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SOL Post 45 03/15/00
SOL Post 44 02/15/00
SOL Post 43 01/15/00



S.O.L. POST


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Volume 44 http://www.msties.com/ February 2000
Formerly The MSTies Anonymous Newsletter: News for the Obscure Convergence
==========================================================================


AADGKA!


In This Issue


From the Poobah
"The Poison Pen" by gherity@tcfreenet.org
"MST3K Cure For Lung Diseases!" by goatsniper@hotmail.com
"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by s364128@pop.urgrgcc.edu
"Yada, Yada, Yada" by hamdingr@theworks.com
"Better 'Bots and Satellites" by bgibron@yahoo.com
March MST3K Schedule on SFC
February MSTie of the Month: godsmack_xxx69@hotmail.com
Classifieds 3000
Disclaimers



From the Poobah


For brevity’s sake this month (just like most other months), I’ll try and keep this short.
The executive officers at MSTies Anonymous of Colorado are currently working hard (no, not hardly working) to bring MST3K screenings to the CSU campus. If our plan for taking over campus by making students watch horrible movies goes as planned, we should be ruling the world by oh, 6:00, 6:30 at the latest. Oh! Aah! My coat. Just...
I can say that I am very proud to be involved in the adoption of a fellow elite MST3K site as its webmaster sadly calls it quits. But we’re currently working together to see that much of its content is integrated into MSTies Anonymous and that its mainframe finds a new location elsewhere in cyberspace. Of what site am I honored to speak? Read on, dear members.



"The Poison Pen" by gherity@tcfreenet.org


     Like an over-evolved Pokémon, "The Poison Pen" changes it's format, to bring to you the next phase in the MST3K revolution: the letters column.


     I am the curator of this fine establishment, I once was known as "Sailor Minneapolis" or "Sailor Mercury )O+" on XBand. Now I am "The Poison Pen". And this is my warped love line.


     The "Satellite of Love" line, if you will.


     First caller:


Hey there,


Okay, I've had this idea for only a short while. But its probably not anything new or it's something that you've already heard. Maybe just to spur an interesting discussion. Remember 913 Quest of the Delta Knights where Pearl was evaluating the experiment by actually being inside the theater until the first movie break? I found that very enjoyable for a change of pace. What if in 816 Prince of Space, the wormhole caused a complete timeline change and Bobo, Brain Guy, and Pearl ended up in the theater for part of or the whole episode? Now that I think about it, it would probably get old if done for the whole episode. Anyway, just a thought.


Drew F.
http://pages.bolt.com/me/crowntom/index.html


"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenoboski..."


     Dear Drew:


     Your idea has great potential. Perhaps this can work. If those actors involved wanted to do it. Otherwise, since this IS an alternate universe you propose, you can have different actors playing the part. Just because they have the same name, don't mean they have to look the same.


     "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenoboski..."? What is that supposed to mean???


     Next caller:


Well, being that I personally have nothing else to do with my time, I will give you my two cents for you to post. But I feel the need to introduce myself first. My name is Candace and I have many nicknames. One of them I have given myself which is Gypsy_3k.


Now, if you happen to swing by the old joint don't be disappointed if it's not everything you want it to be. For some reason it's been misbehaving so I have not been able to update the thing since August 1999. And another thing: sign the guest book. I always make it a point to sign guest books. Over 400 people served and I have a lousy 5 entries! What's the deal? Anywho... moving on.


To comment on what you said about "riffing": What a smashing idea! I've been riffing since my exposure to MST3K, which was The MST3K Hour. I riff everything! From lame ol' commercials to Xena: Warrior Princess, which deserves to be made fun of now a days. So, if you want to make a spin-off of the show, give me a jingle! I would be more than happy to put my already disturbed and fragile mind on the line for some clean and wholesome (or off- white and semi-wholesome) fun! All you would have to do is feed me, water me, give me plenty of sleep, and most important, as many MST3K episodes that one person can stand (for I haven't seen most of them) and I will be a happy girl. Oh... and about $50.


That was two cents right? Yes it was. Well, I hope my e-mail was a joy for you read. I know I had a jolly good time typing the bloody thing up. And no, I am not from England if you are thinking that right about now. I'm also a huge Blackadder and Fawlty Towers fan so it seems right for me to use several slang words from our British cousins. I'm starting to become a blabbermouth so I will say goodbye.


Audios, Adieu, Auf Wiedersehen, and Goodbye
Candace (Gypsy_3k)


     Dear Candace:


     Ah, interesting. You share the same need for the "riff" as I do. I see that I now have 2 votes for a spin-off... Any more?


     Last caller:


From Dr. Padime Forrester,


On August 8, 1999, an era ended. For ten glorious years, MSTies have faithfully devoured episode after hilarious episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Tears of joy and tears of sadness have rained down during those 10 years; shuddering and retching at the wasted and malignant celluloid of a Texas fertilizer salesman; bidding tearful farewells as a man left three robots on a satellite, telling them "Be strong and true"; apprehensively welcoming a new man to the satellite, and acceptance of him sealed by three words: "Last Clear Chance"; dark hours of worry lightened only by fragile, wistful hope; shouts of joy as it was rescued; and once more tears and pain; and finally uneasy stumbling to an unresolved, uncertain, unknown end. The history of MST3K is unlike anything seen before. That is exactly what MST3K is: a masterpiece, a high point of comedic television. And yet, it went largely unnoticed, collecting a cult following. How, you ask, can this be? The answer, my friend, is simple: MST3K is simply way before its time. What our society celebrates as truly hilarious is beyond paling in comparison, or not holding a candle to MST3K. MST3K went above and beyond the standards of 90's American Society Comedy. It tossed those standards aside, and made its own. With a carefree "Mainstream acceptance be damned" attitude, MST3K either charmed or confused viewers; there was no inbetween. You were either a fiercely loyal, never-give-up MSTie, or you weren't a MSTie. When Comedy Central cruelly cancelled it (Ratings? Sure, I believe you, Herzog), we fought back. We gave 'em hell 'til we got what we wanted. Three short seasons later, we're in the same dilemma. Only it's worse. What channels have formats MST3K would fit in? What about executives who only look at ratings and history instead of quality, in which case a twice-cancelled show won't exactly spark interest? I think that we should stop fighting this hopeless battle. It seems cowardly and depressing, but sometimes it takes more strength to back down. As the old saying goes, "If you love something, let it go." I know I'm going to get a lot of negative feedback, but, seriously, let's consider:


  1. The 'Bots and Mike are on Earth. What kind of imprisonment can be forced upon them and have them experience the same despair and hopelessness that they had on the SOL?
  2. The remaining Brains are Info Club Poobah Barb Tebben, Tim Johnson, and Jim Mallon. That means all-new cast, all-new situation, and all-new writers. Do you really want that?
  3. This is not like Joel leaving. This is nearly everybody leaving, and moving on. This is not like recruiting a new writer. This is one familiar writer out of the entire team.
  4. If it did go on a new channel, chances are it would go on a cable channel. How many MSTies would not and cannot get those channels? Also, how many MSTies are under 18, and can get it, but their parents will say "No"? How upset do you think they'll be to know their beloved MST3K is saved, but they can't see it? And don't think tape trading is the answer: if their parents won't let them get a cable channel, do you think they'll let them trade tapes with people in other states?
  5. Just because MST is cancelled doesn't mean what it stands for is gone. MSTies will forevermore say, "Bite me!" whether Crow's is in reruns or new episodes. Dr. Forrester is gone, but we still say "Poopie!" when something goes wrong. If you're like me, whenever someone says "Now push that button" or anything like that, I giggle and loudly demand "Push the Button, Frank!"


Maybe it's time we stopped fighting this battle we won't win. We can still be loyal without trying the impossible. Sometimes being "strong and true" is just carrying on the grand Mystery Science Theater 3000 tradition: sarcasm and wit will pull you through the hard times. This is a hard time. We need to wear our deep love for Mystery Science Theater 3000 like a badge or award. It, combined with our wit and sarcasm, will save us in this dark time that could compete with Manos: Hands of Fate in that arena of pain. And if you ever feel hopeless, stand up, look outside the window, and proclaim to the cruel, bitter world that could never get Mystery Science Theater 3000: "HI-KEEBA!"


     Dr. Padime: Your letter says it all.


     Summary: NO MORE LETTERS, PLEASE! I got so severely letter bombed, that I can no longer continue this article as a letters column. I just don't have the time!!! So, from here on out, it's the OLD SCHOOL "Poison Pen". Watch out world, I'm gettin' frisky!



"MST3K Cure For Lung Diseases!" by goatsniper@hotmail.com


Am I joking as I say this? Far from it, folks. The fact of the matter is I have a lung disease. Why do I believe MST3K is the cure? Because, while it was on the air, I felt very good and remarkably healthy. But since being cancelled, I seem to be getting worse. Just the effects of the disease you say? Ha! That's impossible. To think some sort of illness could suddenly get worse all on its own. Ridiculous. It's the absence of new episodes of MST3K that make me worse. Denied my antidote, I have no way of fighting it off. Conventional medicine? We all know about that. No, I must be content to merely try and stifle my illness with reruns of Mystery Science Theater. For, as they say, laughter is the best medicine.



"Jenny For Your Thoughts" by s364128@pop.urgrgcc.edu


Okay, it's Valentine's Day, yet another day invented by the card and candy companies. I'm not looking forward to whole celebration. Why? Because like year before I have no love my life. Yes, I'm single and have no one to spend Valentine's Day with. And you what? IT SUCKS!


Am I the only one who's sick of seeing couples hand in hand, with all romantic hoopla and stuff? I thought not. If you're alone like I am, do what I do: make yourself your own Valentine. Not only can you save time wondering which present to get, but money as well. Buy yourself a gift. Maybe not a Valentine gift, but that new dress or outfit you want to get. Buy yourself a card or make yourself one. Or make a list of why you're not a complete loser because you're alone this year and why you're a desirable mate.


Or just get stack you favorite MST3K episodes and start watching. Laughter is good. Watch "Is This Love," "Are You Ready For Marriage," or 423 Bride of the Monster. Make up your own candy hearts like "NEED VIAGRA," "IT IS THE SIZE THAT COUNTS," "STOP NAGGING," "I'LL DO IT," and "I'M DRUNK AND YOU'RE AROUND." It's fun and way get ride you anger and frustration without killing people. Here some more: "I'M GAY," "WANT TO GO ON SPRINGER?" "S&M NOT M&M," "SPANK ME HARD," and "YOU'RE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH." Have fun and enjoy.



"Yada, Yada, Yada" by smyada@printingonline.com


Well, folks, I sorta saw this coming. We're giving our Internet Service Provider, TheWorks, the ol' one-two, and it's out the door. In its place, a delicious DSL line will pump byte by byte of pure Internet adrenaline into our humble home.
So what does that mean to you, the viewer? Well, first of many things, my e-mail address will change. Second of all, this means my web site will also change. But third of all, and perhaps the large issue at hand:
I don't think I'll be continuing AADGKA Village. I don't want to go through the hassles of relocation when we switch providers, and I haven't updated the site in a very long time anyway.
It's kind of ironic, because just a month or so ago I jumped on the ball and started to really network the people who registered to be a permanent resident.
But I do not want the web site to die! Here's where I need your help. I need someone who can officially host the structure of the AADGKA Village. I also need people who can host the content of the village, should the person who hosts the structure not want the task of updating EVERYTHING.
I'm already negotiating things with MSTies Anonymous, which I think would be a great joint partnership, since the site already excels at so many other things. We're making plans for the webmaster there to adopt the links and possibly other pavilions.
PLEASE, if you are interested in hosting the AADGKA Village, CONTACT ME NOW at smyada@printingonline.com.
Please don't let the AADGKA Village die!



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


Vol. 2, Issue 7
Whistle Past the Graveyard While You Work: When Death Knocks, People Listen


I don't know about you, but I am getting pretty sick and tired of all the people dying in the world. Now, I am not talking about the unfortunate untold and unwashed millions swept away by flood famine and pestilence like a roll of doubles in the four horsemen's version of plague Monopoly. Nor am I cheesed at the untold thousands who find themselves at pointy end of a bullet, bayonet or stick, suffering from an incredibly NFL like case of being in the wrong rumble at the wrong press time. No, I am referring to the legion of famous people who just can't seem to keep their hearts beating, lungs breathing, and bowels malignancy free one more minute longer to avoid clogging up my evening news. Selfish celebrities always want more hype. As far as I can tell, many of them simply sat around waiting for the year 2000 to start, to get that one last glance at Dick Clark and his ageless (if soaked with sheep fetus and baby albino crab urine) smug mug counting down the last moments of the old year in praise of the new. Then, after seeing no Y2K, or Y 2 live, they placed a collect call to the Creator and asked to have their student visa revoked. Looking at the list of famous, infamous and "I thought they were already" dead people who are filling our obituaries and lifestyle pages with endless pantheons to how great, late or forgotten they really were. One would think that a new name for Hollywood should be Jonestown, West. At least Jim Jones knew how to get it all over with at one time. Where is a tainted gross ton of decaffeinated mocha double lattes when you need them?
Just look at the career of Tom Landry, the last coach to make the Dallas Cowboys seem like something more than just a standing guest list for Court TV's Live from Cell Block H. Or Screaming Jay Hawkins, who gave theatrical, soulful R&B a good kick in the nappy short hairs by performing songs about voodoo and demons, while entering and exiting the stage (and now the real world) in a coffin. And say what you will about his slack-jawed yokel meets mental retardation brand of haystack stick, but Jim Varney had a subtle humanity and genialness that more than made up for his utter lack of hilarity. I can just imagine he and Junior Samples, sitting up in hog heaven, spinning yarns and sipping corn liquor waiting for fellow hickster Bill Clinton to join them in their merry jug band of the inbred. All of them will be missed. Or at least forgotten less quickly than others.
And then there were some people who, frankly, had long since worn out what little or massive welcome they had earned on the planet Earth. Take Doug Henning. Please. You remember him. Sure you do. His name is synonymous with Broadway and magic and whimsy and rainbow suspenders. Getting the picture now? Is his homosexual visage coming in any clearer? Buck teeth the size of Mount Pilate and a creepy voice combining the timber of Floyd the Barber with the effervescent post drip nasal ness of Fran Dresher? No? Well, don't worry. No one else cares either. As a teenager in the 70's, he did not make magic come alive for me with his several hundred Mike Douglas appearances and NBC super sunny specials. He did, however, make me want to never, ever, ever again see a long-haired hippy man child spewing metaphysical balderdash about pulling a guinea hen out of a fedora while dressed in various and sundry rainbow and rhinestone paraphernalia. Hey, Doug, I got a trick for you; make someone actually give a damn that you entered the disappearing box, never to return again.
And don't get me started on Charles Schulz. I have nothing against the man, personally. I take that back. He created Peppermint Patty, or as she is called today, the Indigo Girl. I want to be the cancer in his colon. Now, I was a big fan of Peanuts, for about 3 weeks in 1968. I read the comic. I bought the paperback compilations. I even saved my allowance up for a few months to buy the motorized Snoopy vs. the Red Baron model airplane kits, with real Sopwith Camel action. Then, sometime around the umpteenth variation on Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown (It's Arbor Day, Woodstock; Yo, Its Kwanzaa, Chucky B; It's Your Divorce Settlement and Prostate Test, Mr. Brown), I began to lose interest. That, and the fact that the funny pages, which were supposed to contain things that, by the very fact of their inclusiveness, were funny, were getting weird and banal, and the last time Peanuts was remotely humorous was when Snoopy took a four panel whiz on Pigpen and created mud pies. I am no more suspect of the fact that Mr. Schulz died almost to the day that his last strip appeared, as I am that there were some people who openly wept when they heard he was retiring. Maybe they can open up some sort of Peanuts pavilion over in Branson. They seem to get all worked up about the washed up, no matter what state of physical existence they are in.
Which leads me to my point. Since 2000 is starting to shape up as the year when no one feared the reaper, we will have to find a way to protect ourselves in case someone we actually do want around for a while decides to throw off the shackles of mortality and start hanging out with professional athletes. And looking over the catalog of MST3K, "Better 'Bots and Satellites" has come up with two possible ways that we can guarantee that if, say Harlan Ellison, Don Van Vliet or Tim Burton meet with an untimely end, we can still have them around to entertain us, just like they owe us to do. After all, until I get another volume of Edgeworks, another fully restored CD of Doc at the Radar Station, or that Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian sequel that everyone is abuzz about, they best not be going nowhere.
#1 - Bring Out and Back Your Dead - 604 Zombie Nightmare
Seems like, for a time there, the world was really anti-voodoo. I mean, there were countless news stories, magazine features and educational films on these blood cult whirling dervishes who proclaimed their love of the Holy Spirit with a lot of weirdly named herbal concoctions and the slicing open of a goat's belly. The common folk, more than willing to accept snake handlers, evangelical tongue speakers and Baptists into their community seemed to turn a blind and prejudiced eye on the witch doctor, or the Santa Ria sorceress. Seems it was perfectly normal to proudly proclaim a kind of hyper real passion and patriotism for Jesus dying on the cross for one's sins, but let a drop of chicken blood or donkey entrails hit the alter and suddenly its Salem in 1891, or Alabama in 1991 all over again.
Enter Hollywood, who for quite a long time had dabbled in the dark arts of alternative religion like the members of Black Sabbath, or a-ha. After rejecting TM and EST, crystals and granola based Torah demonology (and right before they signed their now longstanding pack with Satan over at CAA) the felt that voodoo may be the metaphysical wave of the future. And so they made movie after movie in an attempt to woo the public away from drinking the blood and eating the body of their savior and, instead, nibbling the spine of a yak or sipping a tea made of St. John's warts. And it almost worked. "The Serpent and the Rainbow", "The First Power" and "The First Wives Club" all made heretical pseudo-religious conviction seem almost palatable.
But then along came "Zombie Nightmare" and screwed it all up to Haiti and back. Several things went wrong with the production. The lead actor/writer/ director was a rock star who, in his previous and current incarnation, was more taunt torso than talent. The characters we were supposed to care about were more interested in vehicular homicide, rape and ice cream than telling a cohesive and convincing tale. And Adam West came along for the drunken hayride, filling his belly with catered buffet (and his wallet with scale pay) but leaving his line readings with little emotion and his gestures with worse than Rankin-Bass animation.
Still, valuable lessons can be culled from this otherwise undead dingo dropping. First and foremost, if you plan on having any member of your close knit and/or nuclear family mowed down by a drunken teenage kid with unfortunate and wild 80's hair and really gnarly Firebird, have a voodoo priestess around who owes you a big favor. If you are a cop on the prowl for a reanimated living dead rock star revenge killer, it is always a good idea to get plenty drunk before you start any conversation with anyone (and use the word "hey" a lot!). And if you are going to the gym to do a little heavy petting with your dream date, take off the saggy adult diaper that leaks before you enter the hydro spa.
But if you find you are in desperate need of bringing back the dearly departed, or just the recently indebted to you, just follow our wicked witch of the chest and you can't go wrong. Surround yourself with more candles than Roseanne requires in an attempt at seduction and banshee wail in a fashion that would make Yma Sumac revert to Amy Camus. You will probably be able to raise the dead, and lower your property values in one fell swoop. But be warned; returning from the dead is not everything its cracked up to be. Just ask Joel Gray. You end up looking all pustuled and runny, like a festering sore, or Edward James Olmos. And you have a very difficult time explaining what happened to you without a lurching set of pectorals, sweet, sweet biceps and a baseball bat.
#2 - RIP Phone Home - 603 Dead Talk Back
I remember when people thought touch-tone phones and the death of the party line were bigger giant leaps for handset kind than the lunar mall walking of Neil Armstrong. Then along came the answering machine, the fax and the portable phone and people thought the second coming of AT&T and Ma Bell was just around the corner phone booth. An ethereal vision of internal cranial bone phones, ringing in our inner ears and tied directly to our vocal chords did not seem so far off. So what did we get for all our 20th century by way of letting our fingers do the walking? Cellular phones; interrupting and corrupting our daily semi-lives as they play La Cucaracha or Rock and Roll Part 2, announcing yet another call you did not need to take or need to make. Who cares if its electronic braying drowned out Beethoven's Fifth, Arthur's Death, or 3rd year Poli-Sci? You know that on the other end you will be greeted with some inane chattering that would or could never have been necessary. If it was not for the invention of the idiot's new must always answer Pavlovian port-a-fone, life might actually be more like the past; quiet; peaceful; non life force draining.
But leave it to "The Dead Talk Back" to take the whole cellular thing to its own, viscous and vicious cycling and speed dialing conclusion. The unique, Graham Bell-ian and Edison-ian notion presented by the kinky-haired and minded professor or doctor or proctor who kinda, sorts looks like the late great pappy of Dweezil and Ahmet Zappa in the film is the creation of a device that will let you dial 1-800-Collect to the satin lined chaise lounge of your late Aunt Alisha (Bub, say "Hello" to your Aunt Alisha!). Once contacted, they can tell you the secrets of the afterworld, the location of the buried jar of pennies, or if Jesus is really offended by what they say about him in South Park.
On a brief side note, can anyone explain to me the entertainment value to be found in the ex-Mother Frank's spawning oh so appropriately named Ahmet? Besides looking (and acting) like a skinless baloney with way too much body hair stubble being blasted by 50,000 volts of nuclear energy, his entire persona reeks of the odor and foul stench you would find on a dying homeless person. This weird vinegar, bleach, rotting teeth, BO, butt cheese and fish funk all wrapped up in a twisting and cavorting smarmy kin longing for the bad part of the 70's nostalgia.
Sorry. Onward. Our medical medium wants to use his so-called working invention to solve a murder mystery, or order a pizza from the real Chef Boyardee. He needs to find out who killed a young girl with a cross bow, something that baffles your average police officer who has very little experience with the middle ages (aside from the tendency towards torture and sodomy). Doing his version of a hereafter Ernestine, he makes one too many ring-a-dingies and speaks far too many gracious hellos across the River Styx, and before you can say 10-10-220 massive long distance rates are not the only thing being charged. Murderers and charlatans are caught, and the whole notion of making person-to-person hook-ups with a corpse is exposed for the badly- conceived plot device it was always crapped out to be. Still, a semi-movie like this is helpful in guiding us in the wanton pursuit of contacting the spirit world. Some of the valuable lessons to be learned include never letting your crossbow case stay unlocked, no matter how trusting you are of the weird, shifty eyed man who rents the room above yours. A massive bush of tresses is also necessary, not so much as a fashion statement, but for easy aural blockage of the oral slings and arrows one will face when they find out that the otherworldly Nokia you've sold them will not and can not contact Burl Ives. Finally, if you are an avant-garde musical genius with a staunch political and worldview, do us all a favor and abort, abort, abort!
Maybe the whole notion of returning to us those whom we care for the most is selfish and frivolous. Maybe we should let go. We should let what dreams may come (unless Robin Williams is attached to star). Maybe we should just live with and be happy to have the memories and emotions they gave us; The chill of John Lennon's voice as he primal screams for his mother never ever to leave him again; The reality twisting humor delusions of Andy Kaufman, as he challenged you and your perception of comedy to laugh out loud at his next to nothing bits of wit; and that one really weird female character that Master Varney masterfully created, head encased in a flower turban, neck covered in a scarf and whiplash brace, bleating and biddying like a wounded beaver as she scolded the audience in her faux English accent. Man, that still cracks me up.


I agree that it would be nice to bring back the dead, to make them understand how hurt we were when we lost them, and how empty our lives now feel without them. Maybe mumbo-jumbo voodoo hijinx or toll-free spirit world Sprint are not the appropriate mediums to let them know just how much we really cared. How they affected our life and us. Still, if building up my abs and stalking comely vixens at the local Dairy Queen would give me another chance to hold my wife in my arms, or if combining my fax machine with a waffle iron and a cracked fish tank would let me speak to the great minds of our life and times, I may be up for it. As long as it's not like that story about the monkey's paw, where I wish for them to come back and they have just been in this really nasty car wreck and they are all icky and gross and disgusting. Blech! Then again, I might end up with Frank Zappa on the line. And after he hears what I have to say, he would never want to come back, anyway.



March MST3K Schedule on SFC


North America
{All times are Eastern and tentative}
03/04/00 - 09:00 am - [1010] It Lives By Night
03/11/00 - 09:00 am - [1011] Horrors of Spider Island
03/18/00 - 09:00 am - [1012] Squirm
03/25/00 - 09:00 am - [1013] Diabolik



February MSTie of the Month: godsmack_xxx69@hotmail.com


Real Name: Candace DeWolfe
Age: 17
Sex: Female
Location: Edmond, OK
Favorite Things: MST3K, Kevin Spacey, and loud music.
Haunts: the Internet, my home, and on good days at the "Caption This!" board on the official site
Favorite Food: Chinese
Fav MST3K episode: 1013 Diabolik. It was done very well for it being the final episode.
Fav Bit w/ Crow and Servo: School Lunch Time in 312 Gamera vs. Guiron.
Fav Bit w/ Joel & the 'Bots: Mixing a Killer Shrew in 407 Killer Shrews.
Fav Bit w/ Mike & the 'Bots: The Tom Star Show in 609 Skydivers.



Classifieds 3000


SodiGirl81@aol.com writes: "Join the Mike Nelson Fan Cult! For MSTies everywhere who DON'T hate Mike! E-mail SodiGirl81@aol.com or go to Yahoo! Clubs and type in Mike Nelson!"


godsmack_xxx69@hotmail.com writes: "Hey, all! Please come by and check out my site. It's quite nice. I updated it not too long ago. There isn't much to it, but it's a nice little site. There's news, a little history class dealing with the show and the characters, a list of all the episodes, some cool links, and every now and then a rant from me (Gypsy_3k) or one of the other 'Bots. I would be so happy as well if you signed the guest book. So get a move on! Go to my site: http://members.tripod.com/Gypsy_3k/index.html ."



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 2000 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.


© 2000 MSTies Anonymous
The Poobah
mstanon@msties.com
Jet Jaguar kret0419@blue.UnivNorthCo.edu
Zen Psycho zenpsycho@yahoo.com


"Have you ever used a paper clip?"



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