Home For Christmas
Mystery Usenet Theater 3000: Home for Christmas
By Stephen Brian Ratliff
MiSTing by Matt Blackwell
[Season 9 opening]
[The scene opens on the bridge of the Satellite of Love, which is
festively bedecked with Christmas decorations. Mike, Gypsy, Tom and
Crow are watching television.]
Crow: So, let me get this straight; this reindeer has been kidnapped
and these kids are the only ones who can save him, and thus,
save Christmas?
Tom: You got it.
Crow: And the Mads never forced us to watch this one?
Tom: Nope. Even they had some standards.
[Mike turns towards the camera.]
Mike: Hi everybody. I'm Mike Nelson, and I'm still trapped here on the
Satellite of Love and being forced to watch bad movies. To make
things worse, it's Christmas time, and somehow Pearl's convinced
Observer to remove All the good holiday specials from TV
and replace them with lousy ones.
Tom: Yep. So far tonight we've seen "Santa Claus: The Movie,"
"Silent Night: Deadly Night", "Silent Night: Deadly Night 2",
the remake of "Miracle on 34th Street". . .
Crow: That's the version that starred the Olsen twins and Emo Philips.
And don't forget about "A Very Chachi Christmas."
Tom: Believe me, Crow, I've been trying!
Mike: As you can see, we're rapidly losing our Christmas spirit.
Crow: Well, Tom and I haven't lost ours, thanks to the wonder
of eggnog.
Tom: That's right! Nog, a miracle of modern beverage technology!
Mike: Guys, you're robots. Eggnog doesn't affect you.
Tom: Well, heck Mike. If Data can get drunk, we figured that we could
too. . .
Mike: [Shakes head.] Didn't we go over the difference between Star
Trek and reality when you two tried to build a transporter?
Crow: Mike, it would have worked. . .
Mike: Your plan was to hack me apart and then use a catapult to fling
my body parts across the cosmos! You said, and I quote, "We're
pretty sure we can rebuild you once you get there."
Tom: Mike, you never did let us do a trial run, so how could we
know if it would work or not?
Mike: <Sigh.> Look, I'll try to explain one more time. [The lights for
Castle Forrester begin to flash.] Never mind. The Grinch,
Heatmiser, and Mr. Potter are calling.
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: Happy Festivous, Yukon CornNelsonus. We've got a special treat
for you today.
<SOL>
Mike: [Brightly] You're canceling today's experiment?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: [Snort] Yeah, right. I'll let old ghost face here tell you
about the evil fate about to befall you. Brain guy?
Observer: Yes, hello, Nelson. Eons ago, the inhabitants of my
homeworld, being omniscient and supremely sophisticated and
all that, were entrusted with a wondrous and frightful
thing - a piece of fan-fiction which would wreak havoc upon
the very cosmos if let loose upon an unsuspecting galaxy.
<SOL>
All: Wow!
<Castle Forrester>
Observer: For many millennia, we have held this ultimate story, this
wretched horror, this engine of unbelievable abomination in
check, for fear tha-
Pearl: Just cut to the chase, willya?
Observer: Ah, yes. Anyway, since you blew up my homeworld, I figured,
"What the hell?", so I'm sending it to you.
<SOL>
Crow: Sounds pretty bad, fellows.
Mike: Oh, c'mon, guys, how bad could it really be?
Tom: Maybe Rick Berman finally agreed to do my Baywatch/ Voyager/ A
Christmas Carol crossover idea?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: No. It's from an older friend of yours. A Mr. Stephen B.
Ratliff. I believe that you're familiar with his work?
<SOL>
Mike: We're doomed.
Tom: Heck Mike, it won't affect us a bit, due to our being liqoured up
and all.
Mike: Tom, you are not drunk!
Crow: It can't be any worse than what's on TV right now. Hey! The Star
Wars holiday special just came on! [Pause] Is that Bea Arthur?
<Castle Forrester>
Pearl: Yep. So, enjoy your brief time left in existence, Nelson.
Ta-ta.
[Professor Bobo appears from the right side of the castle.]
Bobo: I'll be sending some banana nut bread along with the story.
[Pearl rolls her eyes.]
<SOL>
Mike: Banana nut bread? Well, that's nice of him. [The lights begin to
flash.] Oh no! We've got fanfic sign! [The usual mayhem ensues
and the trio leaves the theater..]
[6. . . 5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . . 1. . .]
[Mike and the bots enter.]
Mike: Well, at least we've got something to eat during the fanfics.
Tom: You do, Mike. [Sarcastically] But we're robots. We can't eat
anything. [Sarcastically]
>From sratliff@runet.edu Fri Dec 26 12:26:43 1997
Tom: Hey! Ratliff posted this at 12:26 on 12/26!
Crow: So?
Tom: I just think that it's kinda neat, that's all.
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>Subject: NEW Home For Christmas 1/1 (TNG, Marrissa Stories)
>From: sratliff@runet.edu (Stephen Ratliff)
>Date: 26 Dec 1997 18:26:43 GMT
>
>
Mike: It's Grinch Mean Time.
Tom: Grinch?
Mike: 'Tis the season.
>Title: Home for Christmas
>Author: Stephen Ratliff (sratliff@runet.edu)
>Series: TNG, Marrissa Stories
>Rating: [G]
>
>Historian's Note:
> This story is set after "All the King's Horses" and takes place
>roughly eight months after the commissioning of the Enterprise-E,
>two months before Marrissa leaves the Enterprise, and four months
>before First Contact.
>
Mike: Of course, this means that it takes place five years after
"Where Silence Has Lease."
Tom: Two months after "Flight of the Voyager."
Crow: And 4.5 years after "Riker's Ribaldry on Risa.
>Home for Christmas
>
>A Marrissa Story
>
Mike: On three. <pause> Three.
All: AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
>by Stephen Ratliff
>
All: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
>Prologue
>
Mike: Saigon. I'm still only in Saigon. Every time I wake up, I expect
to be back in the jungle.
Tom: Wrong prologue.
> It was Christmas Eve Morning at the Picard Family Vineyard.
>Marie was preparing breakfast for everyone.
Tom: [Marie] 10 billion bloody people on Earth, and *I* have to feed
them all. . . <grumble>
> Isabelle was feeding Rene
>his cereal and the ten-month-old boy was spreading the stuff all over
>the floor.
Mike: Rene has a bright future ahead of him in the field of
performance art.
> Theresa hadn't come down to breakfast yet. She was
>insisting on dressing herself, and her mother was sure that she'd be
>trying to dress up today.
Tom: So, she cleaned and pressed her old prom dress, just in case
Theresa needed it, or in case that dreamy Gerard showed up. He
was just late that's all. He'd show up for the prom soon. After
all, he was only 20 years late now. He was probably just having
car troubles. That's all. Yeah. That's it. Car troubles.
> As Marie finished Theresa's waffle,
Crow: [Sitting upright] Waffle?
> her three year old daughter
>rushed into the room. Theresa was wearing a green skirt, a red
>turtle-neck, and a white sweater with the tag turned up.
Tom: With the help of this unobtrusive tag, we can track sweaters
wherever they go in the wild.
> It was one of
>her best outfits, the one that Marie had intended for Christmas Eve
>Mass. Hopefully it would last the day. "Here is your waffle, Theresa,"
Bots: Waffles! Waffles!
Mike: Hey! Calm down guys! What's with you?
Crow: Wait a minute! Ratliff's just taunting us!
Tom: Hey! He is! Why that dirty little so and so!
Crow: Well, we won't rise to his bait, will we Tom?
Tom: Nope. We'll just ignore it. [Pause] D'oh!
>Marie said, placing the waffle on the table as Theresa climbed up into
>her booster seat.
Crow: With the booster, they'll be able to get Theresa into orbit
faster than they'd be able to with just a single stage liftoff.
> Marie fixed the tag and pulled Theresa's blond hair
>from under the sweater, then turned back to the waffle maker. "Try
>not to get the syrup on your sweater."
Crow: The waffle maker's wearing a sweater?
Mike: Home appliance fashion is tre chic in 24th century France.
> "I'm not a baby, Mommy," Theresa said,
Crow: That's right! She's the third in command of the Lexington's
Kid's Crew.
> spearing a piece of
>the maple syrup covered waffle.
Crow: Theresa seems to think that waffles are just a vehicle for
holding syrup and butter.
Tom: It figures that Ratliff would take Dr. F's side of the argument.
> "I don't make messes like little Rene."
Mike: Yeah, he really botched that Montolli deal. We had to ice six
people on that one.
> At that Rene knocked his cereal bowl off his high chair.
>Seeing the bowl bounce off the floor and the cereal scattered All over
>it, Rene raised his arms in amusement, pounding them up and down.
Tom: Rene, don't try to escape the fanfic by flapping your arms and
trying to fly.
Mike: We've tried it. It doesn't work.
> Rene's
>mom looked at the mess and sighed, "Tell me he'll grow out of it."
Mike: Well, he better hurry - he's already 26 years old.
>Isabelle began cleaning up the mess.
> "When is Marrissa coming?"
Tom: Not until after "A Royal Wedding." <rim shot>
> Theresa asked, carefully wiping
>her mouth, determined to show that she could keep her sweater clean.
Crow: A tip for Theresa: next time that you're trying to keep a
sweater clean, don't wipe your mouth with its sleeve.
> "She, Uncle Jean-Luc, Aunt Beverly, and your cousin
>Jacqueline will be here in a couple hours,"
Tom: Good. They still have time to enter the Marrissa Relocation
Program.
> Marie said, sitting down
>with her own waffle. "I see you are looking forward to your cousin's
>arrival." Theresa nodded, spearing another piece of waffle.
Crow: Do the French really use spears as tableware? Cool!
> "Any particular reason?"
> "She's a princess," Theresa pronounced between bites.
Tom: Well, she's a royal something, I'll grant you that.
> "Oh?" her mother said. "And that's something special? Like
>her being in Starfleet."
> "Anyone can be in Starfleet," Theresa pronounced.
Crow: She does have a point. They did let Troi in...
> "Uncle
>Jean-Luc is in Starfleet, so's Aunt Beverly. Marrissa's a princess
>too."
All: [monotone] Head of Enterprise security, future Commander of the
Stargazer's fighter wings, and head of all the Kids' Crews in
Star Fleet.
> "It seems Theresa has caught a case of royal hero worship,"
>Isabelle commented from across the room, lifting her son from his
>high chair.
> "Runs in the family," Marie replied.
>
Tom: Which explains the ancestral Picard family shrine
to Saint Barry Allen.
> Little Theresa heard the front door opening. She was in the
>living room, staring up at the tree.
Crow: [Special Agent Cooper] Ahhh, Douglas firs!
> She couldn't remember ever
>having a Christmas tree before. Her mommy said that they hadn't had
>one last year.
Mike: They just had an aluminum pole up in the middle of the room. And
Theresa remembered something about feats of strength. . .
> This year's tree had silver garland and red spun glass balls
>hanging from it's boughs. White lights sparkled, and an ornate red
>and white glass star topped the tree.
Mike: Sparkly glass everywhere. And little kids running about. That's
a great combination.
Tom: How many stitches do those glass lacerations require?
Mike: Two or three per piece.
Crow: And does this knowledge come from personal experience?
Mike: [Uneasily] No,no. Of course not. Heh.
> The sound of the front door opening drew her away. From the
>hallway came her mother's voice, "Welcome home, Jean-Luc."
Mike: [Isabelle] Wow! What happened to your hair?
Crow: [Picard] I found an old artifact on one of my archaeological
digs. It's called "The too-pay of Shat-ner."
> As Theresa came around the corner, she heard her uncle
>respond, "It's nice to be here. Where is my little niece?"
Mike: [Minnewegan] Oh, she fell into the wood chipper. Really sad,
don't cha know?
Bots: [Same] Oh ya, ya.
> Her uncle towered over her as he approached. He wore black
>pants and a long sleeve blue causal shirt.
Crow: Jean-Luc Picard: Model by night.
> He squatted down beside
>her as Isabelle helped Aunt Beverly take off her coat. Theresa's
>mother was opening the door. "So how is my favorite niece doing?"
Mike: [Jean-Luc] And where is she? Tell me where you've hidden
Candice!
> "Fine," Theresa said, her attention diverted to the door by the
>entry of a new person.
Tom: Why it's Ebenizer Scrooge! (Played by Patrick Stewart in a
special dual role.)
> Marrissa was carrying a large number of
>packages,
[The trio coughs heavily.]
Tom: Okay, it's Star Trek. Someone might have a large number of
packages. It's certainly possible.
Crow: Still, the fact that *Marrissa* is the one carrying them is
disturbing in the extreme!
> and didn't exactly look like a princess in her Starfleet
>security uniform. "Marrissa!" Theresa shouted, rushing over to her
>cousin.
Mike: [Theresa] Did you bring me something?
Crow: [Marrissa] Yep. I'm giving you the entire Yesrej Wen star
system!
Mike: [Theresa] Is that where that Ecurb Neetsgnirps guy is from?
> "Well I can see who Theresa is interested in," Jean-Luc said,
>standing back up. "Well at least Jackie still likes me."
Tom: Jackie Mason? He's still alive in the 24th century?
Crow: Yep. They froze him, just in case the world supply
of comedians ran low.
Mike: Boy, I bet he screamed when they cut his head off.
Crow: What?
Mike: Well, they cut his head off so that they could freeze it, right?
Tom: Um, no. They'd probably just pump his body full of chemicals.
Mike: [Mumbling] Uh oh. I better call Aunt Helen and tell her to
call an ambulance and get Uncle Lou's head out of the cooler
in the Tuf-Shed.
> "Oh, by the way Jean-Luc, she needs changed," Beverly said,
>handing the eight-month old girl to her father.
Mike: Just ignore the grammar problems.
Tom: So, the Picards named their daughter Jean-Luc?
> "Hello, Theresa, it's been a while since I've seen you,"
Mike: In person, at least. My spies watch you constantly.
>Marrissa said, squatting down to become eye level with her two foot
>shorter and ten year younger cousin.
Tom: Let's see. Marrissa is about 14, so she'd be about 5 feet tall,
so her four year old cousin is three feet tall?
Mike: I hope that the WNBA is still around. They'll want to keep an
eye on Theresa.
> She nearly loss the packages, so
>she straightened up.
Crow: Whew. The drama nearly overwhelmed me there.
> "Can you show me the tree, so I can put the
>presents under it?"
> "It's in here," Theresa said as she darted into the living room.
>Marrissa followed the toddler.
>
Tom: And the vicious cycle of elders deferring to those younger than
themselves begins again.
> In the living room, Marrissa placed the presents under the tree.
Mike: It was probably a bad idea to place the lit candelabra under
there, though.
>Theresa watched as her cousin placed the colorfully wrapped packages
>under the tree. As each package was placed under the tree, Theresa
>asked who it was for.
Mike: Marrissa gave the same answer each time. "Me."
> She examined closely each of the packages that
>Marrissa had said was hers.
Crow: Curiously, many of them were ticking.
Tom: I wonder if she got our, *ahem*, clock too?
> Wondering what was in the packages
>under the tree was a tradition going back longer than that of the
>Starship Enterprise.
Tom: [Scholarly] Yes, that tradition is believed to have originated
with young Paul McCormick of Oshkosh, Wisconsin back in the
ancient days of 1973.
> While Marrissa entertained her cousin with the presents,
>Marie and Beverly came into the room. They sat down on the black
>leather couch
Tom: Ooh. It's the seventies again. I bet there's a van too.
Crow: And a waterbed.
Tom: And a lava lamp.
Crow: Sound familiar Mike?
> with red tartan patterned throw pillows. "So Marie, how has
>this year been?" Beverly inquired.
Crow: [Marie] The Cardassians attacked the vineyard a few times.
An alien probe nearly destroyed the world. Shapeshifters
attacked. It's been kinda slow.
> "Much better than last year," Marie replied, leaning forward to
>pour out the wine into crystal goblets. As the red wine poured, she
>continued. "Last year was rough after Robert and Rene's deaths.
Mike: [Marie] I mean I had to wear black for almost two weeks! ! And
their deaths really put a crimp in my social life.
> This
>year has been a year of joy in comparison.
Tom: Ahhhhh!!!! It's the Picard family Christmas letter!
> Isabelle had her baby.
Crow: And he's already fought off his first kidnapping by the Trakce!
>Little Rene has been a joy. Especially since I don't have to change my
>grandson's dippers."
Mike: Astronomers have labeled the new constellation "Ursa Rene
Minor."
> "I wish that was so with Jackie," Beverly replied, taking one of
>the glasses from Marie. Looking at Theresa continued.
Crow: Yes, the act of looking at Theresa continued for weeks on end.
Mike: Theresa's deformities are the town's main attraction these days.
> "I can't wait
>until she's as old as Theresa. At least she's sleeping though the
>night."
Tom: [Beverly] Unlike Jean-Luc, who's been awfully frisky lately.
Mike: Thank you for not using an incontinence reference there.
Tom: I have some standards. [Turns towards Crow.] Unlike certain
others in this theater.
Crow: Hey!
Mike: It's the season of peace. Calm down.
> "Wait until Jackie starts walking," Marie said. "Little Rene is
>just starting."
> "I remember when Wesley started walking," Beverly replied,
>shaking her head.
Mike: [Beverly, wistfully] That was the first step in getting him out
of my life!
> "It's been 24 years since I had him. I'm forty-
>eight years old. You'd think I would be done with raising children by
>now."
Tom: [Bev] But no, I just have to sleep with every man who wanders
by...
Mike: What?
Crow: [Sing-song] Tom's in trouble. . .
Tom: What? I've been taking a method acting course. I'm just adopting
the role of Beverly.
Mike: But she wouldn't say something like that!
Tom: Have you studied her like I have, Mike? Until you do, you have no
right to judge my portrayal of her.
[Mike grumbles and resumes watching the text.]
> At the base of the Christmas Tree, Theresa was carefully
>examining a silver wrapped foot long package with a red bow.
Crow: The traditional French Christmas baguette.
> Her
>face was drawn with
Mike: The help of over 400 Disney animation experts, making "Theresa"
one of the most lavish animated films ever!
> intents concentration,
Tom: So, she was concentrating on tents then?
> as Marrissa steadfastly
>refused to let her know what it was.
Tom: [Theresa] An RPG launcher?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] A "My Little Plastique" kit?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] Blueprints for a pulsed phaser cannon?
Mike: [Marrissa] No.
Tom: [Theresa] A strawberry-juice filled Supersoaker?
Mike: [Marrissa] Shut up.
> "I envy you," Marie said. "You've still got All the most
>important mile stones ahead of you. The first step, the first word,
Crow: [Marie] Whereas you personal life is destined to continue along
it's downward spiral. Jean-Luc will leave you and you'll die
alone and friendless, like the cow that you are.[Mike turns
towards Crow, who continues.] I'm in the same acting course
as Tom. I know Marie's character inside and out. She'd say
that.
[Mike stares at Crow for an angry moment, and then returns to the
text.]
>Theresa's growing up so fast, and becoming so independent.
Crow: [Marie] Unlike *some* children who keep getting posted to their
daddy's ship.
>Sometimes I wonder if she still needs me, then she comes down for
>breakfast with her shoes on the wrong feet and her shirt on
>backwards."
Crow: [Marie] Of course, my husband used to do the same thing. But he
was a rapper for a while.
> "I remember when Wesley use to do that,"
Mike: He was a rapper for a while too.
> Beverly said,
>placing her half empty wine glass on a coaster on an end table.
Tom: Whew. For a minute there, we had the serious possibility of a
moisture ring.
Mike: And Gary Gnu returned the empty glass to the kitchen.
> "He
>wouldn't let any help him, no matter how bad he had dressed himself."
Tom: That was just last week. . .
> "Speaking of your son, is he coming?" Marie asked, taking a
>sip of her wine.
Crow: [Maire] Or is he off saving the universe? Again.
> "I asked him to, and he said he'd try, but his training doesn't
>leave much time,"
Tom: [Bev] He's becoming an omnipotent deity. Did I mention that?
> Beverly said, as her husband entered the room
>carrying Jackie.
> "One freshly changed little lady," Jean-Luc said, handing the
>little girl to her mother. He then took a seat beside his wife,
>placing his arm around her.
Mike: Coming this fall from Pocket Books: "Jean-Luc Picard's Guide
to Scoring with the Foxy Ladies." "Put your arm around her"
is Chapter 6.
> He smiled as Marie handed him a glass of
>the family speciality.
Tom: Ah, the combination cabernet/hair tonic/viagara.
Crow: Well, the hair tonic part needs work...
> He took a sip. "The Fifty- three?"
> "Correct," Marie replied,
Crow: [Marie] See? Your bald husband at least has taste in wine. Such
a pity it doesn't extend to women.
> as she looked back to the two by the
>tree. Theresa was now leaning back against Marrissa, who was telling
>her a story. "Aren't they cute?" she whispered.
Crow: In a "She'll kill me if I don't say that" kind of way, of
course.
> "I think you're biased, but what parent isn't," Jean-Luc said,
Mike: *My* parents always tried to ditch me at the grocery store.
You're worthless, Mike! Why don't you have a decent job?
I was five! [Mike stands] What did you want me to do!? Huh?!
[Mike stops as he notices that Crow and Tom are staring at him.]
Um, that was a piece from "A Christmas Story."
Tom: Uh-huh.
Crow: Sure.
[Mike quietly sits back down.]
>staring at his baby daughter, who was smiling up at him.
> Then Isabelle stuck her head in from the door, "Dinner is
>served," she said.
> "She's cooking?" Jean-Luc remarked as they got up from the
>sofa.
Mike: [Jean-Luc] Bev, do you have your stomach pump with you, just in
case?
> "I've been working with her," Theresa said. "I've got to pass
>on the talent some time.
Crow: [Marie] Especially since your wife has no aptitude for cooking.
> Plus, this place still doesn't have a
>replicator."
>
Tom: [Bev] Well, if you'd learn to cook something besides this swill
you laughingly call food, you wouldn't need it, sweetums!
Mike: Why do I feel like I'm trapped in an "abfab" marathon?
> The lunch was a traditional home cooked meal. There was
>baked ham, mashed potatoes,
Mike: Which Marie had sculpted to resemble Devil's Tower for some
reason.
> and green peas laid out on the table.
>A basket of fresh baked bread was passed around the table, and
>everyone took some.
Mike: Mike: I suppose this is the food equivalent of Ratliff's usual
"introduction" scenes.
>Jean-Luc breathed in the smell.
Tom: [Picard] Who's wearing Charlie?
Mike: [Riker] That's me sir. I was getting ready for my one-man
tribute to Sandra Bullock.
> this was one thing he missed up in
>the stars. He poured himself a glass of the fifty-three, and after a
>prayer, they began to eat.
> "So Isabelle, how have you been doing?" Beverly asked, as
>they ate.
Mike: Ah. The pointless small talk of family gatherings begins.
Tom: If they had brought Data along, he could be using his "Small
Talk" program right now. That would liven things up.
> "Petty good, I think," Isabelle said, feeding her son. "Since
>Rene started walking, it's been rather hard to keep up with him
>though."
Crow: [Marie] Yes, he's a mobile little tyke. Unlike the sessile
offspring of some women that I could name.
> "I remember when Wesley started walking," Beverly smiled.
>"He was into everything."
Tom: [Bev] And he was talking when he was six weeks old too.
> "I have to keep him away from the tree,"
Crow: [Marie] He spent 45 minutes yesterday designing a new lighting
system for it. And then he re-engineered the cat's DNA so that
it could croon like Sinatra.
Mike: o/~ Start spreading the news... Meow. Meow, meow meow ,
meow... o/~
> Isabelle remarked.
>"He nearly knocked it down yesterday."
Crow: [Marie] But then the new anti-gravity unit he designed kicked
in.
Tom: [Bev] Cow!
Crow: [Marie] Slut!
[The two bots launch at each other, but Mike easily breaks up the
fight.]
Mike: That's it. No more method acting courses for either of you!
> "I bet his grandparents adore him," Marrissa commented.
Mike: [Marrissa] Even though they should be spending their every
waking moment idolizing me, the embodiment of perfection in the
universe.
> "I do," Marie said, "But that Mr. Boucher wouldn't dare show
>his face here."
Crow: He must have made fun of Jerry Lewis.
> "Marie, you shouldn't be so hostile," Jean-Luc remarked,
>getting another piece of ham.
Mike: Apparently, Jean- Luc has been turned into a four foot tall
ventriloquist's dummy.
Tom: Beverly, I want you to SLEEEEEEEP!!!!!
Crow: Look familiar, Mike? Girls leaving you for ventriloquists?
Tom: I'm a toaster strudel!
Crow: DRINK THE BLOOD OF THE VIRGIN! I'm sorry. Did that come out
as creepy?
Mike: Okay guys. Enough callbacks.
> "Philippe is Rene's grandfather and Isabelle's
>father."
Crow: And Julius's cousin, and Pierre's neighbor, and Yvonne's sugar
daddy, and - whoops!
> "He gave up that right when he threw Isabelle out last
>Christmas Eve," Marie replied with disgust.
Tom: [Marie] Well, she did wreck that church and shoot up that bus
full of nuns, but hey, everyone does that, right?
Crow: Which of us can honestly say that he hasn't set fire to some
great public building? I know I have!
> "I thought we had talked with him, and he had accepted the
>situation," Jean-Luc remarked, halting his consumption of his dinner.
> "I thought so too," Isabelle said sadly.
Crow: She did not halt her consumption of dinner while she spoke.
Isabelle is a Mr. Bumble.
> "Then Rene's last
>Christmas present arrived. Apparently the hand crafted saddle was
>too much for him."
Mike: Well, those leather saddles do chafe, and those spurs hurt...
[Mike stops as Crow and Tom stare at him.]
Mike: . . .or so I've heard.
> "And I found Isabelle on my doorstep Christmas morning,"
>Marie concluded. "It will be a long time before he's welcome in this
>house."
>
Tom: [Marie] Why, there'll be a 14 year old commanding a starship
before I ever dream of letting him into my house again.
> The church was decorated in Christmas attire. Boughs of holly
>adored the end of each pew.
Crow: [Holly] There's a pageant going on. There's a pageant going on.
It's still going on.
> A manger was set up on the left side of
>the alter,
Tom: Well, there's a *change*.
[Mike and Crow groan.]
> complete with a straw filled manger.
Mike: Yes, no manager is complete without a manager.
> Candles where lit
All: Sigh.
Crow: Where lit? There lit candles. There reactor core. There wolf.
Mike: He'll get it right someday.
>throughout the church. The smell of pine filled the sanctuary from the
>wreath suspended from the blue painted vaulted ceiling.
> It was to this scene that Jean-Luc Picard entered the church
>dressed in a black suit and tails,
Mike: Huh? Picard's dressed in something that isn't a Starfleet
uniform? Isn't that a sign of the apocalypse?
> a top hat in one hand, and a his
>other arm wrapped around his wife. Beverly wore a red topped dress
>with a green skirt and matching half cape.
Tom: It's Babylon Five's Sebastian is a special guest role!
Crow: She's wearing a dress *and* a skirt?
> Jacqueline was in her
>arms, dressed in a frilly red dress. Behind them came Marie Picard,
>in a conservative dark green dress,
Tom: o/~ ...but not a real green dress. That's cruel...o/~
> holding her daughter Theresa.
Crow: I get it now. This is another of Ratliff's introduction scenes,
except the clothes are substituting for rank.
Tom: Just imagine the fun if the Starfleet brass got together for
dinner at a fancy dress party. Then we'd have ranks, clothing,
*and* food descriptions.
> Next
>came Isabelle in a red dress and her son in her arms wearing his white
>and blue sailor suit.
Tom: The Federation has eliminated poverty. They've eliminated
prejudice. They've eliminated war. They've eliminated money. But
they still haven't eliminated bad taste.
> Beside her was Marrissa, in a dark red dress, cut low
>in the back, and white gloves coming up to her elbows.
Mike: Marrissa's obsession with strawberries has gone too far! Now
she's even dressing like one!
> The Picard
>family took a seat in the fifth row of oak pews.
Tom: So, the French have no fabric colors other than black, red, blue,
green and white?
Mike: Andrew Lloyd Webber presents "Jean-Luc's Amazing Not-very
Colorful Dreamcoat!"
> On the right side of the alter, a choir of children dressed as
>angels walked in. Taking their places, their wings rustled as they
>opened their red songbooks.
Mike: It's Chairman Mao!: The Musical!
> Their director turned to address the
>congregation, "Welcome to Christmas Eve Children's Mass, our
>opening hymn will be number 212,
Crow: It should be hymn 47, Stephen. . .
> `It came upon a midnight clear.'" He
>turned back to the choir and raised his hands.
Tom: In surrender.
Crow: Well, they are French.
> The children opened up in song.
Bots: [Slowly, like a hymn] o/~ If you like Pina Coladas, and
getting caught in the rain... o/~
Mike: [Mumbling] And now I'm in a "Remember WENN" episode.
>
> It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old
> From angels bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold.
> Peace on earth, good will to men, from heaven's All gracious King,
> The world in solemn stillness lay, to hear the angles sing...
>
Tom: This must be the version of the hymn that came from the
Pythagorean branch of the Catholic Church.
> The oaken cross was carried in followed by Philippe Boucher,
>carrying the lectoinary. Two altar servers and Father Frances brought
>up the rear.
Mike: The triumphant return of the transgendered priest, ladies
and gentlemen - and, uh, others.
> As they passed the Picard pew, their was a variety of
>reactions. Marie Picard stared at Mr. Boucher in disgust.
Crow: [Marie] Lime green? With orange moonboots? Tacky!
> Isabelle
>looked at her father with a note of sadness. Marrissa examined the
>man with curiosity.
Mike: [Marrissa] I wonder what his Kobyashi Maru time is?
> Jean-Luc gave him a challenging glare. All them were
>lost on the man, as he stared straight ahead, concentrating on his job.
Tom: Actually he was just wondering how the surf was off the Great
Barrier Reef.
Crow: Yeah, if things wrap up early enough, he can catch
some really gnarly waves, dude. But don't let Stephen know.
>He placed the lectionary on the lectern and sat down in the front pew.
>Soon it was time for the first reading.
Crow: So, he got out the tarot cards and put on his turban.
> Mr. Boucher ascended to
>the lectern, and opened the lectionary to the first reading. He began,
>"A reading from the book of Isaiah,"
> Marie fastened her glare on him, boring into his soul.
>
Crow: This story is having the same effect on me.
> "For Zion's sake I will not be silent,
Tom: But I will keep silent if Kenneth Starr calls me forward.
> for Jerusalem's sake I will not be quiet.
> Until her vindication shines fourth like the dawn
Tom: Well, it's like the dawn, except there's not really a sun rise
involved. Or light, for that matter. Oh heck, it's just plain old
darkness. You caught us.
> and her victory like a burning torch
Mike: Great. Detroit must have continued Devil's Night through
Christmas.
> Nations shall behold your vindication,
Crow: Mike, should we really be riffing Bible verses?
Mike: Probably not.
Crow: Ah. Well, off to the next verse then.
> and All kings your glory;
Tom: And All Saints shall sing some annoying pop songs in your
presence.
> You shall be called by a new name
Mike: And it shall be "throat-warbler mangrove".
> pronounced by the mouth of the Lord.
Mike: Actually, He probably could pronounce "throat-warbler mangrove".
> You shall be a glorious Crown in the hand of the Lord,
Crow: Although Marrissa will probably claim that for herself.
> a royal diadem held by your God.
> No more shall men call you "Forsaken,"
>
Mike: Or Unreal. Or Quake. Or Duke Nukem.
> Mr. Boucher paused slightly in the reading, but continued.
>
Tom: [Phillipe] Wow. There is a word that rhymes with "orange." Oh
well, better keep reading.
> or your land "Desolate"
>
Tom: Or "Arizona."
Crow: Same thing.
> A tear formed in Mr. Boucher's eye, as he finished the reading.
>
> "But you shall be called "My Delight,"
Mike: Or, when appropriate, "Snuggle Bunny."
> and your land, "Espoused"
Crow: Wow. Stephen misspelled "Enterprise" again.
Tom: Actually, I think he spelled it correctly this time.
> For the Lord delights in you,
> and makes your land his spouse.
Tom: Well that gives new meaning to "virgin territory."
> As a young man marries a virgin,
Mike: Well, improbabilities like that do happen when Marrissa's
around.
> your builder shall marry you,
> And as a bridegroom rejoices in his bride
Crow: So, they'll be making a joyful noise unto the Lord?
> so shall your God rejoice in you.
>
All: Gooooooo, believers!
> The reading concluded, Mr. Boucher, his voice cracking, said,
>"This is the word of the Lord." Guiltily, Marie looked down at the
>floor as the church replied, "And also with you."
Tom: And you know who you are!
> The Mass passed uneventfully until it was time for the gospel.
>As it was tradition at the children's Mass, this was the Christmas
>pageant.
Mike: Actually, this is usually referred to as the "torture section"
of the mass.
Crow: Huh?
Mike: Ever listen to a hundred children singing a carol off-key?
Crow: Ah.
> Isabelle had excused herself and her son, and positioned
>herself off to the left side of the altar.
Tom: For as it says in the book of Matthew, "The unwed mothers shall
be set to the left of my hand, and..."
Crow: Risking eternal damnation, are we?
Tom: Oh, you're one to talk Mr. "I'll sell my soul for a dolly."
> Father Francis took the
>lectern for a moment, stating, "Please be seated, for the Gospel
>according to Luke."
Tom: Chapter 1, Verse 1: Tatooine is the most boring place in the
galaxy. 2: Biggs was right. . .
Mike: Wrong Luke.
Tom: Oh. How about this one? Laura is the bestest woman in the
world. . .
Mike: Enough.
> Then a boy of about thirteen took the lectern and began.
Crow: Sigh. The influence of the Kid's Crew extends even to the
clergy.
> "In
>those days, a decree went out from the Emperor Augustus that All the
>world should be registered.
Tom: This way, the Romans would have a massive mailing list for use in
future solicitations.
> This was the first registration and was
>taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.
Tom: And Quirinius beget Lucis. And Lucis beget Anthony. And Anthony
beget Thetis. And Thetis. . .
Mike: That's Old Testament, not New.
Tom: Ah. Still, it'd be perfect for Ratliff.
> All the men went to their
>own towns to be registered. Joseph went from the town of Nazareth in
>Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he
>was descended from the house and family of David."
Crow: So Joseph's last name would be Davidson then?
> Mary and Joseph
>proceeded up the aisle to the manger.
Crow: This being France, they did the can-can all the way.
> The choir picked up to tune,
Mike: And now, join us in welcoming the Klingon boy's choir...
Bots: o/~ Qualapa ene'ck cha! B'ah! Na'veak che k'vort... o/~
> "O Little town of Bethlehem,
>How still we see thee lie,
Crow: Wow. The entire town is full of liars? Still?
> Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the
>silent stars go by,
Tom: Ah. Somebody finally paid attention to physics class. Sound
doesn't propagate in space, after all.
> Yet in thy dark streets shin-eth the everlasting light, The
>hopes and fears of all the years, Are met in thee tonight."
Mike: Yes, tonight we'll get to see if they'll let Aaron Spelling do
yet another series full of good looking, yet vapid actors.
> The boy continued, "He brought Mary, to whom he was
>married, who was expecting her first child. While they where there,
>the time came for her to deliver her child.
Tom: But their HMO insisted that they travel to Baghdad to stay at a
hospital in the plan if they wished to be covered.
Crow: And she couldn't give birth once she got there, because she
couldn't demonstrate it was medically necessary.
> And she gave birth to her
>first born son and wrapped him in bands of cloth,
Crow: Jesus *is* Boris Karloff in "The Mummy"!
> and laid him in a
>manger, because there was no room at the in."
Mike: There was room at the on, the by, and the at though.
> Isabelle handed Mary her son, now wrapped in cloth. The
>choir raised there voices once again, "Away in the manger, no crib for
>his bed,
Crow: Ooh! Plot point!
Tom: Yes, that lack of a crib will become important later in the
story.
Mike: Check to see if it's behind the alter.
> The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head. The stars in the
>heavens looked down where he lay, the little lord Jesus, asleep in the
>hay. The cattle are lowing,
Crow: Lowing? That's what Limboing was originally called, right?
> the poor baby wakes, but the little Lord
>Jesus, no crying he makes. I love the Lord Jesus, look down from the
>sky, and stay by my cradle to watch lullaby."
Mike: Lullaby? Is that a new show on the telly?
> Once again the boy picked up the story,
Crow: Hmm. The choir is bored enough by the story to start a
Round Robin.
Mike: So , Kevin Spacey goes to Jesus' house to talk about the
possible informant inside the police department. . .
> as shepherds gathered
>in the aisle. "In that region there were shepherds gathered tending
>their flocks by night.
Crow: They were afraid to venture out during the day because of the
ongoing feud with the nearby cattle ranchers.
> Then an angel of the Lord appeared before them and
>the glory of the Lord shown around them, and they were terrified"
Mike: It's Dennis Franz and Nick Cage!
All: AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Mike: Wait. Franz has his pants on. [Mumbling] For once.
Bots: Whew.
> An angel walked in from the side and said, quite softly, "Do
>not be afraid; for see' I am bringing you good news of great joy for
>All the people:
Tom: We've been renewed for Season 10!
All: Huzzah!
> to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who
>is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: you will find the
>child wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger"
> The boy then said, "And suddenly, there was with the angel a
>multitude of the heavenly hosts, praising God."
Crow: So, when did Joel, Frank, and Dr. F show up with the Canadian
gold, the incense, and the record label?
Mike: Crow, that never actually happened.
> The choir rose in song, "Angels we have heard on high,
>Sweetly singing on the plain,
Tom: The Angels' proclaim falls mainly on the plain.
> And the mountains in reply, echoing their
>joyous strain, Glo------ria in excelsus deo, Glo---ria in excelsus
>deo."
Tom: So, who is this Gloria, and where's Excelsus, Deo?
Crow: Well, whoever it is, they all seem to know her.
> The boy concluded, "When the angels had left them and gone
>to heaven, the shepherds hastened to Bethlehem and found Mary and
>Jesus as the angels had told them.
Crow: The shepherds must have been women then. Guys would have never
stopped to ask for directions.
> When they saw this they made
>known what had been told to them about the child, and All who heard
>were amazed. But Mary treasured All these words and pondered them
>in her heart."
> Father Frances concluded, "The gospel of the Lord."
Mike: The crowd responded with a mighty "Woof, woof, woof!" and
rotated their fists in the air.
> Once again the choir took up the Refrain, "Glo-----ria in
>excelsus deo, Glo-----ria, in excelsus deo."
Mike: And then Bono and the boys launched into Pride, and the Church
really started kicking.
> The rest of Mass
>proceeded uneventfully.
>
Crow: Well, the Romulans attacked the ceremony, thinking that it was
some sort of ruse in preparation for a Federation attack, but
Marrissa took care of that little problem.
Tom: Let's go.
[The trio begins to leave the theater.]
Bots: o/~ Here we go a waffling, among the leaves so green. . .o/~
Mike: That's wassail, guys, not waffle.
[1. . .2. . .3 . . .4. . .5 . . . 6. . .]
[The bridge of the SoL, still decoratively decorated. The crew is once
again huddled around a TV.]
TV Voice: Mary! Mary!
Gypsy: This is so sad.
Mike: Boy, we sure lucked out, getting to watch a great movie
for a change.
Crow: Of course it's the *colorized* version of "It's a Wonderful
Life".
Mike: Still, it's probably the best movie we've ever been able to
watch up here. You know, [The lights on the Bridge dim, and
Mike steps to the front of the stage, illuminated by a
spotlight.] the holiday season is one of my favorite times
of the year. It's a time of loving and caring, a time when
random passers-by will stop and give a friendly "Hello" to
each other.
Tom: [From the darkness] When they're not yelling at each other for
taking their parking space.
Mike: ...a time when peace and harmony are in the air.
Crow: [From the darkness] Along with Christmas carols that you've
been hearing constantly since Labor Day.
Mike: [Angrily] A time when people lend each other a helping
hand without any regard for a reward.
Tom: [From the darkness] Fist fights are erupting over who gets that
last Gigapet...
[The lights return to normal. Mike steps back to join the others.]
Mike: Fine. No more sappy speeches from Mike about Christmas. Are
you two happy now?
Tom: Yeah.
Crow: Quite.
Mike: Look, let's just finish watching a good movie for a change,
okay?
Crow: Sure, Mike.
Tom: Fine with me.
[The three rejoin Gypsy at the TV. A moment or two passes.]
Tom: You know Mike, I really hate George Bailey.
Mike: What?
Tom: That's right Mike, I wish that George Bailey was never born. I
mean, Mr. Potter was making Pottersville into an entertainment
mecca that could easily rival Vegas or Reno, and Bailey just had
to ruin it. . .
Mike: Tom, you're missing the entire point of the movie.
Crow: And where was the action? Okay, it started well, with the train
and all, but after that, nada. Couldn't they have had some drug
dealers or terrorists in it or something?
Tom: Ooh, like in Lethal Weapon or Die Hard?
Crow: Yeah! And George could go out and buy some guns, and take care
of Mr. Potter, permanently.
Tom: Can we toss in a big breasted blonde and some clones too?
Mike: [Angrily] Okay, dat's it! Out you two pixies go - trough' da
door, or out da airlock!
[Mike opens the airlock and begins trying to stuff the two bots into
it.]
Tom: Mike! Hey! We were just kidding!
Crow: Yeah! It was just a joke! We liked the film!
Tom: It was great! Come on! Stop it!
[The lights begin to flash.]
Gypsy: Mike, could you take care of that later? Your lights are on.
Tom: Mike! We've got fanfic sign!
Crow: Thank you fanfic sign! Thank you!
Bots: We've got fanfic sign! AHHH!!!!!!
[Mike reluctantly puts the bots down as the door sequence begins.]
[1. . . 2. . . 3. . . 4. . . 5. . . 6. . .]
[The trio enters.]
Tom: Gee Mike, can't you take a joke?
Crow: Wound a bit tightly, aren't we?
Mike: It's the holidays. They're always really stressful for me.
> After Mass, the family left the church out onto the new fallen
>snow.
Tom: Missionaries soon appeared in an attempt to bring the snow back
into the graces of the Church.
> But before they could get into the horse driven sled, Philippe
>Boucher intercepted Isabelle.
Mike: [Football announcer] And Boucher takes Isabelle back to the
40... the 30... the 20... the 10... before being forced out of
bounds at the six-yard line by Suztakowski!
> "What do you want, Father," Isabelle
>asked, somewhat sad and defiant.
Crow: And don't say, "I want a rock to wind a string around" because
I've heard it before.
Mike: Okay, how about a tasty treat that combines the taste of
chocolate and the zing of Worcestershire sauce?
> Philippe had tears running down his face as he looked at his
>daughter in her bright red winter coat, carrying her baby son. "I know
>I don't deserve it, and you have every right to refuse," he began.
All: She refuses!
>"But I'd like your forgiveness for how I've treated you the past couple
>years. And I'd like to get to know my grandson."
Tom: [Philipe] Hopefully, he'll turn out better than you did, you
ungrateful little wench.
> "And what brings this sudden change of heart," Isabelle asked,
>clutching her son closer to her breast.
Mike: [Rene] Hmm. Should I tell her how much the Ferengi are offering
for babies these days? Nyah. Better not.
> "A lot of things, with your brother away at school, and the
>fifth anniversary of you mother's death," her father replied. "I had
>time to think about how I'd been treating you, and how Louse would
>have wanted you to grow up.
Crow: My mother, the Louse!
Mike: She met her fate tragically, just like her sisters - Tick, Flea
and Mite.
Tom: Curse Philippe and his Hartz two-in-one collar!
> I don't think I had any part in it, but
>you're just like your mother. Determined, you don't back down when
>you want something. Caring, you are everything you mother was and
>more.
Crow: [Isabelle] See? You always ignore me! You come over to see me
and suddenly, you're talking to Caring! I hate you, I hate you!
> I just want to be a small part of your life again."
Mike: [Philippe] So maybe I can visit you at your new wine cellar.
*home!!* *Home*, I meant, of course!
> "Well, it is Christmas, and Rene is already having to grow up
>without a father," Isabelle remarked.
Mike: Well, it's really set back the careers of the various Kid's Crew
orphans. Marrissa might be running the galaxy by now if her Dad
was still around.
> "You can come over to see me
>and Rene Tomorrow for Christmas dinner. We'll see about anything
>more."
> "Thank you Belle," Mr. Boucher said. "You don't know how
>much this means to me."
Mike: [Philippe] By the way, how much silverware does Marie have?
And where's the nearest Pawn shop?
> "I know your cooking," Isabelle shot back, as she moved
>toward the red sleigh.
Tom: Tom Hanks is the Man with One Red Sleigh.
Crow: A *sleigh*?!? What, did they forget all of their technology
at once or something?
> As she boarded the sleigh, Marie asked, "What did your father
>want?"
Crow: He said something about all of the children of the world coming
together to sing.
Mike: Wow, that was really a nice image, Crow.
Crow: And then he babbled something about placing a woman on a
pedestal just high enough so that he can see up her dress.
Mike: Never mind.
> "Forgiveness, and to see Rene," Isabelle replied, sitting down
>beside her son's grandmother. Marie snuffled her disapproval.
Mike: Snuffled?
Crow: Isabelle's imaginary friend was Mr. Snuffleupagus! It all
makes sense now!
> "I
>invited him to Christmas Dinner. He deserves to get to know his
>grandson, and it is Christmas."
>
Crow: Just one more reminder, in case you forgot in the last half
paragraph, that it's Christmas!
> "... And laying his finger aside his nose,"
Tom: Old St.Nick did couple of lines!
Crow: No wonder he was such a right jolly old elf.
Mike: Great. Now I'm trapped up here with Cheech and Chong.
> Jean-Luc read to the
>assembled Picard family in the living room. He was seated in the big
>black chair, with Marrissa and Theresa at his feet.
Mike: Marrissa, Theresa - rhyming symmetry, if you will. Pretty
subtle, for Ratliff.
Tom: I bet it's like that family on "Designing Women", where all the
names rhymed. There's probably another cousin named
"Clarrissa"
Crow: Who'll explain it all.
> The fire was
>lending a warm glow to the room. Little Rene and Jackie were
>already asleep, their mothers sitting with Marie on the sofa. "And
>giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
Mike: [Child] Ooh! Why didn't he use the transporter?
Tom: [Jean-Luc] Shut up, kid.
> He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave
>a whistle,
Tom: Then he called them for an offsides penalty.
> and away they All flew like the down of a thistle; but I
>heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
All: Leave the Bronx!!!
> 'Happy Christmas to
>all, and to all a goodnight!.'"
Crow: Well, except to the little atheist kids, or course.
> Jean-Luc closed the book and looked down at his daughter and
>niece.
Mike: Ratliff's story seems to have been replaced with another
one of Patrick Stewart's one man Christmas shows.
Tom: Wow. Things are getting better and better.
> They were already dressed for bed. Marrissa was wearing red
>and black Starfleet issue pajamas.
Mike: Starfleet is color coding their pajamas? Why does this disturb
me more than anything else written in this story?
> She had her arm around her
>cousin, who wore a cute green nightgown befitting her age. Theresa
>yawned, then brushed her blond hair back.
> "I think it's time for bed," Marie said, as another yawn
>overtook both Theresa and Marrissa.
Tom: AARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!! It's another horse racing scene!!!!!
Mike: It's okay Tom. They're just yawning.
Crow: But they're both overtaken by Beetlebaum!
Tom: AARRRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!
Mike: [To Crow] You're not helping.
> "Do I have too," Theresa asked. "I wanna stay up and see
>Santa Clause,"
All: <Groan.>
Mike: Great, there's one film that Pearl forgot to send to us. And now
she's been reminded of it. Thanks Stephen.
> "He won't come until you are asleep in you bed,
Tom: That way, it'll be much easier for him to kill you.
> visions of
>sugar plums dancing in your head," her uncle Jean-Luc replied. "And
>I think you better get some rest too, Marrissa."
> "What are sugar plums?" Theresa asked.
Mike: You got me, kid.
> "They're small sugar candies," Beverly replied. "If you were
>good this year, Santa might leave some in you stocking.
Tom: <Sniff> Beverly, Tonto, and Tarzan sing a Christmas Carol...
[Tom begins to quietly weep.]
Mike: Tom, we miss him too.
> Now off to
>bed, you two."
> As the two ascended the stairs, Isabelle yawned, and said, "I
>think I better turn in as well. I'll see you all Tomorrow morning
>after Marrissa and Theresa wake you up and before Dad arrivies."
Crow: Memo to self: If our "clock" doesn't go off, be sure to send
Stephen a new spell checker.
Tom: <Still crying> That's spel chekur.
> "Good night, Belle," Jean-Luc, Beverly, and Marie chorused.
Crow: Now don't you, Biv and DeVoe stay up too late, you hear?
> After Isabelle was safely out of ear-shot, Jean-Luc spoke up,
>"Now what is going on between you and Isabelle's father."
Tom: [Picard] We're planning to rob a casino. It'll be me, Phillipe,
Sammy, Frank, and three other hoods.
> "Do you know how she came to live here?" Marie asked. Jean-
>Luc shook his head, so Marie continued.
Mike: She was attending a party here, and she fell asleep in the tub.
The next morning she woke up, and we needed a new roommate, so
we invited her to stay. But, we've had to convince our landlord,
Mr. Roper, that she's gay...
> "After you convinced him to
>accept Isabelle having Rene's baby summer of last of last year, things
>went on petty well until she started showing. Then Belle started
>coming over complaining about him commenting about how she'd
>dishonored him and his family.
Crow: Then the Klingons started picketing the house babbling about
how Isabelle had dishonored the House of Boucher.
> On Christmas morning I found her
>on my doorstep, tears following, holding her seventh month pregnant
>belly, in just her bathrobe. It was twenty degrees out!"
Mike: Of course, the French have been using Celsius for centuries by
the Star Trek era, so it's actually almost seventy Fahrenheit
and she'd probably be quite comfortable in just a bathrobe.
> "Later in the day he had the nerve to try to come over and
>apologize.
Crow: Gasp! The nerve of realizing that you were wrong and then trying
to make amends!
> Isabelle didn't want to see him. I collected her stuff from
>his front yard where he had thrown it.
Tom: [Marie] Who knew one person could collect so much useless crap
in just a few short years?
> I had to have her Preakness
>trophy repaired.
Mike: It's over there. See the thing wrapped in duct tape?
> Since then he has tried to apologize on her birthday,
>while she was visiting Rene's grave, and the day Rene junior was
>born. Bell's rebuffed him every time, and told me to keep him away
>from her. I've tried to do that."
Mike: Aside from actually moving away from him, or anything
practical.
> "From Isabelle's tone, I'd say that has changed," Beverly said.
>"She seems to be looking forward her father's visit."
Tom: Well then, Isabelle's probably the only person in the world
who's looking forward to having her parents visit her for the
holidays.
> "Maybe so, but I don't want her disappointed or hurt," Marie
>replied. "She'd really like her father's support, but he's always
>favored her older brother over her. When she won the Kentucky
>Derby, his reply was, 'that's nice, did you here about my son's
>straight A's.'"
Mike: I'm sorry. Did either of you say something?
Tom: We were too busy contemplating the glory that is Marrissa to hear
you.
> "Hopefully, that's changed," Beverly said.
> "I will have a word with Philippe Tomorrow," Jean-Luc
>promised. "Now I believe we have some presents to put under the tree,
>Doctor."
>
Crow: Wow, a coupon for a free angioplasty!! Thanks, Doc!
> Morning had not yet dawned on the Picard Chateau when the
>door opened to let a warmly dressed man in from the gently fAlling
>snow.
Crow: It's Lee Majors!
>Wesley had taken his mother's parting words to heart.
Crow: Shall we?
Tom: Should we?
Mike: For old times' sake? Why not?
All: *Shut up, Wesley!*
> He took off his
>coat and boots, and walked into the living room to warm up by the fire
>and await the waking of the family. He stopped by the kitchen and
>made himself some coffee with a little bit of cream. He wasn't a tea
>drinker like his step-father.
Mike: That's right. Wesley preferred bourbon in the morning, just like
a *real* man should.
> Upstairs, the aroma of coffee woke the StarFleet Lieutenant
>who'd been having way too much of it lately.
Tom: Ooh boy. I can imagine Marrissa on a caffeine jag.
Crow: [Marrissa] OKAY! It's 4:30! I've already conquered Cardassia,
Feringanar, and Betazed! WHO'S NEXT?! I AM THE QUEEN!!!!!
> Marrissa loved the
>smell of coffee in the morning,
Mike: Because it smells like victory.
> but her parents preferred tea, and
>tried to get her to give up caffeine.
Tom: Um. . .
Mike: Here, let me. You mean that Marrissa's antipathy towards the
Romulans is all because she didn't get her morning cup of
coffee?
Tom: Actually, it was "Doesn't tea have *more* caffeine in it than
coffee does?"
> She put on her black robe,
>flipping her hair out from under it and tip-toed down the stairs.
Tom: She's still wearing those pajamas underneath the robe, right?
Mike: Maybe not. Ratliff might be writing TrekSmut now. . .
Tom: ACKKK!!!!
Mike: Hey, that's kind of fun. I'm beginning to see why Crow likes
doing that.
> She found her
>step-brother placing presents under the tree from his large sack. He
>turned and smiled at her.
Mike: [Wesley] Marrissa. Good. I wanted to kill you first.
> Wesley showed the coffee and earl grey tea
>he'd prepared.
> "When did you get here?" Marrissa asked, sitting on the sofa.
Crow: [Marrissa] Wow! Look at the time! It's really late, Wesley.
Shouldn't you be running home?
> "Just a few minutes ago," Wesley whispered. "I don't want to
>wake anyone up though."
> "Too late for that, you made coffee," Marrissa whispered back.
>Tiny footsteps where heard on the stairs.
Tom: Hey, maybe this is a crossover with that old Twilight Zone
episode with the tiny astronauts attacking the old lady!
> Little Theresa came into the living room. She took in the
>scene. The stockings were full.
Mike: The stockings were hung by the chimneys...with Death!
> Presents were stacked under the tree,
Tom: Look! Santa left a note, "Marrissa, I'm afraid that the
Riker-B-Gone is on backorder right now. Lots of people are
asking for it. I've left the "Riker Away" voodoo kit in its
place. Toodles, St. Nick."
>and the milk and cookies she had left had been eaten. "Santa came!"
>Theresa exclaimed.
Tom: Well, the Ferengi might have taken the milk and cookies in
exchange for leaving the presents.
> From behind her came her mother. Then came Jean-Luc,
>carrying his daughter, and Isabelle carrying her son.
Crow: The five year old has a kid? Boy, the Federation's gone to
Hell (TM) in a handbasket.
> Last to enter was
>Beverly. She spied her son and exclaimed, "Wesley, you made it!"
>She ran over to the twenty-four year old.
> "Did you really think that I'd miss my little sister's first
>Christmas?" Wesley asked, hugging his mother.
Tom: [Beverly] Well, we were hoping so. We wanted her first holiday
season free of your influence.
> "Can we open the presents now?" Theresa asked, pleading
>with her mother.
> "If everyone will sit down and Marrissa will hand out the
>presents," Marie replied.
>
Mike: [Marrissa] These aren't all mine? There's going to be a
beheading...
> The presents were unwrapped, and soon everyone had departed
>on their separate ways until dinner time. Isabelle and Marie retired
>to the kitchen to begin dinner. Marrissa took Theresa to the stables
>to see the horses. Beverly and Wesley retreated to the Library to
>catch up on recent events.
Tom: [Wesley] Well, I was dating Chelsea for a while, but then I met
this cool mutant, and I hung around with her for a while. Then I
met this cat named Artemis. . .
> Jean-Luc Picard, with his best Captain's face,
>waited outside in the snow for the last visitor for Christmas dinner to
>arrive.
>
Mike: [Picard] I wonder what's keeping that Rabbi? If he doesn't get
here soon all the ham will get cold.
> About ten o'clock, he spotted his prey.
Crow: With razor-sharp claws and fangs, the vicious Enterprise Captain
sprang and began rending it limb from limb.
> Philippe Boucher was
>walking toward the Picard Chateau with a bag slung over his shoulders.
Mike: Philippe Boucher: Drunken ingrate, louse-lover, "Old Spice" man.
>His face was downcast. His gait had a procession march with a slight
>hesitation that the Captain recognized from his long career as of a man
>marching toward certain doom.
Tom: He had the same feeling himself after he read the script to
"Masterminds."
> That walk changed Captain Picard's
>approach. He'd been intending to take a stern tact, laying down the
>law.
Mike: Setting him straight.
Crow: Putting him on the right path.
Tom: Parting those gray clouds of deception to show that silver
lining.
> Instead he placed his best diplomatic smile on and welcomed
>him like an old friend. "Philippe, I'd been wondering when you'd get
>here," the Captain said, walking up to the man and placing his arm
>around the man's shoulders.
Crow: Before plunging the dagger into his back.
> "Why are you welcoming me," Mr. Boucher said, puzzled. "I
>thought I'd have to run though a gauntlet of people lecturing me
>before I'd see Isabelle."
Tom: [Picard] Oh, I'm not going to lecture you. I'm just going to
kill you.
> "Well Theresa and Marrissa are off at the stables, my wife and
>her son are catching up, and Marie and your daughter are starting
>dinner," Jean-Luc replied. "They sent me to pick out some wine to
>serve at dinner. Perhaps you would join me in that task?"
Crow: [Philippe] Jean-Luc, I'm French, remember? We're all on strike
right now.
> "Why not, I've put off the enviable a long time as it is,"
>Philippe responded.
> "And the enviable is?"
Tom: Something not found on the SoL?
Mike+Crow: Good answer! Good answer!
> Jean-Luc said, leading the way to the
>wine cellar.
> "Isabelle throwing me out, just like I did to her last year,"
Mike: Yeah, I'd really envy that myself.
>Philippe said, as the entered the outside door to the wine cellar.
> Captain Picard lead the father back into the cellar.
Mike: Say Philippe? You want to get that cask of Amontillado out of
the back for me?
> "And what
>makes you think that she will do that?" he asked, inspecting the labels
>on one shelf.
Crow: Thunderbird, Colt .45, Thunderbird, Mad Dog, Thunderbird,
Harvey's Bristle Cream, Zima...
> "What comes around, goes around," Philippe said, his eyes on
>his feet. "I treated her badly, she will do the same."
> "I think you underestimate your daughter," Jean-Luc began.
Mike: Moments later, Isabelle blew up the Death Star, just before it
could fire on Yavin 4.
> "She's no longer my daughter, she's discarded me like a torn
>shirt," Philippe said, looking up, his eyes full of sorrow.
Crow: [Philipe] She took my Doobies Brothers CDs with her when she
left! Jean-Luc, how can anyone be so cruel?!
> "I find that hard to believe," Jean-Luc remarked. "Yes she
>doesn't need you in the same ways. Isabelle has grown up. I have two
>daughters myself.
Mike: Yep. Those two or three years of parenting experience make you
much better qualified to speak on parenting than his sixteen
years do, Mr. "I don't like children Number One."
> True, Marrissa isn't as old as Isabelle, but she
>doesn't need me the same way that she did when I adopted her. She
>isn't twelve years old any more and she has changed.
Crow: Now she's twelve and a half.
Tom: Wait, wasn't Marrissa thirteen in "Enterprized?" Picard didn't
adopt her until after that! How does Picard know what she was
like when she was twelve? *Is she getting younger?*
Mike: Ooh, it's another Dark Marrissa moment.
> Just as your
>daughter isn't a little girl anymore, she's mother now. You can't do
>everything for them any more."
Mike: All the promotions that you give her, all the Romulans that you
let her kill, all of the ships that you give her, none of that
will fill that hollow feeling inside.
> "What can I do?" Philippe asked. "She refuses my advice. She
>doesn't let me do anything for her. She's impossible."
Crow: So the normal teenager is considered odd, while the family
with the teenaged uber-Captain, and her omnipotent brother
are considered to be normal?
> "Just be there for her, let her know you still care," Jean- Luc
>responded, pulling out a bottle and dusting off it's label. He smiled
>the smile of discovery. "I told Marie that there had to be some of the
>`33 around."
Tom: [Picard] See? We put a mouse into every bottle of wine that year.
Boy, that promotion bombed.
> "That doesn't sound like Starship Captain advice," Philippe
>remarked.
Mike: Nah. It's from a letter that I sent to Dear Abby. She titled it
"Dear God, she's only thirteen?!"
> "It's not, I had some problems with Marrissa," Jean-Luc said.
>"She's my Security Chief now, and I had a hard time adjusting to the
>changes the job caused."
Crow: Like being held under house arrest all of the time.
> "You appointed her Security Chief?" Philippe inquired, his
>mind leaving his own problems.
Mike: [Philippe] Yes, my estrangement from my daughter is far less
important than Marrissa's accomplishments.
> "Well when Lieutenant Commander Worf declined to serve as
>Chief of Security, I told him to pick his successor on the new
>Enterprise, giving the search over to him," the Captain replied,
Tom: [Picard] Of course, if I had known how easily intimidated he was
by pre-teen girls, I would never have let him do it.
>leading the way deeper into the wine cellar. "I was quite surprised
>when Marrissa reported for duty."
Mike: Yeah. It's about as surprising as a bunch of people dying in a
slasher flick.
Crow: Hmm. "Marrissa takes Manhattan." I like the sound of that.
> "You didn't know who was going to be your Chief of Security
>until she reported for duty?" Philippe said, disbelieving.
Crow: But he blew his save, so this story's still going on.
> "I gave Worf full authority on the appointment, telling him
>that he was appointing his successor," Picard said, taking a set of
>stairs.
Tom: Philippe took the nearby elevator.
Mike: Picard's rather strong if he can lift those stairs.
Crow: Mike, he's probably gotten stronger by working out on the
Stairmaster. See? Lifting stairs, Stairmaster... It's funny!
Tom: No it's not.
Crow: Laugh!
Mike: Maybe later.
>"It's not an uncommon thing to do, especially when a large portion of
>the crew is being filled. Not letting me know until Marrissa reported
>for duty, well that was my fault."
> "Your fault?" Philippe questioned, following him up the gray
>painted stairs.
> "I was otherwise engaged with Beverly," Jean-Luc said,
>opening the door to the kitchen.
Mike: So, Picard was engaged for several weeks then, while Worf
screened the possible candidates?
Crow: Nice job, Jean-Luc!
> "Oh."
> "Marie, I have the wine you wanted," Jean-Luc announced to
>the two inhabiting cooks. Both Marie and Isabelle looked up from
>their food.
Tom: Hey, finish your g'ahk before it gets cold!
> Spying Mr. Boucher, Marie grimaced before straightening
>her face. Isabelle smiled at first, but then forced her face into a
>neutral expression.
> "Father," Isabelle greeted, trying to be monotone.
Tom: Someone call Duchovny. He can give her some pointers.
> "Hello Isabelle, how is my favorite daughter?" Philippe said
>tentatively.
Mike: [Isabelle] Well, I'm fine, but there's this annoying bald guy
who keeps wandering around, doing nothing but talk, and talk,
and talk. And. . . oh. Hi, Jean-Luc!
> "Dad, I'm your only daughter," Isabelle scolded.
> "That's right," Philippe said, apologetically. "I'm sorry I
>haven't been remembering how valuable you are lately."
Tom: She's worth about six bucks in minerals with current market
prices.
> A moment of awkward silence followed. Neither of them quite
>sure how to continue. Marie and Jean-Luc watched from behind each
>of their charges.
Tom: Marie knew that Isabelle had more stamina, but Jean-Luc felt that
Philipe's power and reach would win the fight.
Crow: Meanwhile, Don King gleefully counted the fees for the PPV.
Mike: Boucher/ Boucher. Vengeance in the vineyard!
> Marie was not sure if she wanted a
>reconciliation between the two, but knew that Isabelle missed her
>father. Jean-Luc preferred a reconciliation.
Crow: He always does.
Mike: Negotiate with the monster? Sure. We can do that.
> Philippe had been a
>boyhood friend, not his best friend, only Louis could claim that, but a
>good friend.
> Finally, Isabelle broke the silence. "That's OK," she said.
>"Would you like to see little Rene? I just put him down
Mike: ... because he broke his leg.
Tom: AHHHHHH!!!!! The horse racing's back! AHHHH!!!!!!
Mike: It was just a joke! Calm down!
Tom: When will the horror end? When?
> for a nap, but
>chances are that's the only way you'd be able to see him anyway."
Crow: As when he's awake, he's the fastest tot alive.
Tom: See? I was right about the Allen shrine.
> "Oh?" Philippe questioned, as his daughter embraced him.
> "Ever since he started walking, he's been impossible to keep up
>with," Isabelle remarked,
Crow: And his Kobyashi Maru time is just incredible!
> "Marie, can you handle
>things for a while here?"
> Marie smiled, "I've been running this kitchen since you were a
>baby, Belle. I think I can handle it while you show your baby to your
>father."
Tom: Whoops. The stove seems to have caught fire. I hope my souffle is
okay.
> "Thank you."
>
[Crow and Tom face each other]
Bots: Dr. E.
Mike: Who?
Tom: Before your time, Mike.
> Isabelle slowly opened the door to her son's nursery. Her
>father followed behind her. Little Rene was in his walnut crib,
Crow: Riker, no! Get that giant nutcracker out of here! <Crack> Oh!
Oh, the humanity!
>fast asleep. The two crept up on him.
Mike: Just in case. After all, the baby might be packing heat.
> He laid in the crib
>with his left thumb in his mouth and his blanket spread evenly across
>his chest.
Tom: The blanket rested on the baby, with an occasional 0.1 cm high
wrinkle in the cloth. The baby himself lay 22.1 cm from the east
side of the crib...
>Philippe Boucher looked on his grandson for the first time. "He's
>perfect," Philippe whispered.
Tom: Except for the extra head, but that goes without saying.
> "I know," Isabelle replied.
>
Mike: Wasn't that the other guy's line?
>--
>Stephen Ratliff CS Major, Radford University.
Tom: That's it?
Crow: No "everyone introduces themselves" scene?
Mike: No fight scenes?
Tom: No alien invaders?
Crow: Or guest appearances by the Pope?
Mike: Heck, not even a scene with Philipe joining the Picards for
dinner?
Tom: <sniff> Not even a "God bless us everyone"?
Crow: I guess that Ratliff felt sorry for us and just ended it.
Tom: Or he quit writing before he did anything stupid in this one.
Mike: Well, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth.
Tom: Please don't say "horse" in a Ratliff story anymore.
>sratliff@runet.edu Radford, Virginia 24142-7496
Tom: So, All of this was just a prologue for another story?
Mike: I don't think so.
Crow: Well, we never did see a Chapter 1, so this must have been just
a really long prologue.
>rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc's polite target. Marrissa Stories Author
Crow: Here's my webpage, one of many hopelessly cluttering up the
internet:
>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/
Crow: And here's a webpage with pictures of my dog:
>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/FAQs/ FAQ Maintainer and
Crow: And here's my CD collection:
>http://www.cs.runet.edu/~sratliff/index/ Index Maintainer for
Crow: And my page of links, most of which lead to Yahoo, or Zima, or
the Spot:
>http://aviary.share.net/~alara/ alt.startrek.creative
>
>"The only reason they haven't killed me is that I'm part of their
> victory celebration. 7:00, Dukat makes a speech, 8:30, cake and
> raktagino, 8:45, execute the Ferengi."
> -Rom, DS9 "Sacrifice of Angels"
>
Tom: And behold! A light has appeared in the rear of the theater!
'Tis the exit, and we shall follow it to gaze upon the wonder of
the bridge!
[The trio exits.]
[1. . .2. . .3. . .4. . .5. . . 6 . . .]
[The Bridge. The crew is gathered around a brightly-lit tree, while
Mike is distributing presents.]
Mike: ...okay, here's one from Tom to Gypsy.
Gypsy: Hooray!
Mike: And one to me from Tom. Thanks Tom. finally, one from Gypsy to
Crow. And that's all of them.
[Packages are ripped open by all except Crow, who looks forlornly at
the floor.]
Tom: Wow! A rock tumbler! Thanks Mike!
Mike: You're welcome! I'm glad that you liked it.
Gypsy: A lawnmower! Thanks Tom!
Mike: Lawnmower?
Tom: She kept dropping hints about one.
Gypsy: An example of pre-Minosian pottery celebrating the harvest day
feast during the 6th year of the reign of King Adreppi! Thanks
Mike!
Tom: Where'd you get that?
Mike: It was in the cupboard, behind a box of Grape Nuts.
Tom: Ah. That explains it. No one likes Grape Nuts.
Mike: Hey, Crow? Are you okay? You haven't touched your presents.
Crow: Well Mike, I... <sniff> I..., didn't get you guys any presents.
Gypsy: Scuba gear! Thanks Magic Voice!
Mike: [Comfortingly] Well, why not?
Crow: I was too wrapped up in the season, and I just forgot about it
until it was too late.
Mike: Why, that's okay Crow. It happens to all of us...
Gypsy: Picasso's "Starry Night!" Thanks Cambot!
Crow: Plus, we *are* out in space, 20,000 miles away from the nearest
store. By the way, where did you get all of these gifts?
Tom: The nanites built a "Mall of Nanitia."
Gypsy: A NASCAR Barbie! Thanks Bobo!
Crow: Great! Are they still open, I could go over there and. . .
Tom: Nah. It's gone. The nanites shut it down a few hours ago when
some idiot starved to death on his way there. "He couldn't find
it," they said. How can you miss something that big? Sheesh!
Gypsy: Stephen Hawking's "A Brief History of Time." From Observer, who
writes, "It's a laugh riot!" Thanks Observer!
Crow: Oh. Well, I guess that's that then. I've failed you guys.
<sniff>
Mike: Now now Crow. Look around you for a second. [Heartwarming music
begins to play in the background.] You're surrounded by people,
and robots, who care about you. None of us care about who gave
who a gift...
Tom: I do.
Mike: ...we love you no matter what you gave us. We give gifts because
we care about you, and we don't expect anything in return. We're
your friends, Crow. [The console light begins to flash, while
the music swells to a crescendo.] And remember Crow, no man is
a failure who has friends. [To the screen.] What do you think,
Pearl?
[Castle Forrester]
[Pearl appears to have been crying, clearly moved by the above
exchange.]
Pearl: Mike, that was beautiful. Maybe I've been wrong to trap you in
that satellite. Why, I should just let you out of there right
now!
[Bobo enters, dressed in a 1920s High school letter jacket. He begins
to speak in a voice vaguely like that of Jimmy Stewart.]
Bobo: Lawgiver? Are you feeling sad? Well, let me cheer you up
somehow. Do you want the moon, Lawgiver? Let met just throw a
lasso around it, and I'll drag it down to Earth for you. Then
you could swallow it, and be able to shoot moon beams out of
your fingers. Then watch as the world trembles before you!
Ha-ha-ha!
[Pan back to Pearl, who's looking quite annoyed.]
Pearl: Mike, forget what I just said. Banana brain here just ruined
the mood for me. I'll be sending you up something with Pauly
Shore in it later today. [To Bobo.] Bobo, did you ever see
"Rear Window"?
Bobo: No Lawgiver.
Pearl: Well, I'm going to recreate it for you.
Bobo: Great!
Pearl: First thing though, we'll have to break your legs.
Bobo: Great! I mean, what?
[Pearl grins evilly and the transmission goes dead, but not before we
hear Bobo screaming in terror.]
[SoL]
Mike: Well, so much for *that* ray of hope. [Cheerfully] Oh well.
It's still Christmas.
Crow: Mike, what do you mean "No one is a failure who has friends?"
That's silly. I mean, look at Uncle Billy. He was a lousy
businessman, *and* he lost a bunch of money at the bank...
[Mike begins to develop a "Don't make me angry. You won't like me when
I'm angry." look in his eyes.]
Tom: Crow, Mike's losing it...
Crow: Uh oh. [pause] Hey everyone! Let's go caroling!
Tom: Yeah! Caroling! That'd be great!
Gypsy: I can wear my new galoshes that Pearl sent me!
Crow: Mike, you like caroling, don't you?
Tom: Come on, I'll start us off. o/~God rest ye merry, Gentlemen. Let
nothing you dismay...o/~
Mike: [Slowly at first, but gaining enthusiasm quickly.] o/~ Remember
Christ our savior was born on Christmas Day...o/~
[The quartet begins moving offscreen, with Tom and Crow trailing
behind.]
Crow: You did get him some Thorazine for Christmas, didn't you?
Tom: Yep.
Mike: o/~...to save us All from Satan's power cause we had gone
astray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and
joy....o/~
[They exit. The singing grows fainter and fainter until the bridge is
silent. Moments pass until a sparkling blue beam of light appears on
the Bridge. The light coalesces into a human form, that of a young,
bespectacled man carrying an armload of presents.]
Stephen: Merry Christmas everyone! [He begins to stumble around the
Bridge, trying to find a place to deposit his burden.]You
know, I was feeling sorry for you guys sitting up here and
being forced to read bad stories and watch cheesy movies.
Oh, and by the way, I'm really sorry about Time Speeder. I
shouldn't have released that one. Anyway, I contacted some
of my friends in Starfleet, and they agreed to come here and
take you home! Isn't that great!? [Near the end of his
statement, Stephen finds the console, and places the
presents atop it. He then looks around expectantly.] Guys?
Hmm. Someone else must have picked you up before I got here.
Oh well. I hope you have a nice Christmas, wherever you are.
Better turn off the lights. Computer, dim the lights please.
[The lights dim, and Stephen stands in silence for a moment while
looking at the tree's lights before he hits a device on his chest and
speaks again.]
Stephen: One to beam up.
[The transporter activates, and he vanishes in a flash of blue energy.
Cambot focuses in on the tree as the end credits begin.]
Home for Christmas:
Written by Stephen Ratliff <sratliff@runet.edu>
MiSTing by Matt Blackwell <mblackwl@ix.netcom.com>
Editing assistance from: Bill Livingston, Doug Atkinson, Steven
Savage, Peter Milan, Jen White, Ruth M. McIlhenny, and Jeff Roberts.
Star Trek:The Next Generation and all related characters and
situations are trademarks of and copyright of Viacom. All rights
reserved.
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and situations
are trademarks of and copyright of Best Brains, Inc. All rights
reserved.
Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for non-commercial
parody, review, and commentary purposes only; no infringement
on the original copyrights or trademarks held by Best Brains,
Inc., Paramount, Inc., or anyone else, 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.
Stephen Ratliff's appearance was made possible by a grant from the
Chubb group. Mr. Ratliff's wardrobe is courtesy of The Men's Wearhouse
of Norfolk, Virginia. Great clothes, a great price, I guarantee it.
An explanation for the incense, record label, and Canadian coin joke
is available from the author upon request.
Special thanks to Dave Hines for being able to spell "Snuffleupagus."
For Christmas fun all year round, visit the North Pole Amusement Park,
located minutes outside of beautiful Colorado Springs.
Keep circulating the posts.
[The screen fades to black as the copyright appears.]
Mike: [v.o.] Hey, who gave me this copy of the Star Trek Technical
Manual?
[Guitar chord.]
> Then Christmas morning I found her on my doorstep,
>tears following, holding her seventh month pregnant belly, in just her
>bathrobe. It was twenty degrees out!"
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