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SOL Post 40 11/15/99
SOL Post 39 10/15/99
SOL Post 38 09/15/99



S.O.L. POST


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Volume 39 www.msties.com October 1999
Formerly The MSTies Anonymous Newsletter: News for the Obscure Convergence
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BE SURE TO TUNE IN FOR THE NEXT UNDERDOG SHOW!


In This Issue


From the Poobah
"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by mre@cinci.infi.net
"MSTable Movies" by RMichel424@aol.com
"Call Me Ishmael" by bobishmael@sciti.com
"Better 'Bots and Satellites" by bgibron@yahoo.com
October MSTie of the Month: tomservo61@hotmail.com
November MST3K Schedule on SFC
Classifieds 3000
Disclaimers



From the Poobah


Here's SOL Post 39. Enjoy. Please keep the material coming, folks! Remember, this newsletter doesn't write itself!



"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by mre@cinci.infi.net


Well, what an ending. The series finale of MST3K was perfect. Even though MST3K is over, I can't help hoping that there will be a spin-off. A good title might be something like, "Two Robots, a Guy, and a Bunch of Bad Movies". I know that it will never will happen, but just for fun, I thought of some things that could continue on and tie up some loose ends.
Season 1
First Mike needs to get a job. (He has to pay for that apartment somehow.) Mike feels uneasy about temping so he gets a job at the cheese factory. Crow and Tom start a search for their father, Joel. Tom needs money to buy underwear and restart his collection that was lost in the fire when the SOL crashed. Crow wants money just 'cause while he sends his spec scripts to Hollywood. After many job interviews and funny job attempts, Crow and Tom also get jobs at the cheese factory. Tom falls in love with dairy processor #6. To make this job worse, Mike and 'Bots have Dr. Forrester for a boss. Dr. F says that even though he's not going shoot them into space or try to take over the world, he will make their lives a living hell. The first thing Dr. F does is to stop Tom from seeing #6 ever again.
Season 2
Mike finally can't take anymore and sues Dr. F. Mike becomes the most popular guy in the cheese factory for doing so and gets a date with a girl named Sandy. Crow and Tom almost mess things up between the two. But things don't work out and Sandy has to go back to homeland in Israel. It is revealed that at least Mike got some sweet loving. (I'm sorry, but Mike had to get some.) Anyways, Mike and the 'Bots hire a lawyer named Wendy whose nickname is "Wicked Witch" Wendy. They only talk over phone. She has no interest in Mike whatsoever and thinks he's an idiot. Wendy will represent and spilt blood if needed. Mike says it's not.
Season 3
Mike and 'Bots go to Wendy's office to finally meet her. They instead meet Wendy's roommate, Bridget, who is nothing like Wendy. Hilarity ensues as a mix-up occurs. Finally, the whole thing is figured out. Wendy introduces Bridget who works for "Squeaky Clean Cleaning Service". Mike falls for Bridget, but doesn't have the nerve to ask her out. The case starts and Wendy is ruthless, cunning, and utilizes more evil manipulation than a normal lawyer does. Dr. F falls head in heels in love with Wendy. Mike and the 'Bots win a nice cash settlement. Dr. F swears that even though they won, he'll still make their lives hell. Wendy says that she'll be checking up on Mike and the 'Bots to make sure he doesn't do so anymore than a regular boss, which isn't much of a difference. Mike gets a letter from Sandy saying she's marring a camel salesman. Mike is crushed, but the 'Bots get him to ask Bridget out. She says she'll think about it. Tom starts up his relationship with machine #6 again, only to find out that she's been cheating on him with machine #3. Crow receives rejection letters for all of his spec scripts.
Season 4
Mike and the 'Bots are depressed until Bridget decides to go out with Mike. She also cheers up Tom and Crow. The guys go back to work happy and somehow destroy half of the plant. They get fired. The guys are okay with it because they hated the job, anyway. Mike has to face his fear and go back to temping to pay the rent. The 'Bots and Bridget help get Mike a job temping. The 'Bots finally find their long lost father, Joel. Joel is still managing the hot fish stand and gives Mike a job so he can quit temping. Crow and Tom also go to work Joel. Mike gets good break as Joel makes him the new manager of the hot fish stand. Joel is going to become an inventor and has to leave. But before he goes, he hires Bridget, whose cleaning service went bankrupt, to help in clean up the place. Mike can no longer date Bridget since he's now her boss. The two become friends and Mike is great manager. Wendy and Dr. F, who are still fighting about the case, stop by. Even though Mike and the 'Bots have let whole thing go, they haven't.
Season 5
Wendy's office just so happens to be right by the hot fish stand, so it becomes Wendy's and Dr. F regular hangout. The two fight constantly. Bridget is the first and only one to figure out that Wendy and Dr. F really like each other and fighting is just their way of communicating. Mike and the 'Bots can't believe it and think it's sick. Many people stop by the hot fish stand including Torgo, TV's Frank, and Dr. Erhardt. Pearl visits her son and decides to meet him at the hot fish stand. Mike wonders why everyone stops by and hangs out here. Crow says people are suckers for hot fish. Tom finishes his underwear collection. Crow gets another rejection letter for a spec script that he didn't even submit yet. But he gets cheered up when the woman of his dreams, Kim Cattrall, stops by. She has to leave, but Crow is sure they'll meet again. Mike, Bridget, and the 'Bots are visited by Gypsy, who takes them out for evening. But disaster strikes when the hot fish stand burns down by means of arson.
Season 6
An in-depth investigation follows as everyone tries figure out who burned down the hot fish stand. The suspects are Joel, for the insurance, Dr. F, because Mike sued him, Pearl, because Mike escaped from her, TV's Frank, because he couldn't steal Joel's soul, Brain Guy, because he had to take a bad job as the all-knowing, eternal and universal consciousness over on Rilos XIV, and Bobo, just 'cause. Joel is quickly proven to be innocent because he was at an inventors' convention in L.A. TV's Frank and Bobo are proven innocent because they're too stupid. Brain Guy and Pearl are knocked off the suspect list because they were stopping revolts in their regions and couldn't have done it. The only suspect left is Dr. F, who swears he didn't do it and was with someone doing something. Wendy knows Dr. F didn't do it. Bridget is hard to convince and says unless Wendy can prove it, Dr. F will go to the chair. (Yes, burning a hot fish stand is punishable by death.) Finally, before Dr. F is sentenced, Wendy she knows Dr. F didn't do it because he was with her. When she was brought to the stand, Wendy says they stopped by her place because the hot fish stand was close and the two were not done fighting. To prove this, their next-door neighbors substantiate her story since they heard Wendy and Dr. F fighting. Then Wendy reveals that Dr. F was with her all night and they did what's known as the mattress mambo. Everyone gets sick and take a 10 min. recess so everyone can go throw up. The neighbors confirm what Wendy said. Wendy then says that she did see someone at hot fish and she sees them in courtroom. She point out Joe Don Baker who confesses to the crime and said that he did it because he hates those robots. He planed to pin it all on Dr. F, but didn't count him getting lucky. The trial is over.
Season 7
Bridget has to stay at Mike and the 'Bots' apartment because Wendy is having Dr. F and his mother over. Bridget says she needs to move out because she can't stay at her place without thinking of Dr. F and Wendy making evil love. (Hey, you can't expect Dr. F to do anything sweet.) The dinner with Wendy, Dr. F, and Pearl is weird, disturbing, and just plain sick and twisted, but funny as all get out. During dinner, Dr. F reveals his love for Wendy and asks that Pearl get out of his life if she doesn't like it. Pearl leaves and Wendy asks if Dr. F was serious about what he said. Instead of admitting it, the two do love each other as they fight. At Mike's apartment, Mike and Bridget get back together since he's no longer her boss. Crow and Tom spy on the two, hoping to catch them making out or something. They're not very good at it. Gypsy stops by to announce that she's opening up her own nightclub where the SOL crashed. It's supposed to be the hottest and only nightclub in Wisconsin. She wants to hire the guys because she misses them. She says that Crow can be the bartender, Tom can be DJ, and Mike can be a waiter. Gypsy hires Bridget as a waitress and dancer. Bridget says that she always wanted to be a dancer and this is her dream job.
Season 8
Everyone works at the nightclub called "The SOL" and it's very popular. Since Mike and the 'Bots only work certain nights and weekends, so they can do whatever they want to in the day. Mike has time to start up his acting career while Crow can write and improve his spec scripts. Tom finds his true love: the DX 100 record machine that helps blast out cool tunes. Mike gets a part in the local theater play as he dates Bridget. Crow does see Kim Cattrall again, who is playing a part with Mike in Crow's new spec script. Mike asks Bridget to marry him and she says yes. Eventually, Mike and Bridget and the 'Bots get a house together. At the wedding, Wendy catches the bouquet. She and Dr. F get drunk at wedding and get married in a 24-hour wedding chapel in Las Vegas. The two decide to stay married and Dr. F moves in to Wendy's place. They fight constantly but love it. Mike gets a part in Crow's Broadway play and it's a smash hit. Mike and Bridget have their first kid. Despite the success everyone has, Mike and the 'Bots still live in the same house with Bridget. One day, a network producer comes by and wants to make a TV show about Mike in space. The show will be called Mystery Science Theater 4000. Mike and the 'Bots play themselves watching bad movies. Even Dr. F gets a part of the action by playing the evil mad scientist. Everyone is happy because this time, they get paid to watch bad movies. Their first movie is "The Crawling Eye". Everyone still works at the nightclub and work on the show for a day job. They all live as happily as people can. The end.



"MSTable Movies" by RMichel424@aol.com


This month I have decided to review bad movies with a reptilian them to them. Enjoy!


Alligator (1980)
Maltin gives this one 3 stars. I'll admit that this is the least deserving of the MST3K treatment of all the movies I have reviewed to date.
This movie starts 12 years earlier. It begins with a little girl buying a baby alligator at a gator wrestling show (doesn't it always?). The father is angry about this when he finds out and flushes the cute little thing.
Twelve years pass and the city of Chicago is starting to find limbs washing out of the sewer. One sewer worker is missing. The hero, Detective David Madison is buying a dog from a pet storeowner. Apparently the detective's previous dog was stolen. We later find out it was the pet store owner who has been doing this and sells them to a research facility working on growth hormones. He has to dispose of the dead ones too. He dies in the sewer. His leg turns up in the filtration plant. So, David Madison and another cop named Jim Kelly go into the sewer to investigate. Officer Kelly gets munched as they are trying to escape the sewers. David and his superior go to the leading authority on reptiles, Marisa Kendall who just happens to live in Chicago with her mother, who will talk your ear off. Marisa tells them that gators can't grow as large as the one Det. Madison claims he saw. We later realize she is the same girl whose baby gator got flushed. It is her gator causing all this. They don't know this but the audience does. A reporter goes into the sewer and is attacked, but luckily still took pictures as he was being munched. His camera turns up and the film is developed and Det. Madison has his proof that there is a gator in the sewer. SWAT tries to scare the gator out but fails. It manages to break out of the sewer and chomps a few people. The city hires a big game hunter to kill the beast. Det. Madison is fired for disobeying orders by harassing the research facility. He just strolls into the evidence room and steal a bundle of TNT and a timer. The gator eats some more people having a wedding outside the owner of the research company's house. It goes back into the sewer and David blows it up with the bomb.
Stinger: Either the scene with the mother talking the detectives ear off or the little boy screaming before he is accidentally fed to the gator.


Alligator II (1991)
Maltin gives this a BOMB. And now our story, er, plot...
Our hero is Detective David Hodges also known, for reasons beyond me, as Solo Lobo. He tries to stop a lakeside festival because a giant alligator is eating people. There are some good ol' boy alligator hunters and little else. The gator is supposed to really big, yet in many shots it looks like it is a little bit bigger than a normal gator. There is also an evil business guy trying to buy people out of their property to make a profit by sell it. Dull. Dull. Dull.


King Cobra (1999) AKA Seth
I found this at my local Blockbuster. As soon as I looked at the back of the box I couldn't help but laugh at this. I held the box up to one of the employees restocking the shelves and said, "You have got to be kidding me!" He said it was a popular rental even though they warn people it is worse than Anaconda. I was lucky to rent it the next weekend. It stars Pat Morita, Erik Estrada, in a two to three minute cameo, and nobody else really big, and one lame looking snake. Here we go with the story...
It all starts in a lab where they are doing testing on aggression. When the research head goes to answer e-mail, and one of the other scientists takes over the experiment and increases the formulas and causes an explosion. This accidentally releases Seth, a snake that is a result of gene-splicing. Seth is part rattler, half Cobra. It is released and the research head, Dr. Irwin Burns, is the only one to survive the explosion.
We now jump to two years later. A small town is getting ready for a street festival for it's microbrewery. Dr. Brad Kagen treating the mayor, who looks and sounds a bit like a older, fatter, less slobby version of Joe Don Baker. On a side note, this is the guy who wrote the theme music to Mitchell. A mother brings her son in because he is in shock, which we saw earlier he saw the big snake. We find that female police officer, Jo Biddle (not piddle*), is in a failing relationship with Brad. He is planning to leave town to get a job with a big hospital. The snake kills one of the locals and Brad orders a large amount of anti-venom. Dr. Irwin Burns receives information on the large order and realizes the snake has surfaced. Now we get to see Erik Estrada, not as we remember from CHiPs, but as an over-the-top homosexual complete with little dog in his arms. Soon the snake kills a few people, including Brad's father. A herpetologist, played by Pat Morita, is called in to help. There is a duel hunt for the snake. The authorities and snake experts together and a bunch of slightly redneck hunters. Soon Seth kills the hunters and some of the cops. Pat tries to wrangle the snake, unsuccessfully. Finally Brad, after performing the stinger listed below, lures the snake into a giant tube where they gas it. Brad decides to stay in town with Jo. The End.
Stinger: Brad does a flying kick to the side of the snake's head. (It has to be seen to believed.)
*The Biddle, not piddle joke originates from episode 705 Escape 2000.


Anaconda (1997)
Maltin gives this one two stars?! God, the man has no taste.
I'm sure everyone at least knows about this film, so you know what it is about.
Stinger: Jon Voight winking after being spat up by the snake.


Up From The Depths (1979)
Maltin hasn't seen this one, so I looked at my Video Hound's Golden Movie Retriever movie review book, and it gives one and a half bones. (They use bones instead of stars.)
Cheap Jaws rip off. Boring as hell. The monster looks incredibly fake.



"Call Me Ishmael" by bobishmael@sciti.com


I think I'll risk stating the obvious and say, "Well, it's over." And it is. Our show had a great life. It even ran longer than Star Trek: the Next Generation or Deep Space Nine. Not many shows run for 10 years... but that doesn't explain why it never became as popular as it could and should have.
If you ask most MSTies why, they'll say, "Because Americans are too stupid to get the jokes," or, "Bad PR." Both would be true, but Americans don't need to understand the shows they like. Give us pretty colors and some loud noises (both of which MST has), and we'll be happy.
Why didn't the show become the piece of Americana that it should have? I could only think of one reason: the fans don't want it to.
True, we don't want to see it cancelled, but we also want to be one of the select few that know about it.
If you've ever brought up "Mystery Science Theater 3000" in a conversation with a non-MSTies, you'll usually get a "Huh?" or, "You mean those little aliens that sit in front of the movie?" or some similar reaction. When we get that reaction, some of us will try to convert the "gentile," or we'll just change the subject. Either way, it doesn't matter...
You know something that nearly every American doesn't and deep down it feels good. You're part of a cult following. You belong.
Now... imagine this: A world where Mike (Nelson) endorses Hanes, Ballpark hotdogs, and MCI. A world where pimply-faced 13-year-old kids wear shirts that read, "Bite me" and constantly say that, thinking they're being clever. A world where, what we consider to be, cult phrases become part of the American vernacular. A world where Mystery Science Theater 3000 is in the mainstream: that's a world I could do without.
Sure. We didn't want to show to be cancelled, but we didn't want it to become popular.



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


Vol. 2, Issue 3a
Bitter 'Erbs and Hostilities: In Where the Wit Hits the Fan!


If memory serves me, I wrote a column last issue in which I attacked my fellow MSTies for their inert behavior and overall lack of commentary skill as it pertains to a certain bit o' writin' that comes out every once and a month under the above claimed moniker. Resentful and insolent, I rallied on, complaining that no one read my articles and even fewer wrote to me (having had a moment to contemplate absolute zero, the goose that laid the big fat egg and the sign of the null set, I feel secure in the previous statement.). I even went so far as to threaten and admonish, leaving the fate of this column and all whom find refuge within its vowels and consonants teetering in the balance.
Well, sure enough, living up to their reputation as carefree will o' the wisps, I received a dwarf's handful of answers to my main questions from the so called, yet hardly ever seen in their natural habitat, readers of the SOL Post. To say that the response was less than overwhelming is like saying that David Hartman suffers from a minor dental malformation or that the name Estevez on a film means quality acting ahead. Out of the literally hundreds of members who proudly proclaim their mysterious science-ness, five answered. That's right. Five. Five. Of 20 to 4 fame. Cinco (no de Mayo). Single digits. One set of fingers. Rhymes with dive, chive and alive, not that those who failed to take keyboard to integrated circuit would know anything about being animate. Is this bitter? Maybe. Is it surprising? No way. My little experiment in audience interaction produced little of either, and so I declare a mistrial and announce my intent to wax and wan my final years on the planet in a comatose state of bereavement at all the Nobels. Aces and Cleos I'll never own.
Yet, like they say in Minnesota, the snow must go on, and so will I. I am determined to take this defeat as a call, not of contempt or of washout but as to arms. Or better yet, to brains. For as long as it lasts, and for as long as I am able to combine my trivial knowledge of over 30 years of obscure pop culture trivia with a 3rd rate map to the ex-stars careers, presented with a Emo Phillips level rapier wit, I will forge ahead and create issue upon dispatch of "Better ‘Bots and Satellites". This will not faze me. Unlike the sexuality of Paul Lynne or Charles Nelson Reilly, there is no ambiguity here. I will remain steadfast. I will renew my faith and wander, lustfully, through the valley of the shadow of dearth for I shall fear no weeble. After all, they wobble, but they do not, and I repeat, they do NOT fall down.


It would be nice to report that all five responses that I received... I will give you one final moment to finish reeling from that notion... there... almost done? ...Almost? ...Good... were filled to the boundary with the kind of insight, humanity and creativity that spurs on the wasted soul and spawns a myriad of imaginative scenarios. To be forthright, two took the challenge seriously, two choose to forward their own Narcissistic/dairy-oriented agendas and the last felt like having a pity party with me as the sole guest of honor. Wanna know that actual tally? Survey said...


Question #1: I think Better ‘Bots and Satellites is...
...what holds the SOL Post together.
...very funny, until recently, then a little bitter.
...slightly bloated.
...sleepy.
...enjoyable.


Question #2: I think the next article should be about...
...Mad Scientology.
...Lame-ass Villainy.
...Cheese. (?)
...Bob Ishmael. (???)
...not applicable.


Question #3 - You should mention ... in your next column.
...Dr. F's Ratings Subplot...
...pie...
...cheese... (?)
...Bob Ishmael... (???)
...not applicable...


Now, as much as I would like to create a whole column around the notion of the two words "not applicable," I think the winner is fairly obvious. And no, it is not Bob Ishmael. Bob, don't take this too personally, but what, pray tell makes you so exceptionally interesting that I should dedicate an entire 45 minutes of my otherwise busy social calendar dreaming up amusing moments of boisterous mirth about you? As Solomon said to the Levitites, "Build your temples upon the backs of the weak and wretched. Anywhere, just not in our neighborhood." Besides, shouldn't that whole 'call me' 'Dick' deal from H. Melville be enough to foster your fragile egosystem? Or was that Moby Grape? Don't even get me started on the 1910 Fruitgum Company. Teaberry Shuffle my left foot!
Still, to be fair, while I intend to enjoy myself in the non-stop if swollen and long winded, if drowsy beratement of Cruise and Travolta's pious opiate, I will award Lame-ass Villainy honorable mention and provide the necessary author assurance to address it in the next article, if only to say lame-ass a few more times. I will mention cheese and pie now, since the whole notion of a large slab of Momma's Granny Smith Dutch Apple French Crumb Lattice crust concoction crowned with a nice runny bit of Edam (a little more runny than you'd like it, I'm afraid) is a definitive sign of evil in the non- ethereal world. And so, without further ado, hubbub or kablingee, I give you the winner.


Vol. 2, Issue 3b
Mad in 3 Persons: Blessed Deep 13-nity


Leave it to the Muslims. Not only do they refute the teachings, the 'golden rule' and 'love thy brother' of Christianity and Zen one-ness with the Universe karma of Buddhism, but time and time again they manage to prove the age old dichotomy that a moral foundation, and extreme violence equal supplication and clear religious devotion. I don't know about you, but when was the last time you answered a responsorial in church with the words, "Lord, smite them bastards." Now I know this is a broad sweeping gross over- generalization of something I probably saw in a movie once, but do you recall, exactly, the last time you turned on the television and heard that the Swiss Jihad had blown up a school bus full of children/elderly/livestock? Seems to me that if Mohammed had an opportunity to see just exactly what was being done in his name, and the name of that medieval Anarchist's Cookbook the Koran, he would jump on the first cloud to Madeline Murray O'Hare.
Not that Christianity is any better in the 'confuse evil with litany' arena, mind you. After all, they don't call them ritualistic killings for nothing. Seems the Catechism, while basically complete, skims over the sections about "conversion by any means necessary" and "kneecap flaying for the heretical." After all, in the view of many Christers, the Crusades and/or the Inquisition was just like a big, movable Promise Keepers, only with a lot less men crying. And chalk it up to those who believe in the Son of Man to focus almost exclusively on the eating of his body and the drinking of his blood. Pardon my pseudo-blasphemy, but didn't some guy named Donner get it trouble for that a few decades ago? Or was that Dammer?
And what of the lowly Satanist, you say? Where does their "Hell is for Children" mentality fit in amongst the snake handlers and Pentecostal tongue speakers? Considering the wonderful PR they have been getting lately, with films like "Stigmata" and "Random Hearts", and all those Kentucky dead necks killing their kin folk in the name of "Lucy-Fir", it's no surprise that both Anton LaVey and Allistair Cromwell are tossing and turning in their molten waterbeds. Nothing gives the worship of the Dark Lord a bigger black eye than some slack-jawed yahoo, feet and face covered in all manner of filth and feces, proclaiming your power and dominion over his thriving pig manure farm. Apparently, upper middle class and lower circle of Hades do not go well together.
Well, leave it to "Better ‘Bots and Satellites" to leaf blow a path to beatification and virtuous enlightenment. No longer will you have to suffer through dull sermon after boring homily after collection plate grand larceny. The simple act of going to synagogue will no longer require hand-to-hand combat skills or an unbending desire to see an entire, competing civilization blown off the map of Middle Earth. By following the teachings of our Lord, Dr. Clayton Forrester and the savior he sent down thirteen floors into the bowels of the earth to condemn and squish our whims, Television's Frank, you too can become a full fledged member of Mad Scientology. Here is a brief overview of your newfound belief system.


The Theology
Even thought the name is defamatorily close to that of a famous L. Ron's own cult of Tinsel town personalities, there if no Hubbard, Hubble or Bubs Daddy to be found in Mad Scientology. Dianetics take a backseat to Diaramanetics, Nielson ratings are monitored to extrapolate the best means of world domination and all abstractions of "clear" are overwhelmed by aspirations of "ripe" or "feral." And no matter how hard you try, how long your pilgrimage or trying your ordeal by fire, fame or famine, Mad Scientology will not result in a red-haired Australian wife, a hit soundtrack by the emasculating Bee Gees or a co-starring stint on Veronica's Corset.
The main principle behind this tenuous holy tenet is the notion of deep, and unswerving, hurting. Now this is not the kind of pain one feels at the sight of Kathy Lee Gifford, or the possibility of a Broadway malady by Rosie O'Donnell. This is not the discomfort one experiences when contemplating a naked Richard Dawson, or viewing an episode of The Wayan Brothers. No, this is the kind of abyss-sized agony one would feel only at the hands of over buttered swill makers like L. Coleman Francis, L. Edward Wood and L. Roger Corman. The repeated viewing of such unfortunate cinematic sins as "Teenage Caveman", "Bride of the Monster" and "Red Zone Cuba" create, in the very spirit of the devotee, a pit of excruciating and rather unpleasant suffering.
And there is no relief. None to be found in the Canon of Buchanon or the Word According to Gordon, Bert. I. Only pile upon heap upon mound upon almond joy of mind numbing, dulling and washing distress. However, there is temptation all around. Do not be taken in by the siren song of Joel Robinson and his 3 sharp harpies, Tom Servo, Crow T. Robot and Gypsy. Theirs is a fool's paradise by the spaceship dashboard light, built upon the false idolatry of the joke, the easy lure of the quip and the sexual seduction of the satirical sketch Only a fervent and fundamentalist approach to Deep Hurting, and those who fulfill its promise in the realm of the moving picture will make you a true Mad Scientologist.


The Key Players
In order to worship properly, one needs a scorecard, a veritable Horton's Who's Who of Mad Scientological deities. Here's the skinny on the fat cats behind the dogma.
Dr. Clayton Forrester - the Lord God and high master of the kingdom of pain known as Deep 13. As he reigns, so does he pour. As omnipotent beings go, he's the ginchiest!
Pearl - Mother of, Protector to and Replacement for her son, the Divine Dr. F. While not known for her parenting or fashion skills, she did give birth to the Supreme Being and as such, you all should really cut her some slack.
TV's Frank - otherwise known as the Messiah, the Prophet, (or was that Profit?) the one who sits at the, and on the, right hand of the Master. Then again, this sounds an awful lot like Torgo, and the least said about him the better (that is, until next issue). Television's Frank, whose face is angelic in its cherubic bliss and in whose actions and intentions one can see the stark, mirror image of his own personal Jehovah. Provided, of course that they have something to do with being incredibly sissified.
Dr. Larry Erhardt - Judas, the turncoat, the one who swam with the Hollywood shark skinned suits and found solace in the warm and heated embrace of its fertile and perfumed bosom. The one with the high voice. You know... black hair? Glasses? Anything getting through here? Anything?
Jerry and Sylvia - the Disciples, the men of mole, even though one was female (or is that femole?). Followed Our Holy Fodder to the point of costume disintegration, and then ended up working in the gaffer's closet, after one Tupperware party too many.
Brain Guy - Follow this family tree. Pearl, who begot Clayton the Almighty, who hired, fired and then rehired Frank of the Television Sect, who lied, cried and whined for our grins only to ascend to Torgo Heaven (next issue, dammit!) who was soon recast as Pearl, who took over after the cancellation and casting out of Clay, only to attract Professor Bobo, of the clan of the Damn Dirty Apes, eventually to run into the Brain Guy, and all powerful and omnipresent medulla oblongata with the voice of Terry-Thomas and the body of a New York comic.
Professor Bobo - just like Jesus' little dog Toto. Only with more ticks.


The Gospel
Every religion worth its weight in hosts has a Sacred writ, a Bible of sorts, a holy Roman Torah of creed and credulous. In Mad Scientology there is indeed a comical Koran known as the Most Sacred Text of the 3rd Kind. Thrice divided, it contains the following provinces...
K(TMA)reation - the humble beginnings. A man, a plan, a haywire spaceship. Within theses hallowed passages are the story of the origin of, the perfecting of and the syndication of the Word as spoken by Dr. Forrester. Herein you will find the sycophantism and betrayal of Erhardt, the abuse of Beeper and the Tom Servo of Babel.
The Old Test-Torment - otherwise known as the book of Joel. The clear focus of these parables, scrolls and scriptures is the trials and tortures placed upon the Anti-Clay, Joel Robinson, as he attempted to overthrow the glory known as Gizmonics and the Kingdom of 13. Eventually he was cast out, and landed on Peter Jackson's back porch swing.
The New Test-Torment - called the Many Machinations of Mike. Within the many tall tales, sagas and legends contained herein are the capture and orbiting of Mike, Son of Nel, several discussions of all things cheese and cheese-related, 2001: the continuous rip-off and the re-voicing of Crow, with the final chapters yet to be written. Or left blank on purpose. Or lost at Kinko's.


The 13 Commandments
Rules? Sure, every cabal has got to have them. And Mad Scientology is no exception. These consecrated axioms are the actual ala mode to the pietistic pie known as MS. They are to be memorized, sanctified and vulcanized by the true believers in the Mads. Now, shudder with fear you puny mortals, as presented unto you, written by the Lord Clay himself on a soiled cocktail napkin, are these 13 Commandments.

  1. Thou shall not take the Lord, thy God's name in vain. After all, it's copyrighted.
  2. Thou shall not covet, unless one knows how to covet, and then thou shall feel free to do so as long as one's coveting does not interfere with the coveting of another. And so on.
  3. Thou shall not murder, unless ordered to do so by a glazed donut, or it's Ricky Martin.
  4. Thou shall not steal, unless it is candy from a baby since kids basically make me queasy.
  5. Thou shall not bear false witness against thy brother unless there is a big fat juicy paycheck at the end of it.
  6. Thou shall take all you want, but please, eat what thou takes.
  7. Thou should really do something about that dandruff.
  8. Thou shall watch every episode of Mama's Family, as Vickie Lawrence is hot!
  9. Thou shall make many graven images of thy Lord God, as any publicity is good publicity.
  10. Thou shall never use the word "umbrage" without full legal knowledge of the ramifications.
  11. Thou shall flush when done. And if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat; wipe the seat.
  12. Thou shall remember to say something to someone every once in a while, if it's not too difficult, okay Einstein?
  13. Thou shall prepare leeks only after carefully rinsing the grit from in between their leaves.


The Prophecy
We leave the big issues for last. After all, a religious belief is supposed to give one a purpose in life, or at least a crutch to call upon when booze no longer heals and cyber sex has lost all its glamour. So why believe in Mad Scientology? Why give up one's life, will and sense of independent thought to a guy in glasses, a green lab coat and a wry, white splotched mustache? Or a white pompadoured semi-hippo with Joe Besser's career written all over his hilarious mug? Simple. It's because of the afterlife benefits. That, and the really boss set of Deputy Dawg tumblers one receives when they submit their will.
Also, one will not want to be on the losing end of the apocalyptic walking stick when the often-forewarned Crapture occurs. In the final days, just a little after the "Road Warrior", and in between the Robot Holocaust and that movie with the Paper Chase guy, there will be a time when chaos rules the world. Either that, or the Republicans. And in that time of dying, the seas will boil, blood will bake and Martha Stewart will admit that it was all an elaborate joke and that she got everything at the Dollar Store. Sons will turn on fathers and, in the view of many, it will be about damn time. Mothers will turn on daughters, only to resolve their differences over a cup of decaffeinated French roast Amaretto flavored herb tea and a ultra thin panty shield to suddenly becoming the best of friends. Joggers will run and runners will jog. Faith Popcorn will admit that her real name is Incontentia Buttocks and the gates of Purgatory will open wide and swallow high school up once and for all.
And at this time, when hearts and hips are a quiver, when all is askew, asunder and a-shiver, rising from the seething Klack brand cheese whiz like Ester Williams from beneath Fernando Lamas, will come the chosen one, Dr. Clayton Forrester, a vision in green and guile. And he will call up and to his waistband attach TV's Frank, full bodied and loined, ready to spread their doctrine of subterranean sacrifice to the hollow and hopeless masses. And they shall send forth a plaque of bad films, the likes of which no temporal being has ever seen. Films like "Scorchy" starring Connie Stevens, "The Last of the Secret Agents", featuring the wild and wooly Allen and Rossi. Or that "Blair Project" about witch the less said (and shown, apparently) the better.
And there will be no relief. No theater of the mind or heart in which to sit and talk back. The clouds will be the screen and the stars the projector. There will be no DDS, no THX, and no SDD. There will only be broken and cracked mono soundtracks glued directly onto the sprockets of the shoddy, Super 8 print. No Joel or Mike will save you. No Crow to calm or cleanse you. No Servo to call, no Gypsy to invoke. For all eternity, upon the crimson and bruise violet sky, shall there play a non-stop procession of underdone acting, overexposed celluloid and around about storytelling. For then will be the time. Then and forever. It will be a planet of Forrester (no, not Endor. That's a forest planet. Nothing evil there, except the Ewoks). He shall rule from thirteen stories below the Earth's crust, fourteen if you count the mezzanine, making mincemeat out of Frank and his multitude of de-MSTified minions. And all in the name of piousness and reverence. After all, there's no religion like an evil religion. Just ask the Protestants.



October MSTie of the Month: tomservo61@hotmail.com


Name: Michael Grote
DOB: 6/21/77
E-mail: tomservo61@hotmail.com
Favorite TV Show (other than MST3K): Law & Order
Current Number of MST3K Episodes: 16 Rhinos, 21 Comedy Centrals, & 37 Sci-Fi's
Three Episodes I really want but don't have: 706, 621, 201
First Exposure to MST3K: 321 Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
First Full Episode: 418 Attack of the the Eye Creatures
Favorite Video Game: NHL '98
Favorite Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
Favorite CD: Empire Strikes Back Special Edition CD
Favorite Song (as of right now): "The Saga Begins" by Wierd Al
Favorite MST Episode: 311 It Conquered the World
Line That Made Me Lose it (From Are You Ready for Marriage):
Narrator Guy: Do you have the same religion?
Crow: I worship Cthulhu!
Will tape trade?: Yup, but no Rhinos (except for 309 Amazing Colossal Man)



November MST3K Schedule on SFC


North America
{All times are Eastern and tentative}
11/06/99 - 9:00 am - [0906] Space Children
11/13/99 - 9:00 am - [0907] Hobgoblins
11/20/99 - 9:00 am - [0913] Quest of the Delta Knights
11/27/99 - 9:00 am - [1001] Soultaker



Classifieds 3000


hquiej@netwood.net writes: "Voting for the 1999 Golden Gypsies has begun! Vote for your favorites: Season 10 Episode, Season 10 Host Segment, News Headline from mid-1998 to mid-1999, and MST3K Website. Go to http://members.tripod.com/~MSTManos/voting.html. Voting will end October 24th, 1999. So vote now while there's still time! (Which there's plenty of as of right now.)"



Disclaimers


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
mstanon@msties.com
Jet Jaguar kret0419@blue.UnivNorthCo.edu
Zen Psycho zenpsycho@yahoo.com


"It's a letter-opener. I made it in shop class."



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