALL (in horror): NOOOOOOO!
SCRATCH (crying): Oh please, Pearl! Make it stop!
PEARL: Nope, look at it, poopy! Embrace the pain! Get stronger!
[Scratch cries.]
> realizing how his remarks had
>sounded. "Well, not exactly like that,
MADGE: She's also need a pair of enormous tah-tahs.
>but..." he hedged.
>
>"Face," Hannibal laughed loudly, "You're a chauvinist at
>heart.
GYPSY: You know, I could meet a fish on a LeMond training for the Tour de
France before I met a woman who needed this story.
>Frankly, I think this whole set up is refreshing.
>Shows me that women have a lot more passion, drive and
>moxie than we men ever gave them credit for.
PEARL: Huh. Amelia Earhart, Jackie Joyner, Florence Nightingale, they
make no impression. Show him a couple of dozen boozed up women with
hotflashes, however...
> Come on, kid. It's time to dance."
SCRATCH (sings): Now IIIIII've, haaad, the time of my li-i-ife! And I've
neeeever felt this way-
MADGE (laughs): No.
>
>"Dance? Oh, no. I don't think I can."
SCRATCH: Now that's GOT to be a woman speaking!
> Face started to
>back away. Now that the moment was at hand, he had a
>severe case of cold feet.
PEARL: Oh, come on! You can't have cold feet for something you never
wanted to do in the first place!
>
>"Come on, Face. It's only a few steps.
ALL (sings from Rankin Bass's "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"):
You put ONE foot in FRONT OF the OTHER!
MADGE (same): I wish they were walking out that door!
SCRATCH: Ha! Cool! Let's do "Heatmeister" next!
GYPSY: No. We've still got-
SCRATCH: Aw, no! More fanfic? Damn it, we don't care anymore! End already!
>I mean, it's not like you'll
>be out there all alone, doing some sort of strip tease or something.
>There's ten other guys with you."
PEARL: See, it's a gang strip! That's a totally different thing.
>
>Face looked ill. "I can't go out there and...and...gyrate the way
>they expect."
GYPSY (Face): They're all Twyla Tharp. I'm Ballenshine to the bone.
MADGE (vamp from "Bad to the Bone"): Da-da DA da-da DA!
SCRATCH: Bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-Ballenshine!
>Suddenly a firm hand fell upon the lieutenant's
>shoulder.
PEARL (Southern sheriff): Kid? You got a wussin' license on ya? You don't
wants ta be wussin' up my county without a wussin' license.
>
>"Face, as I see it, you have two choices.
MADGE (Hannibal): And they both involve me beating the snot out of you.
> Either you go
>out there and don't move, in which case you'll stand out
>like a K-Mart suit on Dynasty,
GYPSY: Would the A-Team really be plugging another network's show here?
> or you blend in with the rest of us and no one will notice
>you at all."
PEARL: Ha! Not unless the other nine are doing some really good
Eeyore impressions!
>
>"Some choice. Either way I feel like a fool."
SCRATCH (Hannibal): Well at least you look the part. And stop fidgeting
with your zipper! It's bad enough your area's in plain sight without
you drawing attention to it!
>
>Hannibal favored his lieutenant with a serious expression. "No one
>said being on the A-Team was going to be easy, kid." The look of
>disgust the remark earned him put a broad smile on Hannibal's face.
MADGE (Hannibal): I've taken a sad man and depressed him! My work here
is done!
GYPSY: They walk together out of the shot, and another waiter comes to
the bar, nodding and grinning as he watches them leave, but it's the
mysterious doctor in disguise!
PEARL: Musical sting! And, commercial!
>
>Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible,
[All groan and growl.]
SCRATCH: End.
MADGE: End!
PEARL: Show us the nude studs already!
GYPSY: Oo, it can't be much longer, guys. Just be patient.
SCRATCH: Screw patience! END!
> Templeton Peck took his
>place in the line and moved out onto the polished dance floor that
>served as a stage.
SCRATCH (Face): Why is my mark a tape outline of a lifeless body sprawled
on the floor?
> He caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored
>wall that formed the back of the stage and cringed.
MADGE (Face): Oh, no! You can see my cellulite!
> The thunderous
>applause and the squeals of delight from the women did little to
>alleviate his discomfort. It was going to be a long, LONG night.
GYPSY (morosely): Tell us about it.
>
>In the far corner of the club, near the end of the bar, B.A. Baracus
>watched his two friends on the dance floor and giggled gleefully.
PEARL (B.A.): Hoo-hoo! What a mischievous rogue am I! Someone call God,
I'm too naughty to live!
> He
>figured this sight was worth at least two year's worth of harassment,
>and he fully intended to bring it up to the colonel and the lieutenant
>as often as possible.
SCRATCH: So you think Lori went on to do wacky satires of such ripe
targets as prostitution, or the kiddie porn industry?
MADGE: Come to think of it, her fingerprints are all over "The Secret
Diary of Desmond Pfeiffer".
>
>The strains of "The Chippendale's Song"
MADGE (sings): We're Chip!
GYPSY (same): And Dale!
MADGE and GYPSY: A most audacious corporation! We are Chip and...!
> faded away and the ten
>"symbols" of Chippendales jogged easily off the floor.
PEARL: Well! Beatty has devoted myriad paragraphs to highway directions,
van parking, and octogenarian dressing procedures, but the payoff
to the "Face can't dance" subplot? That happens off-camera.
SCRATCH (whispering): EndendendendEND!
> B.A. was
>waiting with a smug expression when Hannibal and Face joined him.
>
[Gypsy, Scratch, and Pearl rise to leave.]
SCRATCH: My uncle invented those, you know. He'd say, "You will not get my
treasure, Hobbit!", and that would be his-
PEARL: A SMUG expression, dummy! Not a SMAUG expression!
SCRATCH: Oh, well, sure. Now.
PEARL (grumbling): Come on, you.
/ * \... = 2 =...> 3 <... [ 4 ]... ( 5 )... | 6 |...
[OPEN ON: <SOL Bridge>. Pearl is dressed in a collared shirt with big blue
and beige horizontal stripes. Her expressions are all big, exaggerated.]
PEARL: Hey, kids! It's time to find Bleu's Cues!
[Scratch, blue dog ears taped to his horns, pops up next to Pearl.]
SCRATCH: "Cue", meaning a prompt, or hint, leading the viewer to draw
conclusions.
[Pearl throws Scratch a quick threatening look.]
SCRATCH: Dah- I mean, "Arf." "Bark."
PEARL: What's that, Bleu? You want to show us something?
SCRATCH: If you would arf so bark.
PEARL (bringing up pages): Why, look, boys and girls! Excerpts from a
crappy fanfic! Can you read what the story says?
> He was only too aware of the large amounts of money the club brought
>in... he couldn't for the life of him figure out what was so great about
>one small club in a place like Culver City.
PEARL: Oh, the poor man! Do you think Bleu wants us to help figure out
what's so special about this teeny tiny night club?
SCRATCH: Um... It's a strip joint.
PEARL: Let's read some more and see if we can figure it out!
SCRATCH: But I just-!
>"Well, seems Paramount Pictures is casting for Chorus Line and
>hired away two of my dancers and four of my waiters."
PEARL: A night club that has dancers? What kind of a night club would
have dancers, boys and girls? A comedy club? A karaoke bar?
SCRATCH: Oh, please. The strippers call themselves dancers to divert
attention from the morally shaky underpinning of their business! Like
when Tom Green calls his show "entertainment"!
>
>"The rest of you can pick up your...uniforms on Thursday.
PEARL: Oo! What kind of uniforms could they be, boys and girls? Maybe
a policeman's uniform!
SCRATCH: Yeah, more like six inches of silk and some nipple-obscuring
Vaseline!
>"Okay, follow me and I'll get you measured for your costumes."
PEARL: Oh, they're costumes, kids! Wouldn't it be fun wearing a costume
to work? I'd go as a big, proud, dancing bear!