Mystery Wrestling Theater 3000 Post 107, round one: "Lines As Q", part one Original Story by Dave Hines With short "ATTN: Account Holder" MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (aka Lynxara) Aided and abetted by Matthew Wayne Linkous [No theme song. Instead, open directly on the Bridge of the SON. It's dark, the movie sign lights are flashing wildly, and warning sirens are going off. After a few seconds of this, we see a large human figure wielding a crowbar dash across the screen. After a brief pause, it then runs back onscreen and turns to face camera. Now that it's not moving, it's clearly identifiable as a very flustered Nash.] NASH: Oh, hi! I'm Big Sexy Kevin Nash, and welcome to the Satellite of Nitro. I know Bret usually does this stuff, but he's a little bit busy right now. Y'see, our buddy Mark Calloway, better known to you as the Undertaker... well, we had a few weeks off from reading fanfics, and something happened to him. Something weird. I'd try and explain it, but... hell, just follow me and see for yourself. [Nash motions for the camera to follow him as he turns down one of the corridors that lead off of the bridge. The camera bounces and jiggles behind him as it moves, to help simulate the feel of all backstage footage. Nash rounds a corner in time to show us all a grisly scene... Eric Bischoff bound to a granite slab emblazoned with an inverse pentagram, while a black-robed Mark holds a dagger over his chest, chanting eerily. Bret seems to be trying to talk Mark down, but to no avail.] MARK: MECCA-LECCA-HI-MECCA-HINEY-HO... BRET: *DAMMIT*, Mark, how many times do I have to tell you this?! No killing Bischoff! BISCH: And Lord, *please* forgive me for never giving Benoit a title... for Halloween Havoc '98... hell, for all of our Pay-Per- Views in '98... MARK: ... MECCA-LECCA-HI-MECCA-*CHONNY*-HO... BRET: MARK!! Don't make me come over there, young man! You put that knife down this instant, and promise you'll never sacrifice anyone to the powers of darkness again! BISCH: ... and letting the nWo go on for three years, and putting Saturn in a dress, and my compulsion to unmask luchadores... hell, Lord, just forgive my entire sinful existence, please. NASH [running into the room]: Any luck? BRET: Does it *look* like I've had any luck? NASH: Hmmm... no, no, it looks like Eric is still gonna die. BRET: Good boy. Now, what are we going to do? NASH: Well, we *are* pro-wrestlers. Can't we just kick his ass? BRET: Be my guest. [Nash raises his crowbar, and charges into the attack. Mark simply glares at him, and smites him with a flurry of lightning bolts. It's a few minutes before Nash's charred, smoking carcass is able to rise.] NASH: Owie... BRET: I rest my case. MARK [continuing]: ... BAH WEEP GRAH NAA WEEP NINNY BONG!! INNA GOTTA DA VIDA, *BAY-BEE*!! Eric Bischoff, prepare to taste the purity of darkness! You shall rise again as... MIDIAN! BISCH: I'm a promoter! I *am* the purity of darkness! I work for Ted Turner, man!! MARK: VAJRA ON... *AHK*!! BISCH: At least name me something cool! AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!! [Bischoff shrieks like a girl as the knife descends. Bret and Nash can only look on horror... then turn around as they hear an electrical crackle of energy, then see Mark teleport away in a blue flash of light.] NASH: ... the hell? BRET: Isn't it obvious? What Deus Ex Machina giveth, it also taketh away. BISCH: Whatever. Since I'm not dead and all, can someone untie me? BRET: Oh, sure! [Nash then puts a hand on Bret's shoulder and holds him back.] NASH: Think a minute, pink-boy. We've got Eric at a disadvantage... what better time than now to renegotiate our contracts? BRET: *Heeeeey*... BISCH: Hart, get me off of here now or you're running an entire program against members of the cast of Saturday Night Live! BRET: Um... modern or past? BISCH: *Modern*. BRET: GYAH! Be there in a second! [Bret dashes over to untie Eric from the slab, while the Incoming Message lights and sirens begin to go off.] NASH: Just in time, too. Come on, guys... [Bret and Bisch nod, and then trudge off camera. The view then jumpcuts to the usual shot of the Bridge, and we see the guys walk onscreen from stage left. Bisch hits the Mads Light.] BISCH: Okay, Public Enemy, what is it this week? [Titan 13. We see Vince McMahon standing and smirking into the camera with his usual evil smirk, but his attire is quite a bit different than usual. He's bare-chested, with the word 'Extreme' (obviously temporarily) tattooed across his chest. He's also wearing tattered blue jeans, knee and elbow pads, and is currently bound in enough barbed wire to make Jim Fullington wince.] VINCE: Hello, Minnesota Wrecking Crew. In case you're wondering about the change of attire, my employees, under threat of being forced to work for you, have recently declared me the King of Hardcore in honor of my spectacular ring performances of late, particularly against one Steve Austin. I've decided to start truly living that part in hopes of demonstrating just *how* in-tune with the desires of today's wrestling fans the WWF is. Now, Rocky! ROCKY!! I desire more Mountain Dew! [Vince tries to glance over his shoulder (the barbed wire makes him rather immobile) to see what happened to the Rock.] VINCE: Ah, just a moment, boobies. I sent Maivia off to collect Mark Calloway. I don't know *what* I was thinking when I sent him up there with you idiots... [SON] BISCH: Vince, just give up the hardcore bit. I own half of ECW's roster now! That's *real* hardcore! Hell, I even have the *original* 'wrap-yourself-in-barbed-wire' guy! NASH: And then you named him after the sound a cat makes when it's coughing up a hairball. BISCH: Shut up, Kevin. BRET: Well, at least Mark's free of the horror of reading all these crappy net posts Vince sends us. But Vince, you may want to keep an eye on him... he didn't seem too stable when he got pulled off of here. It could be delayed-reaction brain damage. [Titan 13] VINCE: That's utterly preposterous, you hockey-addled twit! I'm sure Calloway is in fine condition, and... [Vince pauses as he hears Rocky scream in unimaginable pain and terror off-stage. The lights then dim, and the classic, slow version of the Graveyard Symphony begins to play. Mark, wearing elaborate dark robes and his facial hair shaved into an Abe Lincoln-esque beard, strides imperiously from the background into Titan 13. He is surrounded by the various members of the Ministry of Darkness.] MARK [Henceforth to be known as Undertaker, or UT]: The Mark Calloway you once employed is gone, Vince McMahon. Now, there is only I, the Undertaker, the Supreme Lord of Darkness!! VINCE: The *hell* are you talking about, Calloway?! And who the hell are these people? MIDIAN: We're his minions. Now, you will respect the purity of darkness, and pay attention. VINCE: No! I want to know what happened to my Corporate Champion. UT: Viscera is sitting on him. Now, as I was saying... VINCE: "Viscera?" PAUL BEARER: He used to call himself King Mabel. VINCE: King... you FIEND! That's absolutely inhuman! UT [grinning darkly]: Isn't it? But now, I have seen the wisdom of the Greater Power, and in its glorious name I will conquer the World Wrestling Federation!! VINCE: The *hell* you will!! And where on earth did you come up with such a ludicrous idea?! UT: The Greater Power showed me some samples from an obscure e- fed. I decided to run with it. VINCE: Oh, of *course* you did. But you'll *never* get away with this, Undertaker! The *only* evil bastard who'll *ever* own the World Wrestling Federation is *me*! UT: We shall see, Vince McMahon. In the meantime, I will begin my conquest of Titan Sports right here, by taking control of your little... operation. Gentlemen, remove Mr. McMahon. [The Acolytes step forward, gingerly lifts Vince's body as if he were some kind of statue, and then begin moving him into the background amidst Vince's many protests. They begin trying to lean Vince up against a wall as UT speaks.] UT [directly into the camera]: As for you... *you* I shall make an example out of, to show all who would oppose my Ministry the extent of my dark power. [SON] BRET: Um... yeah. Brain damage, definitely. BISCH: Calloway, why us? You've got no interest in Vince's corporate warfare! Why not just let us go, and use... I don't know... Shane McMahon as an example? NASH: Yeah, it's not like he's good for anything else. BRET: And remember, Mark, we suffered through all those cheesy posts with you, pal! [Titan 13] UT [chuckling]: You appeal to mercy from a heart which has none. First, you will read... a piece of *SPAM MAIL* that attempts to bilk cash out of the reader by playing upon the natural hatred of *SPAM MAIL*!! [SON] ALL: GYYYAAAAAAAHHHH!! BRET: That's... that's pure evil!! [Titan 13] UT [chuckles evilly]: And then, you will face the ultimate horror. Something not even *McMahon* was willing to subject you to. You will read a fanfic that takes place upon the Federation starship U.S.S. Endeavor... under the command of one Marissa Amber Flores *Picard*. [SON. All three men present stare at the screen, briefly transfixed in horror. Then, they begin to scream the unimaginable cries of the damned.] ALL: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! BISCH: Not a Ratliff fic! That stuff isn't even easy to riff anymore! We'll go *MAD*! [Titan 13] UT: Oh, this isn't by Stephen Ratliff. It's a fanfic by *another author* set in Stephen's particular variant of the Star Trek universe... an author by the name of *David Hines*. [SON. The guys actually appear somewhat hopeful.] BRET: You mean the guy who MiSTed 'Enterprized'? [Titan 13] UT: No, the *other* David Hines! [SON. ] BRET: My *God*... ALL [in indescribable anguish]: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [Titan 13] UT: And it's... it's... SELF-INSERTION!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Paul, send them their torment! [Paul Bearer walks over to the control panel, smiles happily, and then pushes the button that activates the Ficsender.] [SON. The theater lights are flashing, and the usual klaxons are going off. Nash, however, seems oblivious, and is on his knees gazing up at the infinite Heavens (or the ceiling, as the case may be).] NASH: TAKE ME NOW, LORD! *TAKE ME NOW*! BRET [grabbing Kevin by his shirt]: KEVIN! Keep together, man! We've all got stay together to survive this... CAUSE WE'VE GOT POST SIIIIIIGN!! [6-5-4-3-2-1] [The guys enter the theater, unusually shaky this time. Bischoff is muttering something and crossing himself. They all take their seats (l-to-r: Nash, Bret, Bisch).] BISCH: ... and if I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take. Amen. NASH: Jesus, I hope we're up to this... BRET: We survived Kefka's little magnum opus, we should be able to handle this okay. Besides, this is just that stupid spam... >Dear Internet User: > NASH : We interrupt your nude celebrity photo search to bring you... BISCH: "My summer at camp is going well. I've already contracted both poison oak and poison ivy, the other campers threw my clothes in the lake, and I'm being used as slave labor to produce cheap purses for export to Indonesia. Thank you very much for sending the cookies. Love, Michael." BRET: See? We can handle this. > To start let me say this, I'm tired of the porn email in my >email box NASH: Philistine! I thank God I live in a world where I can get unsolicited offers of pornography directly through my mail server. BRET: ... and it's nice to know that you're feeling better too, Kevin. NASH: I'm a survivor. >and all that click here crap. BISCH : *God*, I hate hypertext links. >I'm a published author >in the United States, Germany and Japan. BRET: So was Hitler. Your point? >I've spend seven hours >or more a day NASH : I'm not sure, really... but I did my research! Really! I did! BISCH: Ah, randomly shifting verb tenses truly worthy of an author published in the United States, Germany, and Japan. >for the last two months researching the topic of >Spam on the Internet. I've learned a lot about SMTP blocking, BRET: You mean hitting the 'block sender' button? >reporting Spam, BISCH: You mean reporting someone to their ISP, assuming their ISP gives a crap? NASH: FREEZE! Spam police! Come out with your get-rich-quick schemes and pork byproducts up! >and blocking your email account from being >spammed. BRET: Like I said, hitting the 'block sender' button? >In this time I have practiced everything I have >learned in blocking this crap mail they call professional >advertising BISCH : I have mastered the art of Spam aikido! I defeat my opponents with the force of their own spam! HA! NASH : First, I arranged for the large-scale aerial bombing of Madison Avenue. Then, I went on to selectively assassinating all celebrities who dared to endorse products. To date, only Michael Jordan has eluded me... but his time runs short. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! >and in the last few weeks I have not yet received >one piece of Spam. BRET: : So I've resorted to consuming mass quantities of potted meat. BISCH : Canceling my subscription to the 'Junk Mail of the Month' club may have had something to do with it. I dunno. >I wrote a full report on this process I have >developed and did some research on how to get this information >around to the right people. NASH : I've decided printing the information out, folding the sheets into little paper airplanes, and then dropping them by the bushel out of hot air balloons would probably work best. >I've contacted many spammers and >did some price research, BRET : I figure I can buy out their operation for a cool ten mil. Then *I'll* be the Lord of Spam, and it'll never show up in *my* mailbox again! BWAHAHAHAHAHA! >what better way to find the Spam haters >then to find the spammer that is spamming them. BISCH: Well, that's some creative logic. NASH: What if you *like* getting spam, though? Then you'd make *sure* you were on all the lists. BRET: This is beginning to suspiciously sound like some inveterate 'MAKE MONEY FAST!' bulk-sender more or less indulging in his twisted idea of a joke. >I've talked to >many well known bulkers as they like to be called and we made >the agreement that I will get to advertise to there list in >return for a profit break. BISCH: Yes! I shall smite the spammers by *sending more spam* through their lists!! BRET: Okay, now I'm wondering why the spammers gave this guy use of their lists to tell people how to avoid them in return for a 'profit break'. NASH: Who wants a break from profits, anyway? >I'm forced to sell my report for the >reason to pay the advertising fee and keep me alive BISCH: You're an author published in three countries, and you have to sell some bullshit term paper over e-mail to pay your bills?! BRET: And considering how you're advertising this via spam mail, *which is free*... >but on the >bright side you will learn to fight against the horrible porn >mail in your email box. BISCH : *If* you send me your credit card number right now. BRET: If this has anything to do with punching sides of beef or drinking raw eggs, I'm going to scream. NASH: You're a spam-wreckin' machine, ya bum! >Please join me in fighting this >horrible advertising method that has been on the Internet for >years. ALL: YO, JOE! >Remember, "Together we stand, divided we fall." NASH: And knowing is half the battle! BISCH: This cliche brought to you by the Cliche of the Month Club, providing for all of your trite platitude needs since 1964. BRET : And if you all choose to stand together with *me* as your supreme commander, then so much the better! > >To order my detailed report and provide your help in fighting >spam send $15 to the address below and lets all, together, put a >stop to spam once and for all. NASH: Help take a bite out of crime! BISCH: ... by giving this guy your money. BRET : Let's all, together, fill my wallet. > >K.C. Smith BRET: ... and the Sunshine Band! NASH: Attorneys at Law. > >10 East Louisiana > >Evansville, IN 47711 BISCH: This guy gave his full address out over the Internet? BRET: Okay... so we're either dealing with a spammer playing his idea of a sick joke, or a complete and total idiot. NASH: Maybe he gave out a childhood enemy's address, so *he* could get all the mailbombs. > >Thank you for your support in this matter. ALL: Bite me! > >Your friend and best man in fight against spam. BISCH: Mister Rogers *IS* K.C. Smith in "The Spam Police!" A new action-drama coming this fall to CBS. NASH: Aw, I wanted Joey Silverman to be my best man! Well, at least I get to pick the bridesmaids... BRET: Thank goodness we're going to get a break before the fic starts... come on, guys. [The guys all get up and try to proceed out of the theater... but find the door locked.] BISCH: The hell?! UT [VO]: Get back in your seats. You're not finished yet. BRET: What?! Mark, you *BASTARD*! NASH: That's appropriate... not gettin' some alcohol before this next fic starts is gonna kill me. BISCH: Yeah, yeah... we might as well deal with it. [The three grumble as they go back to their respective seats, and the fic begins.] >Marrissa's Revenge Theatre 3000: Lines As-Q. NASH: So... what, we're about to read the Kid's Crew Meta-MiSTing a Ratliff MiSTing? BRET: Um... not quite. BISCH: I sense Mr. Hines doesn't have a very vast experience with fanfiction. > >Hi everyone. ALL: Hi, Dave! > >This will be my first non-MiSTing fanfic, so be gentle with me. NASH: Aw... poor Dave's a virgin. BRET: I'm not sure if we'll get in trouble over that or not... BISCH: If it's got nothing to do with MiSTing, why the MST flavored title, Dave? > >Upon reading some of the hilariously funny MiSTings that have >resulted from the work of Stephen Ratliff, I pondered, "What >would be the result if I should happen to enter into this >world?". BRET: You'd be accidentally gassed to death? BISCH: Someone would use a laser to carve 'I lost to a bunch of kids' on your butt? NASH: You'd score with Clara Sutter? >I thought this during my reading of "Marrissa's Revenge >II", a non-canon work BISCH: 'Canon'?! What, are people out to smite the heretics who do not adhere to the One True Cult of Marrissa next? BRET: I find it deeply disturbing that the supposed 'Ed Wood' of fanfiction now has a wider fanbase than pretty much everything on A & E. NASH: Dude, don't be dissing 'Investigative Reports'. >in which Marrissa herself comes to >Stephen's house to announce her plans to take revenge on those >who have MiSTed the Marrissa Stories. NASH : They shall be liberally soaked in strawberry juice, then beaten soundly with Michael Dorn's headpiece!! >I am one of those authors. BISCH : Therefore, I am cool, and you're not. BRET: Yeah, well, I'm a five-time world champion, so you'll forgive me if I'm not impressed with your little fanfiction world, Dave. >The concept is an "alternate universe" version of myself NASH: So that means the Dave we're going to read about has a cooler costume than the real Dave, right? BISCH: He's also 'grim and gritty', and hails from a post- apocalyptic world. BRET: Dave will be drawn by Whilce Portacio for 2 issues of the 12 issue run. >is mysteriously transported to the future, to the U.S.S. >Endeavour,under the command of Captain Marrissa Amber Flores >Picard. Naturally, hijinks ensue. BISCH: The hell? Are we watching ABC's 'TGIF' line-up all o a sudden? NASH: Dave gets caught in a 'compromising situation' involving Marrissa, Jackson Johnson, and a lukewarm squid, which causes Jay Gordon to end up dating his longtime crush Alexander Rozhenko! Oh, for fun! >Let's watch. BRET: Do we have to? BISCH: Well, I'd like to, Dave, but this is just text. > >For continuity buffs, NASH: God *forbid* someone butcher the carefully-crafted continuity of the Marrissa stories... >this story occurs just prior to Anne-Lise >Paush's work, "Generations 2: Generations Ahead" (which was >MiSTed by yours truly, but I digress) NASH : Digression is like a storm raging inside you... BRET : I'm not pausing to plug myself or anything! Nope, I'm not going to mention that it was nominated for the Balsa Waffle for Worst Fanfic and Worst Scientific Explanation/Technobabble! Heck no! >for Marrissa and late >January 1999 for Dave. > >Code wise, here's what we're dealing with: BISCH : It's written in Polish, which was then translated into Pig Latin. I hope you kids all have your Tony the Tiger decoder rings ready! OTHERS [triumphantly holding up fists]: We do! > >alt.startrek.creative code: TNG, [PG], The Marrissa Stories >(unofficial) NASH: "I can't believe it's not Ratliff!" BRET: This is not a real Marrissa story. This was only a drill. This was a test of the Marrissa Amber Flores Picard Emergency Warning System. > >Web Site #9 MiSTing Codes: MST, SELF, SR, TNG, X-OVER BISCH: Um... why's this in the text of the story? Shouldn't whoever riffs it add the right tags? NASH: Ah, I can't blame Dave. *God* only knows what kind of incompetent moron will end up with their hands on this... > >Dedications: BRET [singing]: This song is dedicated to the one I love... whoooOOOOoooo... NASH: I always thought self-insertion fanfics were dedicated to the author. > >To my namesake, David Hines, who first MiSTed "Enterprized" and >"A Gul's Revenge" starting the Ratliff craze. NASH: See? BISCH: Dave Hines the First later went on to start the Tamagotchi craze, the Beanie Babies craze, and the Furby craze. May his soul rot in the deepest pits of blackest hell. BRET : Blackest hell! *Yes*! > >To all MSTies worldwide, particularly the Dibs List. NASH: They must all share in the shame of this fanfic. > >To Mike, Joel, Tom & Crow, who hopefully don't feel too betrayed >by my "going over to the dark side". BRET: After all, Mike, Joel, Tom & Crow hate all fanfiction and pray for the day when that malignant blight will be cleansed from the face of the Internet. BISCH: He's dedicating this story to other self-insertions and *puppets* now. Just great... NASH: Dave Hines is joining the Ministry?!! > >To my best friend, Specialist Cliff Hill, United States Army. BISCH: What does he specialize *in*? NASH: He's Cliff Hill, Master of *Loooooove*. BRET: Cliff Hill *is* a total porno name... > >And to one of the most gracious human beings I know, NASH: Howard Stern? >for being >so tolerant to what we MSTies do to the stuff he works so hard >on, BISCH: David Gonterman? >Stephen Ratliff. ALL: Ohhhhh. BRET: Yes, it *is* very kind of Steven to tolerate all the notoriety and exposure that being MiSTed has brought to his stories. > >============================================================ NASH: Sixty construction girders, laid side by side. BISCH: What? NASH: See, their narrow ends are facing us. BISCH: Oh... OH! > >Introduction: (Courtesy of another monumental crossover, "Archie >Meets The Punisher") BRET: I think this would be a good time to make our daily homage to Batton Lash. NASH: Right. [The boys pause to read an issue of 'Wolff and Byrd, Counselors of the Macabre', then move on.] > >In the 24th century, one woman has been adopted by Captain Jean >Luc Picard, become the leader and first Captain of the Starfleet >"Kids Crew" program. NASH : Order now to get your free membership card and *real* working phaser! BISCH: And this woman's name? CLARA PELLER! BRET: Where's the Fleet?! >Later, she discovered that she was also the >heir to the throne of the planet Essex. BRET: She later discovered that she came from the planet Krypton before being bitten by a radioactive spider and caught in a gamma bomb blast shortly after her parents were killed in front of her by Joe Chill, who she *could've* stopped had she tried. Oh, and she's a mutant who was trained in hand-to-hand combat by Captain America. >Aided by her friends and >crewmates Jay Gordon, Clara Sutter, Alexander Rozhenko, >Patterson Supra, Dr. Jackson Johnson, Martin Sussex, Shayna >Sachs, Ross Lochard, Katharine Szustakowski and T'Luv, NASH: ... Dr. Dre, Tupac, Ed. Lover, Fab Five Freddy, The Furious Five, Scooby and the Gang... BISCH: T'Luv, or not T'Luv; *that* is the question. >she has >saved the Federation many times over, BRET: Oh, who *hasn't*? NASH: Any government that owes its existence in any way, shape, or form to Wesley Crusher deserves to be overthrown. >much to the bane of the >Cardassians, the Romulans and the Trakce. NASH: Yet, she was unable to foil the mighty MOLTAR!! BISCH: Dammit, Hines, leave one of Batman's few *good* modern villains out of this travesty! >Enter the world of >Marrissa Amber Picard. BRET: Just be sure to wipe your feet and take your shoes off first. > In the 20th century, one man has >overcome a disadvantaged background to become a student at >prestigous Point Loma Nazarene University. NASH: His name? Clive Anderson. BRET: Wow! That school's so prestigious, I've never heard of it! BISCH: I guess spelling isn't a major requirement at the prestigious mighty exalted Point Loma Nazarene University... >Defying his past in >which he did not enjoy much social status, BISCH: Translation: Dave was a zit-faced dork. BRET: ERIC! NASH : I swear, I'll never be wedgied AGAIN!! And I'll fulfill my outrageous dream of going to the prestigious Point Loma Nazarene University!! >he has become >arguably one of the icons of the student body of said >institution, BRET: This spiel is starting to sound vaguely familiar... NASH : I made the student council what it is today, brother! BISCH: He is Upperclassman Dave Hines, the Shooting Star of Point Loma Nazarene University!! >including serving as the 1997-1998 Associated >Student Body Director of Activities, ALL: *GASP*! NASH: The gals come a-runnin' for the sweet taste of Dave Hines! BISCH : You're on the student council?! TAKE ME NOW! BRET: James Bond, eat your heart out! >and becoming a regular >opinion columnist of the school newspaper, "The Point Weekly". NASH: Um... Dave, you don't have to give us your resume before the fanfic... >He is the "self made man". BRET: If he declares himself the 'One Warrior Nation', I'm leaving. NASH [muttering]: Yeah, I bet Dave 'makes himself' on a regular basis... BISCH: KEVIN!! >He is "Boffo". NASH : You *are* Boffo. Be at one with the Boffo. BISCH: "Boffo", huh? Well, now we know what *kind* of activities Dave directs... >Enter the world of Dave Hines. BRET: It's thicker and richer than our ordinary world. NASH: A world of Student Councils and college newspapers? HOLD ME BACK! > >Prologue: > > "Dave, why are you just wasting time surfing the net?" BRET:: Because I didn't want to waste it watching MTV. BISCH : Well, sir, there's this porcupine outside, and I'm afraid to go to class... > > Dave Hines looked up at the face of Brian, his supervisor at >the PLNU Ryan Library Computer Labs. NASH: Behold... the *face* of *Brian*! OTHERS: HUZZAH! > "Hi, Brian. Just got off shift." BRET: Meaning Dave just figured out how the Shift Key works. > > "Uh huh. Just remember I've got my eye on you, Hines." >With that, the supervisor turned his back and walked away. BRET: And he left his right eye resting on Dave's shoulder. NASH : Get it off, man! GET IT OFF! BISCH : Here at Point Loma Nazarene University, we *disapprove* of the *Internet*. > > "Mm hmm. What a life." BRET: Just remember, Dave, *you* said that, not us. >Dave smirked as the Pentium II >Computer loaded up his NT account. NASH : Thrill to the breath-taking, pulse-pounding Pentium Processor *ACTION*! >Quickly he checked his email. NASH : HE *CHECKED* HIS *E-MAIL*! BISCH: All right, enough of the Budweiser commercial shtick. >There was another PlanetAll update with people he didn't know, >an Oracularities digest he decided to save for later, as well as >several Dibs List mails that didn't really pertain to him. BRET: This fanfic is truly in the Ratliff tradition. Eight pages in, and *nothing* has *happened*!! BISCH: Hell, even *Dave* seems bored with this thing. >Deleting those, he booted up Netscape and perused his bookmark >list for "Web Site No. 9". NASH [gasping]: Dave, man, stop it! My weak heart can't take all this excitement! >He felt like some MiSTed Ratliff today. BRET: 'Cause sometimes, you feel like a nut. Sometimes, you don't. BISCH: Words to live by. NASH: Curl up with MiSTed Ratliff and a General Foods International Coffee today. > > "Hmmm. Hey, Marrissa's Revenge II. Haven't read that for a >while. BRET: That statement, sadly, seems to pretty much sum up our hero's life... >Marrissa wants to get her revenge on me." ALL: ... BRET: He sounds strangely... *excited* by the prospect... BISCH: That's a corner of Dave's psyche I really, *really* didn't want to visit. >Dave briefly checked his watch. "Oh, snot. I'm going to be late >for class again." NASH : Golly gee, Dave, then you should hurry! BRET: The proper expression to use there is 'shit', Dave. S-H-I-T, *shit*. Now, repeat it with me a few times... >Dave shut down the computer, returning it to the regular >Student account, BISCH: You may now return your Windows NT account to a locked, upright position. >then gathered his belongings and headed out for >the door. BRET : *Then* what happened, Grampa? > Passing his supervisor's office, he called out >"Marrissa wants revenge on me!" NASH : And she's bringing the *whip* this time! BISCH: I feel really dirty now. > > "I'm going to want revenge on you. Get out of here." > NASH: Damn! The fic beat us to it that time! BRET: I'm beginning to really like Brian. > Sliding his keycard into the lock, he heard the door >solenoids click and he exited the employee's entrance. BISCH: Man, I had solenoids once. I was on Preparation H for a *month* thanks to those damn things. >"Marrissa wants revenge on me. Tee hee." NASH: So Dave giggles like a school girl? BISCH: Now I feel dirty in a way that mere soap can never make clean. > > Unfortunately, Dave's day was interrupted by a sudden >flash. NASH: Ray Stevens was buck-naked again, and running from the cops! BISCH: I hate it when John Fox pops in from the future and interrupts my day, too. >When the light disappeared, unobserved, Dave was no >longer to be seen. NASH: If no one was watching, how do we *know* that Dave couldn't be seen? BISCH: Er... BRET: Wow, it's the fanfic that doubles as a Zen koan. > > Across campus, the time shifted to 1:30. BISCH: Making hundreds of students instantly late for their 1:00 classes. >Dave's >professor had no choice but to start class. BISCH: Terrorists were holding him at gunpoint. NASH : EDUCATE! Or they all *die*! > "I wonder where Dave >is?" he asked himself as he started his History lecture for the >day. BRET: History waits for no man... except Dave Hines. NASH: Why, how could he even *think* of starting class without Dave's presence?! BISCH: Yes, prestigious Point Loma University, where teachers are subject to every whim of their students. > >Chapter 1: BRET: Spider-Man. BISCH: What? BRET: Oh, sorry. I thought it was word association. > > "Captain's Log: Stardate 59692.8. NASH : As of this report, our science teams are still attempting to figure out why Voyager is still on. >We have been assigned >the duty of tracking the Nexus, BRET : However, communiques with Steve Rude have so far failed. > the pseudo-dimensional access >that once contained my father. BISCH : Now, it is believed to contain a creamy nougat center. NASH: And that's different from Jean-Luc Picard *how*? BISCH: ... BRET: I'd make a continuity nitpick here about how the Nexus works, but to be honest, I'm not sure the scriptwriters even knew that. >Ever since the Enterprise-B's >maiden voyage encounter with it, the Nexus has been deemed an >interstellar hazard. BISCH: Starfleet sure is quick on the uptake. NASH : The Nexus has officially been accorded 'bad mojo' status. >Starfleet has routinely evacuated the >smaller colonies that the Nexus has encountered, but its current >course takes it dangerously near colonies so well established >that evacuation would mean economic disaster. BRET: *How*?! There's no money in the twenty-fourth century! BISCH: Read: "Dave needs a contrivance to explain why the problem isn't solved by something simple and logical." NASH: Well... that *is* in flavor for Star Trek, y'know. >On a personal note, BRET : ... I forgot to tape Dawsons Creek. > one of the planets in danger over the next few months is >Essex. BISCH : Since one of my titles is endangered, I will deign to assist the mortals once more. >During some of my recent conversations with my cousin, >Queen Victoria, NASH : ... she spoke unfavorably of my other cousin, Joan of Ark. BRET: Y'know, that really wouldn't surprise me. > she has made it clear that the nobility will not >abandon Essex. BISCH: Guess all of that in-breeding finally took its toll. >I cannot help but admire this dedication, but I >have lost family before. NASH: What? BRET: And it's non sequitur night here on Lines-As-Q!! >It will not happen again. NASH : I *will* prove that I am the superior being! >End Log." > > Commander Jay Gordon responded, "A little on the emotional >side for you, Marrissa." BISCH : Yeah, those acting lessons are really paying off! BRET : Emotions are for the weak. You must be purged. > > "Perhaps, Jay. But I meant every word of it." NASH : Well, except for the part about caring about my stupid in-bred cousins on Essex, and caring about those stupid little people on their stupid colonies, and... > > "I know that, Marrissa. No one questions your dedication." BISCH : After the cullings, no one dares question your rule. > > Just then, Dr. Jackson Johnson, BRET : Jackson Johnson... is his *naaaaaame*! NASH: Medical practitioner *AND* porn star. BISCH: Wow, 'Jackson Johnson' is even more of a porno name than 'Cliff Hill'. > the ship's Chief Medical >Officer entered the Bridge with Martin Sussex, the ship's >counselor. Dr. Johnson addressed the Captain, BRET : Marrissa Picard, Suite 3452, Deck 956, USS Endeavor, c/o StarFleet, United Federation of Planets. >"Captain, may I >speak with you and Commander Gordon for a moment?" NASH : No. Go away. > > "Of course, Doctor. Alexander, you have the bridge." BISCH: Y'know, Michael Jackson's going to need that. > > "Aye aye, sir." > > Marrissa, Jay, Jackson and Martin entered the Ready Room. NASH : Its time fo' Marrissa's Rrrready Rrrooom. Now here's yo Hossst, Marrrisssa Piiicard. > > "What's on your mind, Doctor?" asked Marrissa. BRET : My skull. Why do you ask? > > "Sir," Dr. Johnson began, BISCH: *Ouch*. The Doctor can't even tell she's *female*. NASH: Hey, I can't blame the Doctor for thinking Jay Gordon's gay. >and Marrissa inwardly sighed as >she knew that Jackson was hardly ever this formal unless he had >something to say that he'd rather not say. "I've been speaking >with Commander Gordon and Lieutenant Sussex." BRET : I'm so *SORRY*!! > > "...and you're all concerned about how much time I've been >spending on the Bridge lately." NASH: Well, that and the fact that you won't wear pants... > > "Capt-... Marrissa," Jay began, "You've been working >double-shifts for the last week. BISCH : Dammit, working cashier *and* being the fry cook is just too much, even for *you*!! > I know you're concerned about >Essex, and the Endeavour. BRET : ... you *are* concerned about the Essex and the Endeavor, right? NASH : Yeah, sure, whatever. >But Essex has months yet before it has >to worry, BISCH : 'Cause here in StarFleet, we don't worry about *anything* until the last minute! NASH : Ravenous space-time distortion that'll consume all life on the planet? WHO CARES! We've got *Tostitos*! >and the ship is not in danger. The Nexus is only a >bizarre natural phenomenon. BRET: And a black hole is really just a shower drain in deep space. >There's nothing that requires your >constant presence on the Bridge." NASH : Well, except command of the ship... but that's no big deal, right? > > "I'm not the first Captain to work a little overtime now and >then." rejoined Marrissa. BISCH: I feel utterly stupid, but... did she fall apart? BRET: She's a T-1000! > > "Marrissa," Martin spoke up, "we're not simply here as your >Chief Medical Officer, First Officer and Ship's Counselor. NASH : We're *also* a client. >We're also here as your friends. BISCH : No one told you life was gonna be this way... [Bret and Nash proceed to clap rapidly.] >We don't want to see you wear >yourself out over a situation that is currently nominal. BRET: *Thrill* as the crew of the USS Endeavor gets into action- packed *nominal* situations! >This >isn't a relief-of-command situation. We're just concerned about >you." NASH Yes, I keep forgetting your puny little lives revolve around me. > > Marrissa paused a bit before responding. "Thank you, >gentlemen. Your concern is appreciated. I will certainly take >your advice under consider..." BISCH : Why yes, I'm being sincere. I mean every word I'm saying. I appreciate your concern and advice *deeply*. > > However, Marrissa was interrupted as Alexander's voice, >audible both over the intercom and through the Ready Room door, >pronounced "We have an Intruder Alert!" BRET: So Alexander's yelling *really loud* into the Intercom. NASH: Y'know, that makes it work better. Like kicking a TV. > > The Red Alert klaxons began to sound as the four occupants >of the Ready Room bolted for the door. ALL: WE'VE GOT MOVIE SIIIIIIIGN!! > >Chapter 2: > > Dave didn't know what was going on. BISCH: Well, for Dave to know that, it would require something *happening* in the story... >He was on his way to >Research Methods, and suddenly... flash. BRET : DA-DAA!! The Defender of the Universe! NASH: Dave suddenly tore off his clothes, and fulfilled his dream of running gloriously throughout the Point Loma campus, heedless of the shrieks and stares, li'l Dave flapping freely in the breeze... BISCH: NO, NO, NO. >This made no sense. BRET : People are wearing green and purple together... and nobody's *noticing*!! >He shook his head to clear it as a young man with ridges on his >head ("That looks almost like a Klingon", Dave thought) NASH: You think *so*, Dave? BISCH: And remember, folks, Dave is a student at a *prestigious* college! BRET: Man, if there was ever evidence you Americans needed to overhaul your educations system... >loudly >said "We have an Intruder Alert!" This was happening way too >fast. NASH : Slow down! I can't write this fast! When I fail the test, I'm gonna tell my *mom*!! BRET: Yes, the breakneck pace of this story is too much for even its own writer! > > One woman and three men rushed out of a door on the side of >the bridge. The woman looked familiar somehow. BISCH : Wow, it's *you*! Hold still while I get my shotgun, okay? >Like he had seen >her on TV, or in a drawing somewhere. ALL: ... BISCH: That's a bit like alleging that, were Dilbert a real person, his mouth would spontaneously cease to exist when he wasn't talking. NASH: I just hope it's not done in that one guy's style! Man, just imagine the horror... and entire *universe* where everyone has *exactly* the same facial structure! BRET: ... I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that the views of Kevin Nash are not necessarily those of Mystery Wrestling Theater as a whole. > > "I am Captain Marrissa Amber Picard of the Federation >Starship U.S.S. Endeavour. Who are you and what are you doing on >my Bridge?" the woman loudly, but calmly stated. BISCH: Marrissa was shouting in a very low key, laid back manner. > > Dave's fogged brain immediately cleared a little. NASH: Once the liquor in Dave's system began to lose effect, he was suddenly forced to face harsh, cruel reality. >Marrissa? >What on - ? How? BISCH : Why didn't someone *tell* me I was going to meet Marrissa Picard?! Then I could've worn some deodorant or something, at least! NASH : Could... could I actually realize my star-crossed, forbidden love for her?! >The Revenge! BRET : The visions of those I've wronged are dancing before my eyes! NASH : So, Mr. Hines, we meet at last... but now, it is *I* who have the power. BISCH: Somewhere, a highly caffeinated Canadian is crying. >He didn't know how it could be >possible, but she was here, or rather he was there, or... he >just didn't know. NASH: You're confused, it's a confusing situation... its very confusing. BRET : I'm only human! I don't know what's going on! What do you people want from me, BLOOD?! > > "And here I thought the ending to 'The Only Constant' was >revenge enough." BRET : Ha! I kill me! BISCH: You know, you've got to love a hero who, when the chips are down and his reality has been shredded, has the cool, calm confidence to pause and think about crappy fanfics. >Dave calmly paused for a couple seconds before >screaming "Nooooo!!!!!" BRET : I DON'T HAVE MILK!! NASH : I could've *skipped* doing my homework last night!! BISCH : I... SMELL... *BACON*!! >Having caught the officers by surprise, >Dave dived into the Turbolift and screamed, "Down!" BRET: Watch in amazement as highly-trained and conditioned StarFleet personnel are taken totally off-guard by a pasty college student! NASH : INCOMING!! BISCH : Ouch, poor Ted. Guy'll never be the same shade of blue again. BRET : Well, the nice flying human *did* tell us to get down... > > Marrissa quickly recovered, NASH: Actually, most women recover from Dave very quickly. BISCH: Most women wouldn't encounter Dave in the first place. >and calmly stated, "Computer, >override Turbolift control and return Turbolift to Bridge level. NASH: : No. Blow it out your ass, Marrissa. BISCH : I dunno... what's in it for me? BRET : Even machinery bows to my will! I *am* the absolute! GYAHAHAHAHAHA! >Authorization Marrissa Omega Mozart Alpha NASH : ... Delta Fortrand Madison Sprockett Hammer Spackle Xebok Orion Rama Lama Ding Dong Hey Nonny Hey Nonny Ho... >Seven." The computer >emitted a three-tone reply to signal its compliance. ALL : Byyyyy MEN-NEN! > >--- > > In the turbolift, Dave felt the subtle change in vibration >that indicated that his direction had shifted. NASH: They say that happens as a man gets older. BISCH: How does he know the Turbolift isn't just shaking in place? BRET: Dave Hines has the ability to commune with the inner spirit of elevators everywhere. >"Oh, no you >don't. NASH : You turn this elevator *right around*, little mister! Don't make me come up there! BRET : But Mooooooom...! >Computer! Beam me directly to deck twenty-five, section >G. Fleetwide BISCH : Dave, is there any reason why you want me to transport you into the warp core engines? NASH: Ten bucks says it's the USS Endeavor's girls' locker room. BRET: G. Fleetwide, taking care of all your section-naming needs since 2033! >Override Code Upsilon Alpha Zulu Foxtrot NASH : ... Barker Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Connecticut Quebec Tipperary Sabredance Hallelujah Rowsdower Weinstein... >Four!" The >same computer tone emitted ALL : Naaa-biiis-co! >and Dave's last thought before >disappearing in the transporter effect was, "How on Earth >did I know that?" NASH: Through the power of bullshit, Dave. BRET: Doesn't the prestigious Point Loma Nazarene University offer Star Fleet Codes 101? BISCH: Read: "I'm not making my character a god-boy with tons of unrealistic powers and knowledge! Really! No, *really*!!" > >--- > > Back on the bridge, Alexander and another Security officer >held phasers (set on stun) NASH : Ha, that's what *he* thinks! I've got this puppy set on 'deep fry'! >on the turbolift door. BRET : Sir, maybe we should be *aiming* our phasers at the door... BISCH : SILENCE! Keep that phaser against the door, officer, or you're going in for *treason*! >It opened and >revealed nothing. NASH : Curses!! Foiled again by Dave Hines... truly, he is as enigmatic as Robert Denby. >Alexander and the other Security officer >glanced at each other, BRET : Say, are those Bugle Boy...? BISCH : No, you twit. >and then cautiously, but quickly, made >their way into the turbolift. BISCH : ... running on their tippy toes. NASH: Dave immediately descended from his hiding place above, striking down upon the security officers with the furious force of his wrath! BRET: No, Kevin, that would be interesting. > > "He's not here, Captain." Alexander called out a moment >later. BISCH: Remember, folks, it took Alexander *time* to realize this. > > "Alright, then," responded Marrissa, "Computer! Locate any >humanoid lifeform aboard that is not wearing a comm-badge. NASH : You know, like kids, spouses, off-duty officers, passengers... >Let's >see where this guy went to." BRET: Oh, Dave's probably already in the Holodeck, romancing fictional women. BISCH: In this story? He's probably looking at plants or something, or examining the plumbing system. NASH: I *still* say Dave's smarter'n he looks, and got into the girls' locker room. > >--- > > Patterson Supra was bored with his current assignment. BRET: Hey, just like us! >He >was guarding the Deck 25 Armory. BISCH : Man, weapons of death and mass destruction are just so damned *dull*... >Even though there was simply no >way any intruder could make their way into this area of the >ship, NASH: There's our wind-up... BRET: Foreshadowing! Try some in *your* fan-fic *today*! BISCH: Funny how Supra seems to be forgetting about the Borg, hostile beam-ins, rogue members of StarFleet... >Standard Procedure dictated that each armory be guarded by >a sentient lifeform, as well as electronically locked. NASH : Stupid precautions. God, I hate 'em. BRET: Unfortunately, Jerry Lewis still counts as a sentient lifeform. Watch hilarity ensue! >Patterson >was currently assigned to the Security department under his >friend, Ross Lochard. BISCH: Ah, yes, suck-up boy. I remember him well. BRET: I guess he finally eliminated his arch-nemesis Ross Lockard. NASH: Jim Ross is dating Pat Patterson?!! BISCH & BRET: ... >The two of them had decided to share the >responsibilities as to give their department more access into >each area of Starship Security, NASH: And their department is...? BRET: Toys, aisle 7. BISCH: Maybe they run that Department of Redundancy Department we've heard so much about. >as well as avoid any charges of >favoritism. BRET: And who'd *dream* of favoritism, when Patterson's working for his friend? > > Patterson had heard of one incident back on the Stargazer, >where an uncautious crewperson BISCH: Read: "complete moron". NASH : Why don't they *look*? >had made a distasteful remark >involving the term "Captain's Harem" to describe a shift where >Marrissa was a female Captain amongst an all-male bridge crew, BRET: What about when Marrissa's a male captain amongst an all- male bridge crew? OTHERS: ... BRET: WHAT?! >and ended up getting a tooth knocked out by Lochard, BRET: LOCH-HARD!! With tooth-smashing kung-fu punching action! Available from Toymates. NASH : WA-TAK! >resulting >in the crewperson's transfer and the only reprimand to ever >appear on Lochard's record. NASH: I am riveted by the pulse pounding backstory of THE FREAKIN' SECURITY GUARDS!! What's next? The Red Shirt Diaries? BRET: Well, with a name like 'crewperson', I can't really blame him for a being a bit sexually repressed. Must've had an awful childhood. NASH: Dammit, why'd Lochard have to get in trouble over that jerk *crewperson*? > > Because of these factors, and the fact that Starfleet Mental >Health had ruled, in essence, not to give anyone the most >mind-numbingly boring duty in the universe on a regular basis. BISCH: ... what, story? NASH: Reading this? BRET: See, people who go the prestigious Point Loma Nazarene University have long since evolved beyond the need to write complete thoughts. They just *know*. NASH: When was standing around judged bad for your health?! >Patterson Supra got to sit in front of a door for eight hours. NASH: Patterson has a finishing move now? God Vince just stop it! BRET: Patterson considered himself lucky like that. BISCH : HA-HA! I'm the king o' the world, ma!! NASH: He doesn't even have to *stand*!! What kind of wussies *are* StarFleet in the future, anyway?! >Sixteen hours, he remembered. BRET: Ya work sixteen hours, and whaddaya get? Another day older, and deeper in debt. >He was covering for Cortez. BISCH: Cortez was busy conquering Mexico. NASH: Odalay? BRET: Ariba la rasa? >He wished he had remembered to bring a PADD to read or >something. NASH : And the latest issue of Tiger Beat came out this week, too! > > Patterson's thoughts were interrupted by Red Alert klaxons >and Alexander Rozhenko's voice announcing, "We have an Intruder >Alert." BRET : Great, an *Intruder Alert*. God, those things are so *boring*... NASH: Once again Alexander is proven not as cool as his dad. Proof: His voice fails to get anyone's attention. > > "Now what's going on?" thought Patterson. NASH : Ahh with the lights and the noise and things! Waaaaah! BISCH: Gee, I dunno, Patterson... think maybe there's an intruder on the ship? >Less than thirty >seconds later, Patterson heard a transporter beam. NASH: Wow, Patterson can hear the show's goofy sound effects, even in text! BRET: Makes more sense then him being able to hear a beam of light. >The enforced >inactivity had dulled Patterson's reflexes, BRET: Much like the forced inactivity of this story has dulled our minds. BISCH: Because, y'know, StarFleet wouldn't enforce regular workouts for security personnel or anything... >so he was unable to >pull his phaser out before Dave materialized and knocked him >unconcious with the right hook of a desperate man. NASH: The right hook of a desperate weenie. BRET: Should I call 'bullshit' here, or save that for later? BISCH: Save it. With the way Dave is pulling plot contrivances out of his ass, you'll need it. > > As Patterson slumped to the floor, BRET : Mankind hits him with steel chair..MAH GOD!! NASH : Computer geek... too strong... must warn others... >Dave turned to the keypad >and entered a fifteen digit code that he had no idea he knew. NASH: Is this Star Trek or Demolition Man? BRET : 10-10-321... BISCH : Wow, this ATM's actually *working* for me! >But the door opened and Dave grabbed a phaser. NASH : All right! The lights really work and everything! BRET : I need your uniform, your comm badge, and your phaser. >"Starfleet Type >II Phaser. Now that's what I'm talking about." BISCH : Let's give 'em something to talk about... a little mystery to figure out... NASH : You call that a phaser? Now *this*, this is a phaser. > > "Stop right there." an annoyed female voice said. BRET : There's only one *real* impossibly contrived being on this starship, pal, and it *ain't* you! > > Dave turned around with phaser raised, right into the eyes >of Captain Marrissa Picard, BISCH: At that moment, Dave stood upon the threshold of achieving a dream desired by a countless multitude of people. >also with phaser raised. The two >stood less than three feet apart, with phasers less than six >inches from each other's head. NASH: We know because Dave and Marrissa paused in their fight to meticulously measure everything. >Dave remembered that at this >range, even a stun would be lethal. NASH: ... well then, that's a pretty crappy 'safety feature' StarFleet has. BISCH: What's the point of guns you can set on 'stun', anyway? Just get over your stupid little 'ethics' and SHOOT PEOPLE. Big guns and John Woo-style action sequences, that's what Star Trek needs! BRET: Silence, spawn of Berman. > > "Stalemate." he thought to himself. NASH: Of course, Dave immediately crumpled like a paper cup under the pressure and surrendered. > >Chapter 3: > > As Dave and Marrissa held each other BRET: SWEET GOD IN HEAVEN, NOOOOO!!! >at bay, BISCH: See? You overreacted, you big Canadian doof. BRET: Visions... of horror... still dancing in mind. >Marrissa >reflected on the situation. NASH : Is there *any* good reason why I shouldn't just shoot this guy? I mean, I know I *should* be able to find one, but... >Several times during her young life, >she had been in danger for her life. BISCH : I want yer life, or yer life! *Choose wisely*. NASH: Wow, man. That's deep. BRET: I think it's a haiku. >By this point, the >situation held no fear for her. BISCH: She had long since learned that the author was on her side. >It was a simple occupational >hazard that Marrissa did not dwell upon. BRET: Death? Pffft. NASH : Death is so *irritating*. > > Dave, on the other hand, was extremely anxious. BISCH: In fact, Dave had long since wet 'em. >He was >on his way to class, and then... flash. BRET : DA-DAA! The Savior of the Universe! NASH: Yeah, yeah, Wally West, fastest man alive. We *know* already. >He had to be dreaming >because he thought that he was on a starship with Marrissa. He >ran, and, aided by computer codes that he had absolutely no idea >how he knew, BISCH: Oh, come on. Dave just used his NT password. >he got access to a phaser BRET: Which he *very* conveniently knew how to operate... NASH: Eh, they're just like the toys, y'know. >and now was in a >life-and-death stand off with what appeared to be Marrissa >herself. NASH: It was Marrissa after jaw surgery. HHH was by her side the whole time. BISCH : Well, I *think* it's Marrissa, but if it is... *man*, she's put on some weight. >He felt a slight twinge between his shoulder and neck >and lost conciousness. BRET: Our hero, ladies and gentlemen! NASH: So... did Dave just have an aneurysm and die or something? Can we go now? BISCH [sighs]: No, Kevin, Dave just succumbed to the Vulcan Neck Pinch. NASH: That really works?! COOL! [Kevin immediately dives onto Eric and administers the Vulcan Neck Pinch. Eric seems... annoyed.] BISCH: Kevin, that doesn't really work any more than the Tongan Death Grip. NASH [disappointed]: Oh. [Kevin sits back in his seat, somewhat embarrassed.] > > Replacing the phaser back into the armory, Marrissa >addressed her Vulcan rescuer. "Thank you, T'Luv." BRET: Subtlety, folks! Try some in your fanfic today! > > With equanimity, T'Luv responded, "You are quite >welcome, Captain. I was taking some readings in the hydroponics >bay when I heard sounds of a struggle." NASH: What struggle? He hit one guy, then got into a staring contest with Marrissa. BISCH: Um... maybe the Endeavor just has really thin walls. BRET: Why is hydroponics next to the weapons, anyway? And what kinds of readings was she taking?! BISCH: Bret... come on, this is Star Trek. BRET : It *still* doesn't make any sense... > > Just then, Security Chief Ross Lochard rounded the >corner NASH: The *delicately* rounded corner! >accompanied by three additional Security officers. BISCH: They were the Redshirt triplets, totally inseparable in friendship *and* duty. >Marrissa replied, "It's alright, Ross. The situation is under >control. NASH: Where's all tha' carnage?! BRET : I don't think we need your squadron to subdue the ferocious computer geek, Ross. >Take the intruder to the brig, and have Dr. Johnson >take a look at Patterson." NASH : Yup... that's Patterson, all right. Ugly son of a bitch, ain't he? > > Patterson, who had just begun to stir, BISCH: Waiting that long is going to leave his dough really lumpy, y'know. [Bret promptly thwaps Eric across the back of the head.] BRET: That was pure evil, Eric. >groaned in pain. >Two of the Security personnel helped Patterson up and began >helping him into the turbolift. BRET: Bossman and Test? BISCH : Havin' a little too much synthahol on the job again, eh, Supra? NASH : Well, mah-mah-mah Patterson... >The remaining yellowshirt >crouched near Dave, tapped his communicator and stated, BRET : Hey, can anybody out there explain why this Hines guy has a communicator? >"Barklage to Transporter Room, beam two from this location >directly to the Brig, Authorization Barklage Alpha One Delta." BISCH: What's that I smell...? NASH: Eric, I believe that's the fetid stench of a Gratuitous Self-Insertion Cameo. BRET: Because we *needed* more webmastering fanboys in this story, we really did... >Dave and Ensign Barklage disappeared in the transporter effect. BISCH : They were never seen again. > > Marrissa turned to Ross, and said, NASH : You're being replaced by Michael Cole. > "Ross, I need you to >change all security codes under the same protocol as that we use >in the event of a captured officer. NASH : I'm selling out to the Romulans, Ross. I think I can more thoroughly indulge in my dark urges as part of their empire. >Whoever the intruder is, he >somehow seems to know the codes for this vessel, including the >Fleet Override. I don't like intruders having that sort of >information." BISCH : It just strikes me as kind of a bad thing, y'know? BRET : *Nobody* hands out plot devices on my ship but *me*. > > "Aye, sir." Ross responded, then turned smartly and >walked away. NASH : Remember, Ross, you can't run till you're out of her sight... just get around that corner, and... > > Marrissa tapped her communicator, "Picard to senior >staff. BISCH : Have the senior staff brought to me at once. I wish to administer a sound beating to the intruder, and the *junior* staff just won't do! BRET [slight pause, then...]: *AGH*... >Conference in the observation lounge in fifteen minutes." >A chorus of "Aye, Sir." greeted her as response. NASH: Marrissa had a Polish operatic choir follow her at all times just so she could hear that. >Marrissa bent >to the floor to pick up the phaser that Dave dropped. BISCH : Well, we'll have to have *this* sanitized, now... >"Well, >what do you know? All those computer codes and he doesn't even >know enough to take the safety off of a hand phaser." ALL: Wah-wah-wah-waaaaa... BRET: I like this story! It's full of the kind of humor that makes you want to put your eyes out. > > Just then, Patterson's replacement as armory guard >arrived. BRET: It was Ken Shamrock. NASH: He was an insignificant mortal, and didn't really deserve to be named. >Marrissa handed to phaser to him and walked away as he >began the process to change the codes to the armory. BRET: As he began the long process it occured to him how empty his life really was. > >Chapter Four: BISCH: A New Hope. > > "Hey, Marrissa!" > > Marrissa turned around to see her first officer and >boyfriend, Jay Gordon. "Hello, Jay." NASH: She realized how many choices in her life were affected by liquor. BRET : Oh, look, it's my mate. How very amusing. > "Marrissa, we need to talk." > > "Yes, Jay?" NASH : Marrissa... I'm pregnant. > > "With the incident with the intruder today. You beamed >yourself off of the bridge to where he was." BISCH : Why didn't you beam yourself to where *I* was? Don't you *like* me anymore? > > "Yes, and I caught the intruder, didn't I?" BRET : The ends justify the means! The streets shall run red with blood! > > "That's not the point. You are the captain of this ship, >and it is not your job to place yourself in dangerous >situations. BISCH: : Its your job to place yourself in my bed! Oh, an do my dishes! BRET : Just go up and sit in your nice little comfy command chair, honey, and let us men do all the real work. >Intraship beaming in itself is risky..." NASH: Yeah, it makes hair grow on your palms. > > "Jay, there's only a one in six hundred and seventy >million chance of mishap." BISCH : I *know*! *Anything* could've happened! NASH: When did C-3PO get on the Endeavor? > > "Yes, but that is enough that Starfleet regulations >clearly state that intraship beaming is to only occur in an >emergency situation." BRET: StarFleet regulations also state that you can only eat chocolate truffles in the event that your ship is overrun by tribbles and Robert Picardo impersonators. > > Marrissa stopped and motioned Jay into an alcove where >their conversation wouldn't be overheard by the crewpeople >passing by. NASH : All right, handsome, now show me what you *got*! BISCH: Kevin, this is *Jay Gordon*... NASH: Hey, I didn't say she wouldn't be disappointed. > > "Jay, that was an emergency situation. Would you have >wanted that lunatic running around the ship with a phaser?" BRET: Yeah! With the safety still on and everything, *God* only knows how much damage Dave could've done! > > "Marrissa, that's why we have a security force. BISCH : No, honey, they're for crushing all of my political opponents. >If it >weren't for T'Luv, you could have been killed." NASH: Nothing really matters. T'Luv is all we need. > > "No, I couldn't have. The intruder forgot to take the >safety lock off of the phaser." BRET : Yeah... well... uh... > > "Marrissa, all I'm saying is that your luck can't run >forever, BISCH: It can and it will, Jay. It's not like Steve has ever let reality stop him before. >and as first officer, I'm supposed to protect you from >being harmed... and... I wouldn't want you to come to any harm." NASH: Hey, that's kinda sweet. BRET: Dear God, you're right, Kevin! This scene is actually somewhat... moving.... BISCH: No! We can't be weak! Scorn its cliched nature, and fast! > > Marrissa stared at him for a second, then whispered, >"Yes, sir." The two shared a brief kiss. BRET & NASH: Awwwww... BISCH: No! I refuse to be moved by Jay and Marrissa WAFFing! I REFUSE! >Jay took Marrissa's hand. NASH: He got 4 bars of gold-pressed latinum for it at the local butcher shop. > > The rest of the voyage to the observation lounge was >silent. NASH : This has never happened to me before! Honest! BRET : I'm sorry... but we can still cuddle! > >Chapter Five: BISCH: The Empire Strikes Back! > > As Jay and Marrissa arrived in the observation lounge, >the rest of the senior staff was already present: NASH: And now, a crew recital for those of you who weren't paying attention before. >Clara Sutter, >Chief Engineer; Alexander Rozhenko, Ops; Ross Lochard, Security; >Katherine Szustakowski Lochard, Conn; Dr. Jackson Johnson, Chief >Medical Officer and Martin Sussex, Ship's Counselor. BRET: : ..and say hello to our good freind Paul Schaffer! NASH: Got all that down? Remember, there *will* be a test on Tuesday. > > "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen" Marrissa said as >she sat down. Jay took the seat to her right. BRET: Wow, I wasn't expecting symbolism out of this fic, Dave. Thanks. >"As you probably >know, earlier today, we had an incident with an intruder. I >called this conference to discuss the matter. BISCH : It looks like we'll have to spray for fanboys again soon. >Firstly, we'll >need a summary of the incident. Ross?" ALL: ... NASH: No we don't! We just spent the first four chapters reading the damn thing! BRET: "Somebody got on the ship. It was bad. End report." BISCH: Man, Dave really *is* going for authentic Ratliff flavor... > > "At 1314 hours, the intruder appeared in the middle of >the bridge. NASH: Rhythm Nation 1314. BISCH : At 1320 hours, the intruder began taking his shoes off and unpacking in the Captain's Ready Room. Several security squads had to be called in to contain him. >There were no transporter traces..." NASH: All of the art students were brutally forced to draw the transporter by freehand. > > "Pardon me, Ross," Marrissa interrupted, "but I have a >theory on that I'd like to confirm. ALL: Of *course* you do. >Computer, compare the visual >record of the phenomenon accompanying the intruder's arrival >with the effect usually present due to actions of the entity >known as 'Q'." NASH: : Then cross reference with a crappy fan fic series and warm me up a muffin. BRET: Oh, like that'll help. The special effects for *everything* change every year and a half in this show. BISCH: Oh, look, Q the Walking Plot Device is involved. Here's a surprise out of left field! NASH: Be fair, man, Dave did put him in the title. BISCH: It's still *Q*, Kevin. BRET: I like how Q subtly must have enabled Marrissa to instantly know it was Q, instead of her assuming something simple and logical. > > "Comparison complete. There is a 99.95% correlation." NASH: Well, they got close, but that's *still* not right. BISCH: Kevin, shut up. > > In a flash, Q appeared. ALL: HUZZAH! BRET: The letters B, P, and W shortly followed... their contract deal with Sesame Street had run out. >"How wonderful! You've managed >to figure it out all by yourselves. NASH [inhaling deeply]: Ah, nothing like the fresh scent of vintage John DeLancie smarm. BISCH: See, kids, right now Dave is using a writing technique called 'characterization'. Let's watch. BRET: For an omipotent being he's quite the weenie man. >Of course, you didn't have >Microbrain slowing you down." BRET: Riker? BISCH: Troi? NASH: Bill Gates? > > Alexander shot up. NASH: Whoa! Right there in *public*?! BISCH: This must be the 'very special' part of the fanfic. BRET: Either that, or someone let Neal Adams in on this. >"Do *not* speak that way about my >father." BISCH : ... I was referring to the old *coffee maker*... > > Marrissa held up a hand in Alexander's direction. NASH : Enough about your stupid father! How's my new manicure? BRET: And now, let's watch the mighty Klingon Alexander crumple before the strawberry might of Marrissa Picard. >"What >do you want here, Q? Are you responsible for the intruder's >appearance?" BISCH: But... your computer just said... ARGH... NASH : Q! Are you here to make wacky mischief again? > > "You've always been a bright girl. BRET: That's like calling the Great Wall of China a lot of bricks. >Has your father ever >told you of the temporal paradox he had to figure out?" BISCH [snorts derisively]: Which one? > > Marrissa remembered it. NASH: After her fathers repeated tellings, it was etched painfully into the fabric of her mind, much like the scar left by a red-hot iron. >On Stardate 47898, her adopted >father had encountered, courtesy of the omnipotent entity who >had invited himself to this conference, jumps placing him seven >years in the past, and twenty-five years in the future. BISCH: He discovered to his sorrow that in the future he's just a goofy and onery old cuss. BRET: Doing this allowed the producers to afford nifty, impressive special effects while simultaneously saving money by using stock footage. BISCH: And after all, wasn't 'Encounter at Farpoint' a moment in television worth re-living *again* and *again*? >Jean-Luc >had mentioned to her that in this alternate future, where >Jean-Luc had developed Irimodic Syndrome, that Marrissa had >died in a training accident, NASH: Ironically, somebody turned off the safety on the holodeck while she was working on her Kobayashi Maru time. Rumor has it that Wesley had decided there was only room for *one* godlike uber-child on the Enterprise. >and as her father had not married >her adoptive mother yet, Dr. Beverly Picard, neither her brother >Nicholas, nor her sister Jackie were with him. BRET: Strangely enough, Jean-Luc Picard was a happy, almost carefree man in this weird future reality. >He was alone in >the Picard vineyards, with both his senior staff and the Kid's >Crew spread to the four corners of the galaxy. BISCH: Since the galaxy has only four corners and is essentially a rumpus room with star-patterned wall paper. > Despite the >debilitating effects of the Irimodic Syndrome, NASH: Picard manage to bungle his way through Q's hoops like usual. > Jean-Luc managed >to join his senior staff together BRET: ... at the hip. >and with the help of the >"present" and "past" Enterprises closed the temporal anamoly >that was to doom humanity. BISCH: Um... exactly how? NASH: Look, it was just very bad and dooming. Deal with it. BRET: 'Anamoly'? You know, I really hope Dave isn't an English major at the prestigious Point Loma Nazarene University... >As part of this, Jean-Luc had to >realize the paradox of an anti-time anamoly. NASH: And it was still easier to understand than DC's "Hyper Time". BISCH: Picard also had to learn the true meaning of friendship, and call on the spirits of his senior staff to help him triumph against the evil Queen Beryl. > > Marrissa felt a cold chill run up her spine. BRET : Whee!! >"Is there >another anamoly?" NASH: I don't think an anomaly would cause that, Marrissa. > > "You Starfleet types... to you, everything is just >whatever spacial anamoly hits us this week. BISCH: Ha ha... KILL HIM. NASH: : It's funny! [Nash promptly picks up a silver pail and starts throwing confetti at the others.] BISCH: I'm making you clean that up. > What I was driving >at was that I have control over time and space. NASH: Man, this is just like Superboy and his friggin' tactile telekinesis. We *KNOW* already! BRET: : Being godlike just puts me in *bunches*, you know. Tee hee. >But go on with your little briefing. I'm interested to know what >else you've deduced thus far." BISCH : We've deduced that you're a dickweed, Q. > > "Picard to Brig, bring the prisoner to the Observation >Lounge. NASH : But him in the clown suit this time. And remember to tell him that I expect a good... *performance*. >Continue, Ross." > > "As we now know, Q brought the intruder to the bridge. BRET : We *asked* Q to bring paper plates, but *nooo*... >The intruder seemed disoriented. NASH: Like our booking staff? BISCH: Ha, yeah that's... HEY! BRET : We have reason to believe the intruder was 'freaking out'. > After the captain identified >herself, the intruder leapt into the turbolift. BISCH: So Dave is Mr. B Natural? [The others simply shudder.] >The captain >ordered the turbolift to return to the bridge, but the intruder >somehow accessed the Fleet Override code, NASH : We believe this was due to the recently discovered Bullshit Anomaly affecting parts of the universe. >and beamed himself to >outside the armory. He knocked out Ensign Supra BRET : As such, Ensign Supra has now been demoted to chief bubblegum scraper. >and accessed the >armory. He retrieved a Type II Phaser. BISCH : He also retrieved several delicious chocolate chip cookies and a tall, cold glass of milk. >The Captain beamed >herself in, and in passing, may I recommend to the Captain that >she refrain from doing so in the future due to the danger >involved?" NASH : Now, get your bitch ass back in the kitchen and bake me some pie! > > Jay shot Marrissa a glance. BRET: It slammed through her skull and pierced her brain, killing her instantly. >Q smirked. BISCH : Ha-ha! >She studiously >ignored the both of them. NASH : Stupid *men*... I think I need some new ones. >"Noted, Lieutenant. Continue." ALL: Ooooooo... NASH: Ten bucks says Jay gets disciplined when he gets home... and not the good kind, either. > > "The Captain was armed as well, BRET : Both the captain and the intruder had two apiece. >and both the Captain and >the intruder held each other at bay with a Type II Phaser. BISCH: Wow... this is like living the intense drama of that scene *all* over again! > We >would later find out that the intruder neglected to remove the >Phaser's safety. NASH : And of course, I'll tell you about our gigantic screw-up in excruciating detail. >Lieutenant T'Luv came across the situation and >disabled the intruder via a Vulcan neck pinch. BRET: That makes it sound like she was just randomly ambling alone, and just so *happened* to run across Dave and Marrissa's standoff, and just so *happened* to be in the *perfect* position to magically KO Dave with the Vulcan Nerve Pinch That Doesn't Really Work. BISCH: Um... Bret, that *is* what happened. BRET: ... oh. > At that time, my >Security forces arrived, apprehended the intruder, NASH : There were some casualties, but they gave that animal Hines a damn good fight before they went down. >and began the >process of changing all access codes." NASH : The current code is "IPFREELY". > > "Is that all, Lieutenant?" BRET: No, I think there's a few adjectives Dave hit before that Ross didn't manage to repeat. > > "No, sir. ALL: AAAARRRGGGHHH!! BISCH: Ross *is* just repeating the first four damn chapters! >In considering Ensign Supra's being knocked >unconcious, please keep in mind that he had been at that post >for nearly two shifts. NASH: So his blood alcohol level was waaay high. > I am in the process right now of >rearranging the duty shifts so that no officer is left at that >post for more than half a shift at a time." BRET : Corporate office is breathing down my neck to cut payroll! BISCH: So... they're just now figuring out that having really tired people guarding the weapons is a *bad* thing. NASH: Man, *I* could overthrow StarFleet. > > "Noted. BRET : And ignored. I will have this 'Patterson Supra' drawn and quartered. >I have decided not to pursue any disciplinary >action against Patterson, BISCH : Instead, he will fight Mankind in a Boiler Room Brawl. NASH [snickers]: At least it's not one of those super-hardcore *kendo stick* matches > other than..." Marrissa smiled and a >gleam developed in her eye, BRET: She's Cable! BISCH: She's Longshot! NASH : Jem, Jem is her naaaaaame... JEM!! > "for the next two days, he's >reassigned to the Mess Hall. He will be in charge of radishes >again." she kidded. BRET: Ha ha! She can destroy his career on a whim, so it's funny! > To her right, she heard Jay chuckling. BISCH : Ha ha ha ha... musn't displease the mistress... ha ha... >"Dr. Johnson, how is Patterson?" > > "Other than a bruised chin and some bruised pride, he's >fine. NASH : Healed the former, but Supra's just too much of a weenie to do anything about the latter. >The kitchen duty should allow him to get some of the rest he >needs. BRET: But... the story said Marrissa was kidding, and... and... [Bret buries his face in his hands and cries.] BISCH [patting Bret on the back comfortingly]: There, there. Let it all out. >He's been overworking lately." NASH: Yeah, all that sitting around has really taken a toll on him. > > "Martin, how about our intruder?" BRET : Well, I think he'd go well with a light hollandaise sauce, maybe a good red wine and... um... that's not what you meant, was it? > > "Well, his name is Dave Hines, and he claimed to live in >San Diego, California in the then United States of America in >September, 1998. BISCH: Hey, Bret exactly was going on in September 1998? BRET: Umm... the American NFL season began, Bill Clinton and Boris Yeltsin met for a summit in Moscow, "Titanic" was released on video, the British Parliament passed anti-terrorism legislation, the third annual Coaster Celebration for Roller Coaster enthusiasts was held, and... apparently Dave Hines fell off the face of the earth. BISCH: Huh. Not a bad month. >I asked the computer to verify this by scanning >his quantum signature. BRET: It read, "Yours Truly, Scott Bakula." >You'll remember that the quantum >signatures change slightly over time, and we can trace that. NASH: Shouldn't they already know this? BISCH: I don't think Ross was talking to the *characters* in that line, Kevin. NASH: Oh... huh? > Mr. >Hines' signature verified that he was from the late twentieth >century, but his signature shows no time travel telltales." BRET : The answer here is obvious... Dave Hines is clearly the oldest man alive. > > "Quantum signatures! How delightfully primitive!" Q >chortled. NASH: : Heh heh! I'm an imp! BISCH : I'm being snide and smug, see? SEE?!! > At this point, Marrissa knew why Q had mentioned the >anti-time anamoly incident. BRET: Was it because he's a foppish, annoying twit? BISCH: I hope Marrissa enlightens us, because at that point, I'm not sure if the plot even exists. >She got the feeling that Q's >intentions in bringing this man here were not malignant, though. NASH: They were a giant bloated tumor in the story, but they wasn't malignant. > > Martin looked askance at Q and continued, "He is quite >sane, but is confused. BRET: I've heard the same thing said about Ross Perot. >He was able to relay facts that he >shouldn't know about this crew. BISCH: Jay Gordon's birthday, Alexander's favorite color, Clara Sutter's implants... >He claims he knows this >information from reading 'fanfics' back in his own time. BRET: Great. That's the legacy of the twentieth century? NASH: That and shopping malls, Bret. >Thus, >he is still only partially convinced that this is not some odd >dream. BRET: An odd nightmare would be more accurate. >He is also somehow convinced that you are responsible for >his... abduction, Captain. BISCH: Well, hell, she's contrived damn near everything *else*... >He was unable to tell me where he >learned the computer codes he used during his aborted escape >attempt." NASH: Look, maybe using "1-2-3-4-5" for your security just wasn't a very good idea to begin with. > > "Well, he needed to have some fun." Q responded with >that annoying smirk of his. BISCH: From his annoying face which is attached to his annoying head and his annoying body! ARRGH! NASH: Be strong, peace friend. BRET: So... omnipotent beings drop their schedules and violate the laws of time and space when Dave gets bored. Yeah. > > "You mean you-?" BISCH: With the deal-? NASH: And the stuff-? BRET: And the thing-? > > "Yes," Q interrupted, "I just gave him, shall we say, a >certain talent for using modern computers." BISCH: You gave him Marrissa's PIN number, Q. > > At this point, the door opened as a Security guard >brought in Dave, who was chanting "Attica! Attica!". NASH: ... I feel significantly less cool now. BRET: Wow, all this, and Dave's original, too! BISCH: Dave Hines is taking us on a collision course to wackiness! >At one >glance at Marrissa, he screamed briefly and attempted to flee, >but the guard restrained him. BISCH : EWWW!! GIRL COOTIES!! NASH: Huh, you think that'd usually work the other way. > > "Have fun!" Q stated before disappearing in a flash of >light. BRET: Wow. Q's presence has added so much to this story... BISCH: There's a story? NASH: Q, ladies and gentlemen! He'll be here till the eighth! > > "Mr. Hines," began Marrissa. BRET : I understand you're the twentieth-century's greatest ketchup magnate. > > "She knows my name! Help me!" NASH : She thinks I'm cuuuute!! BISCH: Yeah, yeah, you think she's Satan, Dave. Rigor mortis has already set in on that joke. > > "Mr. Hines, I am not responsible for bringing you here >and I bear you no ill will." NASH : Then will you bear my children? BRET: GYAH! > > "You're not? Well, then who...?" BISCH: Q! NASH: Where...? BRET: Q! > > "An entity known as Q." > > "Q?! BISCH : You know, the seventeenth letter of the English alphabet? Usually used in conjunction with the letter 'u'? >Q is just a fictional character... just like the >rest of you are. Oh, I'm having a *great* day." NASH : Oh, the pain, the *pain*... BRET: Yeah, Dave, you'll have to suffer from being in a universe where disease is unheard of and nobody has to work! BISCH: Wow... this is Hines' fanfic and even HE doesn't want to be there! > > "Mr. Hines, I realize that the method in which you were >brought here was somewhat alarming, NASH: Poor guy was reduced to getting an economy class ticket. >which accounts for your >recent behavior. BRET: Actually, Marrissa, Dave's like this pretty much all the time, as far as we can tell. >But now that you've had some time to cool off, >I'm willing to let you free on the Endeavour on your own >recognisance until such time as Starfleet lets us know >what to do with you." BISCH : Chances are it'll be either the medical experiments or a test of those 'Genesis Torpedo' things we found. > > "I would suppose that would mean no more trying to break >into the armories?" NASH : Jeez, Mom spoils all our fun! BRET : Well, God, if I can't break into the armory, then what's the *point*? > > "Yes. Also, I would like you to meet at least once a day >with Lieutenant Sussex until you can become acclimated to this >time." BISCH : Don't worry, Dave, you'll be a pampered, atheistic, ultra-liberal faceless drone like the rest of us soon. > > Dave looked over at Martin. "Whassup?!" he yelled at >him. [All groan] NASH: Yes, Dave! You're in a strange, possibly hostile world where you know no one and have no friends... so be sure to insult everyone as much as possible! BRET: Any chance of getting Ving Rhames in here to whup Dave's ass? BISCH: Sadly, no. > > "Please stop that." Martin responded. BRET : You're scaring me. NASH : Damn the jokes, Gina, damn 'em! > At the looks of >the rest of the senior staff, Martin responded, "He does that >every time he hears my first name. I don't know why." BISCH: It's because Dave likes to take dead horses and beat them until they're dog food, Martin. > > "Mr. Hines, try to stay out of trouble... for your >sake." NASH: Whoa! Did Marrissa just become Vader? BISCH: She *would* be a Dark Lord of the Sith. BRET: Kevin, you're making me think of a Ratliffverse/Star Wars crossover. Stop it *now*. >Marrissa finished with a bit more edge in her voice than >she had intended. BISCH: Edge doesn't talk. How did she do that? > "Meeting adjourned, everyone." NASH: ...and let's be careful out there. > >Chapter Six: BRET: Return of the Jedi. > > As Dave walked out of the briefing room, happy to be >doing so under his own power, NASH: Awww, Dave's walking on his own now. BRET : They grow up so fast nowadays, doncha know. > a growling in his stomach told him NASH: ... that he had swallowed a wolverine. >that he was in need of sustenance. BISCH: Mayhaps David will ambulate to the place of cookery, partake of some sustenance and imbibe some beverages. >He entered the turbolift. A >voice behind him said "Hold the 'lift!" NASH : Potty Emergency! POTTY EMERGENCY! > > Dave turned around to see Lieutenant Martin Sussex >walking briskly towards the turbolift. "I was just about to see >what a person could eat on this ship." Dave stated. BRET : Oh, and I care *so much*. BISCH: When in doubt, try chewing on the furniture! At least, that's what I do. NASH: That doesn't surprise me. > > "That's a good idea. Computer, the Officer's Mess!" BRET: ... will be cleaned up momentarily. BISCH : What *about* the stupid officer's mess?! NASH: Better get that sawdust stuff they use in High Schools. > > As the turbolift eased into nearly indetectable motion, >Dave glanced over at Martin and said, "You know, I'm a bit old >for a chaperon." BRET : Look, the PTA's not about to set all you kids loose at this dance, so you might as well dry up and deal with it, little mister! > "I'm not here as a chaperon, Mr. Hines..." NASH : I'm here as your date. > > "Dave, please. BRET : Wait until we get to the Mess, Hines, then you can have your Dave. >Whenever you say Mr. Hines, I look around >for my grandfather." BISCH : He keeps getting out of the nursing home and following me around when I travel through time and space. NASH: Orville Redenbacher, International Man of Mystery! > "Alright, and if you don't ask me 'what's up' like that >anymore, you can call me Martin. BRET : Oh, *can* I? BISCH : Maaartin!! He's the maaan... >I was just thinking that the >only exposure you've had to this ship, let alone this time so >far is a panic-stricken flight, our brig and a conference room, BRET : Yeah... is that out of the ordinary or something? >and that maybe you could use some help acclimating." NASH: We are Sussex of Borg. You will be acclimated. Resistance is futile. BRET: And that would benefit the collective *how*? > > "Maybe." Dave conceded as the turbolift doors opened. >Martin and Dave turned left and began walking down the hallway. BISCH: This is so *cool*! There's walking, and conceding, and bet there'll be a scene full of *exposition* and *smiling* next! I love this fanfic! NASH: ... BRET: He's in denial, Kevin, don't worry about him. > > "The quartermaster has assigned you quarters on deck six >in the V.I.P. section." > > "Wow, I'm important." BISCH : No, that's V.I.P. as in "Very Irritating Person". We send most of the self-insertions we get here, helps keep them from contaminating the crew. > > "Aren't you happy with V.I.P. quarters?" BISCH : Hey, as long as its not the P.M.S. quarters. NASH: Terri Runnels and Jacquelyne? That wouldn't be so bad, that wouldn't be bad at *alllll*... > > "No, it's not that. It's just that I don't plan on >making use of them for long. I figure I'm just one slingshot >manuever away from going home." BISCH: Dave seems to be rather conveniently forgetting that there's a good chance that doing that would blow up the ship. BRET: Well, that's because Dave knows that in life, there's one thing you can always rely on... ALL: ... PLOT CONTRIVANCE! > > "Well, I was hoping not to mention it for a couple days, >but I'm afraid that it's a bit more complicated than that." BRET : We have more hoops from the god-imp to jump through first. > > "What do you mean?" NASH : You see, Dave, our usual plot contrivance has been nullified by an ever bigger and harder to explain plot contrivance. > > "Dave, I checked your records. BISCH : You'd better have a good explanation for the Noodle Incident, young man. >You were presumed dead >after you disappeared on that day in September, 1998. BRET : Apparently your roommates declared that in order to get easy passing grades. >You were >not part of the history that follows. If you go back, you'll >disrupt the timeline, possibly to the extent that you'd cause a >temporal paradox." NASH: *What*? So he can't go back in time because he hasn't already gone back in time? The hell? BISCH: Haven't any of these people watched a Back to the Future movie? The timestream's like a floppy disk, it's easy to write over! BRET: Just what do temporal paradoxes *do*, anyway? Has any time- travel movie adequately explained that? Is it like a big universal pot-hole, or what? > > "Those are messy." BRET: Oh, *that* clears everything up... NASH: No, 'messy' is what happens when you get Kelsey Grammar looking at one of those 'Hot Teens' porn sites. > > "That's an understatement. BISCH: A statement which is, in itself, a *vast* understatement. >No matter what reason Q had >for transporting you to this timeline, you're stuck here." BRET: But... but the history of the universe where this stuff really happened couldn't possibly have fanfics and TV shows about the same stuff a hundred-something years before, so he has to be from *another* dimension... and... and... [Bret looks down and begins to cry.] NASH: Shhhh. There there, pink boy. You know the drill, just don't think about it. > > Dave fell silent as he and Martin entered the Officer's >Mess. ALL: EWWWW! BISCH: They're walking right into it! At least put some boots on or something! > A number of officers were already present, including Jay >Gordon and Alexander Rozhenko. NASH: But they were the only ones worth mentioning, which was kind of sad. BRET: Not since High Voltage has there been a more thrilling tag team. > > "Raktajino." Martin told the replicator. NASH: : Rrrrratkajinooo! Heh heh heh.... BISCH: I've had that stuff on angel hair pasta before. It's real good... ton of calories in it, though. > > "Do you mean to tell me that I am stuck here on the Star >Trek equivalent of 'Lord of the Flies'?!?!" NASH: All the crewmembers are going to dance around nekkid in animal skins? > > Martin's eyes bugged out slightly as he sipped his >raktajino. BRET: I dunno... that stuff's good, but it's nearly five bucks a cup at Starbucks. >He was not expecting this to happen as quickly. He >needed to get Dave calmed down and to someplace a little more >private. BISCH: Oh no! Martin wants to get Dave alone! ALL: GAAAAAHH! > > "Dave, perhaps we'd better..." NASH: ... use protection? BRET [smacking Nash on the back of the head]: NO, dammit! Enough with the hentai riffs! > > "I am not going to be stuck here with the female Captain >Bligh and her constant recitation of titles!" Dave shouted. BISCH : For I am *Dave Hines*, "Boffo", the self made man, member of the Associate Board of Student Activities, and *Icon* of the student body of the prestigious Point Loma Nazarene University! [Bisch then raises a mysteriously convenient bokken into the air, as lightning flashes.] >He >was beginning to get the attention of the entire room, including >Jay and Alexander. NASH: They finally stopped gazing into each other's eyes long enough to notice. [Bret whimpers in agony.] > > "I know! Let's lock warring diplomats in a room >together! There's tactics worthy of my fifth grade principal!" BISCH: Look, now, that's not being very nice to your fifth grade principal... BRET: Dave went to public school, didn't he? > > "Dave..." > NASH : Bueller... > "We're out of strawberries?! Start killing the crew!" >Dave continued to rant. BISCH: I fail to see how that'd solve the strawberry shortage. BRET: Wouldn't that be more of a replicator problem? I mean, it's not like they keep 'real' strawberries around anyway... NASH: Dave, man, your argument just isn't holding up. > > Jay had had enough of this. "That'll be enough, mister." BRET: : Grrrrr and stuff. BISCH : You sit down and drnk your raktajino right now, little mister, or I'm turning this starship right around and taking you back to the twentieth century, paradox or no paradox! > > Dave spun to face him. BRET: The Tasmanian Devil *IS* Dave Hines in Lines As Q. >"Look, it's Whipped Boy! And his >sidekick, the Klingon Kid!" NASH: Look, it's Dave with his kooky 'Catalina Caper' styled antics! BISCH: And much like 'Catalina Caper', they leave me longing for the sweet, sweet caress of death itself. > > "Mr. Hines, I said that will be enough!" NASH : Don't make me angry, Mr. Hines... you wouldn't *like* me when I'm angry... BRET: Jay Gordon *is* the Incredible Wuss-Boy. > > "Jawohl, mein fuhrer!" NASH: I'm all for an Adolf Hitler run-in right now. BISCH : And... yes, it's Adolf Hitler! ADOLF HITLER IS IN THE RING! And... yes, he's got Dave in the *Third Rack*! Hines is tapping out like a baby! > > "Jay..." warned Martin. BRET: : Marrissa's ass has gone five minutes without your lips glued to it. You should get going. > > "Mr. Hines, we have attempted to be hospitable and you >continue to insult us, particularly my Captain and my friend." NASH: Well, you're dorks. And that's not Dave's fault. BISCH: Hell, we can't go five minutes without insulting the lot of you. > > "Do you intend to do something about it? Or are you just >pretending you can zip your fly without three written approvals >from Marrissa?!" > NASH : I don't *have* a fly, you twit. BRET: You think Captain Fanboy would've remembered that. BISCH: Besides, Marrissa only requires one written approval for fly zipping, you just have to give her the carbon-paper copy. > "Fine, then we'll settle this the traditional way. NASH: Knowing StarFleet, it'll involve several treaties and lots of people with funky foreheads. >Boxing, on the holodeck, half an hour." ALL: ... BISCH: Wait a minute! Jay Gordon has been angered to the point of physical violence by *that*?! Dear lord, he really *doesn't* have a spine! BRET: And that's supposed to be the traditional way officers of an organization founded on peace settle things? NASH: Yeah, you think the StarFleet way would be having golf duels or full-contact 3D chess wars or something. > > "How about we do this on my turf, instead?" NASH: You're gonna challenge him to a game of Street Fighter Alpha 3 in your room? BISCH: I hope Jay whips his ass with Dan. BRET: SAIKYOOOO!! > > "However you want to do it, mister." BRET & BISCH: *Kevin*... NASH: Hey! Look, any riff I made there would have to involve a reference to lubricant, and I do have *some* scruples. BRET [sighs]: Remind me to kill you later, Kevin. > > Dave barked an order to the replicator, which produced a >PADD. NASH: I thought only girls needed those. [Bret sighs.] >"Study up." Dave suggested before leaving the mess. BISCH: Dave, don't you dare think you can just leave that there! This is not a hotel, we do *not* have a maid service! > > Martin approached Jay. NASH [chuckling]: Whassup?! BRET: Kevin, I am going to beat you to death with my leg brace, and I am going to enjoy it. >"Jay, Dave has been under an >incredible amount of stress these last few hours. I'm sure he >doesn't mean..." BISCH : Dave doesn't *mean* to be a prick, Jay. He was just born that way. > > "Martin, I'm sorry. But there's no backing down now." NASH : God forbid someone should think I'm wimpy! BRET : Yes, we can't have anyone thinking I have some measure of restraint or common sense. > >Chapter Seven: BISCH: Mission to Moscow. > > "Program Hines One is in use and running." the computer >stated in its friendly feminine tone. NASH: : For intimate one-on-one conversations... > Jay stood outside the door >to the holodeck with Alexander and Martin. > > "Enter." Jay commanded. BRET: The Dragon? BISCH: The Shredder? NASH: The door? > The three entered what looked to >be a traditional ring surrounded by thousands of people booing >at him. BRET: However, it might not have been. They weren't sure. >"Cute." he concluded. BISCH: Yeah, nothing quite so cute as a seething mass of humanity howling obscenities and throwing drinks at you. NASH: Well, that's what happens when you can't tell heel heat from *real* heat... BISCH: I hope someone aims a laser-pointer right into your cornea. > As Jay took off the robe he was wearing to reveal [Everyone tenses up and cringes.] >black shorts, boots, kneepads and elbowpads, [Everyone breathes a sigh of relief... then begins snickering.] ALL: GIIIIILBERG! GIIIIILBERG! > a short balding man entered the ring. BRET: Billy Bardy? NASH: Gene Okerlund? BISCH: Quick, Jay, set phasers to kill! > > The balding man took a microphone and announced, "Ladies >and gentlemen, this is our main event! BISCH: What? No monster trucks? No semi-nude women? NASH: Man, they're gonna get creamed in the ratings. >Already in the ring, >hailing from the U.S.S. Endeavour, BRET [snickers]: "Hailing frequencies open, Captain." >weighing in at one hundred >and eighty eight pounds, NASH: One-hundred and eighty-eight... BISCH: ... *I* weigh more than that! ALL: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!! >here is Jay Gordon!!!!" BISCH: The Artificial Nature Boy, Jay Gordon! BRET: The Humanoid's Champ, Jay Gordon! NASH: The Small, Partially Completed Package, Jay Gordon! >The crowd, >programmed to be hostile, booed their hearts out. BISCH: Jay died a horrible death, buried under flying cardio- pulmonary organs. >A faint chant >of "Jay sucks! Jay sucks!" could be heard beginning. BRET: A faint chant? BISCH: They just need to get Jay's tape machine rolling. NASH: GOOOORDON... GOOOORDON... > > The balding man continued, "...and his opponent!" A few >notes on a bass guitar started and a woman could be heard >yelling "Oh, Dave!" NASH : What's that hideous growth on your neck?! > as a voice began singing "I think I'm >cute... I know I'm sexy..." [The guys can only stare at the screen in abject horror.] BRET: ... BISCH: ... NASH: ... [Bret quietly gets up, and walks to the other side of the theater.] NASH: I feel *so* sorry for Shawn right now... BISCH: If he career wasn't already over, it's safe to say this would have killed it. [Bret suddenly throws his head back, and screams at the top of his lungs.] BRET: THERE IS NO GOOOOOOOOOOOOD!! [Bret then slumps, and walks back to his seat.] NASH: Feel better, pink boy? BRET: There is a place in hell for Dave Hines. There must be. BISCH: I'll take that as a 'yes'. >as the announcer finished "Hailing >from San Diego, California, Nineteen ninety eight, and weighing >in at three hundred pounds.... NASH [snickers]: 300 pounds of *what*? BRET: It's one-hundred percent pure Boffo. >the "Heartbreak Kid"... Dave >Hines!!!!" [There is much weeping, groaning, and gnashing of teeth.] NASH: Somewhere, Michael Shawn Hickenbottom is crying his *eyes* out... BISCH: Over this? BRET: No, over having a name like Hickenbottom. NASH: That, too. > The computer simulated crowd went suitably berserk as >Dave entered underneath the gigantic monitor in one of the most >outrageous outfits Jay had seen in some time. NASH: Well, at least since John-Luc had gotten loose in that Little French Maid outfit. BRET: Wait a minute... that means Dave is wearing Shawn's tights, doesn't it? BISCH: I'm... I'm afraid so, Bret. BRET: ... >Dave danced his >way to the ring as fireworks went off BRET [buries his face in his hands]: ...correction. *Now* there is no God. >and some of the >computer-simulated women could be seen swooning. BISCH: Those women had *better* be computer generated. NASH: Dude, there is *no way* they couldn't be. BRET [shrugs]: Maybe they caught a glimpse of Adam Copeland in the crowd. > Dave removed >the outer clothing, ALL: AUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH! >leaving colorful tights and posed >in front of Jay as more pyrotechnics erupted. BRET: And it was in that shining moment that Jay Gordon realized he was no longer the dorkiest human being in existence. BISCH: Um... is it just me, or did that sentence say that Dave's *tights* posed in front of Jay?! NASH: Block out the imagery, Eric! Block it out! > > Dave took some last kudoes from the simulation, and >stared straight at Jay as a bell sounded. BRET: ... and an angel got its wings. >Dave and Jay locked >up. Jay used his Starfleet training to pull Dave into a >hammerlock. BISCH: Jay then proceeded to use his StarFleet training to send Dave crashing to the mat with a missile dropkick, followed up by a wicked spinebuster! NASH: I wonder why StarFleet started up its own Power Plant? BRET: Well, I hear it was done in honor of the great Admiral Wahoo McDaniels. >Dave raked Jay's eyes. BISCH [mimicking the Three Stooges eye poke]: Oh, a wiseguy, eh? Nyuk nyuk nyuk! BRET: Someone go for the closed-fist Kirk chop! NASH: Hell yeah! That move takes down Klingons with one hit! > > Alexander immediately jumped to the ring apron. "You are >dishonorable!" BISCH : It doesn't matter if you win or lose, just make sure you cheat. BRET: : I don't like you anymore! I'm taking my toys and goin' home! > > Dave's only reply was to kiss his hand and slap his >posterior with it as he moved Jay into a side headlock. NASH: Dave, tight spandex, spankings... this whole fanfic is turning into one huge Freudian nightmare. BISCH: First Shawn, now Eddie Guerrero... have you no shame, Hines?! BRET: He's stealing Hogan's move book, too... all one page of it. > As the >referee busied himself with getting Alexander off of the ring >apron, NASH: See, Worf would have already pulled out a bat'leth, decapitated the referee, and pounded Dave into a fine peach- colored paste on the mat. Alex, as a manager, is indistinguishable from Miss Elizabeth. I rest my case. BISCH: You're making me imagine Alex in a skirt. Stop. >Jay pushed Dave into the ropes and attempted to >spear-tackle him on the rebound. BRET: And now it's Gordon with the JACKHA... no, wait, Jay's spine just snapped in half. NASH: Jay, its not a good idea to get involved with someone on the rebound. >Dave moved out of the way and >used Jay's momentum to throw him between the top and middle >ropes. NASH: And Jay went crashing through the Spanish announcer's table! BRET: Gets it everytime. >Dave hopped out himself NASH: Dave is a naughty little bunny. BISCH: *Kevin*... >and two began brawling, all >semblance of combat style gone. BRET [dripping sarcasm]: Gee, and it was *such* a technical wrestling extravaganza before. BISCH: You know, I really can't tell the difference between this and the Brawl for All... > Within about thirty seconds, the >referee had reached ten. NASH: Within a minute, he was twenty years old. BRET: A count-out... Dave makes us sit through this to end the match with a freaking *double count-out*... BISCH: At least it wasn't another damn Corporation run-in. > As he signalled the timekeeper to ring >the bell. [There is a pause, and the guys squirm uncomfortably in their seats.] NASH: Um... Dave, man, you can finish your sentence any time now... >Referees and officials in suits swarmed out to attempt >to separate the two, as well as keeping Martin and Alexander out >of the fray. BRET: : We gots us a fraicus, Tony! BISCH : Business is about to pick up! > > The balding man announced to the hostile crowd, "The >referee has counted both men out of the ring, and has ruled this >bout a double countout!" BRET: I don't believe this. I'm actually disappointed in the ending to this match. NASH: Wow, Eric, it sounds like *your* bookers wrote this. BISCH: Burn in hell, Kevin. >The crowd booed as both Jay and Dave >strained against the officials holding them back. BRET: That'd actually be impressive if the officials weren't all midgets armed with foam bats. > > A frustrated female voice rang out, "Computer! End >program!" NASH : I booked this time to run my Sweaty Chippendales program, and dammit, I *won't* be denied! >The arena, and everything else other than Dave, Jay, >Martin and Alexander disappeared. BRET: Their bodies left floated in an endless void, they quickly died of asphyxiation. BISCH: Is this where I ask 'what's on Raw'? BRET: To hell with that! I wanna see what's on *Dilbert*! NASH: Hell, there's usually more *wrestling* on that show than ours... >Suddenly lacking support for >their off-balance position, both Dave and Jay face-faulted to >the floor. BISCH: Then Dave and Jay promptly went Super-Deformed, and powercried their cute li'l hearts out! BRET: And then Happosai ran in and stole Marrissa's panties! Oh, for fun! > > Marrissa stood in the doorway. "Mr. Hines, until further >notice, you're confined to quarters." NASH : Aw, man, my wallet's gonna weigh a *ton* now... BRET: *Argh*... >Dave was silent as he >stood and stalked out of the holodeck. BISCH : At least we still have each other, colorful happy tights. >"Jay, I'd like to see you >in my ready room tomorrow morning at 0900." NASH : We need to have a discussion of... "*disciplinary action*". >Marrissa looked back >at Jay, and exasperatedly said, "Men!" as she walked away. BRET: ... yeah, because women NEVER do anything stupid or irrational. BISCH: Not in Ratliff's universe, anyway. NASH: And the men? Well, they just don't do *anything*. >Chapter Eight: > > Marrissa viciously pressed the control to open the door >to her quarters. BRET : Suffer, button!! SUFFER!! > This had not been her day. BISCH: And this right here is how you tell Steve-o isn't writing this story. >First, that... thing >from the late 20th century shows up, [All stare at the screen in stunned silence.] NASH: Bret, will I go to hell for thinking Marrissa is really cool right now? BRET: Under the circumstances? No, Kevin. >then Q comes back, BISCH : Any minute now I'm going to end up prancing through the frickin' Renaissance, or have my crew turned into penguins, or... >then her >boyfriend, and even worse, her first officer lets his hormones >do his thinking for him. BRET : I knew Jay was an unreliable idiot, but Alex *too*?! NASH: Marrissa knew Jay and Alexander had been moved by a thunderous moment of unrequited passion... but could she *ever* view the two in the same way again? >She thought about returning to the >bridge, but she trusted that Shayna had things well in hand >up there. BISCH: Meanwhile on the bridge, Shayna Sachs was throwing the greatest raging kegger in the history of StarFleet. >Besides, Martin had a point. NASH: It was on the top of his head, but it was still there. >Her worrying about the >Nexus wasn't going to stop it, and she needed to rest. BRET: Yeah, when you've been RPing in #Nexus all night, you get real tuckered out. >Maybe a >nice bubble-bath would relax her. BISCH [stunned]: Uh... um... BRET: Damn you, Hines! Haven't we seen enough horror? Haven't you done enough to us?! HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH?! [NASH simply reclines back in his chair and pops the top off of a mysteriously convenient brew.] NASH: All riiiight! Finally, some fanservice! Miller time it *is*! BISCH & BRET: .... > > Marrissa took off her outer uniform jacket NASH [leaning forward in his seat]: Yeeeaaaah... BRET [shocked]: KEVIN!! BISCH: Actually, Marrissa *is* kind of cute... BRET: Is *everyone* against me now?! >and was preparing to take off the turtleneck NASH: Yes! YES! BRET: No! NO! >when she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. BISCH: It was Jay Garrick, who in his old age had degenerated into a superfast Peeping Tom. > She quickly turned to see Q standing >there in ludicrously old-fashioned pajamas and a nightcap. NASH: ... AARRRRGGGGHHH!! BRET: YES! Thank you, foppish imp god! BISCH [sighs depressively]: Looks like it's time to get zany again. > > "Need someone to tuck you in?" asked the omnipotent >entity. BISCH: And the Q continuum exists exactly *why*, again? > > "Q! What are you doing in my quarters?!" asked Marrissa. NASH: : Annoying the crap out of you AND the audience, as is my function! > > Q smiled that extremely annoying smirk of his. BRET: The extremely annoying smirk on his extremely annoying face on his extremely annoying head on his extremely annoying shoulders... >"Well, >Risa..." he began. BRET: HEY! Leave that girl from 'Xenon' out of this! BISCH: That's legitimately obscure, Bret. Be proud of yourself. > > Anger flashed in Marrissa's eyes. BRET: Ooh, she's gonna use her Omega Effect on him! >"Do *not* call me >that." NASH : I prefer to be called "Sugar Bumps." > > Q chuckled. "Well, can't an old friend come to read you >a bedtime story, make sure you've washed behind your ears, and >give you a goodnight kiss?" BRET: Not as long as the restraining order is in effect. BISCH: Um... if any of my friends showed up in my bedroom in the middle of the night, I'd scream my head off in sheer horror. > > Marrissa took a deep breath before continuing. This was >the same type of scorn she had heard whispered behind her back >by those in Starfleet who didn't know her. NASH: Bret, why don't those two sentences have anything to do with each other? BRET: Because the author has long since transcended the need for plot, Kevin. I think he's writing in the fourth dimension now. BISCH: Hey, who says it's only the people who *don't* know her scorning her? >Once she had worked >with someone, she was usually able to put together a >relationship of mutual respect, NASH: After all, those not willing to cooperate usually had mysterious, unfortunate accidents... >but jealousy amongst those whom >she hadn't worked with sparked rumors of nepotism and worse >which had supposedly contributed to her rapid rise through the >ranks. BRET: Like huge, brain-bending plot contrivances that conveniently got rid of every adult on the Enterprise? BISCH: Like having the god fortune to face massively stupid villains time and time again? NASH: Like being written by an author who really, really likes promotions? > > "I am not a child, Q." BRET : I'm just blessed with the god-like intellect of one. > > Something almost inperceptible changed in Q's face, and >he changed from benevolent trickster to the near omnipotent >judge that the Enterprise-D first encountered. NASH: Near Omnipotent Judge Power, Make-Up! BISCH: You mean he actually got back in character?! COOL! BRET: 'Benevolent' trickster? Never in all of Q's inane prancing did he ever do anything helpful except finally go away! > > "Really? Sad, then. When I first met you, I had such >high hopes for you. BISCH : We could have ruled the universe, you and I... >But now, instead of that vast potential, >what do I see? NASH: Well, you were *gonna* see her naked, but NOOOO, you just had to open your big mouth.... >Your little cat and mouse game with Jay, BRET : Hey! I'll have you know that Jay *likes* requested that we use those outfits himself! >your >obsessive attitude towards your ship and your inability to >interact civilly with a visitor. BISCH : Dammit, why can't you be *nicer* to people who break into your armory and threaten you with deadly weaponry? >You're becoming just like >Jean-Luc at his worst. NASH: She's a balding, prissy Brit who's inexplicably also French? >A pity." With that parting shot, Q >vanished. BRET: *Ooooh*, Q really ripped her a new one there. BISCH: There's no way she could recover from a scathing dressing- down like that. > > Marrissa seethed for a second. NASH: She could probably use some ointment to help her with that. > Q's accusations weren't >really fair, but there was an element of truth in them. BRET: Ummm... sure, we'll take your word for it. >She had >been overworking herself lately, and she didn't know what was >going through Jay's head with their relationship sometimes. NASH : Why does he insist on that icky kissing and love and stuff? I mean, does he like me or something? >One >thing she would do though was to see if perhaps she could get >along better with their visitor, Mr. Hines. BISCH: She would bring him a delightful Shoebox greeting card. BRET: After all, Marrissa's got nothing better to do than hang around with fanboy. >She would go see >him tomorrow. NASH: She'd throw him some popcorn, maybe feed him a carrot or two. > > But for now, the intrusion of an omnipotent entity into >her quarters had changed her mind about the bubble-bath. NASH: DAMN DAMN DAMN! BISCH: Yeah, nothing sours your mood quite like a visit from a prancing, strangely ineffective omnipotent entity. >Marrissa curled up on her bunk and quickly fell asleep. BRET: Aw, isn't it cute how Marrissa's leg twitches? I bet she's dreaming about something! NASH: Well, crap, no nudity... hey, is this it? BISCH: Um... yeah, the fanfic's feed has stopped. I guess Vince is gonna send us part two next week. BRET: Oh, now *there's* something to look forward to. NASH: I dunno, this isn't nearly as bad as some of the stuff we've read. BISCH: Well, that's true, but the plot for this thing is so contrived, it's maddening. If Dave hadn't managed to pull off his characterization so well, this thing would be about on par with Ratliff's modern stuff. BRET: And Dave is one of the most irritating S-I's we've dealt with in awhile. He's supposed to drive the plot, but he can't really *do* anything, and him trying to play up his 'sense of humor' just *hurts*. You end up with a whole lot of highly contrived, well-written nothing. BISCH: Which... is about on par with 'Athena Prospects', actually... NASH: Anyway, let's get out of here and see how things are goin' for in Titan 13. Maybe Mark's come to his sense by now or somethin'. [Bret and Bisch nod, and then all exit the theater.] [1-2-3-4-5-6] [SON, Bridge. As soon the guys walk out of the theater, the SON starts to rock wildly back and forth, in the classic Star Trek "We're under attack!" manner. The Bridge's lights strangely dim, and flashes of lightning and the sound of thunder can be heard in defiance of all laws of physics. Soon, the sound of a church bell tolling begins ringing throughout the Satellite. ] BRET: What the Hell, Michigan is happening here?! NASH [holds up a lighter]: YES! This is coolest thing that's happened in weeks, man! When's KISS coming out?! BISCH: Everybody, just stay calm. The situation isn't that bad! BRET: Eric, out weather readout says that it's raining toads outside the Satellite. BISCH: Yes, well... that's better than a swarm of locusts, right? Look, maybe the Dungeon of Doom knows what's going on... [Bisch reaches out to tap the flashing Mads' light on the console.] BISCH: Hello?! Vince, Mark, what's going on down there? [Titan 13. The lights there are dimmed just like the Satellite's, with similar thunder-and-lightning effects. The 'Graveyard Symphony' begins playing, as the in the background various members of the Ministry of Darkness gather underneath a 'cross' in the shape of UT's hammer and nails symbol that's dangling from the ceiling. Vince McMahon himself is strapped to the 'cross', and the WWF's massive Titantron is set up behind him, playing UT's introductory montage of clips. Vince is furiously shouting and swearing at the various members of the Ministry beneath him as she struggles with the ropes. UT is standing in the foreground, and smiles evilly (TM) into the camera.] UT: Yes, Mr. Bischoff, the horror you see before you is real. This *is* hell and I *am* its Lord! [SON] BRET: I'll say this is hell! Can you turn that music *down*?! BISCH [shocked]: You're gonna kill Vince?!! NASH: Like I said, this is the coolest thing that's happened in weeks! [Titan 13] UT: Oh, no, Megapowers... it's far more than just *killing* Vince. With his blood, the greatest source of power in the WWF will belong to me... and the TitanTron shall be reborn as the EVILtron!! GYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-- [UT stops laughing as he notices Paul Bearer standing very close behind him, smiling and laughing as well.] UT: ... can I help you? PAUL BEARER: Oh, no... I'm just a real happy guy, Undertaker, all things considered. UT : That's nice, Paul. Now, go play with the others. I'll be there in a little bit. Go, go on now. [UT shoos Paul away, and turns back to the camera once Paul has walked away.] UT [Clears his throat]: Now, where was I? [SON] BISCH: You were declaring yourself the Lord of Darkness, I believe. [Titan 13] UT: Lord... yes, yes! Yes, I *am* the Lord Of Darkness! [On cue, there is a resounding thunderclap, and the bell tolls loudly.] UT: YES! And now, we shall commence the sacrifice of Vincent K. McMahon! [At that moment a man dressed in a rather cheap-looking druid's robe walks in holding a ceremonial knife. The figure walks over to Vince and the Ministry backs away to give him room.] VINCE: Dammit, you people can't do this to me! I'm Vince McMahon! I own the single greatest wrestling promotion ever devised! I run a billion-dollar merchandising empire! I distribute smut and violence to millions of households every week! You can't kill *ME*! [The druid continues advancing.] VINCE [growing frantic]: ROCKY! Rocky, get in here! If I get killed, I swear to God I'll fire you! [The Druid then pauses, and pulls back the hood of his robe to reveal none other than... Shane McMahon!!] SHANE: Wait, do I have to stab him or something? VINCE: Shane?!! UT [oblivious]: Well, I thought the knife would be a nice touch... add atmosphere, you know. Actually, I just thought we'd leave him hanging up there for awhile, do the usual 'taunting' thing, and fade to black. Then we'll leave him here when we head out for pizza and beer later! [SON. The guys are all starting into the camera in shock. The music and sound effects have all cut off, and the lighting is back to normal. The toads, however, are still visibly raining down outside the Satellite.] NASH: My God... I never would have known the face of evil could be so *dorky*. BRET: You... you FIEND!! Is there no low you'll stoop to now, Mark? BISCH: And Shane... why? I mean, your dad gave you your own title belt and everything! [Titan 13. Shane glares back at the SON crew through the camera.] SHANE: He gave me the *European Title*. [SON. The guys all begin nodding sympathetically.] BRET: Well, yeah, I can see how that could push a guy to the darkside... [Titan 13.] SHANE: Besides, being evil actually has some really *sweet* benefits! I get to wear these cool dockers, and hang around with the Corporate Ministry... [SON.] BISCH: Whoa, whoa, whoa... *Corporate* Ministry? BRET: So what, you're going to be evil in business suits now? [Titan 13] SHANE: Actually, everything's going to stay pretty much the same... but with the merger, me and UT here actually qualify for some really *cool* tax shelters. Turns out the Ministry of Darkness is tax exempt as a religion! VINCE: That's... that's diabolical, son! I'd be proud of you if you weren't usurping my power when you were doing this. But, then again, what's evil without betrayal? SHANE: I knew you'd be impressed, dad. VINCE: As always, Shane. Now, would you mind untying me? SHANE: No way! We put you up there to be sacrificed, and you're gonna stay up there until you're good and sacrificed! VINCE: You... you monsters!! You're not even human! I have to go to the *BATHROOM*!! UT [laughs]: Your torment has not even begun, Vincent. Midian! Play... the *tape*. [Midian pulls out a mysteriously convenient boombox, and then presses 'play'. The tape is a nature tape, playing the soothing sounds of a roaring river. Vince's eyes widen in horror, and he can be seen crosses his legs in agony.] VINCE: NOOOOOOOO!! Damn you, Calloway! *Damn you*, Shane! DAMN YOU BOTH STRAIGHT TO HEEEELLLLLL!! UT [rolls his eyes back, so only the whites are showing]: Suffer, little man... *sufferrrrr*... [Then, over the sound system, a familiar voice speaks...] ROCKY: Do you smell what the rock is cookin'? HA! [At that very moment, Rocky's theme music begins playing over the sound system. Rocky then runs in and starts pummeling the various members of the Ministry, laying them out with kicks and punches in the way that only face wrestlers who are cleaning house ever manage to do.] UT: Maivia?! Shane, I thought you disposed of him! SHANE: I don't know what happened! Nobody should be able to survive being sat on by Viscera! [Viscera then ambles in from off-camera, holding an open box of donuts, and merrily munching away on a powdered one.] VISCERA: Hey, boss, want a donut? UT: Not now, Viscera, not unless they're lemon-filled, and WHAT? Why aren't you sitting on Maivia?! VISCERA: Well, I got hungry, and I knew about this great little bakery not too far away... SHANE: Look, that's not important now! Just give me those donuts, and go out there and take care of Rocky! VISCERA [hands over the box]: Oh, all right... SHANE: Ooh, hey, a chocolate one! [Viscera stalks off to face Rocky, who's already freed Vince from his pseudo-crucifix in the background.] VINCE: Rocky! Thank God! I swear, I'll see that you get your own comic book for this! Now... if you'll excuse me.... [Vince then makes a mad dash for the conveniently off-camera bathroom.] ROCKY: And as for you, you rudy-poo candy-ass... nobody crushes the Rock's head underneath their buttocks without his *permission*!! [Viscera attacks, trying to take down Rocky with a short clothesline. Rocky simply ducks out of the way, and then lands the Rock Bottom on him. Viscera lies still on the concrete, and then Rocky turns to glare murderously at UT and Shane.] ROCK: When your head is underneath the posterior of a five-hundred pound man, you do a lot of thinkin'. I've seen the error of my ways... and now its time for the *People's Champ* to lay the smack down on you Jabronies of Darkness! SHANE [mouth full of donut]: Oh no... UT: Not to worry, my young, evil friend... [Rocky charges Shane and UT, fist cocked back to deliver a mighty punch. While Shane cowers, UT coolly reaches over and pushes a button on a nearby control panel - the control panel of the Deus Ex Machina! There is a bright flash of light, and...] [SON] BISCH: Oh, *no*... NASH: Aw, man, Mark *didn't*... [Rocky immediately blips into existence behind the three men assembled on the bridge. He continues charging forward, and hits a vicious rabbit punch to the back of Bisch's head. Eric's eyes flutter closed, and he immediately slumps forward on the console, unconscious.] ROCKY: ... BISCHOFF?! What in the monkey hell? NASH: Wow, you really are making a face turn. BRET [sighs]: Welcome to hell, Duane Johnson. ROCKY: Don't you *ever* call the Rock that, you Canadian candy- ass, or... [Rocky pauses to look around at his new surroundings.] ROCKY: ... oh, shit. [Titan 13. UT and Shane are grinning devilishly into the camera.] UT: Yes, Duane Johnson, Rocky Maivia, whatever you may call yourself... prepare to enter a world of *pain*. SHANE: Yeah! Now *we're* in charge of Titan 13... and *we* don't play around! You're facing a pair of young, hip, 90's evil overlords now! UT: ... whatever. Push the button, Shane... and pass me a donut. [Shane dutifully pushes the button, and the screen fades to black.] PWOOSH!! BRET [VO]: So, Rocky... I've been wanting to talk to you about that whole *Oscar* incident awhile back... ROCKY: Er... um.... ________________________________________________________________ LEGAL STUFF: As usual, all the wrestlers used within are TM & C themselves and their respective companies. The fic in question is property of Dave Hines. No licenses were given or should be implied in the making of this MiSTing, and I certainly won't be making money on this. Please, please don't sue me. NO INSULT is intended or implied towards the author, Dave Hines, despite all the fairly harsh (but hopefully funny) cheap shots I took at his S-I character. This was actually a very well-written fic, particularly when you take into account that this is Dave's first non-MiSTing. In fact, I'd like to thank Dave for not only giving me permission to riff this story, but for actually requesting that I riff the fanfic before it was even 100% finished! So, I must declare Dave Hines a very cool human being... and, as usual, ask him to simply look upon my MiSTing as a form of humorous C &C. :) LYNX'S NOTES: Sorry about the lack of Kefka-ey goodness this time around, but a bad disk ate thirty pages of riffs on it, and I just didn't have the heart to riff through it again. I hope this MiSTing is a suitable replacement for it, though! This MiSTing is a rather important one to me, since it's the first (mostly) solo Ratliffverse MiSTing in quite some time, and definitely the first non-standard one. The early Marrissa MiSTings were part of my inspiration for getting into MiSTing, so doing this was a real nostalgic trip. The release of this MiSTing also marks the conclusion of my first year of writing Mystery Wrestling Theater... and I have to say, it's been a good one. Special thanks go to my significant other and co-conspirator Matthew Wayne Linkous for contributing ideas, a few riffs, and pre- reading help with this MiSTing; I decided that he deserved credit for it this time. Thanks also to everyone who read them and supported me over the course of that time. You know who you are. ^_^ Next time, I'll be covering the thrilling conclusion of Lines As Q, along with a bizarre little paranoid rant that alleges that Ted Turner used the nWo in a legitimate attempt to conquer the world. See ya then! AWARDS: I can't believe it! Despite being a totally self- indulgent non-standard series, Mystery Wrestling Theater has actually netted me a few awards! Since this is an anniversary edition of MWT, I thought it'd be appropriate to list them here. I know, I'm showing off. Indulge me, I'm happy. FROM WEB SITE NUMBER NINE (The Golden Hamdingers): - Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) was nominated for 'Best New MiSTing Author'. - "Double Trouble" and "A sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds" were both nominated for 'Best Non-Standard MiSTing'. - Miles "The Grey Fox" Prower from ASADAE was nominated for 'Best of the Worst New Character'. FROM SHINJI'S VAULT OF ANIME MISTINGS (The Silver Mallys): MWT was first runner up for: - Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) was first runner-up for the award for Best Host Segments. - MWT was the first runner up for Best Non-Standard MiSTing cast. - "A sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds" was first runner-up for Worst Fan Fic. - The characterization of the Freedom Fighters and Sonic the Hedgehog from "A sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds", MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (Lynxara), Justin Golden (J-Boogie), and Jamie Jeans, was first runner up for Worst Use of Existing Characters. - The various permutations of grammar and spelling from the Warrior Interviews and "3:16 RULSZ!", MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) and Megane 6.7, was first runner-up for Most Creative Use of the English Language. MWT won the Silver Mally for: - "Coming of Munihausen" won the award for Best Lemon MiSTing. This was the Mystery Wrestling Kaiju Theater Special, co-authored by Christian Rogers (Flashman). - "A sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds" won the award for Best Non-Anime MiSTing. This MiSTing was co-authored with Justin Golden and Jamie Jeans. - Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) won the award for Bravest Author, in honor of her discovery of Kefka, and her efforts in riffing odd lemons. - Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) won the award for Best Riffing. - Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) won the award for Best New MiSTing author. - "Coming of Munihausen", MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (Lynxara) and Christian Golden (Flashman) in the Mystery Wrestling Kaiju Theater Special, won the award for Worst Lemon. - Dark Sonic's various exploits from "A Sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds" (MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (Lynxara), Justin Golden (J- Boogie), and Jamie Jeans) won the award for Ickiest Moment. - The spontaneous resurrection of the destroyed Floating Island in part four of "A sorceror, a demon, and Emeralds" (MiSTed by Alicia Ashby (Lynxara), Justin Golden (J-Boogie), and Jamie Jeans) won the award for Biggest Puff of Logic. Thanks to all of my various co-writers, and everyone who voted for me! ^_^ Mystery Wrestling Theater can be found at: Shinji's Vault of Anime MiSTings: http://lefty.simplenet.com/svam/ Web Site Number Nine: http://neylonpc.engin.umich.edu/mst3k/mistings.shtml Ben Berthiaume's *new* Mystery Wrestling Theater Shrine: http://members.aol.com/mrnoun/MWT3K.htm ________________________________________________________________ >"Marrissa wants revenge on me. Tee hee."