Bill Brains Inc

FanFicFest Challenge Results

2009-06-06T08:11:33Z

A couple of weeks ago in my main journal, I posted my annual challenge to you (yes, you) to make me write you a story based on a list of possible fandoms and situations. Well, four people decided they wanted me to dance to their tune (note: no actual dancing was involved), and as a result, I have nine shiny new stories to share with you all. So strap in, because here they are.

Oh, and if you want to request another one, feel free. I'm a sucker for challenges.

First, we have a little story for scarfman, who took time from his own triangle-ized chronicles of Arthur, King of Time and Space to request it. So what could I do but write it, I ask you?

Title: Operational Status
Author: Bill L.
Size: Drabble
Summary: Before you begin, you run through the checklist
Challenge: Bathtime M*A*S*H
Disclaimer: M*A*S*H owned by 20th Century Fox. You Tell 'Em, Ferret Face!

OPERATIONAL STATUS
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Scalpel?" Pierce inquired.

"Check," McIntyre confirmed.

"Scissors?"

"Check."

"Retractors?"

"Check."

"Robes?"

"Check."

"Binoculars?"

"Check."

"Lounge Chairs?"

"Check."

"Martinis?"

"Check and double check - full pitcher with a fresh jar of olives."

"Excellent! Lookout, I assume you've been briefed on your duties?"

"You betcha," Radar nodded. "First sight of Major Houlihan, I give you two sirs the high sign."

"Very good, Swifty. Time, Watson?"

McIntyre ostentatiously brought his watch to his face. "Quarter to six - 1545, Army Standard Time, and the nurses' shower opens in 15 minutes. Shall we begin our prep?" he asked, brandishing the scissors.

"Gowns and gloves!" Hawkeye smirked.

Then along came rednerd, who piled on by asking for five (Five! Five, I tells ya!) separate stores! Well I wrote all five and showed him, by golly! And all it required was my sanity (which, honestly, was questionable at best)

Title: Have a Nice Trip
Author: Bill L.
Size: Double Drabble
Summary: Angel hits the deck. Constantly!
Challenge: Falling-Down-A-Lot Angel
Disclaimer: "Angel" owned by Mutant Enemy productions. Grrr Arrgh!

HAVE A NICE TRIP
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Guys, tell me you're making progress here," Angel pleaded, slowly dragging himself to his feet for the 37th time.

"Some," Wesley said, then added ruefully, "But not much."

"How much?"

"None really," Fred admitted.

"Nothing?"

"Just what's in these seven books, and that's about it."

"Aw c'mon, there's got to be..." The rest of Angel's sentence was cut off as he tripped over his own feet yet again and the floor smacked him.

"If it helps," Lorne offered from the other side of the room, I could always do a couple of verses of 'Stumbling In'."

"Ow!" Angel said in response to both the tumble and Lorne's comment. He shot a hard look at Gunn, who was trying hard not to laugh. "Y'know, it may look funny, but you try being the one who can't walk more than five steps without hitting the floor - which, I might add, is extremely hard!"

"Sorry, big guy," Gunn said, trying to look more serious. "Anything I can do to help? Besides not laughing?"

"Only if you can tell us," Wesley said, "the basics of the spell."

"I never knew impedimenta was a real spell," Fred sighed. "I just wonder how Rowling heard of it?"

Title: The Book of Names
Author: Bill L.
Size: Longer Form
Summary: Someone has left a book for Echo
Challenge: Book-Reading Dollhouse
Disclaimer: "Dollhouse" owned by Mutant Enemy productions. Did I fall asleep?

THE BOOK OF NAMESBy Bill Livingston</i>
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Someone had left a book on the table where Echo usually sat. That was odd - there are very few books here, and most of them are small. This one is thicker, colored pink, with a picture of a fat smiling baby and the words POPULAR BABY NAMES FOR GIRLS written on the front.

Echo smiles. Babies are nice.

Echo opens the book and, starting at the back, skims through it. Most of the names are very pretty, but they mean nothing to her.

Some names, though, are circled. Reading them makes Echo feel - strange. Vague, half-formed memories come to her unbidden.

"Yvonne" (The cold steel of a gun in her hand, watching as an oddly-dressed man exits a car)

"Taffy" (A giant metal door swings open, revealing statues and pictures)

"Rebecca" (A man holding her in his arms, telling her she was home)

"Paige" (Gently coaxing a woman to give birth)

"Margaret" (A room full of people, all come to see her - because she's dead?)

"Lacey" (Sitting in a Jacuzzi between a man and his wife as each ran a hand up her thigh)

"Jordan" (Singing and dancing before a packed audience)

"Gia" (Dressed in tight, uncomfortable leather, she softly drew a whip across a man's chest)

"Esther" (In a room filled with smoke, someone swings something at her head)

"Caroline"

Echo stares at the name, not only circled but highlighted. It means nothing to her, calls forth no memories.

Curiously though, just the sight of the word seems to hold her captive. She is fascinated by it. She feels her mind begin to churn, spinning like something momentous was about to happen. It's close, so close, she could almost...

"Echo?"

With a start, she looked up. The phenomenon faded instantly. "Hello," she smiled.

"What do you have there, Echo?" the woman asked.

"I found a book," Echo said, handing it to her. "It has a lot of names in it."

She took the book and scanned it. Echo was puzzled as a small frown appeared - she hadn't meant to make the woman sad.

Quickly, Adelle DeWitt tucked the book under her arm. She had an uncomfortable feeling she knew who had left it - but neither how nor why. Masking her disquiet, she smiled at her Active. "Echo, why don't you come with me, and we'll see about getting you a treatment?"

"I'd like that," Echo smiled as she stood and went with the woman. Echo liked it when the woman smiled - it made her happy. "I liked those names," she said as they went upstairs. "Some of them are very pretty."

"Yes," Adelle agreed, tightening her clutch on the book. "Yes, they are."

Title: Forcing It Over Your Head
Author: Bill L.
Size: Double Drabble
Summary: Crow wants to know.
Challenge: Pregnant Crow
Note: Title taken from an old Carol Burnett quote about pregnancy.
Disclaimer: "Mystery Science Theater 3000" and all characters owned by Best Brains Inc. You never had a puppy.

FORCING IT OVER YOUR HEAD
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Hey Mike, tell me something."

"If I can."

"What's pregnancy like?"

That made Mike Nelson lower his copy of Temps Monthly. "OK, first, why do you want to know, and second, why are you asking me?"

"I want to know because it's part of the human experience, and that's what I strive for."

"No it isn't."

"It's not?"

"No," Mike said. "In fact, not two days ago, you called me a 'bag of meat' and cursed out Data from 'Star Trek' as a 'rotten traitor to bot-hood'."

"Huh. Oh! Oh, that's right!" Crow laughed. "I forgot - living organisms are a blight on the universe and deserve only contempt! Boy is my face red! Or, well, gold, I guess! Thanks for setting me straight, Mike."

"No problem. Hey wait, why were you asking me to begin with?"

"Well, you're a no-good meatbag, so I figured you'd know."

Mike sighed. "Crow, I'm a guy. I can't really get pregnant without massively massive medical intervention."

"Yeah, but you used to be an embryo or a larvae or something, right?"

"Sorry, Crow," Mike said, returning to his magazine. "I can't quite remember that far back."

"Figures," Crow muttered as he wandered off. "Stinking meatbag."

Title: Long Live the King
Author: Bill L.
Size: Triple Drabble
Summary: Hodgins has a plan. Not a good one, but a plan.
Challenge: Drunker-than-all-get-out Bones
Note: Takes place right after the Season 3 finale "The Pain in the Heart".
Disclaimer: "Bones" owned by 20th Century Fox Television in association with Far Field Productions and Josephson Entertainment. What's That Mean?

LONG LIVE THE KING
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Hodgins?"

Jack Hodgins lifted his head, exposing eyes so bloodshot they were almost solid crimson. "Dr. Bennen! Agent Brooth! Two of my very fav'rite people not onna way to the nuthatch! Howerya?!"

"OK Hodgins," Booth said, "What're you doing?"

Hodgins swept his arm at a pile of empties in the corner - several beers, Maker's Mark, an expensive bottle of champagne, a couple of vodkas, even MD 20/20. "My plan," he slurred, "Is to drink ever' ounce of alcohol at th' Jesserfonian. When that's gone, I'll manufacture more here in th' lab an' drink that it too."

"Hodgins," Brennan said. "You can't do that."

"Sure I can!" Hodgins said. "I'm undisputed King of the Lab now! My only rival is - is - gone." Like a deflating balloon, he sank to the floor.

Brennan knelt next to him. "Hodgins," she said softly, "We miss Zack too."

"Stupid... stupid..." he mumbled.

"Yeah, what Zack did was stupid," Booth started to say, "But -"

"Not him - me! ME!!!" Hodgins shouted. "Don' you unnerstan'? I shoulda noticed - but all I did was keep filling his sweet stupid head with my conspiracy theory crap! I practically primed him for Gormagon! It's my fault! All - all my fault!"

For a moment, Hodgins looked as though he was going to burst into tears, but he simply slumped over. Brennan checked his pulse to make sure he was merely insensate instead of comatose, then asked, "Now what?"

Regarding the unconscious scientist with pity, Booth pulled out his cell phone. "Now," he said, "We call Angela to come collect him."

Temperance Brennan remembered how unhappy she'd felt as she'd watched Zack led away in chains. I know how he feels, she thought sadly.

"My fault--- 'sall my fault," Hodgins mumbled miserably. "The King a' the lab's gone, an' 'sall my fault!"

Title: The Sweet (?) Smell of Successfullness
Author: Bill L.
Size: Drabble
Summary: Sometimes, baths don't help so much
Challenge: Bathtime Buffy
Note: Takes place sometime in late season 3.
Disclaimer: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" owned by Mutant Enemy productions. Saving the World. A lot.

THE SWEET (?) SMELL OF SUCCESSFULLNESS
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chasing the demon had taken them through one of the Sunnydale's ickier swamps, so Joyce had let the gang wash up there - a sign, maybe, that she was getting used to the weirdness surrounding Buffy being the Chosen One.

They were in the kitchen, munching on lemon squares or corn chips (or in Xander's case, both at once) when she came in. Suddenly, she stopped, winkled her nose and sniffed. "I better check those towels - I think they're starting to smell like wet dog."

All eyes turned to the dude at the end of the table.

"Sorry," Oz shrugged.

Whew! Let's take a breather.

OK, next is a tale requested by jhall1, who made me do an evil thing by requesting pregnant T'Pol and/or Hoshi. It was the "and" that did it.

Title: The Mommy Club
Author: Bill L.
Size: Triple Drabble
Summary: It turns out that how they got that way isn't the biggest mystery.
Challenge: Pregnant Hoshi and/or T'Pol
Note: Takes place after the final Enterprise storyline and before "These are the Voyages".
Disclaimer: "Enterprise" owned by Paramount in association with CBS Entertainment. It's been a long road getting from there to here.

THE MOMMY CLUB
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
An upset Ensign Sato shook her head as she clutched her distended stomach. "It's like we said, Captain. I went with T'Pol to investigate what we thought was an intermittent subspace signal, but when we got to the clearing it was deserted. Then there was just that bright flash of light and..."

"It struck before we could report in," the Vulcan woman added from the biobed opposite Hoshi's. "We came to only when were revived by Commander Tucker, by which time we were already in this condition," indicating her own rotund belly.

"Maybe Phlox's exam turned up something," Captain Archer said.

"Or at least let us know if they're expectin' boys or girls," Trip added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Both embryos seem to be female," said the Denobulan physician, his normal cheerful demeanor then turning concerned and puzzled. "However, both the Lieutenant and the Sub-commander now appear to be beginning the third trimester of pregnancy, despite being decidedly non-pregnant before leaving for this mission. And that isn't even the strangest part."

"Doctor," Hoshi said wryly, "What's stranger than waking up six months pregnant?"

"How about the fact both daughters are half human and half Vulcan?"

Trip swallowed - he and T'Pol had been here before. "Does, does that mean that the kids are..."

"No worries on that score, Commander, they're quite viable. The most puzzling aspect of this situation, though, is that both girls are genetically identical."

"That," T'Pol said flatly, "Is impossible."

"Impossible but true," Phlox said. "Furthermore, each child's chromosomes are half yours, half hers."

It took a second for the doctor's words to sink in. Trip and Hoshi looked at each other, flabbergasted. T'Pol's expression betrayed nothing.

"But - but that would mean..." stammered Captain Archer.

"Exactly - essentially, the two of them are having each other's babies."

And last but not least, nsingman asked for this one, thus sealing the adjective "pregnant" as the dominant theme for FFF 2009.

Title: Making the Call
Author: Bill L.
Size: Double Drabble
Summary: Uhura's news settles an issue - or does it?
Challenge: Pregnant Uhura (TOS version)
Disclaimer: "Star Trek" owned by Paramount in association with CBS Entertainment. Moving from "Nichols" to "Saldana" in just 11 steps.

MAKING THE CALL
By Bill Livingston
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I'm the father?"

"It couldn't be anyone else."

"And you're worried?" he asked.

"Of course - I'll have to leave the service, at least temporarily. And if it gets out the father's a fellow officer, both our careers would be over."

"Do you want to keep the child?" he asked softly.

She hesitated, nodded. "I tried to convince myself otherwise, but - yes."

There was a long silence from the shadows. "Then I'll take leave - or resign - along with you, help you raise him. Or her."

"What? No! Your career..."

"My career," he said firmly, "Is nothing compared to my child. Or the woman I love."

Uhura felt her heart rise. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course," he said, taking her hand in his. "In fact, I'd consider it an honor if you'd marry me."

Tears of joy welled in Uhura's eyes. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she loved him, had wanted to hear those words. She rose to embrace her beloved...

...Just as the intercom buzzed her wake-up call.

Her relief quickly turned to puzzlement - who had the father been? She felt it was important to know - maybe her subconscious was sending her its own wake-up call.

And that's that for FFF this year. Stay tuned for more Fic, both old and new, coming soon to an LJ near you.

Storm Challenge

2009-05-15T05:14:12Z

Title: No Shelter
Fandom: Law & Order: Mothership
Characters: Lennie, Ed, Anita
Rating: G
Word Count: 100 (woohoo!)

NO SHELTER
By Bill Livingston

Briscoe had been around long enough to know when a storm was imminent, and after the defense's surprise revelation of improper procedure got their search tossed, along with the mountain of evidence it yielded, he and Green knew it was coming.

They didn't have to wait long.

Standing in the squad room doorway, lightning flashing angrily in her eyes, arms crossed like Zeus in judgment, icily radiating authority like a blizzard, Anita Van Buren was a Force Five Hurricane in flats.

"Both of you," she thundered. "My office. Now!"

"Grab your umbrella," Lennie muttered. "It's about to come a cropper."

Moribund LiveJournal Rises from the Dead! Film at 11!

2009-05-15T04:59:00Z

Wow, it's been quite some time!

In case you're wondering what this is all about, I'm really billfl and this is the journal where (according to the master plan) I would be publishing all my fiction and creative stuff.

So far, not working out as well as I hoped. My productivity has been down, mainly due to lack of inspiration/motivation/energy on my part.

I'm hoping to change that. So I'm going to try and post a mix of old & new stuff here in the next few weeks.

First up - a new drabble I've written for the "Storms" challenge in lawandorder100.

NEW - "Stephen Ratliff and the Lost Fanfics of ASCEML"

2008-04-04T06:51:05Z

Hey all! OK, after a long break (say about 2 years) here's the latest brand new MiSTing from Bill Brains Inc. This is a MiSTing of two short stories from the unique mind of Stephen Ratliff - Longtime Marrissa Supporter, Moderator of ASCEML, and Defensive Co-Ordinator for the Philadelphia Eagles.

OK, I made that last part up.

Anyway, two stories. The first, "All Wet", is how Marrissa managed to get the entire Bridge Crew nekkid - and without once giving a direct order. The Second, "Hello Janeway", is the Captain of "Voyager" Celebrating her return home with a little musical number.

Why are they "Lost"? Because I'm used to getting these off of ASC (the all purpose ST fanfic newsgroup) rather tham ASCEML (the adult-oriented moderated ST fanfic mailing list/newsgroup), and I had to go hunt for them. Also, they were on this Oceanic flight and wound up in some bunker inputting some code over and over.

OK, fine, I made that part up too.

Much Thanks to Stephen for permission to Riff.

In any case, put your feet up, pop a can of Diet Rite and enjoy!

[SATELLITE OF LOVE - Mike is seated at the computer on the bridge.
Crow & Tom Servo look on skeptically (I know, it's hard to prove
robots can look skeptical, but work with me here)]

Mike: Okay, I think I've finally got them all synched up.
Crow: I just don't see what the big deal is, Mike.
Mike: I'm carving out a slice of on-line real estate for myself, Crow.
Tom: The last time you tried something like this, the whole dot.com bubble
burst like last year's muskmelon.
Mike: Purest coincidence. [notices us] Oh hey all. Mike Nelson here on the
Satellite of Love, along with Crow & Tom Servo, who are here to watch
me begin the process of leaving my mark on the series of tubes we like
to call the internet.
Crow: Okay, I can see the little pieces, but I still don't grok the big
picture, Mike. Explain it to me again so one of us can have a sanity
check.
Mike: It's simple. I've signed up for journals and blogs on pretty much every
host out there, and I plan to use my presence to become a leading shaper
of thought and opinion.
Tom: Yeah, but as "MikeyPundit"?
Mike: I've seen worse!
Crow: Wait, so you've got all these sites, but how're ya gonna keep 'em all
up to date?
Mike: I downloaded this doohicky that lets me post to multiple set-ups. That
way, I can update "MikeyPundit" on LivelyJournal, NuttyJournal,
BestestJournal, PushWord, Blog-a-Splotch, and the others all at once.
Tom: [suspiciously] Hey, how'd you manage to pay for all this, anywho?
Mike: I found one credit card of mine you hadn't maxed out.
Tom: I missed one?! Aw, man!
Mike: Never mind that now, though. [suspends hands over the keyboard like a
concert pianist] "MikeyPundit" is about to go live, and the world will
never be the same!
Crow: Are we ready for the new world order?
Tom: As ready as we'll ever be, I guess. Go ahead, Nelson, dazzle us with
your wit and insight.
Crow: Yeah, c'mon, seize control of the ether!
Bots: That's it Mike! You can do it! Let's see you go! Etc.

[Mike simply sits there with his hands in the air, his smile slowly glazing
over into a "deer in the headlight" look. Finally, after tortuous seconds,
he taps out his first momentous message.]

Crow: What's it say? What's it say?
Tom: [reading over Mike's shoulder] It says - "Marshmallows are nummy."
[Pause]
Tom: Wow, I bet those bumpkins at "Powerline" and "DailyKos" are quivering in
their boots right now.
Crow: Yep, just countin' the days till you take over.
Mike: [Facepalms] Guys...
Crow: And you couldn't have picked a subject more fraught with partisan
acrimony!
Tom: It won't be long before you have the whole nation polarized.
Mike: C'mon, it's just first-time jitters!
[Light flash]
Crow: You could've at least spelled it "Marsh-MALLOW" instead of "MELLOW".
Tom: Well save it for later. It's Fire Dog Pearl and the Barking Moonbats.

[CASTLE FORRESTER - The entire floor of the castle is covered in - well, junk,
pretty much. Pearl is standing in the middle of it all with a clipboard as
Brain Guy and Bobo lug stuff back and forth.]

Bobo: What about this? [Shows Pearl a bottle of something]
Pearl: Oh, that. That's the DNA retrovirus thingy I was working on. Just
stick it in the pile to go to the attic.
Bobo: The one with the nuclear tricycle?
Pearl: No no no, that's the one for those charity dinks to come get! The
attic pile has the stack of old Wings 45s. If you send the retrovirus
to the charity dinks, it'll turn 'em all into cocker spaniels, and
cocker spaniels can't write me a tax receipt.
Bob: So sorry, Lawgiver, just asking.
Pearl: Well, I'm just telling, so go! [Bobo wanders off] Some simians. [To
SOL] Wie gehts, space clods. As you can tell from the gawdawful mess,
we're doing a little long-overdue castle-cleaning, and believe you me, I
got years of abandoned experiments, leftover apparatii, and just plain
junk down here that needs clearing out. Some of this crap was even
Clay's, and I ain't kidding when I say crap - I mean, look at this!
[holds up a box labeled "JOHNNY LONG-TORSO"] The diseased yutz was
hoarding doll parts! Some days I'm glad I offed the little twerp.

[SOL]
Mike: So, uh, you gonna have a garage sale?
Tom: Yeah, cuz Mike need marshmallows.
Mike: Hey!

[CF]
Pearl: Okay, let's pretend I understand that but still don't care. The reason
I'm calling is while scrubbing out the nuclear waste tanks, Monkeyman
ran across these. [holds up a couple of glowing 3.5 inch disks]

[SoL]
Mike: Wow! Are they blueprints for a cheap, clean power source?
Crow: The operating system for SkyNet?
Tom: Actual good reviews for "Daddy Day Camp"?

[CF]
Pearl: Hah! *You* wish, *I* wish, and what the hell *you* been smoking? No,
what I hold here in my hands are a couple of unreleased Stephen Ratliff
stories!

[SOL]
All: THE LOST RATLIFF FILES?!?
Mike: Sufferin' Succotash!
Crow: Sockamagee!
Tom: Suh-weet Niblets!
[Mike & Crow stare at Tom]
Tom: What? So I like to watch an occasional "Hannah Montana".
Mike: Yeah, hold that thought. Look, Pearl, you *do* know that...

[CF]
Pearl: [waves hand dismissively] Yeahyeahyeah, you ain't ascared of no
Ratliff no more - whoop-ti-do and all that crap. But I don't want these
things around here - I'm trying to class up the joint! And I doubt I'll
get bupkis from the charity dinks for them. So I'm sending them up just
because I want to irritate you. Besides, one of them involves a singing
starship captain, so who knows - I may get lucky and drive you three
nuts anywho.

[Brain Guy trudges in, dragging a huge garbage sack full of something]

Observer: *oof* Pearl, what do you want done with these?
Pearl: [wrinkles nose] Ugh! Geez Louise, Pasteface, what the hell's that
unholy stench?
Observer: It's this huge sack full of, if I understand your primitive Earth
taxonomies correctly, decomposing members of the species Musa Acuminata.
Pearl: Well then we - huh?
Observer: They're rotten bananas.
Pearl: Whuff! Yuck, where were they?
Observer: Tucked under a stairwell in the lower sub-basement. I imagine the
smell is quite awful, although since my body is merely a wretched
simulacrum and not truly a physical form, I personally can't smell them.
Pearl: [Holding nose] Yay vor you. Look, zend theze imbeziles thad Ratlivv
stuff, I'm gonna go havv a tock wivv Bobo! [stalks off]
Observer: Very well, I'll simply leave them here till you get back. [To
screen] Hello there, gentlebeings. Well, brace yourselves, here they
come. [Does that doodlydoodlydoodly thing] Have fun. [sniffs the inside
of the bag again.] Hmm. Interesting.

[SOL]
Tom: [reading over Mike's shoulder] Entry two: "My foot aches a little bit."

[Bells, whistles, alarrums, etc.]

All: OH NO!!! WE GOT DOUBLE SECRET RATLIFF SIGN!!!!!

[6] {5} (4) +3+ |2| O

[All enter]

Crow: I don't think you thought your cunning plan all the way through, Mike.
Mike: It's just a slump.

>From stephenbratliff@earthlink.net Sun Dec 31 21:19:16 2006
>Xref: sn-us alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:89849

Tom: How do you moderate erotica?
Crow: All the really dirty words are in Pig-Latin.

>Path: sn-us!sn-feed-sjc-01!sn-xt-sjc-10!sn-xt-sjc-01!sn-xt-sjc-13!
>supernews.com!newshub.sdsu.edu!

Mike: Meet the New Shub! Same as the Old Shub!

> postnews.google.com!news3.google.com!
>border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!local01.nntp.dca.giganews.com!
>nntp.io.com!

Tom: Hey, the Guardians of the universe have a news server.
Crow: That'd be "Oa", Servo, not "Io".
Tom: Oh, too bad. I was looking forward to alt.omnipotent.little.baldies and
soc.silly-weaknesses.yellow.

> news.io.com.POSTED!not-for-mail
>NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 31 Dec 2006 23:55:01 -0600
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
>Approved: ascem@earthlink.net
>Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut

Crow: Looks like the TrekSmut got all organized.
Mike: Yep. In fact, TrekSmutters Local 501 went out on strike in support of
the WGA.

>Sender: ascem@earthlink.net
>Message-ID: <6.1.2.0.2.20061231221548.02e46988@mail.trekiverse.org>
>From: Stephen aka Old Man ASC

Tom: [geezer] Quit writing so loud, ya durn kids! And stay off my lawn!

> <stephenbratliff@earthlink.net>
>MIME-Version: 1.0
>Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com
>Date: Sun, 31 Dec 2006 22: 19:16 -0500
>Subject: NEW TNG All Wet [PG-13] (Marrissa Stories)

Crow: "All Wet" and "Marrissa Stories" - never has there been a more apt
conjunction of phraseology.

>Content-Type: text/plain;

Mike: I like text best when it's plain.
Tom: Speak for yourself Nelson, I like my text hot & spicy, with chili powder.
Crow: I hanker for text with the hearty tang of Worcestershire Sauce.

> charset=US-ASCII
>Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
>Lines: 197
>NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218

Mike: And your Posting Hostess, Mrs. 209.198.142.218, also known as "Jocelyn".

>X-Trace: sv3-R71SnVgZjcGNooMj7vELHclbOEztw6K3jIxMo1M436q/
>bjbgddoR1VWj+miHmh1qVCW6LzUzrWb3Eqn!K2d4XAxdsGL9pCjFbLmaJg9s51xbH6PClLRza6y/
>HR597eImn187hvts6iqFWTV15ag9w0mTzOpu!iw86H23nroXkokHKFn56

Crow: Aw man!
Tom: What?
Crow: I traced that, and all I got was this weird-looking blob.
Mike: What were you hoping for?
Crow: I thought it'd be a rendition of "Guernica". Or at least a bunny.

>X-Complaints-To: abuse@io.com
>X-DMCA-Complaints-To: abuse@io.com
>X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info:

Crow: And the RIAA even has its slimy fingers in the Marrissa saga.

> Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers
>X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint
>properly

Mike: We'll be forced to process it improperly, by dancing a polka around it,
covering it in sauerkraut and mailing it to a K-Mart in New Zealand.

>X-Postfilter: 1.3.32
>
>Okay ... I just barely finished this one on time.

Tom: [Ratliff] I almost allowed some of you out there to retain your sanity
and dignity. Boy, that was a close call, huh?

> I think it qualifies for
>the Wetfest,

Crow: The huh? The what?
Tom: It's a sopping-wet festival of savings at MENARD'S!

> which would actually make it my first "fest" qualifying story.
>

Mike: Or at the very least, his wettest story ever.

>Title: All Wet or Why Marrissa Should Never Repair Anything.

Tom: Because she'll do it wrong and then belittle and/or injure you if you try
to correct her?
Mike: Tom! Spoilers!
Tom: Oops, sorry.

>Author: Stephen Ratliff
>Series: TNG, Marrissa Stories Short

Crow: Unsurprisingly, she has a Napoleon complex.

>Rating: PG-13, for wet activities on the Bridge

Tom: The "Counselor Troi Dunking Booth" was now the ship's most popular
attraction.

>Codes: R/T, Wetfest

Mike: Hey, I know an R.T. Wetfest. Meanest lawyer in Eau Claire.

>Summary: It was just one Alpha Shift,

Crow: [Don LaFontaine] But it would take one woman, trapped in a world she
never made, to bring justice back to that shift!

> but Marrissa's shift in Engineering
>was going to be a disaster, for her, La Forge, Counselor Troi, and Will Riker.
>

Tom: And oddly enough, Anderson Cooper.

>:

Crow: Man, that's one seriously depressed emoticon.

>
>"Ensign Marrissa Amber Picard, reporting as ordered, sir," Marrissa said
>upon entering Engineering.

Mike: The huge room immediately cleared of personnel, and even the anti-matter
seemed to glow faintly dimmer.

> The young girl was in her usual command reds,

Crow: [Marrissa] Dangit, the blood of my enemies just won't come out!

>her hair up in a pony tail, everything exactly in place per regulations.
>
>

Mike: Dover in Delaware?
Tom: Yep.
Mike: Mona Lisa in the Louvre?
Crow: Right.
Mike: Pickles in your grocer's deli section?
Tom: You betcha.
Mike: $43.78 in my checking account?
Crow: More or less.
Mike: All right then, let's go.

>La Forge found her way too young, but he had no room to complain,

Mike: Engineering was so small, even the nanites were hunchbacked!

> as his
>own department had provided several young prodigies with entry into Star
>Fleet, in particular Wesley Crusher,

Tom: Oh thanks a heap there, *Geordi*!
Mike: Yeah, but if wasn't for Wesley, we wouldn't have Wil's blog.
Tom: Hmm - okay, we'll call it a wash.

> and his current successor in the young
>Engineering Genius Slot, Clara Sutter.

Crow: A.K.A, Junior Vice-Tyrant.

> Marrissa wasn't a candidate for
>that slot,

Mike: But she was considering leaving "Law & Order" to make a run for it.

> according to rumor she was the anti-Engineer.

Mike: She had to have less power?
Crow: She lacked any desire whatsoever to drive a locomotive?
Tom: She absolutely refused to bring bananas for lunch?

> Clara, on the
>other hand, like Wesley before her, had some talent at the helm.

Tom: Specifically, she could juggle puppies.

> So today,
>Clara was at the helm, and he had Marrissa.
>

Mike: Geordi was trying to work out a three-way trade that would get Data in
Engineering and send Marrissa to the Miami Dolphins.

>"Right," La Forge replied. "We'll be starting with some simple
>familiarization routines today.

Crow: [LaForge] Hi. I'm Geordi.

> Ensign Gomez.

Tom: [Gomez Addams] LaForge?!? Tish, that's French!

> Show Miss Picard what we
>discussed earlier."
>

Crow: [Gomez] You mean the thing where I wear the latex maid outfit and we...
Tom: [LaForge] **AHEM!!** Nonono, the, uh, the *engineering* thing!

>La Forge then walked away to personally handle some repairs to the ODN near
>cabin 0801. It would be two hours before he returned to Engineering.
>
>

Crow: This sounds like the set-up to a 24th Century "Three Stooges" short.

>
>On the Bridge of the Enterprise-D, Commander Riker was in the center seat,

Mike: Snoring like a rabid buzzsaw.

>with the good Counselor next to him.

Tom: The evil Counselor was sitting on his shoulder, urging him to throw
spitballs at Barclay.

> Captain Picard was unfortunately
>unavailable for the day, having decided that the current survey mission was

Crow: Even duller than usual.

>a good enough excuse to spend a little time playing Dixon Hill.

Mike: And the final score there is Picard 38, Dixon Hill 24.

>Doctor Crusher had joined him, much to the surprise of the senior staff.

Tom: They hadn't been on speaking terms since Bev had caught him with
that holographic Allyson Hannigan.

>Worf had tactical, with Data at Ops, and Clara Sutter at the Helm.

Crow: And Chipper Jones covering Third.

> For Alpha Shift,
>it had been quite quiet.
>

Tom: Oooh, a test of homophone mastery.
Mike: And he passed it.
Crow: Or should we say he "past" it?
Mike: Actually - no. No, we shouldn't.

>"So, Deanna, what convince Beverly to join the Captain's little detective
>story?" Riker asked,

Tom: [Troi] A direct order. Plus a security detail.

> his hands firmly on the Captain's chair's armrests.
>

Mike: He's afraid she's gonna try and drive again.

>"Beverly says he tricked her into it," Troi replied. "She says he had to
>know that she was going to recommend he spend more time relaxing.

Tom: So he immediately started a war with the Borg just to avoid dealing
with it.

>I understand that the Captain offered several activities, all of which he
>had to know she'd shoot down as not sufficiently relaxing,

Mike: [Picard] Free-range cobra ranching?
Crow: [Beverly] No.
Mike: [Picard] Disarming Photon Mines one-handed?
Crow: [Beverly] No.
Mike: [Picard] Writing a 500-page history of the Prime Directive?
Crow: [Beverly] No.
Mike: [Picard] Checking Worf for ticks?
Crow: [Beverly] Not aga- I mean, no!

> before suggesting a
>Dixon Hill Mystery with the Ship's Doctor. She was completely surprised
>when he handed her the red, high heeled shoes.

Crow: Especially since they were in Q's size.

> Is it getting humid in here?"
>
>

Tom: o/` It's gettin' humid in herrrrrre, so wring out all your clothes! o/`

>Marrissa turned over to Ensign Gomez,

Tom: Then they danced the Mamushka!

> having finished her task of carefully
>replacing chips in the Enterprise's environmental system man
>controls.

Crow: Man contr- Oh, *that's* how they do it.
Mike: Trust me, Crow, they don't need a computer.

> "I'm done."
>

Tom: [Jim Rome] Rack me! I am out!

>Gomez quickly scanned the chips,

Mike: They were all Salt and Vinegar.

> finding all of them in order, and closed
>the panel. She then turned to Marrissa, and said,

Crow: [Gomez] Well, time for a coffee break.
Tom: [Marrissa] But we've only been on the job 10 minutes.
Crow: Well, ya can't be too careful, I always say. Bearclaw?

> "Okay, the next item on
>our list is a H2O distribution junction replacement.

Mike: Hey, I loved that album - it had "Maneater" and "One on One" and...
Tom: Uh, Mike, your Eighties is showing again.

> We'll be taking the
>Jefferies tubes up above Deck 8 and doing some plumbing.

Tom: [Gomez] Commander Liddy will meet us there to help us break into the
USS Watergate.

> Chief Howser,

Crow: OK, I think Stephen's openly taunting us now.
Tom: So what *would* NPH do?
Mike: Not be in this story, I imagine.

>I assume the pipe is already there?"
>
>"Yes sir!"
>

Crow: So put this in it and smoke it.

>
>
>Up on the bridge, Counselor Troi pulled her uniform away from her body.

Crow: And across the globe, thousands of fanboys seize up and have to be
forcibly revived.

>It was definitely humid on the bridge. Way too humid.

Tom: Sounds like the humidity level is up.
Mike: Indications are that it is, yes.
Crow: It's not the heat, then?
Mike: Nope, the humidity.

> "Computer, what is the
>humidity level on the bridge?"
>

Tom: [Computer] Humidity level is currently at "Way Too".

>"Humidity level on the Bridge is at .89 and rising," the Computer
>responded.

Mike: Wow, that's up.
Crow: Way too up.

> "Humidity is being adjusted to default settings."
>

Crow: It's so humid on the bridge, even the mold is getting moldy.

>"Riker to Engineering," Riker said, exchanging a look with Troi. This was
>not normal.
>

Tom: In fact, it was humid.
Mike: .89 humid.
Crow: Way too humid.
[Pause]
Mike: Thus endeth the Humidity sketch.
Tom: *sniff* I'll miss you, humidity sketch.
Crow: Yeah, of all our sketches, you were the humidest.

>
>
>Lieutenant Commander La Forge looked around Engineering to decide who he
>should assign to handle the latest problem.

Tom: [LaForge] Hmmm, who haven't I pinned my general incompetence on yet?

> It was raining on the
>bridge.

Mike: And no one brought an umbrella on-shift.
Crow: Well, the forecast for the bridge *had* been just partly cloudy
and breezy.

> Much worse, something had apparently been added to the atmosphere
>of the bridge that was causing uniforms to dissolve.

[All giggle]
Crow: It's called "Essence of T'Pol".
Mike: Well, give him credit, guys, he's one step beyond "Ratliff Gas".
Tom: I'm not sure "Clothes-Fall-Off Juice" is such a great leap forward.

> While Ensigns Gomez
>and Picard had just recently returned from fixing the pipes above deck 8,
>he didn't want to send them.
>

Crow: They'd handled the last naked bridge emergency.

>"Barclay, see if you can do something about the raining on the Bridge," La
>Forge ordered.

Tom: But it was too late. Atlanta had already filed suit claiming all of the
water on the Bridge.

> "Gomez, take over Impulse Systems and give Marrissa a good
>overview while you're at it."
>

Mike: [Gomez] Sorry sir, I don't swing that way.

>As the two walked passed

Tom: Oh. Well, it's still one for two.
Crow: Yeah, better average than he used to have.

> Lieutenant Johnson who was manning the master
>systems monitor, it started smoking.
>
>

Crow: [Jim Carrey] It was sah-MOOOOOOOOOOKIN'!!!
Mike: *Again* with the Jim Carrey thing?
Crow: Just for you guys.
Tom: Seek help soon, Crow.

>
>Meanwhile on the bridge, Counselor Troi had decided that since it was
>raining on the bridge, and everyone was naked,

Crow: Just in case you missed all the subtle clues.

> it she might as well just
>sit on Will's lap.

Mike: And suddenly, it's cheesy Seventies porn.
[Tom starts doing "bwow-chicka-bwow-bwow" music]
Crow: [Basso] Pizza delivery, ma'am. Would you like to take off all of
your clothes and sit on my lap while I get your "breadsticks"?

> He could at least hold her in place,

Mike: It was the only thing he was good at, but he was *really* good at it.

> as it seemed that
>the characteristic lag of the inertial compensator had increased,

Crow: And since they're traveling at about a gazillion miles per second,
they were all splatted across the helm as a fine paste.
Tom: A highly humid paste.
Crow: Well, yeah.

> resulting
>in several of the naked officers manning the bridge to slide around a bit.
>

Crow: USS Skidmark, ahoy!

>Poor Clara, who had the misfortune to be manning tactical when it had
>started to rain had slid down one side or the other of the bridge five
>times,

Mike: It was Enterprise's annual "Sit on the Floor of the Bridge Day".
Tom: Oooh, bad timing.

> before Will had switched her back to CONN. Tactical control was
>now being handled through the Ops console.

Crow: Plus, all dry cleaning was being routed through astrophysics.

> Ensign Gilliland had her own
>problems, there, as her attempts at keeping the console readable kept
>changing her menus.
>

Mike: [Gilliland] What's this - "Sardine and Cinnamon Paninis"?

>"Deanna, would you please stop squirming."
>

Crow: ["Squirm" hick] You gon' be the wormface now!

>
>
>Captain Jean-Luc Picard had been enjoying some time alone in his
>quarters.

Mike: [Picard] Good God, yap yap yap! If I'd had to listen to all
those whining pinheads five more minutes, I'd have grabbed
a phaser and *whammo*!

> Since he had adopted Marrissa, four months ago, that hadn't
>occurred often.

Tom: She kept mumbling plans for galactic domination in her sleep.

> Marrissa was a good girl,

Crow: Crazy 'bout Elvis.
Tom: Loves horses, and her boyfriend too.

> who was quite
>intelligent. She'd spent some time

Mike: Did a nickel at Sing-Sing.

> over the years learning about the
>various fields that her then mentor, now adopted father, enjoyed.

Crow: Ah, the suck-up fu is strong in this one!

>She could hold her own in a conversation

Tom: In fact, she'd been disciplined for holding her own in public three
times already.

> on most things, despite her only been
>twelve years old.

Mike: Oh, that's right, this is still unreality.
Crow: Thanks for the reminder there, Stephen.

> Still, it was nice to sit, sipping wine,

Tom: Spodee-Odee.

> listening to
>Mozart while reading the latest archeology journals

Crow: "Etruscans still dead, comeback seen as unlikely."

> without being
>interrupted by a half dressed girl who couldn't find her brush.
>

Mike: Oddly, "Half-dressed, brushless girls" actually ranked fourth on the
list of Starfleet annoyances, right behind "Being Assimilated",
"the gruesome stench coming out of xenozoology" and Rick Berman.

>The moment Jean-Luc stepped out into the corridor, he slipped and fell on
>the wet carpet, landing on his behind.

Tom: The shot of it won 100,000 Fake Dollars on "Federation's Funniest Home
Videos".

> A little bit down the corridor, he
>could see water pouring from a ceiling maintenance panel.

Crow: He named it "Enterprise Falls" and claimed it for France.

> There was a good
>inch of standing water through the center of the corridor, already.

Mike: And five inches of sitting water, and another two inches of water
that was still asleep in bed.

>He shivered a bit. It was getting cold in the corridor too.

Crow: But sadly, not humid at all.

>"Picard to Engineering."
>
>"La Forge." Something was going wrong in Engineering.

Tom: And something is wrong on Saturn 3!

> What ever the
>problem was it was not life threatening,

Crow: It was kinda dull, actually.

> but was enough to cause many
>members of the crew to call Engineering.

Mike: Where they were immediately put on hold.

> The Captain could tell that much
>just from La Forge's tone.
>

Tom: This is the weekly test of the Emergency LaForgecasting System.

>"There is a water leak on deck 8 near my quarters, and the temperature is
>dropping. What is going on down there?"
>

Crow: They're getting ready to test out those new Fleet-issued Zambonis.

>"Lights are out on Deck 7, it's raining on the Bridge,

Tom: Hallelujah!

> which has apparently
>left them in Betazed Wedding attire.

Crow: Empathic cummerbunds?

> A five cent fuse has burnt out in the
>master situation table."

Tom: And I don't feel so good myself.

> Captain Picard heard a crash from over the comm
>system.

Mike: Commander Fibber McGee makes an appearance.

> "Damn! We'll fix the water problem as soon as possible,
>Captain. La Forge out."
>

Crow: Boy, were they surprised when they took too long and the EPA wound up
designating the entire ship as "protected wetlands"!
Tom: Yeah, now they can't even get a drink in 10-Forward without filing an
environmental impact statement.

>
>Lieutenant Commander La Forge rushed over to the warp core, to help move
>the large section of railing that had some how come loose and fallen on
>Ensign Daniel Sutter.

Crow: They should really put some safety railing around their safety railing.
Mike: Commander Thrust LargeBig is reprimanded!

> Up above he could seen Lieutenant Smersh helping
>Ensign Spectre back onto the deck above.

Tom: Making this a moment for deep Bonding.

> Marrissa had grabbed the first
>aid kit,

Mike: Plus whatever else she could get her grubby mitts on.

> and as he and the other officers removed the rail, she stepped in
>and scanned Ensign Sutter.
>

Crow: [Marrissa] Hmm - either this thing's busted, or he's a Class-M planet.

>"Mister Sutter, you're lucky." Marrissa concluded, showing La Forge the
>readings. Sutter had bruised ribs, a sprained left shoulder, and a twisted
>ankle.
>

Mike: Kind of an odd definition of "lucky".
Tom: He's lucky she doesn't just shoot him and go on about her business.

>"Marrissa, help Ensign Sutter get to Sickbay,

Crow: [LaForge] And this time, don't drag him there by his twisted, broken
limbs.
Tom: [Marrissa] Spoilsport!

> It should be the end of Alpha
>Shift by then,

Crow: In fact, it should be the end of *everything* by then!

> so no need to come back her."
>

Mike: [LaForge] Come back him instead.
Tom: Gyah! No "M&M" callbacks!

>By the time Captain Picard reached the turbolift, Deck 8 was iced over.

Mike: So quick! Run out and buy all the bread and milk you can!

>He had practically skated the last few feet.

Crow: He executed a perfect triple-lutz, but the Russian judge still only gave
him a 7-point-8.
Tom: Lousy Commie!

> The turbolift opened revealing
>his daughter, about to exit. "Don't even try to get to our quarters," he
>ordered,

Mike: [Picard] I've ordered the guards to shoot you on sight. That's all
the warning you'll get!

> drawing her back into the turbolift. "Bridge."
>

Crow: Tensions flare as Marrissa steps on Picard's 3 No-Trump bud.

>When the turbolift opened on the Bridge, it was no longer raining there,
>but it was soaking wet.

Tom: Humid, even.

> Adding to the strangeness was the fact that
>everyone was completely naked.

Mike: And stranger still, they were all playing "Scrabble". In Romulan.

> Jean-Luc sloshed his way down towards the
>command area.

Tom: And when we say "sloshed", brother...
Mike [Picard] Cuh-computer! Boozhe, Jim Beam, Hot! Make i'sho! *hic*

> There he found Commander Riker and Counselor Troi
>practically joined in the center seat.

Crow: Immediately, Picard made them the main attractions in his "Freaks of
the Galaxy" sideshow.

> "Commander Riker, there are some
>things that should only be done on your own time."
>

Mike: [Picard] No more writing fanfiction on the bridge!

>"Yes sir," Riker said, turning slightly to address the blushing Marrissa
>behind the Captain. "Ensign Picard,

Crow: [Riker] Breathe a word of this and you're on KP for a century!

> Commander La Forge asked me to inform
>you that your rotation through Engineering is over."
>

Tom: [Riker] So enough with the spinning already!
Crow: [Marrissa] But I haven't turned into Wonder Woman yet!

>"Aye, sir." Marrissa replied. The Captain could tell she was happy about
>the Engineering Rotation being done ...

Mike: [Picard] Hmm, she seems to be relieved not to have to go where she
doesn't want to be. How odd.

> he would have to get the story
>behind that later.

Crow: On VH1's new series, "Behind the Rotation"!

> He was sure that it was supposed to last at least a
>week.

Mike: [Picard] *Anything* to get her out of my hair! Uh, scalp!

> "Captain, permission to relieve Clara so she can put some clothes on?"
>

Tom: [Marrissa] And it better not be that pink sweater I've been looking for!

>"Granted," Jean-Luc said looking around the Bridge. "Clara, you may change
>in the Head,

Crow: [3rd Rock guy] The Big Giant Head!
[All hum "The Girl from Ipanema"]

> then relieve Ensign Janiper at Engineering.

Tom: And make sure his little tiny trees are okay.

> Commander Riker,
>Counselor, I think we need to talk.

Mike: [Picard] And talk and talk and talk and...

> Marrissa, you have the Bridge."
>
>"Aye, sir!"
>

Mike: [Picard] But you have to give it back.
Crow: [Marrissa] Spoilsport!

>--
>Stephen Ratliff
>stephenratliffasc earthlink net
>Remove ASC to avoid spam filters
>

Crow: Remove Brain to enjoy story.

>
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages
> can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML.
>
>
>

Tom: So if you wind up there, don't say we didn't warn you.

>From stephenbratliff@earthlink.net Tue Apr 17 01:39:14 2007
>Xref: sn-us alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:92548
>Path: sn-us!sn-feed-sjc-01!sn-xt-sjc-10!sn-xt-sjc-01!sn-xt-sjc-13!supernews.com!

Crow: Ever notice you never see Supernews and CNN in the same place at once?
Tom: You're not suggesting...
Crow: No, but without CNN's glasses. they *do* look an awful lot alike.

>news.glorb.com!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!
>bcklog2.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.io.com!news.io.com.POSTED!not-for-mail
>NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 17 Apr 2007 07:55:05 -0500
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated

Mike: Take two random characters, add hormones, stimulate, stir. Serves
one newsgroup.

>Approved: ascem@earthlink.net
>Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut

Crow: The white zone is for shipping and un-shipping only. There is no slashing
in a red zone.

>Sender: ascem@earthlink.net
>Message-ID: <6.1.2.0.2.20070417023609.02a32ec0@mail.trekiverse.org>
>From: Stephen aka Old Man ASC <stephenbratliff@earthlink.net>

Tom: Go to bed, Old Man!

>MIME-Version: 1.0
>Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com
>Date: Tue, 17 Apr 2007 02: 39:14 -0400
>Subject: NEW VOY Hello Janeway [PG] (filk)

Crow: 2% filk?

>Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
>Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
>Lines: 118
>NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218
>X-Trace: sv3-ruXiDgQYEreYYOg8IZnS2oK7ypev1dKvtRz3DjYCQYy+s9WC/5RWUWzsuZn
>RYSKMgoEA+>MJJ4kJOCTg!BQ/FoG3nZUNBEKqHkpJugCGamJ+Zr/jDhAOvbgUiSaaSfSD7wC9e
>JgXSFxZ43yJLxI0497hIsv0k!K4ezvT3KcffdYatgwokg

Crow: Rats!
Mike: Still nothing?
Crow: It was almost Van Gogh's "Starry Night", but at the last second it
turned into a still life with David Spade.

>X-Complaints-To: abuse@io.com
>X-DMCA-Complaints-To: abuse@io.com
>X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers

Mike: Every single header ever?
Tom: Well you can't be too careful, Mike.

>X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint
>properly
>X-Postfilter: 1.3.34

Crow: Ex Post Facto: unconstitutional.

>
>Title: Hello, Janeway!

Crow: Hello!
Mike: Hello!
Tom: Hello!
All: JANEWAY!

>Author: Stephen
>Series: VOY
>Rating: PG
>Codes: filk

Tom: It's a special double-substitution code, based on "Carmen Miranda's
Ghost".

>Summary: Originally written as part of the 2006 Golden Os Awards,

Crow: There's a free fanfic inside every box of delicious Golden Os!

>it deserves a separate post as well, per several others. Janeway returns
>to Star Fleet from the Alpha Quadrant to a version of Hello, Dolly!
>

Tom: She does? Why?
Mike: She tried returning to a version of "Avenue Q", but UPN refused to
broadcast it.

>Captain Janeway strode in from the wings.

Mike: She was covered in Blue Cheese dressing and reeked of buffalo sauce.

> Scattered around the edges of
>the stage were several Star Fleet Officers of various years.

Crow: It's Admiral Baby and Commodore Geezer.

>She approached Harry Kim,

Tom: But refused to promote him.

> caressing his cheek as she began to sing, "Hello
>Harry.

Crow: Starring MacLean Stevenson.

> Then turning to the other side, coyly glanced at Lieutenant Carey,
>"Well, Hello Carey.

Tom: You're so very...

> It's so nice to be back home where I belong"
>

Mike: In other words, not on the bridge of a starship.

>Janeway passed Captain Riker,

Tom: But was overtaken on the far turn by Kyle Petty.

> singing, "You're looking swell,
>Willie."

Crow: [Willie the Groundskeeper] Grrrrease me up, Woman!

> Then she slid up against Captain Picard.
>

Crow: Naked.
Mike: And raining.
Tom: And humid.

>"I can tell, Johnny
>You're still glowin', you're still crowin'

Mike: [Picard] Cock-a-doodle-doo! Make it so!

>You're still goin' strong
>For the band's playin'

Tom: FREEBIRD!!! WOOOOOOOOO!!!!

>One of my old favorite songs from way back when
>So bridge that gap, fellas

Crow: Everyone, put on your khaki uniforms and dance!

>Find me an empty lap, fellas

Tom: Oh *WOW*!!!
Crow: Now we know how Voyager could afford all those shuttlecraft!

>Janeway'll never go away again
>
>Then the officers picked up covered dishes from the side of the stage,

Tom: [Minnewegian] Oh how lovely, they brought a dish to pass.
Mike: [Ditto] Oh, I love that nice Mr. Tuvok's green bean casserole, eh?
Tom: Oh, yah mean th'one with th'fried onions and whatnot?
Mike: Yah.
Tom: Yah, it's just so ding-dang tasty, y'know?

>and began singing in reply, as they delivered the main course ...
>

Crow: It was Leola Root. And she killed them all. The End.

>"Hello Janeway!
>Well, Hello Janeway!
>It's so nice to have you back where you belong
>You're looking swell, Janeway,

Tom: Or is it "swollen"? Hmmm. Ah well...

>We can tell, Janeway,
>You're still glowin',

Crow: Ever since that reactor breach.

> you're still crowin'
>You're still goin' strong.
>We feel the room swayin'

Tom: AAAAHHHH!! EARTHQUAKE!!!
[All duck under their chairs]
Mike: [Below his seat] Wait, Tom, we can't have an earthquake here -
we're on a satellite up in space.
Tom: Oh.
[All get up]
Tom: Sorry.
Crow: Dickweed!

>For the band's playin'
>One of your old fav'rite songs from 'way back when
>

Tom: o/` Someday, love will find you!
Break those chains that bind you! o/`

>Janeway replied, "So here's my hat fellas,

Mike: Here's your hat, here's your coat, what's your hurry, buhbye.

> I'm stayin' where I'm at, fellas"

Crow: I'm also eating this food that I have.

>
>And the officers responded, "Promise you'll never go away again?"
>

Tom: But if you do, promise you'll never come back.

>Janeway took a seat on the edge of the center front table.
>

Mike: [Madeline Kahn] I'm tiwed! Sick and tiwed of wuv!

>"I went away from the lights of old Star Fleet
>And into my personal haze

Tom: It was purple, and she was freaking in it.

>But now that I'm back in the lights of old Star Fleet
>Tomorrow will be brighter than the good old days
>

Crow: Especially now that they've replaced all those incandescent
bulbs with fluorescents.

>The Officers appeared to look fondly,

Mike: But they were actually glaring at her with malevolent loathing.

> pausing in their delivery.
>

Crow: PUSH! PUSH!
[Tom breathes rhythmically]

>"Those good old days
>Hello, Well Hello Janeway
>Well hello, hey look there's Janeway
>

Crow: Everyone stay calm! There is no reason to panic! DO NOT PANIC!!!!

>Janeway looked over Captain Kirk, "Glad to see you Jim,

Mike: And a little creeped out, since you're dead and all.
Tom: [Zombie Kirk] Brains... musthave... BRAINSarrrh!

> let's thank my
>lucky star"
>
>The Officer's chorused, "Your lucky star"
>

Crow: o/` 'Cuz it shines on me wherever you are! o/`

>Janeway slid over the bar in the back, noticing Captain Scott.
>

Mike: Noticed him? She practically tripped over him!

>"You're lookin' great, Scotty
>Lose some weight, Scotty?

Tom: Thanks to his patented new All-Booze Diet, Scotty's lost
enough weight to change the laws of physics!

>Janeway's overjoyed and overwhelmed and over par
>

Crow: And over the rainbow.
Tom: And over the hill.
Mike: But not yet over herself.

>The Officers, turned towards Janeway.
>

Crow: Mirab, his sails unfurled!

>"I hear the ice tinkle. See the lights twinkle
>And you still get glances from us handsome men
>So...
>

Crow: Then...
Mike: Suddenly...
Tom: Meanwhile...

>Janeway slid back into the midst of the officers, now headed back to the
>stage,

Mike: Trying to lose herself in the pack.

> "Golly gee, fellas. Find me a vacant knee, fellas."
>

Crow: But there was no room at the knee for Kathryn.

>The officers twirled around Janeway, with the empty platters balanced on
>one hand,

Tom: [German] Now ist ze time on "Shprockets" vhen ve dance!

> "Janeway'll never go away again."
>

Crow: I'm starting to think this song's never going away.

>"Well, well hello, Janeway
>Well hello, Janeway

Mike: [Janeway] Enough with hellos, where's my coffee?!?

>It's so nice to have you back where you belong
>You're lookin' swell, Janeway
>We can tell, Janeway

Tom: But you can't tell her much!

>You're still glowin', you're still crowin'
>You're still goin' strong
>I hear the ice tinkle

Tom: Well, that's rather rude!
Crow: Yeah, no one likes an eavesdropper. Especially there.

>See the lights twinkle
>And you still get glances from us handsome men

Mike: Mainly, men wanting to know if your Borg friend is seeing anyone.

>So...
>

Tom: o/` A needle with some thre-e-e-e-ead! o/`

>Janeway took a seat on one of the steps. "Wow wow wow, fellas"
>

Crow: !woW boB woW !thaT guM yoU likE iS goinG tO comE bacK iN stylE!

>The officers surrounded her,

Tom: So Janeway sent them all a telegram reading "Nuts!"

> "Hey, Yeh!"
>

Mike: o/` Shake it like a Polaroid picture! o/`

>With a big smile, she pulled Kirk and Picard together against her sides,

Crow: Oh my.
Mike: And here we thought Tom Paris was the easiest mark on Voyager!

>"Look at the old girl now, fellas"
>
>The officers concluded, "Wow! Janeway'll never go away again."
>

Crow: And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

>...
>
>Stephen
>who considered searching and replacing Janeway with Neelix before posting.
>

Mike: I'm not sure if that's the silliest idea I've heard all day, or just
the most disturbing.
Crow: Why not both?
Mike: Good point.

>--
>Stephen
>stephen trekiverse us
>Marrissa Stories Author

Tom: [Stephen] But keep it under your hat, okay?

>http://www.trekiverse.us/stephen/
>
>
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list.

Crow: Also, there's some guy at Homeland Security compiling a list of
some sort.

> Most recent messages
> can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML.
>

Mike: Least recent messages found on walls of caves in France.
Tom: C'mon, let's get before she breaks into something from "Rent".

[all leave]

O |2| +3+ (4) {5} [6]

[BRIDGE - Crow & Tom each have several sealed opaque plastic bags before
them, and about a dozen empty, crushed, cereal-type boxes behind them]

Crow: Oh man, I never want to see another piece of sweetened, artificially
colored, fruitishly-flavored grain product again!
Tom: You don't mean that.
Crow: Well - no, but it seemed the appropriate thing to say after downing
15 boxes.

[Mike enters, munching on a bag of marshmallows]

Mike: Hey guys. Late Breakfast?
Crow: It's more than just that, Mike. We're amassing our collection.
Mike: Your what?
Tom: Take a look.

[Mike holds up one of the boxes and read...]

Mike: Golden-O's?
Tom: Yep. Sugar-sweetened chunks of rice and corn in all your favorite Star
Trek shapes, from Spock to Phlox.
Crow: And they put special TrekSmut action figures in each box!
Tom: For a limited time only!
Crow: Wanna see?
Mike: I'm fairly sure they'll scar me for life, but what the heck?
Crow: Okay, let's start with this one.
Mike: [Picks up a bag, festooned with two "male" symbols (You know, Mars, or the
circle with the arrow)] Huh. Can I open it?
Tom: Um, I'm not sure we're allowed to.
Crow: Yeah, due to various state, local and federal regulations.
Mike: Oh, sorry. Well, just describe it for me.
Crow: Well, this one is part of the "Slash" set. It seems fairly popular
around these here parts.
Tom: Yeah, this one is a "G/B". It's also available in K/S, P/Q, C/P and A/R.
Crow: There's also a Femmeslash set, with U/R and K/D and J/7 and J/T and T/S
and even C/T.
Mike: Hmm, okay, that's quite a -
Crow: Oh wait, there's these over here: [Mike picks up another mystery bag,
this one with both a male and a female symbol] It's part of what I like
to call the Het Set!
Tom: Constantly!
Crow: I just like a good rhyming scheme, is all. Anyway, this one's a - let's
see, it's a J/C.
Tom: Yeah, there's dozens of these things all over - P/C, J/Q, J/J...
Crow: K/U, S/U, S/C...
Tom: R/T, W/T, A/T, T/Tu...
Crow: P/T, K/T, K/7, C/7, A/S, O/K...
Mike: O/K! Yes, OK, I get the point. What about this? [Picks up a metal box
with a big bold "X" on it]
Tom: Aaah, the Crossover.
Crow: That's kind of an anything goes deal. It could be just about anybody
and anything.
Tom: Yeah, it's sorta like Schroedinger's Fanfic. You'll run up on stuff like
Scotty and Samantha Carter...
Crow: Janeway and Han Solo...
Tom: Phlox and Agent Scully...
Crow: Wesley Crusher and Buffy the Vampire Slayer...
Tom: Garak and Severus Snape...
Mike: Uh-huh. You realize that there's a fanfic author out there right now,
taking notes and preparing to subject us to every one of these, right?
Tom: *Pffft!*
Crow: Look, we survived that whole Daria/Sailor Moon crossover deal.
Tom: Yeah, what could be worse?
Mike: I dunno, how about Voyager/Daria/Sailor Moon?
Crow: I... we...
Mike: Where Seven and Tuxedo Mask get married and Jane Lane falls head over
heels for Harry Kim?
Tom: Thanks for jinxing us, Nelson!
Mike: Anytime. [Looks down again] Hey, here's one out of the bag. [He picks it
Up and we see that it's basically a teenage girl in a Fleet Uniform
holding a big honking gun] Don't tell me, let me guess - it's The Big M
herself, yes?
Crow: Yeah. we're not sure how she snuck into the Smut figures.
Tom: Probably all that skinny dipping.
Mike: Does she do anything?
Crow: I think she dips all the other action figures in water until their
clothes dissolve or something.
Tom: Then she locks them in a room until they agree to accede to her demands.
Mike: Typical, I suppose. [Looks down again and picks up another sealed bag,
this one larger and a kinda sorta rectangular shape] What's this one?
Tom: A Shuttlecraft.
Mike: A... Shuttlecraft?
Crow: Yes.
Mike: But how does that qualify as -
Crow: We don't know.
Tom: And we don't wanna know.
Mike: [starts to speak, then stops] Y'know, that's probably for the best.
Hey, uh, you think we should give the info now?
Crow: Aw, what's the point to it?
Tom: C'mon now, never say never, Crow.
Crow: *sigh* Yeah, okay. To join the MiSTing Authors Dibs List, send an
e-mail to "majordomo@pinky.wtower.com" (assuming it ever revives) with
the message "subscribe dibslist" in the message body.
Tom: Of course, read the FAQ at "http://www.masemware.com/mst3k/faq.shtml" and
don't work blue. Oh, and whenever possible, try to discourage musical
interludes by your fleet captains.
Mike: That's the ticket.
Crow: Hey by the way, whatever happened to that blogging project you had?
Mike: Funny you should ask. I was contacted by a representative for the
nation's leading marshmallow producer. They offered me a pretty penny
for the whole set-up.
Tom: Mike!
Crow: Aw man, you sold out to Big Marshmallow!
Mike: [pops another in his mouth] Yup.
Tom: How much?
Mike: Lifetime supply of minis, plus they paid off all my credit cards.
Tom: The cards are active again? Sweet! [hovers off to transact transactions]
Crow: Well Mike, enjoy financial solvency for the next 10 minutes.

[Lights flash]

Mike: Yeah, that's what he thinks. Let him try and charge something on that
Diners Club and see how far he gets. [hits the button] So how was all
that, T'Pearl?

[D13 - Pearl & Brainy are lounging in a couple of deck chairs. On a table
between them is a pitcher full of a very very very yellow looking liquid.
Pearl & Brainy are clutching a daiquiri glass full of the same goop. They're
relaxed and mellow, and are bedecked with a snout and a pair of long floppy
ears. Brain Guy is cuddling his brain pan, where his brain is also bedecked
with a pair of long floppy ears.]

Pearl: 'Kay Brainy, down th'hatch!
Observer: Isn't, isn't this, like, the 18th one of these or something?
Pearl: I think so, b'who's countin'?
Observer: Ek-Exc'llent point! Here's looking up your old address!
[Pearl quaffs hers in one swallow. Brainy pours his over his Brain]
Pearl: Shmoove! [Notices camera] NELSHIN! Look Brainy, 's'our old pally
Mikey Mike-Mike Nelshin! An' Art! An', an' an the one who ain't art!
Observer: Sup, home fryers?
Pearl: Home Skillets.
Observer: Oh. Well, whatever.
Pearl: Hey, looks like you guys made it through whatever the hell it was I
sent you up there, huh? Huh?
Observer: Calls for a drinkypoo, I think.
Pearl: Guy Brain, you read my mind! [Both laugh hysterically at this] Hey
lissen up, Spacekins, I got a secret - if you wanna really good really
fun really really drink, yer best bet is some bashed mananas - bashed
mananas - 'Zerver, what'm I tryin' to say here?
Observer: Nashed Bamamas.
Pearl: Yeah, that's it. The Apester may be a pain in the whuzit, but lemme
tell ya, he makes a - *HELL* - of a bartender! He mixed his Slashed
Labambas...
Observer: Dashed Marambas.
Pearl: Whatever - he mixed 'em with this dog juice potion I had jus' kinda
lyin' around, an I gotta tell ya - I haven't been this buzzed since the
night I graduated fr'm good ol' Evil U and me an' thish guy - well,
anyway, 's a blast!
Observer: Word out!
Pearl: Up.
Observer: Whatever.
Pearl: Sh-sho ennyway, Nelshrik, I'll fix yer l'il red wagon nex' time, but...

[Bobo enters, carrying a large flat disk]

Bobo: Sorry to interrupt, Lawgiver...
Pearl: BOBOBO! Lookie here, Brainy, 's'our ol' pall BobbyBo!
Observer: Sup, home appliance?
Bobo: Thank you, Lawgiver. Anyway, the only thing left after cleaning out
downstairs was this old Frisbee and I didn't know what you-

[Pearl and Brain Guy instantly spring to attention. Their floppy ears are now
fully raised and alert]

Pearl: A FRISBEE?!?!? *pant**pant**pant*
Observer: THROW IT! THROWITTHROWITTHROWITTHROWIT!!!
Bobo: Um, are you sure you want me to.
Observer: YESOYESOYESOYES!
Pearl: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THROW IT!!!!
Bobo: [shrugs] Well, okay. [Tosses the Frisbee away]
Both: MINE! [Both scamper after it, upsetting their drinks and barking madly]
Bobo: [watching them go] Hmm. Well I'll be. I guess everyone needs a hobby.
[pulls a small stuffed animal out of his coat pocket] I prefer Beanie
Babies myself.

[Bobo walks away humming, with Pearl and Brain Guy barking in the distance and
we fade away]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"ALL WET" AND "HELLO JANEWAY" BY: Stephen Ratliff
MiSTING BY: Bill Livingston
MiSTING DIBS LIST MAINTAINED (PER RUMOR) BY: Michael Neylon
ALL THE CAPITALIZED WORDS BY: The Capslock Key
NORTH BY: Northwest
AND NOW I SAY UNTO YOU: In the words of my uncle - *Allez Cuisine!*

THANKS: To MiSTies, MuSTies, RATMMers, LJers, the teachers of America,
the cast & crew of "The Closer", Piper the Insane Leaping Dog,
and Tim (he's this guy, you wouldn't know him).

"Star Trek: TNG" and all associated characters and situations are
trademark of and (c) Paramount. All rights reserved. Please note that
TNG crewmembers may, without warning, appear randomly in the finale of
any other series and reduce all the main characters to holograms.

"Mystery Science Theater 3000" trademark of and (c) Best Brains, Inc. All
rights reserved. Where Emmett Kelley is still eating. And it's *still*
funny!

Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment
purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks
held by others is intended or should be inferred.

No personal insults to author(s), character(s), or situation(s) are or
should be implied. All characters in this work are fictional, and any
resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Keep repeating this to yourself, over and over, and it will become
your new reality.

Don't talk about our clown, Martha.

Keep circulating the posts.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
>La Forge found her way too young, but he had no room to complain

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 6/6

2008-01-03T07:38:05Z

EPILOGUE

BILL CLINTON resigned as Governor of Arkansas in January of 1994, one week after pleading No Contest to three counts of second-degree fraud. He received a three-year suspended sentence. In 1996, Clinton won a huge Slander and Invasion of Privacy judgment against the Washington Post and Jerry Brown. He then moved to Los Angeles where he took a job as a commentator on "60 Minutes", and eventually became the host of "Bill!", the highly rated afternoon talk show produced by old friends Harry & Linda Bloodworth-Thomason. He has since been romantically linked to several celebrities, including Sharon Stone, former Spice Girl Melanie Brown, Lisa Kudrow, Rose McGowan and, most recently, Hilary Swank.

HILLARY RODHAM (formerly Clinton) also pled No Contest to a single count of fraud, and likewise received a suspended sentence. She divorced her husband in mid-1995, and returned home to Illinois. She served two terms as mayor of Chicago before being elected Governor of Illinois in 2006. She is rumored to be seriously considering her own run for the White House in 2012.

JERRY BROWN had not, technically, committed a crime, but he declared bankruptcy after the Bill Clinton lawsuit, and never again ran for elective office - at least not as a Democrat. In 2002, Brown ran for his old job as California Governor on the Green Party ticket and finished fourth. Currently, Brown is touring college campuses speaking about the Green Party. Ironically, his May 2003 appearance on "Bill!", where he and Clinton reconciled with a tearful embrace, was the second highest rated episode of the show ever (surpassed only by the February 2006 show where Bill and his ex-wife, Chicago Mayor Rodham, tearfully embraced and made up).

PAUL TSONGAS passed away in 1996, suffering from cancer and pneumonia. After Brown's staff admitted (three months after the fact) that Tsongas was not involved in the "incident", Bill Clinton dropped him from his lawsuit. Tsongas then filed a defamation suit against the Washington Post, which was settled out of court after his demise (a death that some family members still bitterly accuse the story of hastening).

MARIO CUOMO was defeated for re-election in 1994. He has since written several books, and is just waiting for a publisher to come and ask him for them.

GEORGE HERBERT WALKER BUSH has regained most of his physical mobility. He celebrated his 80th birthday by going scuba diving off the coast of Florida, where son JEB BUSH is the Governor and is considered a leading contender for the 2008 Republican Presidential nomination. His other son, GEORGE W. BUSH ran for governor of Texas in 1998, but lost in the GOP primary to martial artist and actor Chuck Norris. George is still owner of the Texas Rangers. His other other son, NEIL BUSH, currently owes various people a lot of money, but doesn't care.

DAN QUAYLE returned to Indiana after the election. He made another bid for the White House in 1996, but never finished higher than second anywhere, and dropped out after Super Tuesday. He currently plays a lot of golf, and makes a lot of speeches.

JACK KEMP stayed on as HUD secretary in the Barry administration. He made his own bid for the White House in 2000, but lost the nomination to Senator John McCain. In 2005, he was named commissioner of the National Football League.

CHARLIE WOODBURN (STILL NOT HIS REAL NAME) won a Pulitzer Prize for breaking the story about Jerry Brown. He dated ZELDA (ALSO STILL NOT HER REAL NAME) for a while, but they eventually split up and he wound up marrying her younger sister, HORTENSE (MOST DEFINITELY NOT HER REAL NAME).

STEPHEN EDWIN KING chose to avoid the Senate as much as possible while in office, usually presiding only when a tie had to be broken or the President gave the State of the Union. After his term was up, he returned home and wrote a novel about a man from Castle Rock, Maine, who is elected to the Senate and discovers it's filled with zombies, aliens and monsters. King swears it's non-fiction.

GENERALISSIMO FRANCISCO FRANCO is still dead.

DAVID WILLIAM BARRY JR. served as President of the United States from 1993-1997. He and his wife BETH divorced not long after he left office, though neither will discuss the matter publicly. The Ex-President, who has severed all ties to any political party, has since returned to live in Miami, remarried to a local sportswriter, and resumed writing humor columns and novels. His 2004 presidential memoirs, "Enough With the Leadership, Already!", was his best selling book ever.

(End of the Whole Darn Thing)

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 5/6

2008-01-03T07:33:35Z

October 22

With both parties now running what the Wall Street Journal calls "their second string", it has suddenly become a wide-open race. Both Democrat and Republican leaders are frustrated to find their opponents running a weak ticket, but unable to exploit the fact due to their own circumstances.

President Quayle proves not to be the walking disaster many on the RNC had feared him to be. He's reasonably adept at giving a prepared speech and carefully avoids making too many extemporaneous pronouncements. Still, wherever he goes, he's met with hecklers brandishing potatoes (sometimes signs, sometimes the real thing - though anyone attempting to toss one finds out quickly what it feels like to be tackled by a large, cranky Secret Service agent), or signs proclaiming "Haile to the Chiefe". It also doesn't help that despite requests from the White House to postpone the show, the season premiere of "Murphy Brown" rags the President (who, to be fair, was supposed to have still been the Vice-President) for his criticism of the lead character's decision to have a child out of wedlock.

For his part, Barry seems to be having a good time on his campaign stops. He always appears without a tie, sometimes in a tropical shirt, and gives breezily amusing speeches. The DNC insists he insert actual issues in his speeches from time to time, but not as often as they could - it seems Barry's positions often clash with the official Democratic party line, and their attempts to get him to toe that line more closely are met with stiff resistance, even derision, by the candidate. On his campaign plane, he still manages to churn out his column once a week (though many papers are archiving them until after November due to Equal Time regulations), now filled with insights from the inside of a campaign looking out. His running mate is content to sit at home in Maine and churn out literate (if occasionally forbidding) statements of policy. But there's a sense that Barry's is a tissue-thin candidacy, and like Quayle, his stops are occasionally met with hecklers, some bearing signs labeled "Do you swear you're not making this up?", or with a pair of theatrical masks (comedy and tragedy) labeled "Vote Barry/King - You'll Laugh Until You Scream". Barry, though, turns the tables on these last when he gets a kick out of the masks, and has pins made up featuring them.

Then there's the Perot factor. Reform Party candidate H. Ross Perot had dropped out of the race a scant few days before the Democratic scandals had broken, and had then dropped back in a couple of days after President Bush's re-nomination (and a few days before his stroke). Beforehand, he'd had strong support from voters who were dissatisfied with the usual suspects. He still runs a surprisingly strong third party candidacy, but the Texas tycoon's "I'm in - I'm out - I'm back in" candidacy has soured many voters on him.

The polls show Barry/King and Quayle/Kemp practically neck and neck, with the Republican ticket leading by the statistically insignificant margin of 1.1%. Perot/Stockdale, unable to make much hay of the situation, trails far behind. Unsurprisingly, a whopping 37.5% of the electorate remains undecided.

Since September, the parties have been negotiating on the subject of debates. Finally, they agree to hold one Presidential and one Vice-Presidential debate. The VP debate almost falls through when King balks, but he eventually allows himself to be persuaded. King, Kemp and the Reform candidate, Admiral James Stockdale, meet on October 11 in Omaha. King's writing skills obviously don't translate into speaking acumen, and he strikes many as looking like a character from one of his own books. But as Barry assures King afterwards, "Jack Kemp's not exactly a chick magnet". Also, with Admiral Stockdale's question "Who Am I, And Why Am I Here?" taken out of context by the media ("I'm shocked by this development," Barry deadpans to King), King appears almost normal. The verdict, as pronounced by the major media outlets, is that there's no clear winner.

This is the situation as the President, the Columnist and the Billionaire finally come together in Milwaukee, face to face to face, for their one and only debate.

At first, Quayle seems to have an edge - Barry seems uncharacteristically nervous, and as a result looks uninformed on many issues. Perot just seems prickly, vexatious and odd, taking the opportunity to needle both the others as much as possible. However, as the debate rolls on, Barry begins to loosen up. He readily admits he's not up to speed on a lot of subjects, but says that's what cabinet officers and advisors are for - "I mean, I've got my own thoughts, but I've never heard of a President who was an all-around genius. Well, except Tom Jefferson, but he's dead, so he won't be any help. And the Commander in Chief better get advisors who know they're doing, or we're all in trouble!"

Still, inexperience seems to be the key theme of the night for all three - neither Barry nor Perot has ever served in government, and Quayle has never shaken his reputation as a lightweight Senator. Then, after fielding another question by admitting that the subtleties of foreign policy aren't his strong point, Barry remarks, "Look, isn't it better just to admit 'I don't know' when you don't know and go off and get the answer than saying 'Yeah, I know,' and then looking like a big old ninny when you turn out to be wrong?"

The remark wasn't meant to be anything more than an admission of Barry's own shortcomings, but President Quayle takes it otherwise. Offended, he lashes back. "This is a world ruled on impression!" he snaps, "And the president can't afford to look weak - you've got to act like you know what's going on, even when you don't have the single slightest clue!"

This provokes a round of laughter from the audience, and as Quayle sees Barry smirk and put up one quizzical eyebrow, he immediately realizes that he's blundered. He tries to back-pedal, but the damage is done. Worse yet, the President now unconsciously adopts the infamous "deer in the headlights" look that many voters still well remember from his 1988 debate with Lloyd Bentson. Quayle has lost his footing while Barry has gained his, and, to put it mildly, the columnist runs the board for the rest of the night.

The incident itself was bruising, but the post-debate analysis is devastating. The clip is shown over and over again on the news shows. And the late night comedy kings - brand new "Tonight Show" host Jay Leno, David Letterman, Arsenio Hall - are merciless in making the President their target. The momentum has now shifted, and though the campaigns continue for two more weeks, the polls show the President in a decline while his opponent continues to tick upward.

November 3
It could by no stretch of the imagination be called a landslide, but with an Electoral majority of 294 - 244, and a popular plurality of 48.8%, Dave Barry is elected the 43rd President of the United States of America.

(End Part 5)

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 4/6

2008-01-03T07:29:03Z

August 27

The developments of July have understandably left the GOP chortling with glee.

The Democrats have just torn themselves to bits on national TV, and for their troubles have wound up with a candidate who may be personable and endearing, but woefully lacking in any kind of experience. In fact, poll after poll shows that even though a great majority of the electorate finds Barry and his laid-back, no-ties-allowed personality by far the more likeable candidate, most don't believe he has what it takes to be President.

The Republican convention in Houston, held the previous week, was filled with high spirits. Dave Barry's name is never mentioned, so assured is everyone that the Bush/Quayle ticket is headed not just for a victory, but a walkover! So in order to celebrate (and clear his head for the coming campaign), the President retires immediately to Kennebunkport for a week-long working vacation.

This evening, President Bush is out playing horseshoes with sons George, Neil & Jeb. He's in high spirits, and is leading his boys by a comfortable margin. None of them were ever sure exactly what happened next, but one of them (some say George, some say Neil) failed to notice their father approach the stake to retrieve his horseshoe, and let fly with his own. The horseshoe struck the President in the back of the head, and he crumpled to the ground unconscious.

As always, a medical team is on standby, and the President is rushed in for treatment. He regains consciousness an hour or so later, and despite his protests, is given a thorough examination by the doctors. They find nothing wrong and release him.

Whether the horseshoe incident contributed to what happened next remains a subject of heated debate in medical circles.

August 30

It's Sunday evening, and the President is returning to Washington aboard Air Force One. He is reviewing documents with Defense Secretary Dick Cheney about Saddam Hussein's ongoing military programs in Iraq when he clutches the side of his head, groans once and collapses.

AF1 makes an emergency landing in New York, where the unconscious Chief Executive is rushed to St. Vincent's Hospital. The diagnosis reveals that he has suffered a massive stroke. The President survives, thanks to the superb care on board the plane, but while his mental capacity is unaffected, his physical condition is another story. He is now totally paralyzed on his left side and partially on his right. The doctors state that he can recover some of his mobility, but the effort will require months, perhaps years, of intense physical therapy.

At first, President Bush is determined to carry on with both his administration and the re-election campaign, but the doctors tell him that just the stress of the campaign, let alone running the nation, will hinder his recovery. "You can choose to stay in office," his personal physician tells him bluntly, "And I can't stop you. But if you do, I can almost guarantee we'll be having a Presidential funeral before the end of 1993 - possibly even before the election is over." This piece of news only partially sways George Bush, but it certainly convinces Barbara Bush that after 30 years of public service, enough is finally enough.

September 4

Reluctantly, but at the full insistence of the First Lady, George Herbert Walker Bush submits his resignation as both Commander in Chief and as the candidate of the Republican Party, and James Danforth Quayle is sworn in as the 42nd President of the United States.

September 6

During the convention crisis in New York back in July, the Chairman of the Republican National Committee felt pretty jubilant watching the other guys slowly disintegrate right before his eyes. Now, though, he's starting to feel some appreciation for what the DNC Chairman had to live through.

To be sure, President Quayle has many supporters on the committee. Others, though, view him more as a liability than an asset. Some had even privately urged then-President Bush to replace the man with a new running mate when the convention had met - and imagine the quagmire they'd be in now if he had! But George Bush was a man loyal to his people, so Dan Quayle had stayed. Even now, some members had privately expressed the hope that, considering the circumstances, Quayle would opt out of running for his own term.

Fat chance! the chairman thought to himself as he read the new President's letter to the committee. It's a fairly direct note - whatever his other faults, Dan Quayle didn't tend to dissemble - stating that he hopes the RNC will choose him to take George Bush's place on the ticket.

"I think we should," the chairman finally said. "I think we have to. I mean, not only is he George Bush's running mate, he's now the incumbent! What does it say if we toss over a sitting President for someone else?"

"What does it say?" snapped someone from the far end of the table. "I'll tell you what it says! It says that just because George Bush had a momentary lapse of judgment, we're not going to perpetuate it!"

"Ralph!" someone winced.

"Well, it's true!" Ralph (not his real name) continued heatedly. "Four years he's lived a heartbeat away from the White House, and what's he accomplished? He's proven that he can't spell 'potato', and that he doesn't like 'Murphy Brown'! I can name a dozen candidates, right now, that we'd be better off fielding! Want me to list them alphabetically?"

"It's a recipe for disaster, is what it is," someone else said.

"Oh, come on," the chairman chided. "Are you saying that an incumbent President can't beat a jumped-up jokewriter like Dave Barry?"

"I'm saying that it'll be a race between a jokewriter and a joke!"

"Look, maybe you're right," someone else said wearily, "But then we get back to the facts - and the most crucial fact is that he is the President of the United States, and he is the most logical choice to take over George Bush's slot on the ticket."

It took the committee most of a day to decide, but in the end (with Ralph and four others dissenting), with the semi-official start of campaign season the next day, the RNC chooses J. Danforth "Dan" Quayle to be their official candidate for President.

President Quayle announces that he will leave the Vice-Presidency vacant between now and the election (meaning House Speaker Tom Foley is now next in the line of succession) and selects Former New York congressman and current HUD secretary Jack F. "Jack" Kemp as his running mate.

{End Part 4)

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 3/6

2008-01-03T07:24:22Z

July 18

The next morning, the chairman of the Democratic National Committee is in a quandary. He has been on the phone almost non-stop since late last night, fending off disgruntled candidates left and right. Governor Brown called, sounding distantly concerned, faintly disappointed, and slightly defensive. Senator Tsongas was more vociferous in the defense of his honor, but more philosophical about the nomination, stating, "I'm sure we could have done worse - at least they didn't break for LaRouche."

The longest - and loudest - call, though, was from the man who, only a week ago, was the presumptive nominee. As charming and personable as Governor Clinton can be on the hustings, he's also quite capable of a truly thundering rage. And the governor was quite livid indeed, casting aspersions and blame on everyone from Brown and Tsongas to Barry to the Times to the Chairman himself, and tossing in President Bush and CNN for good measure (though the chairman noted he very carefully didn't assign any of the blame for this fiasco to himself).

"You gotta disallow the nomination!" Clinton had loudly proclaimed at 4:00 AM. "Just disqualify this sumbitch and name me the nominee!"

"You? If you recall, Bill, you wound up third place in last night's balloting, behind Barry and Senator Tson-"

"Screw that! Look, I had tons of delegates pledged to me - more than enough to walk away with this! And if you'd enforced the rules like you should've, the party wouldn't be in this mess!"

And if you'd kept your fly zipped and your money clean, we'd have all been happier! the chairman thought angrily, biting back that reply before he said it. "Listen, Governor, the fact that so many people deserted you says more than I ever could. For what it's worth, I think this is an epic disaster, too..."

"Damn skippy!"

"But - I can't just summarily replace their pick with you!"

"Hell you can't!" the governor yelled. "You're the *@!#%! party chairman, you can do whatever the *@!#%! hell it takes to salvage this *@!#%! for me! Us!"

It had taken another half hour to sufficiently calm Clinton down, promise him that he'd take the situation under advisement, and get off the phone. Still, the chairman couldn't just dismiss Bill Clinton - or his arguments. Could he just replace this funnyman columnist with the governor? Or someone else? In reality, the chairman wasn't really sure what his options were. So with yet another sigh, he had called an early morning meeting to review them.

Basically, the choices boiled down to three reasonable (or semi-reasonable) alternatives. First, the DNC could, if it wanted, nullify the convention's pick and stand up their own man. Second, if Barry can be talked into declining the nomination, they can call the delegates back in for a twenty-ninth ballot. Their third and last choice is to swallow their misgivings, smile nice for the cameras and back Dave Barry to the hilt.

"Governor Clinton favors the first route," the chairman said.

"I'm sure," someone else remarked dryly. "And I bet I can guess who he favors getting the nomination instead."

"He did start out with the most delegates," another mused.

"Your key word there is 'did'," the chairman said. "Let's face it, we can sit here all day and argue Bill's merits - and Paul's and Jerry's, too - but in the mind of the public, they've all been tarnished. Between that frigging envelope with everything in it but Clinton's Swiss Bank Account numbers and his wang size, and the frigging Post's frigging allegations against Brown and Tsongas, those three are done for 1992. Probably for all time."

"We could name someone else," a woman said hopefully. "Pick someone who's not even a declared candidate - Chris Dodd, Barbara Boxer, Bob Graham..."

"The point," the chairman said quickly, "Is that if we go that route, we're as good as telling the delegates they wasted their time and money coming here - 'thanks for sweating it out down there in the trenches, but we'll just make the real decision ourselves'. Who'd want to vote for us if we show that kind of attitude? The PR damage alone would cripple this party well into the next millennium - provided it didn't wreck us all together."

"What about this Barry guy?" another man asked. "Can we run him? Can we get him to stand down? Does he even *want* the nomination?"

"I don't know," the chairman admitted. "I've talked to him a little last night, but he seemed as stunned by this as we are. He said he wanted to talk to his family first, see what his options were. He may wind up turning *us* down. The problem is that if he does, it goes back to the floor."

"Well," one of them said casually, "that's probably for the best. I mean, fine, the delegates have had their little tantrum, they've thumbed their noses at us and let their displeasure be heard - now they can buckle down and get back to the business of choosing a real candidate."

"You mean," someone else added acidly, "From the same choices they had that drove them to this?"

The chairman shook his head. "Sending this back to the floor could be trouble. We run the risk of letting the process drag on for 30, 40, maybe even 50 more ballots. We could wind up with another 1924 on our hands." This pronouncement sobered them all - they'd all had the chance this week to read about the 1924 Democratic Convention (ironically, also held in New York City) that ran for over two weeks, and taken 103 ballots to produce an underdog candidate. "Or worse yet - well, think about it. It took 28 ballots for them to get fed up and do this. Give them another couple of dozen ballots to stew over it, who do you think we'll wind up with then?"

No one said anything to this.

"I really hate to admit it," the chairman finally sighed, "But I'm forced to conclude - reluctantly - that our best hope is that Mr. Barry is willing to run."

"Any chance we'll win?" someone asked gloomily.

"For the cameras? We have every confidence that he'll win. Realistically? No. It's just the best choice of a bad lot. We're just going to have to cut our losses here, hunker down and wait for 1996."

For his part, Dave Barry is at first inclined to reject the nomination, on the grounds that not only does he not think he'd be that great a president, he's not even a registered Democrat! Plus, as he remarked to his wife, Beth, "Running a campaign would probably be a real drag."

Barry is discovering just how much a drag it is very quickly. He's been holed up in his hotel room since just past midnight. After his one quick call from the Chairman of the DNC, he'd pretty much yanked the phone out of the wall - after calling his Beth. He was also startled to be woken up at 6:00 AM by a grim-faced coterie of secret service agents (Real Live Secret Service!) who inform him that they're his protective detail, which, as a major party nominee, he's entitled to.

For her part, Beth is inclined to agree with her husband's assessment, but she tells him that she'll go along with whatever he decides.

Shortly after 1:00 PM, that day, the DNC Chairman and several committee members make their first formal call on their new nominee. After some cordially nervous small talk, they get down to business - after a manner. At first, the leadership tiptoes around the subject, soft-selling their precarious position. But just because Barry is a political neophyte doesn't mean he can't tell when he's being patronized. "Look," he finally tells the chairman, "If you really want to discuss this, fine, but if you don't quit trying to blow sunshine up my skirt, we'll just shake hands and call the whole thing off." Somewhat abashed, the chairman lays it all on the line, including the options discussed earlier that day. "I know you don't really have any reason to go along with this," he concludes, "But we would be grateful if you'd consider it."

Barry thinks for a minute. "Let me see if I've got this straight - the only reason you want me to take this nomination is because you're afraid that A, it'll take so long to get someone else that it'll be time for the midterm elections; and B, having shown an incredible lack of judgment by selecting me, the convention might decide to pick Geraldo Rivera or Mayor McCheese or somebody who'd actually be a worse choice than me - if that's possible."

"Uh, yes, that's..."

"And you've already pretty much written off the election at this point, and you're just concerned with making sure the Democratic Party doesn't go the way of the Holy Roman Empire."

"Well, I - yes, I guess that's pretty much it."

"And you need to know in the next negative fifteen minutes what I'm going to do so you can let the nice delegate-type people know if they're going to have to listen to me give a speech, or if they need to put their noses back to the grindstone."

"It would help," the chairman admitted.

"Uh-huh." Barry said. He sat absorbed in thought for a minute or so, then finally looked up with a grin. "Maybe I'm as nuts as they are," he said, "But what the heck - I'll give it a shot." The committee gratefully exhales a collective breath they didn't even realize they'd been holding in until then. "But," he tells them, "If I'm gonna do this, there's one condition."

"Which is?"

"I'll run this campaign my way."

More nervous looks among the politicos. "Meaning?" one asked.

"Just what I just said," Barry said. "You guys can send advisors and consultants and so forth, but I'll run this thing the way I want to."

There was some resistance to this suggestion, but in the end, with few other
palatable options, the DNC gave in.

That night, David Barry goes before the Democratic National Convention and accepts their nomination for the Presidency of the United States. His appearance is greeted with enthusiastic applause (though it's somewhat muted over in the Massachusetts, Arkansas and New York delegations). Barry makes what may be the most entertaining acceptance speech ever, keeping both the convention and the audience at home in stitches, and making a good general first impression.

He also answers the question of who his running mate will be. While he's been barraged with calls (or would have been, had his phone been plugged in) from spokespeople from potential veeps, the crowd seeking to climb on board with him is nowhere near what a candidate would normally expect. The reason is simple - as the chairman himself stated, Barry's chances in this election are vanishingly small, and no one really wants to be associated with this probable train wreck in progress. Still, there are plenty of would-be Vice Presidents who are more than willing to hitch their wagon to any star.

Barry drags it out until the very end of his speech, then surprises everybody with his choice - his good friend, fellow author and Rock-Bottom Remainders band-mate, horror novelist Stephen King.

As one commentator put it, "It may or may not be the most erudite ticket in American Political History, but it's certainly the most published."

{End Part 3}

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 2/6

2008-01-03T07:14:48Z

July 13

Rocked by a week of charges and countercharges, the 1992 Democratic National Convention opens at Madison Square Garden. What had started out as yet another quick, boring party gathering-slash-coronation is now something else entirely. Trust in the three leading candidates has been shattered, and many delegates aren't too thrilled about voting for any of the them! By now, a slate of would-be substitutes - Tennessee's Al Gore, Iowa's Tom Harkin, Nebraska's Bob Kerrey, Illinois's Paul Simon, Virginia's Douglas Wilder, Arizona's Bruce Babbit and others - has begun to pop up, each hoping to profit from the top tier's sudden fall from grace.

The man on everyone's mind, though, has yet to utter a word. All weekend, the buzz has centered around Governor Mario Cuomo of New York. Even before the past week's imbroglio, he was the true choice of many convention delegates. At this point, he's considered to be the one man (according to the pundits) to have the best chance of both re-uniting the party and defeating President Bush this November.

But the silence from Albany is deafening - and becoming more so by the hour! Simply by sitting in the Governor's mansion and saying nothing, Cuomo deepens the tension and confusion already running rampant in Madison Square Garden.

Finally, Wednesday night, the night before the balloting is scheduled to begin, Governor Cuomo issues a statement. In what is generally agreed later to be an extraordinarily poorly-worded press release, he states, "I will not send a team to campaign openly for the nomination, nor will I present my name to the assembled delegates for balloting. However, if the convention wishes to turn to me and request that I accept the nomination, I will seriously consider it."

The overall effect is not what the Governor had hoped for (at least one supposes not, since he never discussed it in public afterwards). Instead, the feeling was succinctly summed up by one Kansas delegate who remarked heatedly to "Nightline", "He wants us to crawl to him and beg him to allow himself to be nominated?! The hell with that! I'll vote Bugs Bunny before I'll vote for Mario Cuomo!"

July 16

Thursday arrives - and it looks like a gray, gray day to the Democratic Party bosses. Their top candidates are effectively out of action, their presumptive fall-back man has played his "Hamlet" card one time too many, and all that's left are the wannabes and favorite sons skulking about the Gardens, hoping for lightning to strike.

A depressing spectacle, to be sure - but, the bosses tell themselves, not a totally bleak one. Sure, the embarrassment factor is running high, and most of the potential fill-ins aren't exactly brimming over with charisma. Still, most of them would be reasonably serviceable candidates, particularly when backed by the party machinery, and President Bush still looks weak at the polls. So, they ask themselves, how bad can it really get?

Fate (as it is wont to do) sets out to quantify an answer for them.

The balloting begins, and to no one's surprise, a winner is not chosen. Technically, of course, delegates are bound to vote for the candidate they're pledged to, but no one wants to vote for damaged goods, and in this case, the penalty for violating the rules seems to be far outweighed by the price of following them. So despite many protests from Governor Clinton and his staff, the party discreetly ignores its own by-laws, and the leadership resigns itself to running the first multi-ballot convention in decades, expecting that someone will emerge around the fourth or fifth ballot to collect the prize.

But even after seven attempts, no one seems to be polling very well. And there are no signs the situation will improve soon. There are still supporters for Bill Clinton, Paul Tsongas and Jerry Brown, but their numbers have dwindled significantly. A few stubborn souls in the New York delegation are still booming Mario Cuomo, but almost no one else is. Ditto for small but vocal groups backing Jesse Jackson and Ted Kennedy. And the brace of would-be candidates are far too scattered and disorganized to have much impact.

And so the balloting goes on. And on. And on. And, in fact, on. Finally, shortly after 2:00 AM, 16 ballots have been taken, the convention recesses, and Thursday ends with no result.

July 17

It's drawing close to 11:00 PM on Friday night, the night that had once upon a time been set aside for acceptance speeches by Governor Clinton and his chosen running mate. The possibility that *anyone* will be giving an acceptance speech anytime soon is growing dim, though. 26 ballots have been cast and there's still no nominee. Stubbornness, pride and anger have taken hold in the hearts and minds of the candidates, and none of them are willing to withdraw in favor of any of the others. This evening's should-have-been celebration has devolved into a half-hearted waiting game.

That's when a clutch of bored and disgusted delegates from Florida cast a total of 10 votes for Miami Herald columnist and author Dave Barry. Bemused by this, 5 delegates from Georgia do the same. This is followed by 2 Dave Barry votes each from Hawaii and Idaho. Then 12 from Illinois. And 14 from Indiana.

By the end of the 27th Ballot, with 398 votes, Dave Barry is in third place, outdistancing Governor Brown.

Belatedly awakened to this new (and to them, dangerous) trend on the floor, the party leadership tries desperately to adjourn before the next ballot can be taken - they fear this will make them appearing even *more* ludicrous on national television (this convention is drawing the highest ratings of any since 1968 - not that, under the circumstances, the Democrats consider this to be a good thing). But by now, the delegates are sick to death of the party leadership - after all, look at the candidates *they've* managed to produce - and plow ahead, unmindful and in the grip of what one of them later described as "some weird combination of antipathy, euphoria and sheer desperation".

It's later described as the first real nomination by acclamation in memory. It happens so fast, in fact, it occurs almost before the nominee learns he's even in contention.

In fact, when he receives the news, Dave Barry is at a Manhattan bar with a bunch of fellow journalists where they've gone to escape the overpoweringly desperate atmosphere of the Gardens. Barry suggests switching from the baseball game back to the convention to see what's going on. "That way," Barry jokes, "I can claim all this beer on my expense account". With a shrug (after all, the Mariners are leading the Yanks by a dismally wide margin in the eighth), the bartender flips to CBS.

As they tune in, they hear muted cheers, "Maybe somebody's finally got things moving," one of the bar patrons suggests.

"Mister Chairman," comes an accented voice, "The great state of Louisiana casts 8 votes for Bill Clinton, 6 votes for its own former Governor, the honorable Edwin W. Edwards," (a description that succeeds in producing a loud snort from a "New Orleans Times-Picayune" reporter) "2 votes for Senator Albert Gore, and 19 votes for MISTER - DAVE - BARRY!"

More applause fills the hall. Dave Barry fills the table with a mouthful of spewed Heineken.

Barry leaps to his feet, half-convinced this is an elaborate gag, desperately trying to remember if there's anyone else named Dave Barry he should know about. A quick glance at the screen bursts that bubble, as he sees his face (a shot from the back cover of his latest book) projected behind a frankly befuddled Dan Rather. Dan, it seems, doesn't quite know what to make of this situation where an undeclared candidate, a fellow journalist from Miami and a Pulitzer Prize winner at that, has seized the lead in the race for the Democratic Presidential nomination and is rapidly closing in on the magic number needed to actually...

Leaving his now-speechless drinking buddies behind, Dave bursts from the bar and hails a cab for the Gardens, not sure if he's aghast, hysterical, or just plain terrified. He tries to get the cabbie to switch to live coverage, but all the radio in the taxi seems to get is Paula Abdul and something called Nirvana. Finally, he spills out of the cab, makes his way into the Garden, and rushes breathlessly (and blessedly unobserved) up to the press box just in time to see and hear Washington cast 25 votes in his name - just enough to put him over the top.

On the 28th Ballot, the Democratic Party has nominated Dave Barry to be its 1992 candidate for President of the United States.

(End Part 2)

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 1/6

2008-01-03T07:08:48Z

July 6, 1992

As per OTL, preparations are underway for the following week's Democratic National Convention in New York City. Going in, Arkansas governor William J "Bill" Clinton has far and away enough delegates to win nomination on the first ballot. The major news organizations, both print and electronic, expect the only "real" news to be the announcement of Governor Clinton's running mate. All in all, it looks to be yet another deadly dull convention.

Then the revelations begin.

It all starts when an anonymous bundle of documents and tapes lands on the desks of Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings, CNN, and several major newspapers and magazines simultaneously. Contained in the packet are sworn affidavits and several - explicit - photographs which confirm that, despite all his earlier denials, Governor Clinton has been involved a series of extra-marital liaisons. The Clinton camp, aware of their man's proclivities, has been preparing for what it derisively termed "bimbo eruptions". This, however, was something more - it was a "bimbo explosion".

The aforementioned bimbos were merely embarrassing and annoying. The real damage, though, is in the documents, which lay out in painstaking detail the involvement of both Governor Clinton and his wife, Hillary, in a series of questionable real estate deals, market speculation, and other financial transactions.

Cautiously, most media outlets decide to hold the package and check the facts before printing or broadcasting. The New York Times, however, makes the decision to run with it, as does CNN. Tuesday morning, the charges are made public for the first time. By Wednesday, it's the top story everywhere.

The Clinton camp immediately issues a heated denial and dismisses the charge as "false, malicious and irresponsible". But the backlash is immediate. Despite being pledged to him, dozens of delegates desert the governor. Things are now looking up for the formerly moribund campaigns of his main rivals, former California Governor Edmund G. "Jerry" Brown and former Massachusetts Senator Paul E. "Paul" Tsongas.

Their good fortunes last until Friday.

July 8

Reporters and editors at the Washington Post are suspicious of the timing of the anti-Clinton bombshell (they're also more than a bit miffed that they were scooped by their arch-rival New York Times, but none of them are likely to admit it outside the walls of the Post building). Investigative reporter Charlie Woodburn (not his real name) begins an inquiry into the source of the "anonymous" delivery.

Charlie's initial thought is that this little bundle of joy has its origins at GOP headquarters - a sort of Watergate in reverse. However, Charlie catches an extraordinarily swift (and lucky) break when he finds the delivery boy who left the packet. By questioning him, Charlie discovers the information was sent from the office of a private investigation firm located in Brooklyn. Charlie heads to the Big Apple and stops by the place, where the PI politely but firmly rebuffs his questions. Undaunted, Charlie is preparing to leave when he is pulled aside by a secretary who has not been paid what she believes to be commensurate restitution for her work on this and several other jobs. Over a lingering dinner, the secretary (whom Charlie dubbed "Zelda" in his story, though it's not her real name) spills the story. The investigation into the Governor's personal and financial peccadilloes was initiated by a man from San Francisco looking for some out-of-town talent. "Zelda" then shows Charlie a copy of the check that paid (quite handsomely) for the dig.

Charlie's heart almost stops - the name is one he recognizes. It's none other than the campaign manager for Governor Brown. What's more, the check is drawn on a bank in Boston, home to Paul Tsongas, Clinton's other main rival.

Thinking quick, Woodburn procures the copy and thanks "Zelda" for her help. After some quick background work, Charlie catches the redeye back to DC and presents his evidence to his editors. What Woodburn has is a bit sketchy - but, the editors agree, it looks solid. They're also very aware that "excessive caution" (as one of them so dryly puts it) got the Post scooped once. They won't take a chance of it happening again.

June 10
BROWN, TSONGAS DRIVE CLINTON INVESTIGATION screams the headline in the Post. The expose reveals that Brown's campaign director, desperate to stop Clinton's rise (and salvage what might be Brown's last chance for the White House) used campaign funds to hire private investigators to comb through the darker recesses of Clinton's life. Further, the paper hints that there is a strong possibility that the Tsongas camp may have also been involved, financing the move while letting the Brown staff run the risk of direct person-to-person contact.

Later, the allegations against Senator Tsongas are proven untrue - the Brown team had simply used the Boston bank as a "cut-out" to transfer funds. However, in the short term, the damage is done. Governor Clinton lashes out angrily at his opponents, calling their tactics "invasive and despicable" and accusing them of "lowering the level of political discourse to depths even Republicans would blanch at". However, if Governor Clinton is hoping for a "bounce" from this fiasco, he's disappointed. The seesaw may have dropped Brown and Tsongas, but it hasn't lifted him at all.

{End Part 1}

"The Election of Dave Barry" Part 0/6

2008-01-03T06:58:32Z

Well, for those of you reading this who don't live in the US, tomorrow (or today by now, I suppose) is the very first step in the American Presidential Election, the Iowa caucuses. This is occurring far sooner than it ever has before because otherwise, Iowa & New Hampshire would have had to forego their quadrennial tradition of screwing with the presidential nomination process. So with that going on, I figure this is as good a time as any for this.

Several years ago, there was a discussion in the newsgroup soc.history.what-if (which is dedicated to alternate history) about who could come up with a way to get the least likely person ever elected President. Since Dave Barry is always offers himself as an alternative (go to his website for details), I wrote this as a blueprint to help achieve Dave's goal. This is an expanded and revised version, BTW. So anyway, here it is. Feedback, as always, is not required but definitely appreciated.

Star Trek: The Forever Variations (4/4) - "Forever and Ever, Amen" (Voyager)

2007-11-19T06:49:02Z

FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN
By Bill Livingston

After a frantic search, punctuated by frustration on one side and panicked delirium on the other, the three of them had been re-united. It was a happy occasion, but one as full of questions as it was relief: "How did you get here?" "How did *I* get here?" "Have all the effects worn off?" "How long have you been looking for me?" "Do you remember anything you did?"

Then the captain turned - and saw doom approaching.

"Edward!" Janeway whispered, almost choking on the word. He didn't see the doom speeding his way with his name on it.

She started forward, every instinct telling her to save him.

"Captain!" Seven's severe voice brought her back to agonizing reality. Simply by living, this gracious and perceptive gentleman was endangering Earth, the Federation, and the life and liberty of everyone she knew.

But she loved him - she loved him so much, it hurt!

Then she felt Tom begin to surge past her, and she knew there was no time left at all. She had to act.

With all of her strength, Kathryn Janeway flung herself in front of her onrushing helmsman - but even in his weakened condition, Tom was quicker. She felt his sleeve slip out of her grasp as he plunged past her.

As in a dream, she watched Tom Paris tackle Edward Keeler. The duo spilled backwards, onto the sidewalk and out of the path of the truck.

In a daze, Tom rose and helped his recent benefactor up off the sidewalk. "You okay, Eddie?"

"I'm - I'm fine, thanks. Kathy, you know Tommy Paris?"

Janeway nodded numbly.

"Mr. Paris," came Seven's voice from behind her. "You have interfered in the destiny of Edward Keeler."

Keeler looked at her oddly. "If you mean he saved my life, Miss Hansen, then he certainly has. Although you make it sound as if he's made a horrible mistake."

Kathryn swallowed hard. "Edward," she said, "Maybe we better skip that Clark Gable film and go back to the mission. We have to talk."

"Is that wise?" Seven asked. "I assume the Temporal Prime Directive..."

"At the moment," Janeway said, sounding piqued, "There is no Temporal Prime Directive because there's no Federation! And unless we tell Edward what's happened, there may never be!"

"Captain," Tom asked nervously, "What's going on?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Keeler added, gazing at her intently, and adding, half-humorously, "'Captain'."

Janeway returned his gaze. "I'll explain everything," she promised. "But first, let's go back to the mission and get a cup of coffee."

Their conversation lasted well into the night. At first, Keeler refused to believe her story about coming from 400 years in the future. Then Seven of Nine removed the shroud she used to hide the disfigured face of "Anna Hansen" and shown him her Borg implants. And Kathryn showed him the recordings of the two divergent timelines they'd made from the Guardian. Even then, it was difficult for him to fathom.

Keeler shook his head. "Unbelievable that it would come to that. I mean, for God's sake, we just fought a war to pacify the Germans! And now you're telling me that not only was the Great War all for naught, but that I'm - I'm going to..."

"As you have just seen," Seven said, "It is what happens. Your efforts to broker peace, while laudable, gave these 'Nazis' the time they needed to perfect weapons of sufficient power to dominate Earth."

"So what now?" Tom asked.

Keeler sighed. "Well, now that I know, I suppose I have no choice. I'll have to withdraw from life - turn the mission over to someone else, perhaps become a hermit. I'll do anything to prevent that future I saw from taking place."

Janeway shook her head sadly. "It may not be that simple, Edward. Every minute you remain here is another chance that history could be altered. Anything you do that you weren't supposed to could have consequences. Maybe not as drastically as before but..."

"Yes, I think I see," he said. There was a long moment of silence, which he finally broke by saying, "So, a slight change in plans, then."

"What do you mean?"

"I think, even at this late hour, there's sufficient traffic in New York City for me to find another truck somewhere."

It took a moment for this remark to sink home. "Edward, no!" Janeway exclaimed.

Keeler looked at her bleakly. "You said it yourself, Kathy - I'm a liability, a walking disaster that could destroy everything. The only way to be sure of setting your world right is for me not to continue in it."

"Wait, wait, hold on," Tom cried desperately. "Captain, couldn't we take him back with us? I mean, if he's in the 24th Century, he can't change the anything back here in the 20th, right?"

Keeler smiled thinly. "A generous offer, Tommy, but for what it's worth, I'd rather not spend my final days as a fish out of water. Even if your ship makes its way back to Earth, I'd be a man out of my age. No, I have a destiny to fulfill - and it's one which I'm apparently late for." He rose and shook Tom's hand. "I wish you every luck sailing the stars, Tommy. You're the man for it, or no one ever was."

"Eddie, I - I - " Paris said, his throat dry and words failing him.

To Seven, he said, "Anna, I've enjoyed our conversations - although I'll admit, I haven't understood them all. I wish I'd gotten to know you a little better."

"As do I," she said. "You are a remarkable and courageous individual, Edward Keeler."

"Thank you," he said quietly. Then he turned to face Captain Janeway. "Kathy, if there were any other way…"

Tears were streaming openly down her face. "Oh God, Edward! I - I love you!"

With a sigh, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. "I love you too, you know," he said quietly. "That's one of the many reasons I have to do this. Stay strong, Captain Kathy; you'll get all your people home yet. I have all the confidence in the world - in the universe - in you."

And with one last sad smile, Edward Keeler walked away from the Rescue Mission he'd help build, to meet his fate.

Star Trek: The Forever Variations (3/4) - "What's Forever For?" (Deep Space 9)

2007-11-19T06:28:25Z

WHAT'S FOREVER FOR?
By Bill Livingston

After a frantic search, punctuated by frustration on one side and panicked delirium on the other, the three of them had been re-united. It was a happy occasion, but one as full of questions as it was relief: "How did you get here?" "How did *I* get here?" "Have all the effects worn off?" "How long have you been looking for me?" "Do you remember anything you did?"

Then the captain turned - and saw doom approaching.

"Edith!" Sisko whispered, almost choking on the word. She had no idea of the danger she was in, of the unseen terror about to snuff out her life.

He started forward, every instinct telling him to save her.

"Captain!" O'Brien's voice brought him back to agonizing reality. If Edith lived, the consequences were unthinkable - this fearless and loving lady who was dedicated to the same principles as he, would inadvertently doom trillions.

But he loved her - he loved her so much, it hurt!

Then he felt Bashir begin to surge past him, and he knew there was no time left at all. He had to act.

Acting without hesitation, Sisko grabbed Julian, clamping a hand of iron over his mouth and spinning him around. He felt the doctor protest his actions, but still he held tight.

He didn't need to see what happened next - none of them did. There was an ear-splitting roar, accompanied by a flash that lit the night, and Sisko felt himself and Bashir tossed to the ground. Almost idly, he watched as O'Brien staggered, thrown backwards into a storefront by the force of the blast.

With a heavy heart, Ben Sisko raised his head and saw what he feared to see, what he hoped against hope that would not see. The front of the church, only half a block away, had exploded into the surrounding street. The rubble littered the landscape as far as he could see.

It had been a miracle that no one had been in the church that night. A scheduled board meeting in the sanctuary had been cancelled at the last minute; otherwise dozens would have been killed. As it was, only one person had died - an innocent bystander, who happened to be walking down the wrong street at the wrong time. A woman who ran a downtown rescue mission nearby, a woman named Edith Keeler.

Sisko was unhurt, but his heart ached so that he could barely move. Next to him, Bashir was trembling, more from outrage than fear. "Sir!" he whispered. "I could have warned her! Saved her! Why - why did you stop me?"

Sisko said nothing.

"WHY did you stop me?" Bashir demanded.

"He didn't want to, Julian" Miles said as he pulled Bashir to his feet. "He had to."

Bashir's face shifted from anger to confusion. "Had to? But - but why?"

Sisko climbed to his feet, remembering what the tricorder had shown. In one reality, Edith had died here, the lone victim of a senseless act of hate whose perpetrators would not be brought to justice for over 30 years. In the other, she had lived, had become a tireless worker for justice and civil rights, and had actually succeeded where many others had failed, or only succeeded after a much longer time, by bringing a stronger and lasting harmony between the races. Still she kept working.

And finally, in her idealism, she helped raise up a leader, one who otherwise would have toiled in obscurity. A leader who was charismatic and compelling, but tragically, fatally unequal to the task of running his nation. A leader who was no leader at all. A leader who had allowed tyranny and totalitarianism to finally, sadly triumph.

To keep that misleader from ever leading, to protect the timeline and all who lived in it, to ensure the safety of generations unborn - Benjamin Sisko had had to let Edith Keeler die.

To Bashir, though, all he said was, "I did it to save the Federation, Doctor."

O'Brien turned his head as, in the distance, sirens began to wail. "We better head back to the present, Captain."

Sisko nodded gravely. "Let's get the hell out of this time and place, gentlemen."

With what felt like a stone in his heart, Sisko turned and walked away,

Star Trek: The Forever Variations (2/4) - "Forever Came Today" (Next Generation)

2007-11-19T06:20:26Z

FOREVER CAME TODAY
By Bill Livingston

After a frantic search, punctuated by frustration on one side and panicked delirium on the other, the three of them had been re-united. It was a happy occasion, but one as full of questions as it was relief: "How did you get here?" "How did *I* get here?" "Have all the effects worn off?" "How long have you been looking for me?" "Do you remember anything you did?"

Then the captain turned - and saw doom approaching.

"Edith!" Picard whispered, almost choking on the word. She didn't see the danger hurtling toward her, the iron monster that would snuff out her existence.

He started forward, every instinct telling him to save her.

"Captain!" Data's preternaturally controlled voice brought him back to agonizing reality. The actions of this extraordinary woman, this believer in all that he held dear, would result in the unwitting condemnation of the world to a totalitarian horror.

But he loved her - he loved her so much, it hurt!

Then he felt Riker begin to surge past him, and he knew there was no time left at all. He had to act.

With a sob, he threw himself in front of Riker. There was the screech of tires, and he watched, horrified, as the vehicle caught Edith Keeler and threw her onto the pavement.

The snap of her neck was like the sound of his heart breaking.

He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Riker's breath came in great ragged gasps. "Captain!" he exclaimed. "You - you stopped me! I could have saved her! And you stopped me!"

"Commander," Data said softly. "The captain did what had to be done."

"Surprisingly, he did indeed, Mr. Data," came a familiar (and unwelcome) voice.

"Q!" Riker snarled. He looked around to find Q behind him, clad in period 1930's clothing with an inappropriately smug expression on his face. "What the hell was this all about?!"

"Just a little test, Commander," he allowed. "Jean-Luc and the rest of you clots are always going on and on about how love is the most powerful force in the universe. I just wanted to see what Mon Capitane valued more - true love, or the continued existence and well-being of an entire timeline full of sentient beings."

Data cocked his head and frowned. "I admit to understanding very little about human emotion, Q. Even so, this strikes me as a particularly cruel and unfeeling 'test'."

"You're quite right, Data, it is," Q replied with asperity. "But on the other hand, I believe you'll find that the universe has very little regard for the feelings of others. Sometimes unpleasant choices have to be made - and I have to admit, Jean-Luc, you certainly made a tough one!"

Picard, who had been silently watching the crowd gather around the accident scene, apparently unaware of what was transpiring, suddenly rushed Q, pinning him savagely against a nearby wall.

"This is all a game to you, isn't it?!" he snarled, sounding very much unlike himself. "You play with the lives of us 'lesser creatures', unmindful of anything we experience! You act like some superior headmaster, trying to impress your lessons on humanity as though we're dull, unruly schoolboys, when in reality, you're nothing more than a sadistic, uncaring bully!! Are you satisfied with the outcome of this particular test, Q?!? Was Edith Keeler's senseless death instructive enough, meaningful enough to gratify you? Was it?!? WAS IT?!!?"

Riker and Data looked on in shock, not daring to speak or even barely to breathe.

Q's initial look of surprise had faded to annoyance. "I could discorporeate you for that, Picard," he said. Then, just as suddenly, Q's face registered something the captain could barely stand to see - unalloyed pity. "But under the circumstances," he added quietly, "I believe I shall let it pass. And for what it's worth, Jean-Luc - I am indeed sorry for you loss. Until we meet again." With that, Q snapped his fingers...

...And the three officers found themselves back on the bridge of the Enterprise, clad in their regular Fleet uniforms. Confusion was written on the faces of the bridge crew - except for Deanna, who wore an expression of shock and horror as the powerful turmoil of emotions in Picard crashed over her.

"Captain?" a surprised Worf exclaimed. "Commanders? How did you return here? You beamed down to the surface less than a minute ago."

"Status?" Riker asked quietly.

Worf checked the sensors. "Sir, I cannot explain it, but - confirmed. All anomalous chroniton readings have ceased."

Smoothly, Data took his seat. He turned to the captain. "Sir, what are your orders?"

For a long moment, Picard said nothing. Then, with a voice heavy with misery, he simply said, "Set course away from this planet. Starbase 121. Denobula. The Klingon Empire. Anywhere."

Data said nothing, but merely turned to the console. "Course to Starbase 121 plotted and laid in."

"Engage," he said softly, "And get us the hell away from this God-forsaken place!"

And with that, Jean-Luc Picard retreated to his Ready Room.

Star Trek: The Forever Variations (1/4) - "Forever Man" (Enterprise)

2007-11-19T06:08:33Z

FOREVER MAN
By Bill Livingston

After a frantic search, punctuated by frustration on one side and panicked delirium on the other, the three of them had been re-united. It was a happy occasion, but one as full of questions as it was relief: "How did you get here?" "How did *I* get here?" "Have all the effects worn off?" "How long have you been looking for me?" "Do you remember anything you did?"

Then the captain turned - and saw doom approaching.

"Edith!" Archer whispered, almost choking on the word. She didn't see the danger, the steel monster barreling down on her that would end her life.

He started forward, every instinct telling him to save her.

"Captain!" Reed's clipped voice brought him back to agonizing reality. If she lived, this kind and gentle woman, this disciple of peace and intellect, would unintentionally throw the world - the entire galaxy - into chaos!

But he loved her - he loved her so much, it hurt!

Then he felt Trip begin to surge past him, and he knew there was no time left at all. He had to act.

Without hesitation, without thinking, Jonathan Archer threw himself at Edith Keeler, knocking her back onto the rough pavement. He felt the heat and smelled the pungent breeze of the truck's exhaust as it washed by him.

"Jonathan! Oh my, you - you saved my life!"

"Yeah - I guess I did at that," Archer panted. He felt his stomach clench as he realized what he'd done.

"Cap'n! Edith!" Tucker exclaimed, rushing over to him. "You two okay?"

"Fine - fine, Trip," said, while simultaneously doubting it.

"Captain Archer!" Malcolm said in a strangled voice. "Do you know what you've just done?"

"I do," Archer said grimly as he helped Edith to her feet. And suddenly, the remedy for what had just occurred crystallized in his mind. "And I know what I have to do next."

"And what would that be?" Reed asked, not entirely certain what his next move should be. The only way he could see to repair this damage was - but surely the captain wouldn't save her from the accident, only to deliberately snuff out her life now. Still, he could see no other way. Reed was determined that if Archer should falter again, he'd assume the unpleasant duty he saw coming.

Instead, Archer surprised him by turning to her. "Edith, you've been so kind to me - to all of us. And we truly appreciate it."

"Do you? 'Appreciate' me, that is?" she asked uncertainly. "I thought perhaps it was more than that."

Archer smiled. "It is. Edith, I, I've never felt this way about anyone before. I can't describe it to you in words. I want to show you just how much I do care for you. But for now, I need you to go with us."

"Go? Go where?"

Archer took her arm in his. "I - don't think you'll believe me until we get there."

"Waitasec," Trip said as he followed, sounding as confused as he looked, "What's goin' on here?"

"Long story," the captain said.

"Sir," Malcolm said with consternation, "Please tell me you're not thinking of doing what I think you are thinking of doing."

Archer stopped and looked at him. "It's the only way, Malcolm. I couldn't let her die. And I can't let anyone else die because of my actions."

Now it was Edith's turn to look confused. "Jonathan, I don't understand. Who's going to die? Where are we going?"

"No one is going to die," he said. "And we're heading for a place I think you'll like. A place where all the ideals you've worked for are more than just words - they've helped build a reality that's taken humanity out of despair, and hurled us towards those stars up there. Would you be interested in seeing that place, Edith? Of being a part of it?"

"Oh yes, Jonathan - a great deal!"

"Then take my hand, Edith. I'll explain, but until I can - please, trust me."

Without hesitation, Edith Keeler smiled back, put her hand in Jonathan Archer's and walked with him - straight through the brick wall, and 200 years into the future.

Glancing at each other uncertainly, Reed and Tucker could only shrug and follow.

Star Trek: The Forever Variations (0/4) - Introduction

2007-11-19T05:43:35Z

For some time, there have been various rumors circulating around the internet (and you all know what a reliable information source that is) concerning the brand new Star Trek film scheduled for release during Christmas 2008. The latest in this parade of smi-half-possibly-maybe-truths is that the plot of the film will involve the Guardian of Forever, which you may recall was the big smoke-filled half-doughnut that let McCoy (then Kirk and Spock) travel backwards in time to the 1930s in the classic episode "City on the Edge of Forever". A fact that has, in turn, pushed Harlan Ellison's buttons. (The latest in a series! Collect them all!) Harlie, supposedly, is royally honked off that the producers have dared use characters that he originated without asking him. The issue is complex (he created them for hire, for a regualr TV series, but there's some separation of Intellectual Property stuff involved) and it's not even a certainty that there *is* an issue.

However, reading this got me thinking about a debate that took place a few years ago on either RATMM or ASC about the validity of the ending of Ellison's original script (Kirk can't bring himself to allow Edith Keeler to die, and it's up to Spock to set things right) vs the denouement as it was finally aired. Someone pointed out that while Ellison's original script may have been superior in many ways, letting it end like he originally wrote it would have seriously changed the way we looked at Jim Kirk - what good is a hero eho's willing to let trillions of beings (including you and me, I might add!) die to save one life? Sure, it might play better today, but 1967 was not the time for a conflicted anti-hero to be the centerpiece of any series, let alone one as morally high-minded (or high-handed, depending on your point of view) as Trek.

Anyway, a couple of years later, that was on my mind when I wrote these four stories as part of a challenge issues on ASC by the estimable Alara Rogers to take the plot of a Star Trek episode from one series and redo it to fit in one of the others. I chose to take this episode and alter it to fit each of the other series. Of the four, I think that, surprisingly, the Voyager version works best, and the DS9 ep is the weakest.

Judge for yourselves, though.

Oh, and there's also this:

Disclaimer: "Star Trek" and all related characters and situations are trademarks of and © Desilu/Paramount/Viacom. All rights are reserved.

MiSTed - "No Trick This Year" (Marrissa!)

2007-11-01T00:13:47Z

Well, it's Halloween (no, really?), and as such, I'm reactivating this moribun attempt at fanfictioning to repost a MiSTing I made many years ago. "No Trick This Year" is the heartwarming story of the Kids' Crew, and the cruel fate of those who would deny them their candies of choice.

Season Nine Theme, etc.

[SATELLITE OF LOVE - The Bridge is empty. After a moment, Crow & Servo enter]
CROW: Tom.
SERVO: Crow.

[Gypsy Enters]

CROW: Gypsy.
GYPSY: Crow.
SERVO: Gypsy.
GYPSY: Tom.

[Now Mike enters]

MIKE: Tom.
SERVO: Mike.
MIKE: Crow.
CROW: Mike.
MIKE: Gyps.
GYPSY: Mike.

[Mads' Light flashes]

MAGIC VOICE: Guys.
MIKE & THE BOTS: Magic Voice?
MV: Lights.
MIKE: Oh. [Mike hits the button]

[CASTLE FORRESTER - Pearl & the crew are gathered]
PEARL: Mike.
OBSERVER: Crow.
BOBO: Servo.

[SOL]
MIKE: Pearl.
CROW: Brain Guy.
SERVO: Bobo.

[CF]
PEARL: Experiment.

[SOL]
MIKE: Now?

[CF]
PEARL: Yep.

[SOL]
SERVO: Great!
CROW: Shoot!
GYPSY: Yikes!
MIKE: What?

[CF]
PEARL: Pain.
OBSERVER: Torment.
BOBO: Candy.
PEARL & OBSERVER: BOBO!

[SOL]
CROW: Candy?
SERVO: Wha?
MIKE: Dunno.

[CF]
ALL:: RATLIFF!

[SOL]
ALL:: RATLIFF?!?

[CF]
PEARL: Yep.
OBSERVER: Short.
PEARL: Enjoy!
BOBO: Ahhhhhhh.

[SOL]
SERVO: Ratliff.
CROW: Doomed.
MIKE: Candy?
[Lights flash]
ALL:: MOVIE SIGN!

[Chaos, doors, etc.]

[6] {5} (4) <3> |2| O

[All enter]

MIKE: Well, we zipped through that.
SERVO: Yeah, but considering what awaits us, I wonder what the big rush was.

>From: sratliff@runet.edu (Stephen Ratliff)

CROW: Y'know, no matter how many times I see that one simple line, it never fails to fill me with a gnawing existential dread.

>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative

CROW: Y'know, no matter how many times I see that one simple line, it never fails to fill me with a gnawing existential dread.

>Subject: NEW TNG No Trick This Year 1/1 [G] (Marrissa Stories)
>Date: 31 Oct 1998 22:36:37 GMT
>Organization: Radford University

CROW: Y'know, no matter how many times I see that one simple line, it never fails-
MIKE: Okay, Crow, we get it.

>Lines: 194

SERVO: Hey, it's a short one!
[All cheer]
CROW: That just means it's concentrated, though.
[All sigh]

>Message-ID: <71g3dl$...@newslink.runet.edu>

SERVO: Sad to think they've got to write this on a check *every*
time this message goes to K-Mart.

>NNTP-Posting-Host: rucs2.sunlab.cs.runet.edu
>X-Newsreader: TIN [UNIX 1.3 950824BETA PL0]
>Status: N
>
>
>
>Title: No Trick This Year

MIKE: The Hugh Grant story.

>Author: Stephen Ratliff (sratl...@runet.edu)

ALL:: Hi, Stephen

>Series: TNG Marrissa Stories,
>Parts: NEW 1/1
>Rating: [G]
>Codes: Halloween Challenge

MIKE: This must be a pro wrestling story.
CROW: Marrissa "The Body" Picard vs. Stone Cold Will Riker in a battle to the finish!
SERVO: FROM THE TOP ROPE!
CROW: [whispering] What does that mean, exactly?
SERVO: I dunno, but it sounds impressive.

>
>Summary: Marrissa and her friends discuss the tricks they've
>played on the Enterprise's command staff, before going out
>trick or treating this year

SERVO: Nice to know Trick Or Treat made it to the future.
CROW: Well, something has to support the candy industry in the 24th century.

>
>No Trick This Year.

MIKE: Silly Captain, Tricks are for kids!

>
>Marrissa and her friends

CROW: Bubba the Talking Bear, Barbie, a headless Ken and her Furby collection...

> were gathered in the Picard quarters
>getting ready for trick or treating.

SERVO: Yes, it's Hell Night on the Enterprise, and Marrissa's gonna make the most of it.

> Marrissa was going as
>Sailor Moon this year,

CROW: Ouch!
SERVO: Could be worse - she could be going as a Powerpuff Girl.
MIKE: It's pretty much the same thing, isn't it?
SERVO: Mike, try to keep up, okay?

> and based on the looks the Captain had
>given her when she had tried the custom

ALL:: And tradition.

> on last week, he
>wasn't exactly approving the costume.

MIKE: [Picard] I thought I told you, Marrissa, *I* wanted to be Sailor Moon this year!

> Marrissa thought it was
>the skirt that was the problem,

CROW: She shouldn't have made it out of his dress uniform.

> but it wasn't her fault that
>those old Japanese animators drew it that short, and he'd had
>time to object.

SERVO: Hey, I just realized - Marrissa *is* Princess of Space!
CROW: Lovely. That means the Enterprise should meet Krankhor's chicken men any second now.

>
>Clara was going as Skuld, which Marrissa thought fit her
>perfectly.

MIKE: I'd be inclined to agree, if I knew who or what "Skuld" was.

> Clara was doing some touch-up on her makeup

MIKE: While drinking Seven-Up.
CROW: And getting ready for her close-up.
SERVO: And hoping she wouldn't screw up.

> before
>the group departed. Jay had colored his hair black,

CROW: A little dab'll do ya, Jay.

> and was
>dressed as Shinji Ikari, complete with plug suit.

CROW: Complete with *what?!?*
SERVO: It's either an electrical appliance, or something illegal in all 50 states.
MIKE: Possibly both.
CROW & SERVO: Ewwwwwwww!!!

> Alexander,
>who was only in his second year trick or treating,

SERVO: [Alexander] Please, let me stop now!

> had chosen
>to go with his strengths...

MIKE: Ah, he's going as not-a-warrior.

> He was dressed as a knight.

CROW: [English accent] Stand and deliver, Sir Klingon!

>Shayna, meanwhile, had chosen to go with the old stand-by, a
>witch.

SERVO: Elizabeth Montgomery *is* Melissa Joan Hart *as* Shayna!
MIKE: Actually - I'd watch that.

>
>"I still think you should have chosen the fairy godmother
>costume, Shayna," Clara said from her post next to Marrissa's
>mirror.

CROW: [Marrissa] Never mind that now - just man your post!
SERVO: [Clara] Aye, captain! Make-up mirror at the ready - lipstick tubes fully charged and armed!

>
>"I did that a couple of years back," Shayna said. "It didn't
>turn out well. Plus, I like doing an evil laugh."

MIKE: And since Marrissa does most of that, she doesn't get much chance to let one go.

>
>"Please spare us,"

ALL:: Amen!

> Jay said, adjusting his plug suit. "If I
>hear that laugh one more time, I'm going to go insane."

SERVO: In the membrane?

>
>"Then it's a good thing I didn't go with that Anime theme you
>three have going," Shayna said.

CROW: [Shayna] I mean, who'd believe a gun-toting, prepubescent blonde as a, uh, heh, never mind!
SERVO: At least she doesn't have those huge eyes.
MIKE: You guys are actively trying to get us in trouble, aren't you?

> "I would have chosen the
>Black Rose, Kodachi Kuno."

MIKE: Who? What?
SERVO: It's an Anime thing, Mike.
MIKE: I hate stories where I don't know what's going on.
CROW & SERVO: Well...
MIKE: Don't say it!

>
>"Please don't remind me of that series," Jay remarked.

MIKE: Jay breaks out in hives at the mere mention of "Judge Judy".

>
>"What, you didn't enjoy being the object of affection for 3,
>no 4 girls," Alexander said,

SERVO: Elvis Presley *IS* Jay Alan Gordon in "Girls Girls Girls - and, um, Girls".

> knowing that that particular
>holo-program had been one of much embarrassment for his
>friend.

MIKE: Somehow, I get the feeling that just *being* Jay is one long, unending string of embarrassment.

>
>"No I didn't enjoy being a sex changing guy with a insane fear
>of cats," Jay said.

CROW: [Jay] I mean, I *like* cats!

> "I don't know what made me say yes to
>being the title character.

MIKE: Other than having Marrissa threaten to drill him a new navel if he didn't.

> So, Marrissa, what tricks are you
>planning on this year?"

SERVO: Marrissa will be turning tricks? Ewwww!
CROW: It's "Star Trek: The Red Light Generation".

>
>Smiling at the attempt at changing the subject, Marrissa said,
>"I'm not."

SERVO: [Marrissa] I haven't used up all my *old* tricks yet!

>
>"You aren't planning on doing something to the officers who
>don't give good candy this year," Jay accused, "Why not?"

MIKE: [Marrissa] I finally figured out - that's what I have slavish minions like you for!

>
>"I'm an officer now, Jay," Marrissa said. "I could get in big
>trouble."

CROW: Heaven knows everyone *else* on board already is!

>
>"So the master of the Halloween trick won't be adding to her
>list of accomplishments," Shayna stated. "I guess that means
>I'll have to replace you, and I'll do a lot better job."

SERVO: Look out, it's a throwdown!
ALL:: Slapfight! Slapfight! Slapfight!

>
>"I doubt it," Marrissa said. "I don't see how you could beat
>even my trick on Commander La Forge."

MIKE: She taped "Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place" over all his old "Reading Rainbow" episodes.

>
>"Turning the view on his visor so right is left, that's
>child's play," Shayna said.

SERVO: Yeah, it's always fun to mess with people's visual prosthetics!
CROW: Still, it fits Marrissa's general lifestyle of providing maximum pain to the widest possible audience!

>
>"Then top her trick on two years ago, Commander Riker,"

CROW: Now Riker's getting in on the act!
MIKE: It's wacky Halloween fun for the whole crew!

> Clara
>said. "Waking up with white hair in the morning sure had him
>freaking out."

SERVO: [singing] Super Will extraordinaire - Rikerzoid! Rikerzoid!

>
>"I know, Dad told me after last year." Alexander said. "But
>Dad said Riker joked about it later in a staff meeting."
>

CROW: [Alexander] Of course, he muttered a lot of stuff about severed heads and defenestration, but Riker has a weird sense of humor anyway.

>"Speaking of your father, how did he take last year's trick,"

MIKE: He played the Ace of Hearts over Data's King-high.

>Marrissa said. "I never heard about his reaction."
>
>"He was more mad at himself than anything else," Alexander
>said.

CROW: [Alexander] So he challenged himself to a knife fight. And lost.

> "I mean, who else could he blame for the fact he sleeps
>so deep that someone was able to spray color his hair neon
>green."

CROW: It's Wacky Clown Worf!©
SERVO: Wacky Rubber Clown Bat'leth sold separately!

>
>"I assume he has better candy than chocolate covered gagh this
>year," Marrissa stated.

MIKE: [Alexander] This year he has Caramellos.
CROW: Yuck! Tell him to go back to the gagh!

>
>"You know, there are only three members of the senior staff,
>we haven't got," Jay said.

MIKE: The rest are all tied up in the basement.

> "Troi, who has the best candy,

CROW: [Python] I bet she does, eh? Eh? Eh? Say no more!

> so
>we have no reason; the Doctor, who seems to have somehow been
>missed in our campaign;

SERVO: Well, she pretty much gets overlooked in the movies and on the series, so it's understandable how that happened.

> and the Captain."
>
>"Who got Data?" Marrissa asked.

CROW: Who got game?
SERVO: Who got the hooch?
MIKE: Who got the action

>
>"I did last year," Clara said. "He gave me coconut
>chocolates, and I hate them, so I redid his lighting and
>environment controls.

SERVO: Geez!
CROW: What would've happened if he'd given her a Zagnut bar? Would she've firebombed his quarters? Fried him with an EM Pulse? Kidnapped his cat?
MIKE: Apparently, if you're assigned to the Enterprise, your best bet for survival is to memorize what kind of sweeties each Kid's Crew member likes.

> When he ordered the lights dimmed, he
>got a blizzard instead.

MIKE: Well, getting a tasty treat from Dairy Queen's not too bad.
SERVO: It's Scrumpdillyicious!

> Unfortunately, the feedback wasn't
>good.

CROW: Jimi Henrix just didn't dig it.

> He just commented that it was an unusual way to reduce
>visibility."

CROW: Just before he froze solid and broke into a million pieces.
SERVO: Yeah, just like our hero, the T-1000. *sniff*

>
>"We'll never have a reason to get Counselor Troi,

MIKE: Yes, Jay, just admit to yourself you'll never get to "get" Troi, and move on with your life.

> and we're
>too afraid to get the Captain," Jay said.

SERVO: No one gets the captain - he's the wind, baby!

> "But I bet that
>whoever gets Doctor Crusher will beat all of our past
>attempts."

CROW: [Jay] I bet we can physically deform her!

>
>"You're on, Jay," Shayna said. "I'll pull a trick on the
>Doctor so good, that it will make all previous tricks by
>Marrissa look like child's play."

SERVO: Hey, Chuckie's joining the Kids' Crew.
CROW: It's fitting.

>
>"We'll see," Marrissa stated.
>
>
>Doctor Crusher knew that she shouldn't have given out the
>candy apples.

MIKE: Because soon, the apple gnomes would be back!

> Not only would they increase the Enterprise
>Dental staff's work, they weren't exactly the favorites of the
>children of the Enterprise.

CROW: If no one ever eats them, why would they increase the dental staff's work?
MIKE: Beverly overcooks them - people keep whapping each other in the teeth with them and breaking incisors.

> But she had thought she was safe.
>After all, Marrissa couldn't afford to play a joke,

SERVO: Tell me about it - have you *seen* the price of fake upchuck these days?!?

> now that
>she was an Ensign. However, she'd obviously forgotten about
>Marrissa's friends.

CROW: [Gangster] Hiya, Doc! We're Marrissa's "friends". We wanna have a little talk wit' ya about dem apples, heh heh heh!

> The evidence was right on the tip of her
>nose in the form of a rather large wort.

CROW: Geez, I was only *kidding* about physically deforming her!
MIKE: Wait, I think she just has a large medicinal herb growing on her nose.

> Oh well, she was a doctor,

SERVO: Just in case you haven't been paying attention the last decade or so.

> it wouldn't take long for her to fix. Now where was
>that medical kit... she was sure it was in her quarters
>earlier.

MIKE: Of course, it should've been in sickbay, but when you're CMO, you can store stuff wherever the heck you feel like it.

>
>
>"Do you concede that I beat your tricks, Marrissa?" Shayna
>asked, as the group met up the next day.

CROW: "Never!" Marrissa cried as she broke Shayna's chokehold and pinned her with her knee.

> Doctor Crusher had
>been unable to find the necessary medical tools in her
>quarters, and everyone had heard of the Doctor's wort.

MIKE: So somehow they infected her with either a facial blemish or holistic healing herbs, then managed to locate and heist her personal medical kit.
CROW: Boy, these kids make Shining Path and the IRA look like a beach party!
SERVO: *Never* come between the Marrissa-nistas and their candy!

>
>"No I don't," Marrissa said. "You see after I got back from
>trick or treating, I had a talk with Dad about why he allows
>trick or treating."

SERVO: Turned out he owns stock in Hershey's. Go figure.

>
>"Why does he?" Jay asked. "I know it's become a tradition,
>but rumor is, he started it."

CROW: [Marrissa] Yeah, but *I'm* gonna finish it!

>
>"And he still gives the worst candy," Clara said. "We really
>should have gotten him."

MIKE: [Jay] Can't. He's surrounded his cabin with a security detachment, all armed with pulsed phaser rifles!
SERVO: [Clara] So what?!? *We've* got Marrissa!
MIKE: Oh, yeah.

>
>"So you don't like peanut butter cups," Jay said.

CROW: How can you screw up a peanut butter cup?
SERVO: Knowing Picard, it probably comes wrapped in a five-page lecture about the Prime Directive.

> "And neither
>of you have seen what Marrissa did to her poor father last
>night."
>
>"I have, and boy did Marrissa do a good job," Alexander said.

SERVO: [Alexander] She didn't leave any blood on the walls!

>
>"So what did you do to the Captain?" Clara asked.

CROW: Let's just say he can now legally change his name to *Jeanne-Marie* Picard!

>
>"Well, I asked him about trick or treating," Marrissa began.
>"It turns out that he use to be a master trickster, when he
>was young,

MIKE: Jean-Luc Picard *IS* Master Trickster!
SERVO: [a la Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian] PRCATICAL JOKING!!!
MIKE: BRILLIANT!!!
SERVO: THANK YOU!!!

> although I had thought that the custom was an
>American one, as opposed to French.

CROW: Like that's ever stopped Star Trek before!
SERVO: Yet more proof that the Federation is just 1950's Middle America writ large.

> So when the Counselor
>suggested a couple years back that the Command Staff needed to
>relax a little more,

SERVO: He screamed, "I AM RELAXED!!!". Then he pistol-whipped her.

> he decided to start the Halloween
>tradition on the Enterprise.

CROW: Which may explain why 80% of Hydroponics is set aside for growing pumpkins.

> He set it up, then called in Wesley

ALL:: ARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

> and gave him a quick course on tricking, and set him
>lose on Commander Riker."

CROW: So Picard is really Loki the trickster god?
MIKE: Pretty much, yeah.

>
>"That was the year that Riker woke up without any hair, wasn't
>it?" Jay said.

SERVO: He said "Beware," and went on a tear! I say, "No Fair!"

>
>"Exactly," Marrissa said. "Apparently, Dad thought that it
>was cosmically unjust that his first officer had more hair on
>his chin than he had on his whole head.

MIKE: [Dully] Ha ha. The irony. Stop it. Please. No more.
SERVO: Hey, Ratliff's plagiarizing! That's a quote from one of the Pocket Book novels!
CROW: How would you know, Tom?
SERVO: Um, ya see, heheheh...
MIKE & CROW: Fanbot! Fanbot!

> Well this morning, he
>doesn't have that problem. He woke up to discover his hair
>growing uncontrollably."

MIKE: [Picard] Minoxidil, Earl Gray, Hot.

>
>"The Captain looks like a regular werewolf, this morning,"

CROW: [Girl from "Wirrwolf"] He's obzoludely fazzinahding.
SERVO: If Crusher wakes up the next day as a werewolf, I quit!

>Alexander laughed. "All he lacks are the claws."
>
>"That would have been going too far," Marrissa said.

[All laugh]
CROW: Look who's talking about going too far!
SERVO: Well, she should know!
MIKE: Thank you, Stephen, for making us laugh at cruel
Halloween tricks - again.

>
>--
>Stephen Ratliff CS Major, Radford University.
>sratl...@runet.edu Radford, Virginia 24142-7496

MIKE: Virginia! Home to such giants as Washington! Jefferson! Lee!
Wilson! And now, Ratliff!

>rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc's polite target. Marrissa Stories Author
>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/
>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/FAQs/ FAQ Maintainer for ASC.

CROW: So he does the F-A-Q for A-S-C?
MIKE: Yeah, and it gets done ASAP.
CROW: Even while he watches ER?
SERVO: It's because he's at RU, not UCLA.
MIKE: But since he's so close to DC, it's only on the QT.
SERVO: And that's A-OK.

>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/ascindex/ Index Maintainer too.
>also at: http://archive.nu/

CROW: What's "nu"
SERVO: Not much, what's nu with you?
MIKE: The "nu" sketch, ladies and gentlemen.

>
>"Put down the pencil. Put down the pencil, Mr. Russell."

MIKE: [Singing] Put down the pencil, put down the pencil,
put down the pencil, Rus, Rus!

> -- Dr. Wychoff, DS9's Shadows and Symbols

SERVO: And Salad and Shortbread and Sump Pumps and Sheffield and...
CROW: Well, this was a short one!
MIKE: But it bit every step of the way.
SERVO: Yeah, let's leave.

[All leave]

O |2| <3> (4) {5} [6]

[SOL - Mike & Crow are on the bridge. A door has been set up off to the side, and a bowl of candy is sitting on the console.]

CROW: So, Mike, is it really acceptable practice to torment people who give you crappy candy on Halloween?
MIKE: Well, it usually just consists of things like soaping car windows, or TPing someone's lawn.
CROW: I'd say by the 24th Century, things have gotten a little bit more serious.

[A doorbell sounds]

MIKE: I'll get it.

[Mike opens the door to reveal Servo, with a rubber Nixon mask pulled over his bubble dome]

SERVO: Trick or Treat!
MIKE: Aw, how cute. [reaches over to the bowl] Here ya go, kid, have a pack of Butterfinger BB's.
SERVO: Wow! Thanks, mister! [wanders off. Mike closes the door]
CROW: Anyway, it's one thing to fill someone's mailbox with shaving cream. But Marrissa's little band of thugs are breaking into people's cabins, conducting germ warfare, even tampering with the environment!

[Doorbell sounds again]

MIKE: I'll get it.

[Mike opens the door to reveal Servo, with a rubber Clinton mask pulled over his bubble dome]

SERVO: Trick or Treat!
MIKE: Pretty neat costume. [reaches over to the bowl] Here, have a 3 Musketeers bar.
SERVO: Hey, great, I love those! [wanders off. Mike closes the door]
MIKE: Cute kid. But I know what you mean, Crow. It's like the CIA was run by Dennis the Menace.
CROW: Exactly!
MIKE: Oh, hey, do you wanna...
CROW: You mean now?
MIKE: Why not?
CROW: Sure. *ahem* To join the MiSTing Authors Dibs List, send an e-mail to majordomo@neylonpc.engin.umich.edu with the message "subscribe dibslist []" in the message body. Read the FAQ, don't work blue, and remember to distribute yummy candy on October 31st.

[Doorbell sounds again]

MIKE: I'll get it.

[Mike opens the door to reveal Servo, with a cardboard Mike mask taped to his bubble dome]

SERVO: Trick or Treat!
CROW: Boy, that's a scary mask!
MIKE: Yeah, I'm pretty frightened. [reaches over to the bowl] Here, have a box of raisins.

[long pause]

SERVO: A box of raisins? A BOX OF RAISINS?!?!?!? Don't you know I HATE RAISINS!!! [There's a clanking sound, and a rather large bore cannon begins extending from Tom's torso] That does it!! No more Mr. Nice Bot!!! I want every last Almond Joy, every bag of Reese's Pieces, every last stinking Mr. Goodbar you got in the house!!! Capice?!? [Mads light begins to flash]
CROW: They're cute when they pout, aren't they?
MIKE: Adorable. [Taps button]

[CF - Pearl is alone]
PEARL: Well, Nell's Bell's, I hope you enjoyed your little minidose of Mr. Stephen today. It's probably the shortest piece of his you'll ever get, so revel in it.
OBSERVER: [OS] I'm not coming out!
PEARL: [yelling] Yes you are! [normal] Anyway, I figure since most folks can't tell what day it is without checking their digital watches a dozen times a day, I'd send these little rugrats out and cash in on this "Trick or Treat" crapola. [Yells offscreen again] BRAIN GUY!!! Get your pasty white hinder out here!

[Observer trudges out wearing a gold TOS-era Star Trek uniform under his usual cape and cowl]

OBSERVER: I feel like ten kinds of fool!
PEARL: Ah, don't worry, you only look like five different kinds. Now remember, I get all the Crunch bars, you get the Clark bars, Bobo gets those horrible peanuty things, everything else we sell on the black market.
OBSERVER: But can't I at least wear a uniform from Deep Space Nine, or something a bit more dignified?
PEARL: You're lucky I didn't make you wear the red shirt! BOBO!!!! Get that King Kong outfit on and get out here!
BOBO: [OS] It didn't fit, lawgiver! But I've got something else.
PEARL: What?

[Bobo bounds out wearing a fuku and a blond ponytail wig]

BOBO: SAILOR APE PLANET POWER!!!!!

[Pearl and Brain Guy yell unintelligibly and flee the room. Bobo begins spinning blissfully as we fade out. After the screen goes black, we hear a cacophonous clatter]

BOBO: [over fadeout] Ow! Who put that wall there?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
NO TRICK THIS YEAR by: Mix
MiSTING BY: Bill Livingston
MiSTING DIBS LIST MAINTAINED BY: Michael Neylon
ASPIRIN by: Bayer
BODY BY: Fisher
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH: Ginger Blah Blah Blah
THANKS: to MiSTies, MuSTies, the teachers of America, the SciFi Channel, the Future Catfish Farmers of America, and that one guy that did that one thing.

"Star Trek: The Next Generation" and all related characters and situations are trademarks of and (c) Viacom. All rights reserved. Headin' out to Eden - yea brothers!

"Mystery Science Theater 3000" trademark of and (c) Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved. Home of the Dog's Meat!

Stephen Ratliff is (c) Mr. & Mrs. Ratliff and Radford University. All rights reserved. Mr. Ratliff is now available for CS Majoring jobs, tech writing, and bar mitzvahs. Inquire within.

Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks held by others is intended or should be inferred.

No personal insults to author(s), character(s), or situation(s) are or should be implied. All characters in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Don't even think that. So just stop it! Right this instant!

Zah!

Keep circulating the posts.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
>"Please spare us,"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

MiSTed - "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)"

2007-05-21T06:37:51Z

It's getting close to graduation time out there, so to commemorate the achievements of all those out there who've managed to wend their way through academia, here's a MiSTing of some fake Kurt Vonnegut for you. Well, some fake Kurt Vonnegut, anyway.

For those that don't remember: back in 1999 Producer Baz Luhrmann (best known today for "Moulin Rogue") put out a recording entitled "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)". The recording was all around, and could not be avoided unless you were living under a rock (which was my personal recommendation). Full of dubiously offered advice, the prose had been attributed to a commencement address given by Vonnegut at someplace or another, but it was actually a piece penned by Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich. This, however, did not stop it from taking over the radio for a brief period.

So now, ladies & gents, Bill Brains presents it's magical interpretation of Baz Luhrmann's Mary's Schmich's Kurt Vonnegut's...

[SOL - Mike & the bots are sitting at the console with big-ass glasses of milk in front of them]

TOM: I don't know, guys.

MIKE: Ah, c'mon Tom, it'll be fun.

TOM: It just seems beneath my dignity, that's all.

CROW: Geez, Tom, you're a two-foot tall robot the shape and color of a fireplug with a pair of vestigial arms, and you're worried about 'dignity'?

TOM: Why you -

MIKE: Cool it, you two. [notices Cambot on] Oh, hey everyone. I'm Mike Nelson here on the old Satellite of Love, and these are the usual suspects, Crow T. Robot & Tom Servo. Tom's a bit skittish about joining the rest of us in one of those "milk mustache" ads.

TOM: It just seems like selling out, that's all.

CROW: Oh, not that "art versus commerce" thing again?!?

TOM: I just ask myself: would Shakespeare have done it? Would Mark Twain have done it? Would Carrottop do it?

MIKE: Jennifer Anniston and Lisa Kudrow did it.

TOM: Would - they did?

MIKE: Yep.

CROW: So did Rachel McLish and Sarah Michelle Gellar and Tyra Banks and Daisy Fuentes and Yasmine Bleeth and -

TOM: So Milk is the hot drink of the next Millennium?

MIKE: Well, if you believe the hype, sure.

CROW: Plus, it impresses the chicks!

TOM: Nuff said! Pass me the cow juice, Nelson!

[Gypsy comes on, with her upper lip painted white]

GYPSY: Are we ready?

[Lights flash]

MIKE: Hold on, looks like Katrina and the Waves are calling.

[CASTLE FORRESTER - We see Pearl & Brain Guy, wearing hard hats. There's a little tiny hard hat over Brain Guy's brain, too!]

PEARL: Hi, Nelson Bergeron - mechanical contraptions. Love to chat, but we're in the middle of a monkey emergency here.

[SOL]

CROW: A monkey emergency?

MIKE: Is something wrong with Bobo?

[CF]

OBSERVER: That's one way of putting it. You see...

PEARL: [suddenly yelling toward offscreen] C'mon, get outta there, you!

BOBO: [OS] I'm almost done!

[SOL]

ALL: Ewwww!

[CF]

PEARL: Not that, you yerks! Explain it to 'em, Brainiac.

OBSERVER: Well, for some reason, shortly after breakfast Bobo started worrying that his Professorial skills are atrophying, so he locked himself in the laboratory and started trying to invent something - anything!

[SOL]

TOM: He's taken himself hostage! Cool!

MIKE: I think I saw this on "Voyager" a few weeks ago.

CROW: Well yeah, but everything eventually winds up on Voyager, Mike.

[CF]

PEARL: Worse, it turns out when J. Fred Muggs there gets frustrated, he starts lobbing around anything not nailed down.

OBSERVER: [Various crashing sounds offscreen, followed by Bobo screeching franticly] As you can hear, he hasn't had much luck trying to - [Suddenly, a piece of random debris flies past his head] Oh, my!

PEARL: That's it! I'm going in before he trashes the joint! Brain Guy, you better hightail it for the storm cellar.

[SOL]

CROW: Good idea! Thanks for the tip.

MIKE: Why did I just get deja vu when she said "Storm Cellar"?

PEARL: Hold it! That's where he's going. You, on the other hand, have a chore. I need you to keep occupied while I go spank the m- uh, take care of Bobo, so I'm sending you up a little piece of faux-Vonnegut pretentiousness called "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen" that oughta keep you in pain. Brainy. [Observer does the "doodly-doodly" thing, then heads off] Have fun! Now, as for Bobo - I'M GONNA CLEAN YER CLOCK, YOU CRAZY CHIMP!!! [rushes off towards the fray]

[SOL - Crow, Servo & Gypsy's upper "lips" all are coated with a thick, black, viscous ooze]

BOTS: Got oil?

[lights and buzzer go off]

MIKE: Never mind that -

ALL: WE'VE GOT LYRICS SIGN!!!!

[Chaos, doors, etc.]

[6] {5} (4) <3> |2| O

[All enter]

MIKE: "Got oil"?!?

CROW: We like it better than milk.

TOM: And it really punches up a bowl of Wheat Chex!

>"Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen)"

MIKE: Sunbathers of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your dermatologist's bills!

>Written by Chicago Tribune Columnist Mary Schmich

TOM: "Schmich"? She's named for a word scramble puzzle?

CROW: Looks more like a cryptogram to me.

>Sung by Baz Luhrmann

CROW: [singing] We're off to meet the Luhrmann, the wonderful Luhrmann of Baz...

>FYI: Album title is "Something For Everybody"

TOM: Really? Oh boy! What'd we get?

MIKE: Lessee [rummages down below the seat] - Tom, here's a 1985 phone book from Xenia, Ohio - Crow, you got a carburetor from an AMC Pacer - and it looks like I have a half-full jar of bullion cubes.

[pause]

CROW: Not very impressive, is it?

MIKE: Well, it's not "Something Neat for Everybody".

>Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '99.

MIKE: [basso] Get out of here and get a job! Ya bums!

> Wear Sunscreen

TOM: Use it 24-7! Bathe in it! Marry sunscreen!

>If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.

CROW: Invest wisely? Love your kids? Buncha hooey!!!

>The long term benefits of sunscreen have been provided by scientists,

TOM: It's chock full of nutrients!

MIKE: Plus, it has a delicious coconutty flavor!

>whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own

>meandering experience...

TOM: Well, that wasn't too bad.

CROW: Yeah - a little banal, but a lot shorter than I thought.

[All prepare to go]

> I will dispense this advice now.

ALL: D'OH!!!

[All sit back down]

MIKE: I was afraid of something like that.

>Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth;

MIKE: [basso] Young man, turn down that junk you call "music" and come take out the trash!

TOM: [teen] No way, dude! I'm enjoying the power and beauty of my youth!

> oh nevermind;

CROW: He's discovered the power and beauty of Kurt Cobain.

> you will not

>understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.

MIKE: Well, what good is it, then?

> But

>trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall

TOM: [Baz] That you left the kitchen sink running.

>in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and

>how fabulous you really looked...

CROW: Well, unless you're Mike.

TOM: Yeah, then you'll just be the same beefy, squareheaded squarehead you were then.

MIKE: Hey!

> You're not as fat as you imagine.

CROW: So there's no need to bomb Kosovo to overcompensate.

>Don't worry about the future;

CROW: Live only for the day!

TOM: Yeah, posterity is for suckers!

> or worry, but know that worrying is as

>effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.

TOM: That doesn't work?

MIKE: Apparently not.

TOM: Huh. No wonder I can never solve for X!

> The

>real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your

>worried mind;

CROW: Things like giant mutant killer catfish, or why Santa Claus doesn't wear blue, or whether something you write will be attributed to Kurt Vonnegut.

> the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

TOM: Didn't you arrive here on a Tuesday, Mike?

MIKE: Yeah, now that you mention it.

TOM: Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

MIKE: Actually - no, not really.

>Do one thing everyday that scares you.

CROW: Take a nap with a spitting cobra.

TOM: Bungee jump with a frayed cord.

MIKE: Give a speech to a crowd of naked plumbers.

[pause]

CROW: Where did that -

MIKE: Just don't even ask.

>Sing.

ALL: Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!

>Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people

>who are reckless with yours.

CROW: Christiaan Barnaard, you stop juggling those transplants this second!!!

>Floss.

TOM: Wear your teeth down to tiny, pointed nubs.

>Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're

>behind...

CROW: Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.

> the race is long, and in the end it's only with yourself.

MIKE: But in any case, you're unlikely to finish in the money.

>Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed

>in doing this, tell me how.

TOM: Selective memory purge/compress.

CROW: Yeah, I mean - duh!

>Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

CROW: Don't waste time with financial record keeping. Instead, why not obsess endlessly over that old girlfriend you haven't seen in years?

>Stretch.

[Tom's head extends up on a ratchet like it used to in KTMA days]

TOM: Like that?

MIKE: I thought you said you hurt your neck doing that.

TOM: Little Blue Star Ointment, and I'm as good as new!

[Tom retracts himself]

>Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life...

MIKE: Wander aimlessly about, muttering unintelligibly - people enjoy that.

>the most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted

>to do with their lives,

TOM: Sound familiar, Mike?

> some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know

>still don't.

TOM: Sound even more familiar, Mike?

MIKE: Oh, c'mon! I'm not 40 yet!

CROW: Yeah. And he's not that interesting, either.

TOM: True.

MIKE: I'm surrounded by assassins.

>Get plenty of Calcium.

MIKE: Satisfy your oral fixation by sucking on chalk.

>Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

TOM: Easy for you to say!

MIKE: I'm sorry, what was that, Tom?

CROW: yeah, we couldn't hear you - we were too busy enjoying the power and beauty of our knees! Heh-heh-heh.

TOM: Grrrrrrrrr!

>Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe

>you won't,

MIKE: Maybe you'll have a peanut butter sandwich, maybe you won't.

TOM: Maybe you'll invest in a high-yield financial portfolio, maybe you won't.

CROW: Maybe you'll get involved in a dangerous and messy yet erotically stimulating affair with someone two decades younger than you and wind up either maimed by a jealous lover or walking the streets penniless and alone after a hefty palimony suit, maybe you won't.

MIKE: Wow!

CROW: I know - I think I've watched too many Michael Douglas movies.

> maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken

>on your 75th wedding anniversary...

TOM: In which case, maybe you'll require traction. Maybe you won't.

> whatever you do, don't congratulate

>yourself too much

MIKE: Especially if it involves that funky chicken deal.

> or berate yourself either - your choices are half chance.

CROW: And half Community Chest.

>So are everybody else's.

TOM: Yes, life's a crapshoot, so just get out there and try to survive it, if you can!

>Enjoy your body, use it every way you can...

CROW: This admonition void where prohibited by law.

> don't be afraid of it,

TOM: Unlike the tragic protagonist of the story "The Man Who Was Scared of His Own Ingrown Follicle".

MIKE: Sad, really.

> or what

>other people think of it, it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

POP

MR.B NATURAL: You gotta inspect your instrument, boy!

POP

MIKE: Did that just happen?

CROW: By all that's good and decent, I hope not!

>Dance... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

TOM: But for crying out loud, close the curtain first, ya perv!

>Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

CROW: Hm, should I shut off the power before fixing this socket? Naaah!

>Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

MIKE: Instead, read ugliness magazines, they will make you feel beautiful.

TOM: Or just watch Springer for the same effect.

>Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good.

CROW: Once again, they've moved without leaving a forwarding address.

>Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the

>people most likely to stick with you in the future.

MIKE: They're also the ones most likely to give you a double jock-lock and taunt you in public with embarrassing nicknames.

CROW: Thinking about Eddie?

MIKE: Yeah, he - hey, how'd you know my brother's name?

CROW: Um, it's a long story.

>Understand that friends, come and go,

TOM: Actually, "Friends" has had a pretty steady timeslot for the last couple of years.

> but for the precious few you should

>hold on.

[Mike grabs the bots around an arm]

TOM: Um, what are you doing, Mike?

MIKE: I'm holding on to the precious few.

CROW: We, uh, we hate to disappoint you, Mike, but we're actually part of the cheap multitude.

MIKE: Oh. [Lets go] Sorry.

TOM: 'Sokay. It's the thought that counts.

> Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the

>older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

MIKE: Because only they'll know that as bad as you are now, you're a vast improvement over when you were a bratty little kid.

>Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;

ALL: LEAVE THE BRONX!!!

> live in

>Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

MIKE: Live in Wisconsin once, but leave before it makes you a cheese-wearing Packers fan!

CROW: Live in Texas once, but leave before it makes you a boozy, no-neck hick.

TOM: Live in Canada once, but leave before it m-

MIKE: What did we agree to, Tom?

TOM: *sigh* Fine. No Canada-bashing for at least a month.

>Travel.

MIKE: Double-dribble. Goaltend. Violate all the rules of basketball.

>Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will

>philander, you too will get old,

TOM: So, basically, life sucks?

MIKE: Basically.

> and when you do you'll fantasize that when

>you were young

CROW: You were a chick magnet, instead of a geeky loner.

> prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children

>respected their elders.

TOM: In other words, you lived in Shangri-La.

>Respect your elders.

MIKE: And your deacons.

>Don't expect anyone else to support you.

TOM: Accept the fact that you're pretty much alone in life.

> Maybe you have a trust fund,

>maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one

>might run out.

MIKE: So just count your blessings if you have a wife who works at Kwik-E-Mart and more than 40 bucks in your checking account.

>Don't mess too much with your hair, or by time you're 40, it will look 85.

CROW: If that's true, that "Werewolf" guy should've been bald halfway through the picture.

>Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it.

TOM: Particularly if they're supplying it wholesale.

>Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past

>from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and

>recycling it for more that it's worth.

CROW: Wow!

MIKE: Yep, this has been one cheery chunk of prose.

TOM: Hollow optimism, thy name is Baz.

>BUT TRUST ME ON THE SUNSCREEN.

MIKE: Remember, kids: Life is a shallow and lonely existence, but as long as you have sunscreen, you'll be okay!

TOM: Let's go.

[All leave]

O |2| <3> (4) {5} [6]

[SOL - Mike is thumbing through a copy of "Monica's Story". Tom is engrossed in the trade paperback edition of "Kingdom Come". Crow enters, glistening strangely, even in the subdued lighting of the satellite. We soon see that he's covered in a dark, gooey liquid.]

CROW: Hey, Mike. Hey. Servo.

TOM: Crow.

MIKE: Hey, Crow. [stops, sniffs the air]

CROW: Something wrong?

MIKE: No, it's just - do you smell something funny?

CROW: No, not really.

TOM: [sniffing] Hey, I do, now that you mention it. I wonder what it - GYAH! Geez, Crow, what'd you do, OD on Brylcreem?

MIKE: Crow, what in the world is all this - this gunk?

CROW: Huh? Oh! Oh, that. It's just -

TOM: Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. [pause] Sunscreen!

CROW: Yep.

MIKE: I already regret asking this, but why have you slathered this stuff all over yourself?

CROW: Well, I figured now that I'm free to wear it, I may as well exercise my Baz-given right to SPF protection. Pretty neat, huh?

MIKE: Crow - you, uh, you do realize that even if you could actually get a sunburn, which, thanks to being made of metal, you're in zero danger of, we live on a satellite - in a completely enclosed environment where the sun don't shine?

TOM: So to speak.

MIKE: Right.

CROW: Mike, Mike, Mike - wearing sunscreen isn't just about UV Ray protection! It's a statement to the world.

MIKE: And this, I take it, is your statement.

CROW: Right! I'm standing proud and saying to the world, "Hey, World! I'm a powerful, beautiful youth, and my sunscreen is a liberating force! It makes me feel alive and free! It makes me an individual!"

TOM: It also makes you smell like a sour pina colada.

CROW: Philistine!

MIKE: Look, if you wanna get baptized in sunscreen, that's fine, just - just remember to put towels over the furniture before you sit, okay?

CROW: Will do, Mike! You can count on me! [leaves]

TOM: Does this place seem a little silly to you sometimes?

MIKE: That's a loaded question if I ever heard one. You, uh, you wanna give with the info?

TOM: Hmmmm. Can it wait? I'm up to the part where they're chasing Batson through the worm labs.

MIKE: Well, go ahead, then, I'll do it. To join the MiSTing Authors Dibs List, send an e-mail to majordomo@neylonpc.engin.umich.edu with the message "subscribe dibslist [<your name>]" in the message body. Read the FAQ, try not to work blue, and enjoy the power and beauty of your dibs.

CROW: [re-enters] Oh, Mike, I kinda forgot and sat on your bed. You got Coppertone soaked clear through to the mattress. Hope that's okay.

MIKE: *sugh* No, but it's about what I expected. [Motions Crow closer] C'mere for second, Crow.

CROW: [leans in] Yes?

[Mike lightly flicks Crow on the "pin" with a single finger. With a loud

"WAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!", Crow slides off screen and lands with a huge crash]

TOM: Cute.

MIKE: Sunscreen is a two-edged sword. [Lights flash] Oop, let's see how the siege of Castle Perilous is going.

[CF - Just Brain Guy. Offscreen, lots of screeching, incoherent threats, crashes and general pandemonium]

OBSERVER: Hello, Mike. Well, things here are still basically the same. Bobo's being stubborn, Pearl is livid, and life as we know it will probably be disrupted [looks at his watch] any second now.

[A huge flash comes from OS in the direction of the hubbub, followed by an eerie silence]

OBSERVER: Good heavens!

[SOL - Mike & the bots are gaping in concern]

MIKE: Observer, what happened?

[CF]

OBSERVER: Somehow, Bobo has managed to warp the very fabric of space and time itself. I could feel it from here! Oh, my, this could have serious repercussions indeed for anyone caught in it!

BOBO: [OS] Oh, quit whining, you big goon, I'm okay!

OBSERVER: Bobo, thank heavens you're - all -

[Out marches Kevin Murphy, sans any make-up]

OBSERVER: ...right?

BOBO: Yeah, I'm right as rain! Well, except for this whole being human business, of course. Actually - it's funny, but for the first time in a long time, I don't itch anywhere!

OBSERVER: Well - I, uh, appreciate the update on your dermatological distress, I suppose. [Looks around] Where's Pearl? Has she suffered any side effects?

BOBO: Ummmmmmm -

PEARL: [OS] What do you think?!?

OBSERVER: gasp

[What enters isn't Pearl - it's the Giant Mutant Tom Servo (c) from "High School Big Shot", with a blonde wig on top]

[SOL]

MIKE: Pearl!

CROW: Oh the humanity!

TOM: Fellas! I think - I think I'm in l-

[CF]

PEARL: Finish that sentence, Sparky, and I'll come up there and smash your globe in! Brain Guy - please tell me you can fix this!

OBSERVER: I - I - I'll certainly try, but it'll take time. I need to go do some research! [leaves]

[pause]

BOBO: I'm, uh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Lawgiver. Is there anything I can do?

PEARL: Is there anyth- actually, Booboo, there is. See, I'd love to pound the snot out of you, but my arms aren't functioning too well at the moment. So why don't you go in the kitchen and whack yourself over the skull with a frying pan until you pass out?

BOBO: You got it, Lawgiver! [strides forcefully away]

PEARL: Well, that's one thing out of the way. Hmmm - as long as I'm stuck like this, I may as well enjoy the power and beauty of my monstrous size and go scare the peasants.

[Pearl hovers off, humming to herself. As we fade we hear:] CLANG

BOBO: Ow! CLANG

[THUD]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"EVERBODY'S FREE TO WEAR SUNSCREEN" BY: Mary Schmich, recorded by Baz Luhrmann.

"EVERBODY'S FREE TO WEAR SUNSCREEN" NOT BY: Kurt Vonnegut

MiSTING BY: BILL LIVINGSTON

MiSTING DIBS LIST MAINTAINED BY: Michael Neylon

ORNAMENTS BY: Hallmark

STAND BY: For News!

HIT ME BABY: One more time

THANKS: to MiSTies, MuSTies, the teachers of America, the cast of "Sports Night", Westwood One, and those little faux crab-meat and cream cheese things they serve at some Chinese restaurants - Yum!

ALSO THANKS TO: Special Guest Star Bridget Jones as Mr. B. Natural.

"Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen" is (c) by May Schmich and the Chicago Tribune. Recording is (c) Baz Luhrmann. Please note that none of these are, in fact, Kurt Vonnegut.

Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks held by others is intended or should be inferred.

No personal insults to author(s), character(s), or situation(s) are or should be implied. All characters in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. And this time, I really mean it!

Go ahead, shove the irony down my throat!

Keep circulating the posts.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

>Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Star Trek - "And She Told Him"

2007-05-02T04:55:58Z

This was my very first ever piece of Fanfiction, originally published eight years ago this very month. It was originally written in response to a challenge by the author Sydvick (a darn good ST writer, incidentally), who challenged the denizens of ASC (alt.startrek.creative) to write a story while online, with only their spellchecker as a tool, that had to do with swimming. This is what I came up with. Enjoy.

Title: And She Told Him
Author: Bill Livingston
Series: Star Trek: TOS
Rating: [PG]
Codes: P/1
Original Publish Date: May 11, 1999
Summary: A captain and his first officer take shore leave.

AND SHE TOLD HIM
By Bill Livingston

"Sir! I - I -"

"Problem, Number One?"

"Not at all, sir. I just didn't expect to find you down here, that's all."

He shrugged. "I just figured there was no better place to spend a shore leave than - well, than at the shore."

"No, I suppose not," she said with a faint smile.

Christopher Pike examined his first officer. He almost asked again what was wrong, but he knew. "If you'd rather I went somewhere else, I'll -"

"No," she said quickly. "I don't want to disrupt your R&R. I can leave, instead. There are plenty of other -"

"There's no need to -"

"I wouldn't..."

For a moment, Number One looked hesitant - not a look Captain Pike was used to seeing on her face.

"Commander," Pike said firmly. "If you don't have any problem with both of us being here, I certainly don't."

She inhaled, then smiled that strangely tentative smile again. "Well, I guess the only thing left to do - is dress for the occasion."

Damnit! Why'd he have to be here?!? And looking like - like _that_?!? she thought to herself. She'd been hoping that the shore leave granted at Starbase 5 would allow her sufficient time to sort things out - to calm the inner turmoil that had been rampaging wild since the brief, disastrous visit to Talos.

Instead, she had run across her commanding officer - the one man she most desperately wanted to avoid seeing just now. Their own stubbornness wouldn't allow either of them to retreat. So now she was stuck here, with him, and he was wearing a bathing suit that accented his -

Damnit!

Just great! Pike thought sourly. I come all the way down here for some peace, and she shows up - and wearing something so - so-

Almost angrily, Pike shoved the thought from his head. Ever since they left, he'd felt like he was still in the Talosians' cage, waiting for one or another disaster to fall on his head. And now, here one was, waiting for him, and wearing a swimsuit that could -

Just great!

"So how'd the debriefing go?" she asked as they swam idly across the lake.

"It was very strange," Pike mused. "The whole idea of the Talosians seems to have spooked the Admiralty. They've completely closed the whole system off from any contact - some of them even want to make just going there a capital offense."

She made a scoffing noise. "That's ridiculous."

"I don't think so - in fact, I'm the one that suggested the idea."

She stopped suddenly. "You can't be serious!"

"I am," he said, halting his own forward motion and backpedaling to her position. "You saw what they could do. If they somehow managed to get off that wasteland of a world, they could wind up running the entire galaxy, and we'd never know it!"

"I know, but still - "

"Number One," Pike looked at her with that intensity she'd come to know so well, "I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for unleashing them on the Federation. And if I ever found myself back on that miserable little world, for whatever reason, I'd kill myself before I let them use me again!"

She stared at him, unnerved by the bitterness in his voice, but understanding it all too well. "It upset you that much?"

A pause. "How can you ask that?!? You know what they did - what they tried to do! If I had my way, I'd wipe that planet and everything associated with it off the face of the galaxy!"

He knew as soon as he said it, it was a mistake.

"I see," she said, and the frost in her voice should have quick frozen the lake on the spot. "Well, I think that's enough swimming for today - Captain." And she began heading back to the shore with powerful, angry strokes.

Damn!

Never knew she was this good a swimmer, Pike thought. Or I'm really out of shape! Or both!

He reached the bank, expecting to find her and her gear long gone. Instead, she was sitting there, cross-legged, her face blank. Before he could say anything, she simply looked up at him and said softly, "I apologize, Captain."

He smiled as he sat down next to her. "I'm the one acting like a prize goon," he said, shaking his head, "And you apologize."

"I - I let my emotions get the best of me, sir. I'll try not to let it happen again."

At that, he actually laughed. "Oh, no, Number One. I've already got one Vulcanian on my ship, and as good a man as Spock is, one's enough - I don't need my first officer to become one spontaneously."

She laughed bitterly. "Maybe I need to."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Always, Number One."

"Sir - Oh, hell!" she blurted, startling Pike. "Captain, ever since we went to that 'miserable little world', I haven't been able to sleep very well! All I can do is think - is any of this real? Are we still back there? Are we still cooped up in their little zoo?"

Chris Pike thought for a moment. "It's possible - with their powers, they could make us think it - but I've been so damn angry since we left, I have to believe that they couldn't project through it."

"A defense mechanism?"

"If you like," he said wryly. "The point is, we've got to start taking things at face value again, or we'll wind up a couple of delusional paranoids the rest of our lives!"

"I - I suppose you're right, sir."

"Chris."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, Chris. You can call me that for now."

She hesitated.

"Number One, we're not on duty, and you don't have to stick to protocol - just call me 'Chris' or 'Christopher'. The doc does, Kelso does, that bum Roynihan in defense does - hell, I've even gotten Mr. Spock to do it on rare occasions."

"Okay then - Chris."

Another long pause. "Something else bothering you?"

"Yes si- Chris. I want to ask you something else, but -

"Go right ahead. As long as we're being honest with each other."

She inhaled, gathering strength. "When the Talosians had us cooped up down there, and told you to choose, who would it have been?"

"Number One!"

Immediately, "I'm sor-"

He held up a hand. "Let's drop it, okay?"

"Yessir - Chris."

He looked out over the shimmering lake. "Want to go back out for another swim?"

"That sounds nice," she said. They waded back out into the lake.

Pike watched from behind as her long, black hair trailed out after her. Then, about 70 meters from shore, Pike reached out and stopped her. "This is just for you, me and the lake, commander - but Yeoman Colt is a bit young for me. And I never trusted that Vina was real - ever."

She looked at him again - as though seeing him for the first time. "I understand - Chris."

They swam away again, but Pike felt as though something was left undone. Suddenly it came to him. "Number One!" he yelled.

She stopped and looked at him, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Y'know, you know you can call me Chris, but, uh, but - well, I feel funny still calling you 'Number One'. What do you want me to call *you* when we're off duty like this?"

She smiled at him - not the hesitant or bitter smile he'd seen the rest of the day, but a genuine smile of delight. She smiled at him.

And she told him.

Welcome!

2007-05-02T04:16:29Z

Hi! I want to thank everyone who's signed up for this, and promise to do my best to keeo you all entertained and enlightened in the future.

Rules? Well, there aren't any, really (except for the whole not mixing bleach and ammonia thing). I'll be publishing, at an irregular rate, stories, MiSTings, fanfiction and other works, both new and old. Feel free to either comment on them, or to simply read stuff and enjoy.

Coming up in just a few minutes, my first ever piece of Fanfiction (well, if you don't count a poorly written and drawn comic book I did a few pages of in 9th grade).

Test

2007-04-23T16:56:42Z

This is a test of the emergency Billcasting system.