||Women of the Prehistoric Planet
||The Corpse Vanishes
Magic Voice: Thirty seconds 'til Commercial Sign...
Joel: Hi everyone, welcome to the Satellite of Love. I'm Joel, I'm still trapped in outer space, and I'm still trying to maintain my sunny disposition. As you can see, I redecorated the Satellite of Love, so if I ever make it back to Earth, I can do what talk-show panels do...
Magic Voice: Commercial Sign in fifteen seconds..
Joel: Uh, Crow made this batch of brownies here, and we're gonna be enjoying those... Uh, we ran out of milk though, so we'll probably have to use Tang...
Joel: Use it to eat these...
Magic Voice: Commercial Sign in 5, 4, 3, 2, Commercial Sign now.
Joel: Don't go away, we'll be right back... If you do have to go away, come back in a couple of minutes. My guests will be Tom Servo and the amazing Crow.
Dr. E: Our income if this new gig works out. Hehehe.
Joel: Oh man Crow, those were some great brownies, but we haven't had brownie fixings here for a long time. What were they?
Crow: Oh, well... Hey, is that a new jumpsuit, Joel?
Joel: Uh, we got the mad scientists calling. Look impressed!
Dr. F: Come in Joel, my little bagel with a shmeer! Hehe.
Joel: Uh... Hey sirs, what's up?
Dr. F: Yes. Larry and I have developed a new chain of fast food restaurants with very low overhead because we don't cook our food.
Dr. E: 'Cause frying and broiling takes out alot of the nutrients.
Dr. F: Yes. Uh, if your body likes another body, why don't you try one of our burgers au naturale? It's uh, ripped from the bone to your plate in seconds. It's Clay & Lar's Flesh Barn. Haha. Uh, make with the lyrics, Larry.
Dr. E: If you're tired of the same old fare, you've got a friend in Clay and Lar. All our meat is guaranteed rare, 'cause we don't cook it!
Dr. F: You see, cooking takes out all the flavor.
Dr. E: If you're tired of cookin' at home, try our meat right off the bone. If you listen, you can hear it moan, because we don't cook it!
Dr. F: Stunned, killed right at your table, eviscerated, very fresh.
Dr. E: Now, there's no need for you to drive through. Our fresh meat will walk out to you. You'll say hi, you'll say moo. It's Clay and Lar's Flesh Barn.
Dr. F: Fifteen locations to serve you, now in Altoona.
Joel: Oh well, what I've got this week is... Uh, I kinda got bored in the bathroom and I made this: as you can see see, I built a roll of toilet paper in a two-liter bottle. Whaddya think, sirs?
Dr. E: Oh, great... I guess you could use it for a Molatov Cocktail or something...
Joel: Oh, you guys twist everything! You could've make tidly-winks look evil!
Dr. F and Dr. E: Thaaank you!
Dr F: Well Joel, your film this week is a little number called "Women of the Prehistoric Planet". There's no reason for it... it just is what it is. Deal with it, musky breath!
Dr. E: Enjoy!
Joel: Oh, we got Movie Sign!
Servo: Joel, This Is Your Life! You were an ambitious young man who began his life in space as a custodian for Gizmonic Institute. Do you remember this voice?
Crow: There's an unidentified satellite straying into our orbital path!
Joel: Oh, that's easy. It's my old friend Crow. I think he's talking about the time we partied with the fellas from Salyut Seven.
Crow: Oh! Oh! Joel! Joel! Help! Big satellite! Big! Death! Danger! Wreckage! Ouch! Sting! Pain... Hey, where did this couch come from, anyway?
Joel: Oh, I found it in one of the crates down in the loading bay. I thought I'd redecorate. What's this about a death satellite?
Crow: Oh yeah, uh... Big! Big death satellite! Oh, big! Pain! Look, Run! Help! Help!
Joel: Just settle down, come up here, come up here and sit down, tell me all about it. Just take a few deep breaths, that's all right...
Crow: Well, there's a big satellite out there and we're gonna collide with it, and...
Joel: What?! Oh, Cambot, give me an exterior of the ship, quick! Jeepers!
Crow: What's goin' on?
Joel: Get behind the couch you two, the redcoats are comin'! Alright, little death satellite, Joelie's got the exo-pinchers on and he's nobody's sweetheart! You an' me, goin' round and round, mano-y-mano. Here comes lunch. Gimme the exo. That's right, little doomsday machine, come to papa, feel my steel! Hahaha! Now, to bring it inside. Cambot, gimme the interior shot...
Crow: Do you have to bring everything you find in space into the living room?
Servo: Sure looks like a doomsday device alright. Joel, are we up a creek here?
Joel: It's a doomsday machine alright, and I think I accidentally activated its self-destruct mechanism. I'd say we have roughly an hour to disarm this thing.
Satellite: Correction, you have an hour and thirty-seven minutes to disarm, and yes, you are up a creek.
Joel: Oh, golly... and we got Commercial Sign on top of everything!
Joel: You know, This makes no sense at all. Whoever heard of a doomsday machine with a fold-lock top in it?
Crow: Hey, hey Joel! Look, I found an instruction manual right there, see?
Joel: Thanks... It says "Isaac Asimov's Literary Doomsday Machine." It's an instruction manual; it must be over a thousand pages long! How typical!
Servo: "Literary Doomsday?" Isn't that when your library fines exceed the price of the book?
Crow: Uh, I thought it was every time Jackie Collins makes it to the best-seller list.
Joel: Now settle down, you goonheads. We got this doomsday machine to disarm, and... well, we gotta check the manual. Let's see... it looks like it's translated from the Korean or something?
Servo: They must've subcontracted the satellite for him.
Crow: I don't get it. Asimov must've gone mad. Why would anyone wanna make a doomsday machine?
Joel: Well, he's probably mad 'cause no one is as smart as him, or else that L. Ron Hubbard has more followers than him.
Servo: Well, didn't Asimov try to establish the 'Church of the Super-Quiz' once?
Joel: Now, knock it off you spinach-chins. I gotta read this manual. "Step One: It will be very enjoyable for you to separate the ocular filter coupling up from the decapacitor which is stout... and yellow sometimes." Crow, you better scan this and give me the instructions.
Crow: Blip! Blip! Got it!
Joel: Oh, brother...
Crow: Okay. "Most very kindly, find the lookie switch which is nice and sitting there with green label which leaves you singing."
Joel: I think I got it...
Crow: Okay, "Carefully disregard and do not do the very wrong thing or much confusion will result"... tell me about it... "with sparks, flowers and loud report on some models. Glue Batman to CG detail omitted for clarity"?!
Joel: This is really confusing.
Servo: Who wrote this, Charlie Callas?
Crow: Hey, oh! Oh, wait, there's more! It says uh... "Clip red wire likes you best with firm hand and glad heart..."
Joel: Okay, I think that oughtta do it...
Crow: "...but first, clip the blue wire. Got you, scrawny man." ...Well, that's what it said.
Joel: Oh man, we've got Movie Sign.
Crow and Servo: Oh!
Crow: No, it's the green wire, Joel, definitely the green.
Joel: Look, who's holding the screwdriver here, anyway?
Servo: I give up. Who?
Joel: Oh, that's enough from the peanut gallery. Thanks a lot, you two.
Crow: Aw heck, Joel, go ahead and clip the blue wire. It's just a doomsday machine. If it goes off, it's not like we're gonna be around to experience oblivion.
Servo: Well, by oblivion, do you mean experiential oblivion, or phenomenological oblivion?
Crow: Hmm, interesting distinction. Let's define our terms, shall we?
Servo: Well, Kierkegaard would always say that...
Joel: Listen, you screwheads, you better knock it off or I'll brain you both with my ball-peen hammer! Now knock it off!
Crow: Hmm, an interesting reaction to a logically defined supposition. I think Camus would have theorized differently...
Joel: Oh, listen Mister Smart Alec Guy... what wire would Camus cut?
Servo: Well, he'd cut the blue one I think, and if he was still around after that, he'd cut the green one!
Joel: Eenie-meenie-miney-mo, catch a robot...
Servo: Ah, the Samuel Beckett method!
Crow: Joel, you're playing dice with the universe. I hope you realize that.
Satellite: Welcome! You have passed through the first three thresholds of the Isaac Asimov Literary Satellite! Enter the disarm code or enjoy the consequences. Remember, this and all literary works of the last century are the sole property of Isaac Asimov and his many affiliates. Thank you for intruding, you have five seconds.
Crow: Quick Joel, cut every wire!
Joel: It's not gonna work. It needs an access code!
Servo: Uh, uh, try "Ego"!
Joel: I'll try "I, Robot"!
Satellite: I'm sorry, the correct entry would have been "Copyright."
Joel, Crow and Servo: Oh...
Satellite: You now have six nanoseconds to realize the consequences.
Joel, Crow and Servo: Huh?
Joel: This cockamamie satellite's turned us all into duplicate Isaac Asimovs!
Crow: Hey, do you think it's a conspiracy?
Servo: Oh no, I covered the conspiracy topic in my ten-volume history of assassinations and coups!
Joel: This is terrible, you guys!
Crow: Oh, I don't know, at least now I'll have something to write about. You know, I've been thinking about annotating the Manhattan phone directory.
Servo: Oh look, it's Commercial Sign. That'll fit nicely into my volume on the effects of advertising on the human psyche.
Joel: Uh, "MST3000, I'm writing a response to you guys, and one episode in specific. I believe 'Robo Holocaust' was the name. The one in which a man posseses valuable knowledge, and was transformed into a vegitable-like because of his inability to cooperate..."
Joel: Hey, you know what? These uh, these Isaac Asimov sideburns come off!
Servo: They're taped on!
Joel: They're phoney!
Servo: I guess that's what it means to be Isaac Asimov!
Crow: Yeah, but he already thought of that...
Joel: Instead of a doomsday machine, it kinda came out to be a dorks-day machine...
Servo: Could've been worse...
Servo: Could've been a Doris Day machine...
Joel, Crow and Servo: Oh!
Joel: Come on you guys, it's time to read some letters here... Okay Cambot, let's uh... oops! You lost your head!
Servo: I lost my skull!
Joel: Aww... That's okay... Alright, let's put this up on the screen...
Crow: I'll get it!
Servo: You can get it...
Joel: Yup... and we had a contest to see who... and to come up with a name for the avocado guy, and here's his entry. He's the winner, by the way... Here, he gave us four: "Skip, the Couch Avocado."Let's have a picture of that guy, Cambot...
Crow: Did you call me?
Joel: "A Man from P.R.O.D.U.C.E., A Weeble-O Named Chloro-Phil, and The Eigth Wonder of the Guacamole..."
Joel: Umm... That's from James S. Colstrom.
Servo: The winner of the brainstorm.
Joel: Yeah, he won the brainstorm... Thanks Paul, who entered that one, by the way... and here's this next one... "Dear Sir or 'Bots, One lonely, depressing Saturday night I happened to switch on Channel 49, and found MST3000. It was love at first laugh! I was instantly hooked. Now my life has meaning..."
Servo: That's pretty sad, really...
Joel: "Anyway, it's a great show. I've seen it... I've shown it to several of my friends, and they all have liked it. Even my wife likes it and she is not a SF fan..." What's SF mean?
Servo: Uh... San Fransisco...
Joel: Anyway, the last one here is from a father and daughter...
Servo: Does it say, "Dad-Teen"?
Joel: I dunno..."We would like information about the fan club. We would also like to know if there's a special club group for Tom Servo."
Servo: You betcha!
Joel: Wow... "Ever since his head exploded trying to think about something good to say for 'The Bride Vanishes', we realized he has a rare and special honesty... it's good you didn't ask about good comments for 'Project Moonbase'! The consiquences would be unthinkable..." That's from Ken J.
Servo: I shudder at the thought...
Joel: Yeah, Kennth J. Plotkins and Sarah E. Plotkins, the Plotkins family bellringers. Thats it! Tom Servo, you wanna give them the mailing address? Put it up on the screen there...
Servo: Mystery Science Theater 3000 Information Club, P.O. Box 5325, Hopkins, Minnesota, 55343.
Joel: Alright, that's the end of the experiment... Whaddya think, sirs?
Dr. E: I think I'll file this thing for you, as I always seem to do! I like workin' for you Clay, 'cause you're a really neat guy...
Dr. F: Well, I think you should file this, Larry...
Dr. E: Okay...
Dr. F: Until next time, pastey-boy!
Back to Experiments.
Back to MSTies Anonymous.