||Touch of Satan
Crow and Servo: Here we come a-wassailing et cetera, et cetera!
Mike: Well hi, everyone. Welcome to the Satellite of Love.
Crow: Give us your wassail if you please, sir!
Mike: Uh, Wassail? I'm pretty sure I'm fresh outta wassail.
Servo: Ach, you're no fun. Man.
Mike: Well c'mon, it's July.
Crow: I know, but where's the challenge in wassailing at Christmas? The place is lousy with wassails! Take two steps and bam! You'll smash your toe on tons of the lousy stuff.
Mike: Well, wait a minute. What is wassail, anyway?
Servo: Oh, um... Well, uh...
Crow: It's... You know, it's uh...
Servo: I dunno, I think it's an anti-inflammitory or something. Well the point is, if you can't provide wassail for wee, humble, tattered minstrels, you've got to turn over your debit card and PIN number immediately.
Crow: Yeah, it's a custom that goes back centuries.
Mike: You made that up!
Crow and Servo: Nuh-uh!
Servo: Listen to the song.
Crow and Servo: If the person who you sing to can't provide the wassail, you are entitled to his debit card and PIN number. Love and joy come to you, unless you can't provide the wassail...
Mike: We'll be right back.
Crow and Servo: ...then severe financial penalties shall come to you. Then severe financial penalties to you.
Crow: Okay, that's the Smurf brooch with the diamond elves, the porceilan cat, and I think I'd like to order...
Mike: Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on! I have wassail. I have wassail.
Servo: Hold on there, Nelson. Canned wassail?
Crow: No way, my friend.
Mike: Oh, yeah. I checked the lyrics to your dumb little song and it doesn't say anything about canned wassail.
Servo: Wait, lemme see that there. If the party of the first party... Damn, he's right!
Crow: Nelson, you found a loophole, you rat!
Mike: Hold everything. The castle's calling. And something's wrong.
Bobo: You bet there's something wrong! The Lawgiver went on vacation and left us with... a babysitter. Look!
Steffi: Why won't you play with the blocks?
Observer: I don't want to play with blocks. It's insulting! I have an infinite intellect.
Steffi: I think you're a little crabby and you might need a time-out to think about it.
Observer: No, I can't stand time-outs. The silence! The desolation!
Steffi: Okay, are you going to play nice with the blocks?
Observer: Allright, Steffi. You win... this time.
Bobo: You see, it's horrible! And she calls me Fluffykins and treats me like an animal.
Steffi: Hey, did you chew this?
Bobo: Um... yes.
Steffi: No! No chew! No. God, man... There's hair everywhere!
Bobo: Please don't treat me like this. I'm a distinguished professor of antropology from a future where apes evolved from men.
Steffi: No chew! No! Go lie down.
Bobo: Oh, okay.
Steffi: Okay, which one of you is Mike?
Mike: Uh... That, that'd be me. Hi.
Steffi: Okay, and which one of you is Servo and which one of you is Cow?
Servo: Um, I'm Servo.
Crow: And I'm Cow.
Mike: You're Crow.
Crow: Yeah, I know. Well of course I'm Crow. I just said I'm Crow, you great feeb.
Mike: Well, gee...
Mike: Nevermind. He's Crow.
Steffi: Well... Now it says here I'm supposed to send you a movie, right?
Observer: Um... Excuse me, Steffi.
Steffi: Yes, Brian?
Observer: No, it's Brain. I mean Brain Guy. I mean Observer! Oh, nevermind. I'm finished and I'm going to my room to commune with the Gods of Nautics of the Plangeant Dimension.
Steffi: Well, it's four. It says you take your fruit snack at four.
Observer: I don't need to take my fruit snack. I will... because I want to. Thank you.
Steffi: Okay, guys. Your movie is called... The Touch of Satan? Yeech. And you... you need another tick bath.
Mike: Enjoy the great taste of wassail.
Mike: In cans!
Crow: Hey, that's ours!
Servo: C'mon, you big lug.
Mike: We got Movie Sign.
Servo: Whoa, Mike! You been walnut ranching or something? Whew!
Crow: Lovey's working for the weekend...
Mike: Woah, holy cow! Woo!
Crow: What's up, Mike?
Mike: I decided to start a walnut ranch like that guy in the film there. Man, is that hard work!
Crow: Hey, I hear ya.
Mike: Whew. Man, I barely got started and look at me.
Crow: Yeah, you look like Hell!
Mike: Yeah, I know. And I was just leafin' through the catalogs. How do you account for that?
Crow: Well, it's darn hard work, my friend!
Mike: Whoa. Man, you said it. I'm never going to make fun of walnut ranchers anymore, I'll tell you that.
Crow: No. Huh?
Mike: Yeah. Look at me, I'm a little ragged.
Servo: Yeah, I coulda told you that, man. Me, I've been pecan farming. It's like rolling off a log! I just made my first million, too. Hehe. Haven't even grown a single pecan.
Mike: Ah, we'll be right back.
Crow: Uh, Mike? Could you back off? You smell like canned tomales.
Mike: Oh, yeah. I'm sorry.
Mike: Okay, here we go. Anything?
Crow: Hmm... Hmm... Nope, nope. I'm fine, Mike. I guess all we can do is add more rocks.
Crow: You know, I'm worried. If I wasn't a witch, I'd be dead by now or at least shrieking out a confession or raining down curses on my tormentors. But instead, hey! I'm great! I couldn't be better.
Mike: Okay, anything?
Crow: Oh... No. Did you actually add one? No, I'm fine. Very comfortable, in fact. I can't believe this!
Mike: Hey, Crow. What I don't get is why do you assume you're a witch in the first place?
Crow: Well, I don't really assume it, Mike, but I guess it's always been in the back of my mind, you know?
Mike: Hmm. Yeah. Crow, the reason you can survive all of this is because of your durable, molybdenum frame.
Crow: Well that's nice of you to say, Mike. But let's face it: I'm a witch. You might as well burn me at the stake.
Mike: Crow, you're not a witch. But you know, it is hard for me to prove a negative. You know? I can't really prove you're not a frog, for instance.
Crow: Mike, this is weird!
Mike: Oh, what? Are you feeling some pain? Is it working?
Crow: No, how'd you know I was thinking I might be a frog? Did I tell you that?
Mike: No, I mean I just used it as an example.
Crow: Ribbit! I'm a frog! Ribbit! I'm a frog! Get these rocks off me, I can't stand this kind of weight. I'm a tiny frog!
Mike: Really, you're not a frog.
Servo: Hey you guys, we got Movie Sign!
Mike: Oh, well help me with these frogs, okay?
Crow: You know what this means? I win! I'm a tiny frog!
Servo: Oh, hi Mike. What are you... Grandma! Darn it, Grandma! Stop. Now I told you no. Geez I'm sorry, Mike.
Mike: Ah! Hey! Hey! Who are you? Servo, stop it. What are you doing? Servo. For Heaven's sake...
Mike: Wait a minute. This is your grandma?
Servo: Sure is, Mike! Isn't she spry?
Mike: When did you get a Grandma?
Servo: I have two grandmas, Mike. I always have. The other one doesn't kill people, though. This one does. That's how I tell them apart! Grandma, down. Down, Grandma.
Mike: I guess it's okay. I mean couldn't you get her a TV or something?
Servo: Hold on a second. What... What's that, Grandma? Big, slow, tempting target? Believe me, I know. But you just can't, okay? Well I tell you what, Mike. I'm just going to leave you two alone to start all over with each other, allright?
Mike: No, Servo! Don't!
Servo: Oh she's full of stories, Mike! Have a good time.
Mike: Hey, get away from me. We'll be right back. Back off, lady. What? What? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What? Ow! Lady, stop it! Stop it! Back! Down! Down! Down!
Mike: Let me see that. Shall take possession of his mortal soul, yeah that whole scam. Oh, look at this: a little mistake here. It looks like you sold your soul to Stan, not Satan.
Crow: Sweet deal. Hey, Mike! I just sold myself to Satan!
Mike: Oh, you did.
Crow: Yeah, so I'm probably going to have a lot of unfathomable worldly power real soon. Yeah, thought I'd give you the heads-up on that.
Mike: Oh that's real thoughtful of you. Thanks, Crow.
Crow: Yup! Got a contract right here from Satan!
Crow: Well there's a number there, would you mind calling it please?
Mike: Oh, yeah. Yeah see, this isn't even the area code for Hell.
Stan: Hello, Stan Johnson.
Mike: Ah. See, there you go. Hi, Stan. This is Mike Nelson. You're not by any chance the devil, are you?
Stan: Umm... Nope. I'm a CPA and investment consultant.
Mike: Aha. Yeah. I'm calling on behalf of a Crow T. Robot?
Stan: Oh, right. The little skinny, gold guy... kinda bug-eyed. Sure.
Mike: Yeah, that's the guy. Hey, did you buy his soul?
Stan: Yes I did. I manage a well-balanced portfolio of souls. They can be very high-yield.
Crow: Um, Stan? This is Crow. Uh, when can I get my soul back? Is that possible? Or...
Stan: I'm sorry, I sold your sold your soul already to CitiCorp in a big block of souls.
Crow: Oh, man. I'm gonna have to make so many phone calls to get my soul back.
Mike: Oh, man. And Pearl's babysitter is calling. Whew.
Mike: Be with you in a minute.
Steffi: Almost finished storytime, then everyone goes to sleep.
Bobo: Uh, can I come out now?
Steffi: Shush! Bad dog! Go to sleep.
Steffi: Now where was I, Brian?
Observer: Oh, the tall fellow was repeatedly refusing to ingest green eggs and ham, the short fellow was bizarrely insistent upon it.
Steffi: Yes, very good. I will not eat them in a plane. I will not eat them on a train.
Observer: A train, right. Why doesn't he just leave him alone? He has pointedly made his refusal to eat this dish clear. The hypothetical changing of a location is irrelevant and tedious. And that Sam I Am is so bloody repetitive I could scream!
Steffi: Are we a little cranky, Brian?
Observer: No, madam, I am over-tired. So I shall turn in now. So if you wouldn't mind, please... My blankie... My nookie... And my friend. Ah, thank you kindly. Good morrow to you.
Bobo: Now me, I'd definitely eat them on a train...
Steffi: Quiet! No bark!
Bobo: ...there's no doubt they'd be perfectly delicious on a train. But a plane, I'd have to think about a plane. Maybe substitute bacon for ham sounds kinda nice. And maybe have a big... Oh... Oh boy.
Steffi: No bark!
Bobo: Ow! I'm not barking, I was just talking. Ow! I was commenting on the story. There was no barking involved at all!
Steffi: No! No bark!
Bobo: Ow! Ow! No, I'm not sure you see my point. Here, it's like this. Rather than barking, as you assumed, I was actually... Ow! C'mon! I'm talking, not...
Bobo: Ow! Ow!
Steffi: No bark!
Bobo: Ow! I'm not barking, I'm... Ow!
Steffi: Bad dog.
Bobo: I'm articulating... Ow! Geez! Ow!
Steffi: Bad dog.
Bobo: Ow! Stop it!
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