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SOL Post 32 03/15/99
SOL Post 31 02/15/99
SOL Post 30 01/15/99


Volume 31 - http://www.mindspring.com/~mstanon/ - February 1999
Formerly The MSTies Anonymous Newsletter: News for the Obscure Convergence


In This Issue

From the Poobah
"MSTable Movies" by RMichel424@aol.com
"Adam's Views and Observations" by bozarth@adams.net
"I Don't Get You" by zelphi@megalink.net
"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by S364128@urgrgcc.edu
"The Evolution of Torgo" by AstroChckn@aol.com
"Riffing Movie" by D.Billany@Loc-dog.demon.co.uk
"Better 'Bots and Satellites" by bgibron@yahoo.com
"Yada, Yada, Yada..." by hamdingr@theworks.com
February MSTie of the Month: stranger_27@hotmail.com
March MST3K Schedule on SFC
Classifieds 3000

From the Poobah

Now that the one of the very most commercialized and polar-opinioned holidays is done and over with for the year, it's time for MSTies everywhere to either get out of their depression or cool their hormones down, then look forward to Season 10 with anxious glee. Some naughty MSTies may have seen the leaked 1001 information and even a few publicity shots, but the rest of us will wait patiently (or not so patiently) for one of the greatest events in MSTory. Every red-blooded MSTie's dream will come true as Joel and Frank return for guest appearances. Just thinking about it is enough to make any of us giddy. On a related note, here's a question from one of you members...

aloweecey@adelphia.net asks: "WHEN will the new season start?!"

MSTAnon says: "The question is, when do YOU want it to start?"

MrNelson007 says: "It will start on the day after the apocolypse."

BobIshmael says: "Ah. The Season known as '10' will begin when the third planet of the Chtuglu system is aligned para-dimensionally with Jupiter. When that happens, the red star Kahukalu-Fregon will go nova. This will align the planets from the Seventh Plane, then and only then will the new season begin... In other words, April 11."

"MSTable Movies" by RMichel424@aol.com

This month, I have decided to do something a little different. This month I'm reviewing films that have not been released at the time of writing.

Inspector Gadget (1999)
This will be a live action based on the cartoon. I saw the preview and the film looks like it will be really lame. It will star Matthew Broderick as Inspector Gadget. I'm sorry, but I enjoyed the cartoon because Don Adams from Get Smart did the voice, but since he isn't in this film, nor is it cartoon it doesn't rate high on my "to watch" list. Andy Dick of Newsradio plays a MAD henchman and that's all I can remember from the preview.

Rocky and Bullwinkle (1999 or 2000)
I have only read that this will be made. It will be live action combined with cartoons, like Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Moose and Squirrel will be animated, while Boris (Jason Alexander), Natasha, and Fearless Leader will be live actors.

My Favorite Martian (1999)
New from Disney. Stars Christopher Lloyd as the Martian. I know you have seen the previews for this bad idea, so I won't go into detail. Based on the classic TV series.

"Adam's Views and Observations" by bozarth@adams.net

Flag on the Moon/Man on the Moon

I thought I'd go back to my roots and write a new song parody. Enjoy!

Tor Johnson in a movie 'bout mutation. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
The soundtrack was erased and its all naration. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Random phrases that make no sense. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Mister Coleman Francis is mess. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
A woman has a ticking heart. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
It's a great way for a bad movie to start. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hey Mikey did you remember 'bout this one? Tell me, did it make you go numb?
Hey Kevin are you goofing on Tor? Hey, baby. Francis is bum.
Can you believe that he said "Flag on the Moon, Flag on the Moon"?
Can you believe that they let this guy write, that he went to school.

Joe Javorski withstood an atom blast. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Amazingly Tor Johnson leads the cast. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Tor stumbles and trips across the sand. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Directed by the most incompetant man. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hey, Paul did you remember 'bout this one? Tell me, did it make you throw up?
Hey Mary Jo are you goofing on Coleman? Hey, baby. Francis screwed up.
Can you believe that he said "Flag on the Moon, Flag on the Moon"?
Can you believe that they let this get made, that they thought it was good?

Here's a little tip I got for Coleman. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Make a movie that's got a plot. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Here's a little tip I got for Johnson. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Stick to your wrestling (your acting is shot). Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hey, Trace can you tell me 'bout this one? Tell me, did it make you go nuts?
Hey Frank are you goofing on the scripting? Hey, baby. Francis is a putz.
Can you believe that he said "Flag on the Moon, Flag on the Moon"?
Can you believe that they thought that I'd like to see acting dog food?

"I Don't Get You" by zelphi@megalink.net

A schoolmate of mine came up to me after class yesterday, and said, "I don't get you." Of course this intrigued me enough to look up from my Douglas Adams book, and ask what's not to get. She replies, "I don't know. I just don't get you," and walks away... too quick to notice me maturely sticking my tongue out at her cheerleader uniform-covered back.
Now, I won't go into the intelligence level of my classmates, although it would be fun. But many people have asked me the same or a similar question: "Why are you the way you are?"
I believe they're trying to unlock my mysterious language. The way I can snap a comeback out at a person in record time, or the songs about inanimate objects I'll start singing in the middle of a difficult pre-cal test, or even the name of my band (Kitten With a Whip). Of course, I give full credit of these bizarre habits to MST3K.
Before MST3K, I was, for lack of a better term, normal. I was a quiet, neat, and proper young lady. I wore normal clothes, had normal friends, and went to bed each night at a normal hour. Yep, I guess you could say I was pretty normal.
But something was missing.
That something appeared as a divine intervention two years ago. I was at one of my "normal" parties, when some people I didn't really know came with a video. That video was called "Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie." Never hearing of it, I sat down to watch it with these "slightly not normal" people. One hour and fourteen minutes later, I realized something: Being normal sucked.
Slowly my life began to change. I owned black clothes with robots on them, those "slightly not normal" people were now my best friends, I had a growing collection of videos made by middle-aged people from an unknown town in Minnesota... and on Saturday nights, I never got to bed at a reasonable hour. I was a MSTie.
Being a MSTie allowed me to do amazing things. I could never shut up, I always had to say what was on my mind. I saw life as one big comedy: nothing was sacred. I was so much happier once I realized I could laugh at anything. I was proud to "wave my freak flag high!"
So why don't people get me? I asked some of my other MSTie friends, and they told me that they'd been asked the same question many times, too. Some consider the MSTie as an odd person. I take this as a compliment. Why be normal, when you could be singing about waffles?! Isn't it fun to just stop and do something totally outrageous once in a while? Oh, and going to the movies with a MSTie is something that everyone should experience.
But still some people just don't get it.
This is what I do now when someone tells me, "I don't get you". I say, "The whole world is a circus if you know how to look at it." ...And then I hand over a paper with the channel number and times MST3K is on.

"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by S364128@urgrgcc.edu

Well, we finally have pictures of the new MST3K episode (Joel and Mike shaking hands)! And the day of love coming up. No, I'm not talking about April 11. Valentine's Day. And if you're like me, who is single and has no one be your Valentine, it totally sucks. So I want take time to give all you out there who are still searching for one true love some ideas for an MST3K Valentine's Day.
Second, get a sappy movie and MSTie it to shreds. For example, in "Casablanca" when Bogart says, "The problems of two people in this world don't amount to hill of beans in this crazy world," you could respond, "Not unless their names are Bill, Hillary, and Monica."
Third, write love poems to your favorite MST3K movie stars. (One that was in a movie. Mike and the 'Bots don't count. They're easy to write love poems to.) Like Torgo. Here is a poem I wrote.

Your knees are big
And you haven't had a bath in very long
But I like your stutter
Now let's rock it 'til dawn.

Or write one to Dr. Carlo Lombardi.

With your eyes you penetrated me
You took my soul, my very being
Your face as oily as can be
Your hypnotic act has no meaning
Now please stay away from me.

Lastly, end the day watching the MST3K episode you love. Make sure to wear your favorite outfit of sweats and curl up with your favorite fattening snack food. Man, this was short column. I guess I'll share some more Bitter Sweethearts. Like "BECAME A NUN," "LET'S GET OUR FREAK ON," "JUST USING YOU," and finally, "I WANT TO BE TRAPPED IN SPACE WITH YOU."
Well, that's is it for me. See ya.

"The Evolution of Torgo" by AstroChckn@aol.com

As I was sitting down to read through another issue in my ongoing comic collection, I came across Wolverine #135. Nothing unusual so far. So the story goes on that a bunch of aliens need Wolverine to save them from this guy; I believe the bad guy is named The Collector. Well, to my surprise, The Collector has a second banana -- a sidekick if you will -- and he is not your bumbling fool, but rather a strong robot. Nevertheless, the robot's name turns out to be... TORGO??? So I begin cracking up, and blinking with disbelief as to what I have witnessed. Now I don't know if I am one of the only people ever to get and recognize this huge mistake or this honorable praise to MST3K. I guess I will always live in wonderment about it or I can read the new issue of Wolverine #136 lying on my floor to discover Torgo's fate. Either way, it is the media showing itself that when a show lasts for 10 years, you start to see it in all walks of life. If not comic books then you see traces of it in other TV series or commercials. That or I saw the use of a name of that which was a huge mistake, and ironic for all MSTies everywhere.

"Riffing Movie" by D.Billany@Loc-dog.demon.co.uk

Hi. What follows is a little rendition of the poem "Mending Wall" by Robert Frost. It's inspired by Servo's line in Pod People: "Something there is that doesn't love a crappy monster film."

Something there is that doesn't love a crappy monster film,
That makes the audience's ears swell during it,
And splits their mother's blonde hair into the grey;
And makes gaps in plot that even Corman could pass abreast.
The work of the Japanese is another thing:
We have come after them and made ruin
Where they would have left not one award on a platter,
But they would have the robot out of hiding,
To please the evil Mads. The movies I mean,
No one wants to have seen them or heard they were made,
But at Movie Sign they find them there.
I let my robots know beyond the Theater;
And on an experiment we meet to riff the film
And watch the movie in front of us once again.
We try to keep the movie away from us as we go.
To each the special fx that have failed to impress.
And some are turkeys and some so nearly Manos
We have to use a riff to make them fade:
"Stay right where you are while me and my 'Bots leave!"
We wear our finger-nails rough while watching them.
Oh, just another bad movie,
One around every turn. It comes to little less:
There where they are we do need the Theater:
The movies are all bad and my 'Bots good.
My riffs will never get across
And be understood by some, I know that.
They only say "Bite me, Mike!"
The 'Bots are the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a RAM chip in their heads:
"Why should I bite you? Aren't you
'Bots tasteless? But here there is no taste.
Before I made a movie I'd ask to know
Whether it was feasable or total crap,
And to whom I was likely to give MSTing potential.
Something there is that doesn't love a crappy monster film,
That wants it riffed." I could say "Commercial Sign" to them,
But it's not Commercial Sign yet, and we'd rather
Wait for itself to flash. I see them there
Dishing out riffs with firm laughter
From each 'Bot, like some old-movie crazed children.
They riff in darkness as the Theater's lights are out,
Not by Cambot only and the curtains drawn.
And they like making fun of it so well
They say it again, "Bite me, Mike!"

"Better 'Bots and Satellites" by bgibron@yahoo.com

Vol. 1, Issue 7
The Finder of Lost Loves: I'll Protect You from the Hooded Claw...

Howard Jones once asked the question "What is love?" He then went on to inquire "Does anybody love anybody anyway?" Before he could get answers, his career became an anecdote shown 15 times a week in an episode of VH-1's "Where Are They Now and Why Do We Care?" Woody Allen entitled one of his classic "funny" movies "Love and Death," only to turn around and commit career suicide by remaking films done several hundred times better by Ingmar Bergman, while confusing pedophilia with ardor. When (Saint) Valentine was beheaded by the Romans in what has often been described as the "age of enlightenment" he thought he was helping the Roman husbands avoid the draft and maintain their loving homes. Unfortunately, all these potential pizza eaters ended up doing was creating Mussolini, some hideous unibrowed porn star who eventually was elected to parliament, and that really nasty rum soaked cake that resembles a sponge that had just cleaned up after an incontinent Shetland pony. From "Muskrat Love," a song America traded to the Captain and Tenille for obscurity with a sense of personal dignity, to Cher screeching "Love Hurts," a song Nazareth traded for the price of some pocket lint, we begin to see that there are alternatives to the good Christian Love that is so often the focus of the culture, the media and the limericks on men's room walls.
Not all love is pure. Not all love is warm. Not all love is cute as a baby's bottom or happy as a fluffy bunny. Not all love can be wrapped up in an overpriced satin bow, with baby's breath and greenery thrown in for free (as if $600 for some flowers is a bargain) or Hallmarked and American Greetinged into existence. Sometimes love is smelly. Sometimes love is difficult. Sometimes, love is, like Spalding Gray once said, "The emotional equivalent of a trip to the dentist." And leave it to Better 'Bots and Satellites to unearth these misplaced emotions. Scanning the ever expanding MST3K catalog, examples of these gangly, awkward, semi-retarded types of love have been discovered, just like Tony Franciosa, or Tony Musante, or James Farentino, or James Franciscis, or Saint Francis, or Black Francis, or whoever in the Hell played that locator of missing beloved's would have done once a week on 70's television. Using three, mostly under appreciated episodes, we can expose all Valentines, Valentinos and Valenzuelas to the potential danger they are in. Ancient proverb told us to beware of Greeks bearing gifts. In these episodes, it is best advised to be forewarned of freaks bearing hickeys.

Weird Love #1: Twisted and Tortured Avaricious Love, AKA for the Lust of Money as Exemplified by 414 Tormented.
Bert I. Gordon was never known for subtly or tact. Give him an idea or an inanimate/microscopic object and he will matte paint it and zoom lens it all out of proportion, creating villains and beasts that are evil in their very largeness. Not since last summer's "Godzilla" has size mattered so little. The fact that Joe Bob Dufus runs screaming when he sees the Paramecium from the Year 5000 means little to an audience who can see the postcard backdrop, poorly executed process shot and bead of glue running down the enlarged beast's spinal column, holding a fin, or fan in place. So it is interesting that, in "Tormented," he choose something far more frightening than a 60 story tall inchworm. He focused, instead, on jilted lovers and the men who almost, kinda kill them.
In the film, we are exposed to the kind of love whose name we should never speak. No, we are not talking about the love between hack jazz pianist and blowzy bluesy torch singer. No, we are not talking about the love of a lost little girl looking for a father figure, big brother, or something in a pair of pants. Nor are we dealing with the blind, for whom love truly is. We are talking about the love between man and dipsy, uncoordinated trust funds... I mean money... I mean woman... rich woman.
You see our hero is in a bit of a pickle, and the brine is starting to mold. For a long time he has been seeing a woman named Vi, or Vee, or Six, or Sex, or Seven of Nine, something like that. The Roman numeraled one has it all: bountiful chest, full lips, and massive, triplet bearing hips. But what she has in vavavavoom, she lacks in liquid capital. Vi is poor, destitute and indigent, both morally and pecuniary. As much as our hero want to run his hands through her mountains of blond hair and split her dividend, she lacks the assets to encourage his further speculation.
So what does our greedy protagonist do? He dumps her, literally, from the balcony of a lighthouse. Well, he really doesn't do the gruesome deed, he just watches her fall to her death, and then considers his portfolio. But Vi does not go quietly into that good night (or seaweed filled ocean). Her love is strong. Her love is powerful. Her love will go on, even if her heart explodes (and her lungs slowly fill up with cuttle fish and raw sewage from the faulty local septic system). She has a plan for getting justice, even if it requires her to do so with the decided handicap of no visible life signs.
Ever the 1950s male animal, our hero attempts to forget the whole thing by napping a lot and playing hideous, pseudo jazz piano so appalling it makes Spyro Gyra sound like John Coltrane. He claims to be preparing for Carnegie Hall, but his styling are so sour and cheesy they'd fly better in the Carnegie Deli. Vi starts turning up, or should we say parts of Vi start turning up. Her hand appears in the middle of one of his ivory tripping (and falling) sessions. Her head sits itself on his mantelpiece, taunting and teasing him, mostly for failing to properly execute a diminished seventh chord. And all the while, our covetous cupid tries to go on with his sham marriage to the sham clumsy rich girl, with her sham sister in tow. Even attempted blackmail by the bartender from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (or Tyrell, from Blade Runner) can't stop our zero from looking pasty, frail and emasculated at the thought of love, responsibility and future spectral visitations.
In the end, Dave Brubeck Junior can no longer take the torment (once again, leave it to Bert I. to focus on the obvious) and he falls from the very same balcony that Vi tumbled from. Ironic, don't you think? Kind of like rain, on a wedding day. Or that free ride you already paid for. Who would have thought? Go figure. And as they drag the waters for fish nibbled and motor boat dissected be-boppers, we learn that love is not about passion, or convenience or financial security. Love is a lot like a disembodied torch singer's noggin screeching "Tom Stewart killed me." After all, everything is fair in love and war crimes.

Weird Love #2: Puffy, Unsanitary, Wrestling with your Aunt Mabel, Midget Mob Tie Love, as Exemplified by 616 Racket Girls.
There is a proud tradition in the cinema. Along with the biblical epic, the western morality tale and the romantic comedy, the movies have relied on the R-rated skin flick to provide the necessary box office (and interpersonal) stimulation that only simulated sex and partial nudity can provide. From the recent offerings of Basic Instinct/Primary Nature/Fundamental Fundament to Porky's, and its sequels Dorky's and Bio-Dome, a little T&A has always provided a helluva lotta C's, as in notes. But back in the 40's soft core was hard around the edges, and judging from "Racket Girls," it was also wooden and leaden in the middle, back and sides. When the premise of your film is to show barely in shape, fishwife-ish women of questionable ethnicity, virtue and bra size, grappling, pawing and bear hugging each other, you know there is something terribly wrong, not only in Denmark, but in the cinematic world you've stumbled upon.
As we stagger down the dark alleys and greasy dive bars of Everytown, USA, we are introduced to such memorable characters as Peaches, and Apples and Persimmon and Scally and Dolores Montenegro and several members of the Aunt Bea Reenactment Society. All of them are resplendent in their chunkiness and seediness. Scally runs a gym/brothel/drug courier service/Jenny Craig. He is assisted by an oversexed, diminutive sidekick (Joe) who makes that arbitrary lap man Marlon Brando carted around in "The Island of Doctor Moreau" seem positively normal. As a matter of fact, everyone Scally associates with seems to suffer from some sort of gigantism, elephantitis or acromegaly. Never outside a fun house setting has the world seen such distorted facades. We are also witnesses to innuendoes, leers and propositions so blatant they make the actions of pervs like Larry Flynt seem subtle, genteel and cultivated. It is only after these sexual harassments that most of our swell endowed women begin to tussle. To scuffle. To sleeper-hold and suplex each other. To paraphrase the producer in "Barton Fink", it's a wrestling picture, what do I have to do, draw you a map?
Several of the myths surrounding the female athlete are exploded (and exploited) in this tawdry, moist dress shield of a film. Myth #1 - Women don't sweat, they glisten. The heck you say. The ladies in this flick perspire so freely and often that flash flood warnings should be issued whenever they even think about exercising. Geez, they even sweat when they shower. Myth #2 - Woman are too shapely and feminine to wrestle. Again, you are sadly mistaken. No matter how buxom the bodice, how round the rump, how hefty the hip, a woman can wrestle and wrestle hard, so long as she is trained well, rubbed down every 5 or 6 minutes by a masculine female trainer and wears under-wiring specifically designed and manufactured for them by McDonnell-Douglas. Myth #3 - All promoters of professional wrestlers are up-front guys who only wish to provide small town girls with the comforts of home, the promise of success and the air of respectability. Right, and soup is good food. What these men are actually looking for (besides other men, but that's a whole other singlet all together) is that kind of squalid, risky fondle that comes from a Full Nelson as applied by an ersatz madam with a fruity name. "Dislocate me one more time, Kumquat, once is never enough."

Weird Love #3: Creeping, Newlywed-ish, Gluttonous, Voiceover Love as Depicted in 606 Creeping Terror.
Some things are just plain difficult to look at. A poor, innocent animal smashed in the middle of the road, just waiting for Cousin Earl to swing by with the side dishes. The gaunt faces of famine victims in Africa, praying that the camera and concerned looking Western missionary would turn into a TV Dinner. The dark, dead eyes of a serial killer... or Dana Plato. And let's not forget the cast, crew, scenery and props of "Creeping Terror." Not since "Barbary Coast", (the TV show, not the soft drink) has there been so much ugly passing for so little drama. Just some of the visual atrocities we are forced to witness; a space craft that resembles two cardboard entertainment unit boxes fused together with bird feces and spit; the dull, vacant stare of the Sheriff's new bride, as she fills Flintstone Jelly Jars with Wild Turkey and remembers that fire is hot, not good to touch. And a monster created from discarded bandages and gauze from a local burn unit, with wacky antennae to boot.
Love in this film is hard to find, and when it can be located, it is uncomfortable and jarring. The male lead suffers from either an overbite so grand he could function quite nicely as a bottle opener, ice scraper or lemon zester, or an underbite so extreme he could pick his nose with his bicuspids. His cohort in inanity has a jaw better suited for plowing the south 40 than serious scientific research (unless you are curious about the effects of a wedge as a fulcrum in a lever). It doesn't help that the whole film, except for the occasional smattering of non-vital dialogue, grunts or screams is narrated by a man whose voice would be better suited to discussing Euclidean algebra than events of life and death (even if algebra seemed like death in high school). And it is never a good idea to couch a tale in the second person. Just look at "Bright Lights, Big City."
There is, however, one standout sequence in the film that rivals the work of Douglas Sirk, Preston Sturgess or Madeline Murray O'Hare. The monster, still hungry after consuming several dozen people (and several billion calories) stumbles up a humble tableau: a boy and his grandpa. They are fishing in what appears to be the runoff from someone washing their car off camera. Both man and boy are happy and content, or at least all appears to be that way. That is, until Bobby, the young, impetuous lad, runs off to have a violent episode, to chase away the demons of adolescence, or simply get away from his fat, vaguely ethnic granddad. Its hard to tell if Mr. Bobby's Grandfather landed on Ellis Island, Mysterious Island, or the Land That Time Forgot.
Well, before you can say "My grandson is swimming in the bowels of a large carpeted prop from Kmart," the patriarch of the clan de Robert is worried and, barely walking erect, goes off searching for Bobby, the fisher. Looking uncomfortable and tight in his Sansabelt slacks and Marty Allen designer work shirt, he resembles an over inflated Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon of Fidel Castro. Eventually he stumbles, and I do mean stumbles, upon the monster. Via your basic waddle, he attempts to evade the beast and ends up high center on his back in the rivulet, or what passes for moving water in this film. Here we witness some of the finest acting known to obesity. Like old Manischevitz River, or a Tevia Fountain, we get to see the bloated, distended, senior citizen splash around like Esther Williams on a post Fernando Lamas gin jag. Its Gravis Musnick doing a water ballet as inspired by an old Yiddish proverb.
Still, there is so much more bubbling under the putrid surface of this saga. The deputy, always around, like the fifth wheel, the sixth man or ghost number 1000, staring at the Sheriff and his homely honey. He is frozen like a leer in the red lights district, destined to sip his Sloe Gin Fizz and gaze inertly at the crappy couple. Or the army that shows up, looking muggy and ill equipped, only to surrender like so many Iraqis when attacked by a throw rug. Or the dance party of the dead, providing undeniable proof, once and for all, that our forefathers had lousy rhythm and a poor sense of gambol. Love in this afternoon is dense, fetid and humorless.

Just remember that when you fight the crowds to by your sweetie a 200 year- old box of candies manufactured in celebration of Abraham Lincoln's birth, or a bunch of flowering weeds that sorta/kinda resemble something almost attractive for 1/2 your yearly income, you are doing it in the name of passion and commitment (or in the case of most people, fornication and cab fare). But beware. Lurking behind any number of doe-eyed Teddy Bears holding oversized satin hearts, or buried deep within the trite sayings and borderline kiddy smut of the cartoon "Love Is..." are all types of unholy affections. Pay close attention. Read between the lines. Shakespeare may have said, "It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all", but he also had a life expectancy of 30 and plague carrying rats sleeping in his bed. Compared to that, love seems downright acceptable.

"Yada, Yada, Yada..." by hamdingr@theworks.com

My parents claim that I "play" on the computer too much. But my parents don't realize that being a webmaster far outgrows the "playing" stage after the first 6 months.
Once upon a time, being a webmaster was fun. It was exciting. It was new. I've been a webmaster for about two and a half years now, and it's gotten old. My drive in AADGKA Links has significantly lowered. My drive in the new AADGKA site has been significantly boosted, however. I've been working on that behind-the-scenes stuff for a year now, and I'm still not finished. But what a web site it'll be.
This is so typical of me. I have something already up and running and I let it rot while I work on something else. Like, for example, I just visited the online version of my site, and the image map wasn't even there! Why didn't anyone tell me? I don't even know how long it's been gone! It was fine on my hard drive version!
Sheesh. I guess I just found other stuff to be interested in, like sleeping, and, uh, working on the school newspaper, and, uh....
OK, OK, so I'm lazy. So I'm what they call a "poster child" for bad webmasters. I mean, I visit all kinds of MST sites, and I can see by their web design and content which authors really pour a lot of time into it, and which authors are like me. I once saw a web site called "The Best MST3K Site Ever." It had one sentence on it. Hand me the rifle.
But on the other hand, when authors get way too fancy and detailed and HTML-formatted, it takes me about 3 hours to download their site. I think that's what my new AADGKA site is going to turn into.
But it won't be updated that often, I can tell you that much.

February MSTie of the Month: stranger_27@hotmail.com

Name: Jamie Lillyreed
Age: 18
Sex: Male
Occupation: When not hunting down the rats of Chicago and using them in blood sacrifices, I am a student at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

MST3K Episode: 424 Manos: the Hands of Fate. I mean how could you NOT love a movie that has that many shots of landscapes and trees and fields and teenagers making out and gigantic-kneed hobos?
Food: Ramen! Ramen is the only real food!!! That and pop rocks... Mmm... Pop rocks and Ramen...
Movie: Sorry, not MST3K: The Movie... I think perhaps "Jan Svankmeyer's Alchemist of the Surreal" or maybe "Chairman of the Board," starring Carrot Top!
Book: "The Best of John Sladek" by (surprisingly) John Sladek.
TV Show: The Power Puff Girls slightly over MST3K.
Artist: Either Joe Coleman or Francis Bacon.
Comic Book: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac by Jhonen Vasquez.
Hobbies: Knitting using only my bellybutton lint or scraping mice clean with wire cleaners.

Um... I guess that's all there is about me...

March MST3K Schedule on SFC

North America
{All times are Eastern and tentative}
03/06/99 - 11:00 am - [903] Pumaman
03/07/99 - 11:00 pm - [903] Pumaman
03/13/99 - 11:00 pm - [904] Werewolf
03/14/99 - 11:00 pm - [904] Werewolf
03/20/99 - 11:00 am - [905] Deadly Bees
03/21/99 - 11:00 pm - [905] Deadly Bees
03/27/99 - 11:00 am - [906] Space Children
03/28/99 - 11:00 pm - [906] Space Children

Europe and Africa
{All times are Greenwich and very tentative}
06/03/99 - 24.00 - [907] Hobgoblins
07/03/99 - 14.00 - [907] Hobgoblins
13/03/99 - 24.00 - [903] Pumaman
14/03/99 - 14.00 - [903] Pumaman
20/03/99 - 24.00 - [804] Deadly Mantis
21/03/99 - 14.00 - [804] Deadly Mantis
27/03/99 - 24.00 - [806] The Undead
28/03/99 - 14.00 - [806] The Undead

Classifieds 3000

hquiej@netwood.net writes: "There is no doubt that the SOL Post is the best monthly newsletter relating to MST3K on the 'Net. But the best weekly newsletter is MST Manos' Weekly Newsletter. If you're not a subscriber, you don't know what you're missing out on! Included in the newsletter is the Grrrr, an editorial for those who want to hear me speak on many of the hottest MST topics. There's the Quote of the Week, a funny quote from an MST3K episode or movie. MST3K The Weekend, weekend schedules for MST3K in the U.S., and even the U.K., with some optional footnotes are included. Web Site News, news and updates regarding the Ultimate Web Site (http://members.tripod.com/~MSTManos), MST3K Trivia, hot facts on references, people, songs, and other things relating to MST3K. And finally, there is Member Involvement for those who want to participate. New subscribers are mentioned in the New Subscribers section along with their rank number and e-mail address. From then on, their address is kept secret from subscribers who want to send them junk or crud. And, as a young club, we already have 60+ subscribers! So sign up now at http://members.tripod.com/~MSTManos/manos.html. For a look a past newsletters from 1998, visit the archives at http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Stage/1362."

Sammyboy234@yahoo.com writes: "I need pics of Joel, Pearl Forrester, the SOL, and tours of BBI."

S364128@urgrgcc.edu writes: "Well the Super Bowl is over and February is here. I would like to make two plugs. One is for my MST3K parody script called "Shock Theatre" that is finally up at http://www.cosmosfactory.org/the_factory/text/scripts.htm. Another is that I finally learned how use the Sci-Fi MST3K BBoard."

stranger_27@hotmail.com writes: "Aaron Shattuck's Twisted (and Hameln) Fanfics at http://www2.crosswinds.net/boston/~floot."


All material written by club members in this publication does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the staff of MSTies Anonymous. Endorsement of above publicized activities not operated by MSTies Anonymous should not be implied. Published material is subject to editing only for spelling, grammar, clarity, and formatting; other changes are not made without express written consent of the author.

Mystery Science Theater 3000, its characters and situations are copyright 1999 Best Brains, Inc. This publication is not meant to infringe on any copyrights held by Best Brains, the Sci-Fi Channel, or their employees. "Gizmonics" and all related elements are copyright and trademark Joel Hodgson. This publication is not meant to infringe on any copyrights held by him, so please do not sue us.

© MCMXCIX MSTies Anonymous
The Poobah
Jet Jaguar kret0419@blue.UnivNorthCo.edu
Zen Psycho zenpsycho@yahoo.com

"They really do like pie..."

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