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UHT3K

DISCLAIMER
Hold, brave sir knight!
The materials MiSTed here are based on the worlds created by H.P. Lovecraft.
If you've never heard of the Cthulhu Mythos, then this won't make a lick of sense.
If you've never heard of MST3K, then brother, you're on the wrong page.
[What is MST3K?]   [What's a Cthulhu?]

-==-
H.P. Lovecraft's Fungi From Yuggoth
with short: "The Triumph of Cthulhu"
MiSTed by Jeffrey Ray Roberts
-==-

[Theme song and opening credits.]

[We open on the Satellite of Love's bridge.  Crow is holding an ancient,
dusty book, which he and Tom page through excitedly.]

TOM:  "Care and Feeding of Your Pet d'Hole..."

CROW: "Signs Your Spouse is Having an Affair with a Deep One..."

TOM:  "Azathoth's Favorite Quiche Recipes!"  Wow!

[At this point, Mike ambles on stage and turns towards the camera.]

MIKE: Hi, everyone, and welcome to the Satellite of Love.  I'm Mike 
      Nelson, and these are my robot cohorts, who are...  say, what
      _are_ you guys doing over there?

CROW: Hi, Mike!  We were just looking at this _cool_ book we bought.  
      What was the name of it again, Tom?

TOM:  The Necronomicon.

MIKE: Oh.  That's nice.  Anyway... [Mike pauses, then does a double-
      take] The _Necronomicon!?_  The book of the dead?  The tome of 
      all forbidden knowledge!?

TOM:  Pretty much.  Neat, eh?

MIKE: But... but... where in the world did you get it?

TOM:  I ordered it off of Amazon.com; did you know they had a whole 
      "Mythos" section?  By the way, I borrowed your credit card again...

MIKE: Wait, this is just some cheesy knockoff done to capitalize on 
      Lovecraft's stories, right?

CROW: Nope, this here's the gen-u-ine article, bound in human flesh, 
      penned in blood by a mad Arab, the whole Kit 'n' Kaboodle.

MIKE: You _do_ know that it's... _EVIL_ and everything, don't you?

CROW: Sure, that's even printed on the dust jacket.  See?  "The most
      foul work ever created, spelling out the doom of all mankind."
      Why else do you think we'd pay $29.95 for it?

MIKE: [after a long pause] Can I take a look?

BOTS: (panicked) NO!  NO!  NO!

[The Bots leap into action.  Crow grabs the book and runs to the other 
side of the set.  Tom hovers in front of Mike, blocking his path.]

TOM:  Keep away, Nelson, if you know what's good for you!

MIKE: Why?  What do you mean?

CROW: This book isn't for just anybody!  A mere glimpse of the title 
      page can bring insanity!  The table of contents will send you to
      an asylum!  The footnotes might cause your mind to literally 
      explode!

MIKE: _Your_ minds don't seem to be having too much trouble with it.

TOM:  Look, pink boy - we don't have minds!  [pause]  Uh, that didn't 
      come out quite right...

CROW: What he's trying to say is that we don't have minds like _yours._  
      Our internal CPUs are structured and logical; we don't fear
      anything!

MIKE: Oh, really?  No fears whatsoever?  

TOM:  Nope, not a one.

MIKE: NoT eVEn WhEN I tALK LIkE thiS?

BOTS: AUUUUGH!  

CROW: Manos flashback!  Even when I close my eyes, I can still see it!

TOM:  It's always there!  It's EVERYWHERE! 

BOTS: AUUUUGH!

[Tom and Crow flee the stage in a panic, leaving the book behind.  
A yellow button on the console begins to flash.]

MIKE: Ah, they'll be all right - OnCE thE MAStEr retURnS. [taps button]

[Cut to Commercials]

Are you tired of all the petty, partisan politics you see in Washington?
Fed up with the Democrats _and_ the Republicans?
Had enough of a government that never gets anything done?

Why settle for the lesser evil?
Vote Cthulhu in 2000!

Remember, a vote for Cthulhu is a vote for:
...an end to high taxes!
...an end to big government!
...an end to wasteful spending!
...an end to all life on Earth!

Send Cthulhu to the Whitehouse!  No More Years!  No More Years!

[Back on the SOL]

CROW: Hey!  What did you do with our book?

MIKE: I tossed it out the airlock - the last thing I need is you two 
      summoning a Byakhee up here.

CROW: WHAT!?

TOM:  Get out there and bring it back - NOW!  If you don't, we'll snag
      on you soooo hard that...

MIKE: oH, I DOn't thINK tHe MaSTer wouLd appROVE...

BOTS: AUUUUGH!  

CROW: Never mind!  Never mind!

[The red button begins to flash.]

MIKE: *Sigh*  I suppose we'd better see what Starry Wisdom wants now... 
      [taps button]

[CASTLE FORRESTER]

[Bobo and Observer are in the background, working on a device that 
appears to be a mannequin connected to a PC.  Suddenly, Pearl storms 
into view.]

PEARL: Nelson!  Quit terrifying those robots!  That's _my_ job!

BOBO: [looking up from the device]  Oh, Lawgiver!  We're ready back
      here!

PEARL: Finally!  [rubs hands together menacingly]  As you've probably
       noticed, this whole "conquer the world" thing hasn't gone
       over as easily as I had hoped.

[SOL]

TOM:  Really?  I had no idea!  I mean, you've conquered the _Hell_ out
      of Bobo and Observer there...

[CASTLE]

PEARL: Don't patronize me, bubble boy.  *A-hem!*  We're going after 
       outside help, and not from any temp agency!  It's time to get
       some divine intervention from the Big "C."

[SOL]

MIKE: Christ?
TOM:  Confucius?
CROW: Carl Sagan?

[CASTLE]

PEARL: No, you idiots!  Cthulhu!  There's only one thing that's been 
       keeping me from calling the green slimeball...
       [Pearl leans forward into the camera, taking up the whole screen]
       Pearl Forrester bows down to _NO ONE!_ [leans back] 
       When you summon the Great Old Fart, he expects you to fawn all
       over him! (mockingly) Oh, Cthulhu, you're so great!  Oh, boo hoo, 
       please don't eat me!  Oh, please vanquish my enemies, pwetty 
       pwease! (normal) Well, _this_ sister ain't doing it!  Fire it up,
       boys!

[Observer reaches behind the device and flips a hidden switch.  The 
mannequin immediately falls to its knees and begins bowing frantically.]

MANNEQUIN: Incredible job, Dr. Forrester!  Great work, Dr. Forrester!
           I love your hair, Dr. Forrester!

PEARL: This little gem was put together by my son after his friend Frank 
       left. [pause] (downbeat) Kind of pathetic when you think about
       it... (normal) But that doesn't matter!  With a few quick changes -
       Brain Guy, if you will...

[Observer types a few things into the PC connected to the mannequin, which
pauses, then immediately begins chanting again.]

MANNEQUIN: Ia Cthulhu fhtagn!  Ia Cthulhu fhtagn!  Ia Cthulhu fhtagn!  

PEARL: Now we just sit back and let the Grovel-O-Matic do all the butt-
       kissing for us!  Pretty soon, we'll have ourselves a deity!
       
[SOL]

MIKE: I almost hate to ask... but what will you do once he's here?

[CASTLE]

PEARL: Don't worry your thick little head, Nelson - we've got plans.
       [sinister grin] But if you really want to know...  Whitey!
       Send them up a little preview of... The New PEARL Order!

OBSERVER: Live to serve. [clutches brain and makes Observer Noise]

[SOL]

[All the lights flash, sirens go off, the works.]

MIKE: Oh, no!  WE'VE GOT UNSPEAKABLE SIGN!

[All panic and run offstage.]

[SOL Bridge]
    [5]
    [4]
    [3]
    [2]
    [1]
 [Theatre]

[Mike enters stage right, carrying Tom and followed by Crow.  He sets Tom
down and takes a seat between the two bots.]

>The Triumph of Cthulhu
>by Teri Jacobs

>In the deepest depths of the ocean, Cthulhu waits. 

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) When is that damn cable guy going to show up!  I'm
      missing Baywatch!

>He waits in the well of darkness and silence. 

CROW: (as Cthulhu)  Uh, could someone lower the bucket?  This is so 
      embarrassing...

>So deep is this well that it is not filled with the salty ocean water, 

MIKE: ...but with creamy nougat!

>but stygian oil. 

MIKE: Oh.  Or that.
TOM:  They're making a Cthulhu marinade!

>Since the day the First Man confined him to darkness, Cthulhu sleeps. 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) I told them I'd have the money to pay my electricity
      bill next Friday, but noooo, they had to shut my power off!  

>His reign will come again. He knows. He waits for the day.

MIKE: Prince Charles feels the same way.

>Some still worship him. Some still hear him in their dreams. 

TOM:  (singing, falsetto) In my dreams...
CROW: I can go everywhere...
TOM:  (singing, falsetto) In my dreams...
CROW: I don't have to care...

>The unfortunate fall victim to his breath.

TOM: Hey, you try sleeping for a couple thousand millennia and see what 
     kind of morning breath you wake up with!

>Cthulhu only breathes twice in a day. 

MIKE: (singing) Breathe in, breathe out!  Breathe in, breathe out!
TOM:  (singing) Got an octopus head, it's squishier than the rest...

>So huge is Cthulhu 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) I'm HUGE!

>that his breath causes the tidal movements of the ocean. 
>When his dreams pain him, when he relives his imprisonment, the ocean 
>bears his rage. 

TOM:  But the ocean always says she got that black eye by falling down
      the stairs... she really should get a restraining order.

>The land feels his pounding anger. Men die.
>Even the death of one man calms Cthulhu. 

TOM:  Provided that man is Gilbert Gottfried.

>He dreams of the day he can feast,

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Screw my diet!  I'm feasting _today!_

>the day he can destroy. 

CROW: Any day is a good day to destroy!  This message brought to you by 
      the Destruction Council.

>To those who worship him, he has promised salvation. 

TOM:  Or double their money back!

>In exchange, they must keep his name in secret. 

MIKE: Don't throw it around at cocktail parties to impress people.

>They must prepare for his way in secret. 

CROW: What, no CthulhuLand theme park?

>They must sacrifice the blood of the ignorant in secret.

TOM:  Even if it'd get killer ratings?

>To those who dream of him by accident, or by providence, 

CROW: ...or slightly north of Boston...

>he shows them his face. Some fall dead with fright. 
>Some awake with minds filled with madness. 

MIKE: Must... buy... new Spice Girls album...

>Some find their god. Out of darkness, out of his black hate, they
>witness the light, a glimpse of his return. 
>They see death spawned again and again.

TOM:  Kind of like a really fun game of Paranoia!

>Cthulhu waits. 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) I wish I'd brought a magazine or something...

>Soon, he knows. 
>The earth tells of change, of the coming.

CROW: ...when the few who remain will battle to the last - there can
      be only one!

>With the melting of the ice, the rains shall come. 

TOM:  Someday a real rain will come and wipe all the ichor off the 
      streets...

>Darkness shall invade the day. 

CROW: Night will divide the day, then Cthulhu will... (singing) break 
      on through to the other side!

>The oceans will swell. Cthulhu will rise from the bowels of the
>darkness.

CROW: And, _whoo_, will he stink after being in there!

>In the dawn of his awakening, confusion and disorder shall ensue. Cities
>will succumb to his crushing step. 

MIKE: (broken English) Ah!  Cthulhu is attacking Tokyo!  Ah!  We must send 
      little Kenny to Monster Island so that the turtle known as Gamera 
      will save us!  Gamera is the friend of all children!  Ah!

>Cthulhu will seek vengeance and conquer the dominions of man and beast. 

CROW: The Sci-Fi Channel's web page shall feel his wrath!

>As his minions spill forth in a new and hideous reality, 

TOM: (as Cthulhu) I have a vision for the future... I see a thousand
     points of fright...

>he will call upon the eternal black of the Void. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Yo, Void!  Can you give me a hand with this whole
      "world domination" thing?

>The earth shall sink into the well of darkness and silence. 

TOM:  Wait!  That's where Cthulhu's been parking his slimy green butt for 
      the past billion years!
ALL:  EWWWW!

>The earth shall know nothingness.

CROW: Just like Pamela Lee...

>Within his mind, Cthulhu senses a presence, an old presence forgotten long
>ago. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Morty?  Morty Phinster?  Wow!  I haven't seen you since
      high school!  How've you been?

>He recognizes the entity as the One who would ruin his ascension. 

TOM:  It's Linda Tripp, and she's brought tapes!

>One whose name must remain unspeakable. 

CROW: Oh, you mean...
[Mike clamps Crow's beak shut.]
MIKE: Shhh...

>Cloaked by the shadows, accompanied by the sounds of clicking insects, 

MIKE: Pretty crappy theme music you got there.

>the One creeps into the tomb of Cthulhu's thoughts. 

TOM:  And it's as quiet as a tomb in there...

>He has no way to dispel this visitor. Cthulhu can only bear the
>touch of Its feelers, of the slime trails It leaves behind. 
>He has to endure this contact with the One.

CROW: The lease on their townhouse is under the One's name.

>The One had a hunger for dreams, 

MIKE: ...no, that was Krank.
TOM:  Where's Ron Perlman when you need him?

>for worlds unknown and unexplored, 

CROW: Where No Man Has Gone Before!(tm)

>for histories yet to be born. Timeless It travelled. 

MIKE: That's one way to beat traffic.

>The shadow of the One
>could snuff out the stars of a whole galaxy. But, with one belch from Its
>vile gaseousness, the One could birth new stars.

TOM:  With one heave from it's gargantuan stomach the One could spew a 
      nebula!
CROW: With one juicy far-
MIKE: [interrupting] I think we get the point.

>Lost in the belly of the One, 

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) Pinocchio?  Jonah?

>Cthulhu's dream of a moon city dissipates from his consciousness. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Nah... it'll never happen.  A Mars colony, that's the
      way to go!

>He closes his mind. 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) Nuh-uh.  I ain't listening.  The original Trek was 
      better than the Next Generation, and nothing you say can change
      my mind!  Nyeah!

>Like the locking of tower
>gates, he shuts the One off from his ambitions and desires. 

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) I can't let him know about all those years I wanted
      to be a ballerina...

>It chortles.
>The eerie echo of the foul One's voice rattles the seeming stronghold.
>Bombarded by the One's visions, 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) Quit spamming me!  How did you get my email address?

>Cthulhu stirs uncomfortably. 

MIKE: Mexican food always gives him gas.
TOM:  I think you mean _Mexicans_ always give him gas...

>The ocean waters swirl above his sleeping grave.

CROW: Whoah!  Light a match!
TOM:  (as Cthulhu) That wasn't me!  The, uh, uh, jacuzzi must've 
      accidentally started up again!  Yeah, that's it!

>Cthulhu dreams now the dream of the One. Caverns of red ash open up for him
>like the bloody maw of a predator. Winds saturated with blue sand sweep him
>inward. 

BOTS: Saaaaandstorm...  Saaaaaandstorm...

>Falling from the force, he faces himself in a mirror of crystal water. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Geez!  Why didn't anybody tell me my ass was so big!?

>His gargantuan octopoid form diminishes to a mere squat blob with
>tentacles. 

CROW: Aw, how cute!
TOM:  It's Hello Cthulhu!

>Helpless and insignificant, Cthulhu crawls away. He slinks
>beneath a rock. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Oh, poopie.

>The One enters the cave, whispering for Cthulhu to come out
>and face fear.

TOM: Come on, little guy, quit hiding!  You'll love kindergarten! 
     There'll be all sorts of other nice monsters you can play with...

>The One taunts him, repeating the words mad Arab Abdul Alhazred wrote:

TOM:  (as One) "I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not taking it anymore!"

>"That is not dead which can eternal lie, 

CROW: So Clinton can't die?

>and with strange eons even death may die." 

TOM:  But not Dick Clark.

>Its voice carries the sound of a swarm of beetles scurrying over the
>dry carcasses of their kind. 

ALL:  (as Beetles) Ooh!  Hey!  Watch it!  Ow!  Your foot's in my eye!  
      Get off my thorax!

>With a raspy croon, the One adds, "Time has come for death to die."

MIKE: (as "One") You gonna cry now, baby?  C'mon, little crybaby, _cry!_

>Cthulhu breaks from the dream. 

TOM: He used Ctrl-C.

>Shrouded in the gloom of his well, he is alone. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) *Sniff.*  Nobody showed up for my housewarming party...

>He waits. 

TOM:  Time passes...

>Nothing but stillness intrudes upon him. 

CROW: R'lyeh has one _incredible_ security system, although it's a pain
      for the Brinks guy to drive all the way out there every time
      Cthulhu sets off the alarm by accident...

>Since time began, battles among gods prevailed. 

MIKE: Unfortunately, all the good ones were only on Pay-Per-View.

>The One not to be named presided over these gods as judge and jury. 
>Its ruthlessness and unfairness caused an exodus among the Great Old 
>Ones. 

TOM: (as Cthulhu) Let my people, uh, I mean, _things_ go!

>Through space and time, they constructed new sites of dwelling, 

CROW: So _that's_ where Jersey came from! 

>only to be found and imprisoned by those who did the
>One's bidding, the Elder Gods. 

TOM:  Buncha cosmic brown-nosers...

>The First Man had conspired and bargained with the Elder Gods. 

MIKE: (as First Man) Okay, we'll do the fanatical devotion and regular 
      worship, but only if you go easy on the whole "pestilence" thing!

>In exchange for information, man would rule the earth
>and keep the seals of certain tombs guarded. Cthulhu, trapped beneath the
>Pacific Ocean, vowed to return and once again assert his supremacy. 

TOM: (rappin') Don't call it a comeback!  I've been here for years...

>His terror on earth continued even in his slumber.

TOM: (still rappin') I'm rocking my peers, puttin' suckers in fear!

>Like a noxious vapor, Cthulhu enters the resting mind of his high priest.
>The priest smiles in his sleep, places his palms on his groin, 

CROW: (singing) When I think about Cthulhu, I touch myself...

>and breathes deeply the musky scent of his god. 

MIKE: (as Priest) Mmmm.... Great Old One Spice.

>Cthulhu commands him to prostrate himself before the Great Old One. 

CROW: (as Cthulhu) No, no, no!  I said prostrate _yourself_, don't show me 
      your prostate!  Ick!

>Whispering in ancient tongues, Cthulhu
>orders the priest to search for the One whose name is unspeakable, 

TOM:  (as Priest) Who am I supposed to search for?
CROW: (as Cthulhu) The One.
TOM:  (as Priest) Who?
CROW: (as Cthulhu) You know, _It._  That guy with the name.
TOM:  (as Priest) What?  Which one?
CROW: (as Cthulhu) Exactly.  The One.
TOM:  (as Priest) Huh?  Who?
MIKE: ENOUGH!  Let's just get on with it!

>to discover the One's devotees and murder them.

TOM:  (singing) One is the loneliest number that you'll ever kill...

>Slavering on the ground, the priest consents very willingly to do the 
>deeds his god has asked. 

CROW: He'll do _anything_ for that corner office space.

>The priest begs for a cold touch, a sign of Cthulhu's
>love for his servant. 

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Could I just send you a Pick-Me-Up Bouquet?

>Sneering, Cthulhu wraps a tentacle around the dream
>form of the priest, squeezes him tightly, and brings him to his mouth.

CROW: Give auntie Cthulhu a kiss!

>Cthulhu, in his telepathic voice, asks, "Would you care for the maggots to
>taste your flesh before the grave? Do you desire the kiss of darkness?"

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) Or would you prefer what's behind Door Number Two?

>The priest giggles hysterically, 

MIKE: (as Priest) Hee hee hee!  Those tentacles _tickle!_

>pleading, "Yes, yes, yes."

CROW: Marv Albert?

>Cthulhu releases the priest. He leaves, abandoning the half-mad priest to
>his mission. 

TOM:  He should look into getting some _sane_ minions.  They tend to do
      things besides sit in the corner and drool.

>As the One had jeered, time has come upon Cthulhu.

CROW: Ooh, that's gonna leave a stain.

>He waits for the harbingers.

MIKE: (as Cthulhu) Oh, Hell.  What were they again?  Rivers of blood?  
      No.  Plague of locusts?  No.  Clinton acquitted?  Maybe...

>In the deep, in the quiet, he sleeps.  The seal shall be broken when his
>followers capture the bloody heart of the One's sign keeper--Cthulhu shall
>awaken.

TOM: (as Cthulhu) Heh, heh.  That should keep the suckers busy for a few
     decades.  Finally, back to bed...

>He dreams of utter chaos and furies unleashed. He dreams of feral creatures
>starving for blood. Elated, he dreams of death, of the final solution.

CROW: He also dreams of skipping through a flowery meadow with a puppy
      licking his face, which is really _weird_ when you think about it.
      
>As a comet crosses the skies of the earth, as the ocean floor trembles with
>motion, as the mountains spew fire, as the millenium draws near, Cthulhu
>awakens. 

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) *Yawn*  Just ten more minutes, lemme hit the snooze
      button...

>His high priest delivers the heart of the sign keeper, of the
>One's most devoted, Mother Teresa.

MIKE: She's been dead for a year and she's _still_ the most devoted?
TOM:  Doesn't say much for the rest of mankind, does it?

>The seal breaks.

TOM: *Fsssssssshhhh...*

>In the deepest depths of the ocean, Cthulhu waits no more.

MIKE: (motherly voice) C'mon, cootchie-culu!  Wakie wakie, eggs and
      bakie!

>His day has come.

TOM:  (as Cthulhu) Oh, no.  My turn to do the carpool again?

>END

ALL:  (singing) ...of the world as we know it, and I feel fine!

>Copyright 1998 by Teri Jacobs
>Write to the author at Darkpani

CROW: Spam break!
MIKE: That was nice of you...

>@aol.com

TOM:  Okay, time to regain our sanity.

[Mike picks up Tom and exits stage right, followed by Crow.]

 [Theatre]
    [1]
    [2]
    [3]
    [4]
    [5]
[SOL Bridge]

[Mike and the Bots are standing behind the console, looking worried.]

MIKE: I have the feeling Pearl doesn't know what she's getting into...

CROW: Really!  I thought she wanted to conquer the world, not destroy it!
      That's _your_ gig, Mike!

MIKE: Oh, don't even start that again...

TOM:  Gentlemen!  Don't worry, I've already taken care of it with one 
      simple hexfield call!  I just happened to have Cthulhu's number
      in my rolodex, and we'll get a chance to sit down and talk this
      out calmly.  I'm sure he'll see that...

MIKE: [interrupting] You... _called_ him!?

TOM:  Er, I actually had Gypsy work on it... is that a bad thing?

CROW: Did it even occur to you that he might be the _slightest_ bit 
      cranky if you were to wake him up from his eternal freaking
      slumber!?

TOM:  Eep.

GYPSY: (voice over) The call's ready!  I'm patching it through now!

CROW: What do we do?  What do we do?

MIKE: Uh, uh, HIDE!

[Mike and the Bots dive behind the main console just as the Hexfield 
Viewscreen opens.  In it, we see true horror.  Well,  maybe 50% 
horror.  Cthulhu stares groggily out of the screen, wearing a nightgown 
and with his tentacles rolled up in curlers.]

CTHULHU: (half asleep) Hello?

[Mike and the Bots continue to hide.]

CTHULHU: Hello!?  Look, I've got caller ID, so speak up!

MIKE: [peeks over the console] Uh, Mr. Cthulhu?  Sir?  I'm _really_ 
      sorry about this.  One of my robot friends called you and...

CTHULHU: Just tell me what you want so I can get back to sleep!

TOM:  (sheepishly) Uh, heh.  Well, you see, there's this Earth woman
      named Pearl, and she's trying to summon you right now as part
      of an elaborate plan to take over the world.

CTHULHU: Not anymore.  She was for a while, but suddenly stopped.

TOM:  Gee, I... I... guess we won't need anything then!  Sorry about 
      disturbing you - sweet dreams!  Bye!

CTHULHU:  Nuh-uh.  It doesn't work that way.  I've got to do something 
          unspeakably horrible to you now, so every Tom, Dick and Harry 
          in Arkham won't try to summon me each time they get a 
          hangnail.  Let's see, what to do... crush you into paste?  
          Rip your limbs off?  Hand you over to my Deep Ones to be 
          vivisected?

CROW: Couldn't you go easy on us, just this once?  It was Tom's fault!
      The rest of us are innocent bystanders!

TOM:  Hey!

CTHULHU: Hmmm...  you seem like pretty nice guys.  You're nowhere 
         near as annoying as that damn captain who rammed into me with 
         his ship.  Sheesh!  You step out for a breath of fresh air
         every few centuries and some idiot plows a hundred tons of
         steel in you!  I swear... anyway, I'll just send you something
         to read.  It might make you go insane, but at least all
         of your entrails can stay intact.

TOM:  Thanks, Mr. C!  You're not nearly as bad as bad as we heard!

CTHULHU:  Yeah.  Remember - don't call me, I'll call _you_.

[The Hexfield Viewscreen closes.]

TOM:  That went pretty well, don't you think?

MIKE: Why, I oughta... [reaches out to strangle Tom]

[All the lights flash, sirens go off, the works.]

ALL:  Oh, no!  WE'VE GOT CALL OF MOVIE SIGN!

[All panic and run offstage.]

[SOL Bridge]
    [5]
    [4]
    [3]
    [2]
    [1]
 [Theatre]

[Mike enters stage right, carrying Tom and followed by Crow.  He sets Tom
down and takes a seat between the two bots.]

>H.P. Lovecraft's
>FUNGI FROM YUGGOTH

MIKE: Those are really good in a tossed salad with a little ranch
      dressing.

>THE 36 SONNETS
>
>        I. The Book
>        The place was dark and dusty and half-lost

TOM:  The service was _terrible_ and the food was disgusting!  One 
      and a half stars - I'm never eating there again!

>        In tangles of old alleys near the quays,
>        Reeking of strange things brought in from the seas,

MIKE: (motherly) You kids take that sea monster back _right now!_ 

>        And with queer curls of fog that west winds tossed.
>        Small lozenge panes, obscured by smoke and frost,
>        Just shewed the books, in piles like twisted trees,

CROW: Marketing?  Who needs it?  It just attracts those damn customers!

>        Rotting from floor to roof - congeries
>        Of crumbling elder lore at little cost.

TOM:  Boy, Barnes & Noble has really gone downhill...


>        I entered, charmed, and from a cobwebbed heap
>        Took up the nearest tome and thumbed it through,

CROW: Hey, you bum!  This ain't no library!  Buy it or get out!

>        Trembling at curious words that seemed to keep
>        Some secret, monstrous if one only knew.

MIKE: (as Narrator) The Cosmo quiz has secret messages, I tell you!

>        Then, looking for some seller old in craft,
>        I could find nothing but a voice that laughed.

TOM:  (as Voice) You're buying "MS Word for Dummies?" Ha!  What a lamer!


>        II. Pursuit
>        I held the book beneath my coat, at pains
>        To hide the thing from sight in such a place;

CROW: (as Narrator) Oh, if the guys catch me reading Oprah's book of
      the month I'll just die of embarrassment...

>        Hurrying through the ancient harbour lanes
>        With often-turning head and nervous pace.

TOM:  *creak* *creak* *creak*
MIKE: Linda Blair _is_ The Fugitive!

>        Dull, furtive windows in old tottering brick
>        Peered at me oddly as I hastened by,
>        And thinking what they sheltered, I grew sick
>        For a redeeming glimpse of clean blue sky.

TOM:  (singing) Goodbye, blue sky...

>        No one had seen me take the thing - but still
>        A blank laugh echoed in my whirling head,

CROW: (falsetto) Tee hee.  Courtesy laugh.

>        And I could guess what nighted worlds of ill
>        Lurked in that volume I had coveted.

TOM: (as Narrator) 11.  I always wanted an amp that goes up to 11.

>        The way grew strange - the walls alike and madding -
>        And far behind me, unseen feet were padding.

MIKE: You know, putting in lots of scenes of driving around, people
      looking at things, stock footage, anything to kill some time
      and make the movie longer.


>        III. The Key
>        I do not know what windings in the waste
>        Of those strange sea-lanes brought me home once more,
>        But on my porch I trembled, white with haste

CROW: (as Narrator) I couldn't waste anymore time in the tanning bed.

>        To get inside and bolt the heavy door.
>        I had the book that told the hidden way

MIKE: (as Narrator) All the secret levels in Zelda will be mine!  I'm so 
      glad I stole this hint book!

>        Across the void and through the space-hung screens
>        That hold the undimensioned worlds at bay,

TOM:  Oh, yeah.  You gotta use those screens, the worlds are as thick as
      mosquitoes up here.

>        And keep lost aeons to their own demesnes.
>
>        At last the key was mine to those vague visions
>        Of sunset spires and twilight woods that brood

CROW: (as Woods) Nobody likes me... Those stupid mountains get all the
      attention...

>        Dim in the gulfs beyond this earth's precisions,

TOM:  U.S. or metric?

>        Lurking as memories of infinitude.
>        The key was mine, but as I sat there mumbling,

MIKE: (as Narrator) Definitely time for Judge Wapner.  Definitely time.

>        The attic window shook with a faint fumbling.

CROW: Just shakin' the window, boss!
          

>        IV. Recognition
>        The day had come again, when as a child
>        I saw - just once - that hollow of old oaks,
>        Grey with a ground-mist that enfolds and chokes

MIKE: Another lovely day in Los Angeles.

>        The slinking shapes which madness has defiled.
>        It was the same - an herbage rank and wild

CROW: That Maui Wowie is wild, man!  But, whoo, does it stink up the
      place!

>        Clings round an altar whose carved sign invokes
>        That Nameless One to whom a thousand smokes
>        Rose, aeons gone, from unclean towers up-piled.

TOM:  It's an altar to the god of stoners! 

>        I saw the body spread on that dank stone,
>        And knew those things which feasted were not men;

CROW: (as Narrator) I mean, they're eating at _White Castle!_
MIKE: Okay, three pot jokes in a row is enough.

>        I knew this strange, grey world was not my own,
>        But Yuggoth, past the starryvoids - and then
>        The body shrieked at me with a dead cry,

MIKE: (as Body) Play "Touch of Grey", man!

>        And all too late I knew that it was I!

TOM:  (as Narrator) I sure don't _remember_ dying...


>        V. Homecoming
>        The daemon said that he would take me home

TOM:  (as Daemon) You just need to type "cd" with no arguments.
      You're using the Bourne shell, right?

>        To the pale, shadowy land I half recalled

MIKE: Minnesota?

>        As a high place of stair and terrace, walled
>        With marble balustrades that sky-winds comb,
>        While miles below a maze of dome on dome
>        And tower on tower beside a sea lies sprawled.
>        Once more, he told me, I would stand enthralled

CROW: (as Daemon) Dude!  You are totally gonna LOVE this!  I mean, 
      whoah!  We've got like, domes and towers, and these winds
      that totally comb things! Dude!

>        On those old heights, and hear the far-off foam.

TOM:  That Gillette factory makes a lot of noise...

>        All this he promised, and through sunset's gate
>        He swept me, past the lapping lakes of flame,
>        And red-gold thrones of gods without a name
>        Who shriek in fear at some impending fate.

MIKE: (as God) No!  _Please_ don't let Jim Baker start praying to me!

>        Then a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night:
>        "Here was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!"

CROW: (as Daemon) How do you like the look of it now?  Oops, sorry...


>        VI. The Lamp
>        We found the lamp inside those hollow cliffs
>        Whose chiselled sign no priest in Thebes could read,

CROW: Because nobody back then knew English...

>        And from whose caverns frightened hieroglyphs
>        Warned everyliving creature of earth's breed.

TOM:  I think I can read those... Let's see, "Danger: planet contains
      humans - avoid at all costs."
MIKE: Hey!

>        No more was there - just that one brazen bowl
>        With traces of a curious oil within;

CROW: It's the black oil!  Run, Mulder, run!

>        Fretted with some obscurely patterned scroll,
>        And symbols hinting vaguely of strange sin.

MIKE: Care to make a guess, Crow?

>        Little the fears of forty centuries meant
>        To us as we bore off our slender spoil,
>        And when we scanned it in our darkened tent

TOM:  The colors were all blotched and faded together.  Never buy a $25
      scanner.

>        We struck a match to test the ancient oil.
>        It blazed - great God!... But the vast shapes we saw
>        In that mad flash have seared our lives with awe.

CROW: (as Narrator) This guy came up to us wearing a trenchcoat and
      then he... then he... oh, the horror!

    
>        VII. Zaman's Hill

MIKE: Zay you friendz are thirzty; zend zem zome Zima, and zey'll zay,
      "You zaman!"

>        The great hill hung close over the old town,

CROW: It never had much motivation after graduating from high school.

>        A precipice against the main street's end;
>        Green, tall, and wooded, looking darkly down
>        Upon the steeple at the highway bend.

MIKE: Oh, I'm _soooo_ sorry our steeple doesn't meet your exacting 
      standards, Hill!

>        Two hundred years the whispers had been heard
>        About what happened on the man-shunned slope -

TOM:  Was that were they had Lilith Fair?

>        Tales of an oddly mangled deer or bird,

CROW: Ick.  Must've been pretty badly mangled if they couldn't tell if
      it was a deer or a bird...

>        Or of lost boys whose kin had ceased to hope.

MIKE: (as Kin) It's no use, they insist on casting Robin Williams as Pan.

>        One day the mail-man found no village there,
>        Nor were its folk or houses seen again;

CROW: (as Mailman) Looks like I get to keep all these Hustlers for
      myself...

>        People came out from Aylesbury to stare -
>        Yet they all told the mail-man it was plain

TOM:  (as Onlooker) Look, mail-boy!  Yeah, it's plain, and it's in a 
      brown wrapper, but plenty of non-perverse things are mailed 
      in plain brown wrappers! 

>        That he was mad for saying he had spied
>        The great hill's gluttonous eyes, and jaws stretched wide.

MIKE: (as Yokel) Yep, that guy shore mus' be nuts!  Ev'body knows that
      hill done got lockjaw...


>        VIII. The Port
>        Ten miles from Arkham I had struck the trail

CROW: And it hit back!

>        That rides the cliff-edge over Boynton Beach,
>        And hoped that just at sunset I could reach
>        The crest that looks on Innsmouth in the vale.
>        Far out at sea was a retreating sail,

MIKE: Run!  Retreat faster!  Get out of this Lovecraft story if you want 
      to survive!

>        White as hard years of ancient winds could bleach,

TOM:  For tough stains, try new Ancient Winds!

>        But evil with some portent beyond speech,
>        So that I did not wave my hand or hail.

CROW: Just flipped 'em the bird and went on my way.  What are they 
      going to do, sail all the way back here?  Ha!

>        Sails out of lnnsmouth! echoing old renown
>        Of long-dead times. But now a too-swift night

MIKE: Hey, every night is too swift when you have to go to work the
      next day.

>        Is closing in, and I have reached the height
>        Whence I so often scan the distant town.

TOM:  At 1600 dpi.

>        The spires and roofs are there - but look! The gloom

CROW: Hey, spires!  Those are new!  
MIKE: I sense a running gag beginning...

>        Sinks on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!

TOM:  You'll want to use some Formula 409 on that sink, it's looking
      pretty grimy after being left out in the street...


>        IX. The Courtyard
>        It was the city I had known before;
>        The ancient, leprous town where mongrel throngs

MIKE: Is he talking about Little Rock?

>        Chant to strange gods, and beat unhallowed gongs

TOM:  *GONG!*
MIKE: ...and Jaye P. Morgan gives the Tcho-Tcho Yodelers the gong!
      Next up, Albert Shiny and his Dancing Shoggoths!

>        In crypts beneath foul alleys near the shore.
>        The rotting, fish-eyed houses leered at me

CROW: (as House) Whoo!  Whatcha doing after the poem's over, baby?

>        From where they leaned, drunk and half-animate,

TOM:  Sort of like a Hannah-Barberra cartoon.

>        As edging through the filth I passed the gate
>        To the black courtyard where the man would be.
>
>        The dark walls closed me in, and loud I cursed
>        That ever I had come to such a den,

MIKE: (as Narrator) There was no TV, the sofa was all broken
       down, and the Foosball table was busted!

>        When suddenly a score of windows burst
>        Into wild light, and swarmed with dancing men:

CROW: Drive-by Riverdance!

>        Mad, soundless revels of the dragging dead -
>        And not a corpse had either hands or head!

TOM: Have you been snacking again, Mr. Dahmer?


>        X. The Pigeon-Flyers
>        They took me slumming, where gaunt walls of brick
>        Bulge outward with a viscous stored-up evil,

MIKE: New!  Concentrated Evil - just add water!

>        And twisted faces, thronging foul and thick,
>        Wink messages to alien god and devil.

CROW (as Face) Wink wink, nudge nudge, knowwhatimean?

>        A million fires were blazing in the streets,

ALL:  (chanting) NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!  NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!  

>        And from flat roofs a furtive few would fly
>        Bedraggled birds into the yawning sky
>        While hidden drums droned on with measured beats.

CROW: Stupid Danes and their crappy Gabber music...

>        I knew those fires were brewing monstrous things,

MIKE:  Miller Lite...

>        And that those birds of space had been Outside -
>        I guessed to what dark planet's crypts they plied,

TOM: Judging by the sheer volume of gaudy rings they're wearing, I'll
     guess they hit Liberache's tomb recently.

>        And what they brought from Thog beneath their wings.

BOTS: TOGGG!!
MIKE: Not quite...

>        The others laughed - till struck too mute to speak
>        By what they glimpsed in one bird's evil beak.

CROW: (as Other) Uh-oh.  Guys?  Everybody check their pants and
      make sure you aren't missing an important piece of equipment...


>        XI. The Well
>        Farmer Seth Atwood was past eighty when
>        He tried to sink that deep well by his door,
>        With only Eb to help him bore and bore.

TOM:  Eb told fishing stories, while Seth droned on about the weather.
      Together, they were unstoppable.

>        We laughed, and hoped he'd soon be sane again.

ALL:  [weak chuckle]
CROW: I hope I'll be sane by the end of this...

>        And yet, instead, young Eb went crazy, too,

TOM:  Oh, and if Seth jumped off the barn would you do that too?

>        So that they shipped him to the county farm.
>        Seth bricked the well-mouth up as tight as glue -

CROW: ...finally sick and tired of having to pull Baby Jessica out of
      there every couple weeks.

>        Then hacked an artery in his gnarled left arm.

MIKE: He used L0phtCrack to get access to the admin's password.

>        After the funeral we felt bound to get
>        Out to that well and rip the bricks away,

CROW: (as Narrator) Because, hey, free bricks!

>        But all we saw were iron hand-holds set
>        Down a black hole deeper than we could say.

TOM:  (as Yokel) None of us had the book learnin' to use compul... 
      compla... complic...  _big_ words like that. Mebbe we could get 
      that fancy-pants Lovecraft feller to come out and describe it 
      fer us.

>        And yet we put the bricks back - for we found

MIKE: (as Narrator) ...that the cops were watching.  We'd have to come 
      back after dark.

>        The hole too deep for any line to sound.

CROW: (as Narrator) And we tried every line we knew!  "What's your
      sign?"  "Come here often?"


>        XII. The Howler
>        They told me not to take the Briggs' Hill path
>        That used to be the highroad through to Zoar,

TOM: (singing) Ohh, ye take the highroad, and I'll take the lowroad,
     and I'll be in R'lyeh afore ye!

>        For Goody Watkins, hanged in seventeen-four,
>        Had left a certain monstrous aftermath.

CROW: We all know what happens to your bowels and bladder when you're
      hanged...

>        Yet when I disobeyed, and had in view
>        The vine-hung cottage by the great rock slope,
>        I could not think of elms or hempen rope,

MIKE: All I could think about was Easy Cheez!  That stuff's amazing!

>        But wondered why the house still seemed so new.

TOM:  Through the miracle of aluminum siding!

>        Stopping a while to watch the fading day,
>        I heard faint howls, as from a room upstairs,

CROW: (as Narrator) Those damn newlyweds were at it again.

>        When through the ivied panes one sunset ray
>        Struck in, and caught the howler unawares.
>        I glimpsed - and ran in frenzy from the place,

TOM:  Rule #1 if you find yourself in a Lovecraft story: Running Away 
      is always the best plan.

>        And from a four-pawed thing with human face.

MIKE: It's an anti-furry!


>        XIII. Hesperia
>        The winter sunset, flaming beyond spires

CROW:  Wow!  More spires!

>        And chimneys half-detached from this dull sphere,

CROW: Anti-gravity chimneys.  Cool.

>        Opens great gates to some forgotten year
>        Of elder splendours and divine desires.

TOM:  (singing) When I was seventeen, it was a very good year...

>        Expectant wonders burn in those rich fires,

MIKE: Great, another Indian bride burning.

>        Adventure-fraught, and not untinged with fear;
>        A row of sphinxes where the way leads clear
>        Toward walls and turrets quivering to far lyres.

CROW: Will you TURN THE FREAKING BASS DOWN on those lyres!?  You're
      making the whole neighborhood vibrate!

>        It is the land where beauty's meaning flowers;
>        Where every unplaced memory has a source;

MIKE: Those damn aliens keep implanting things into my mind...

>        Where the great river Time begins its course
 
TOM:  (as River) Man, this totally sucks!  I've got Introduction to
      Physics at seven in the morning!  _Seven!_

>        Down the vast void in starlit streams of hours.
>        Dreams bring us close - but ancient lore repeats
>        That human tread has never soiled these streets.

CROW: Kind of like Japan - you have to take your shoes off before going 
      in.


>        XIV. Star-Winds
>        It is a certain hour of twilight glooms,
>        Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours

TOM:  It had to take a second job as a bartender at T.G.I.Friday's.

>        Down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,
>        But shewing early lamplight from snug rooms.
>        The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,

CROW: And incredible lambadas!

>        And chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace,
>        Heeding geometries of outer space,

MIKE: Interstellar Geometry: the only class more dreaded than Calculus.

>        While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.

CROW: I get the feeling we're being watched, Mike.

>        This is the hour when moonstruck poets know

TOM:  ...that there are _TONS_ of words that rhyme with moon.  June,
      croon, bassoon...

>        What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents
>        And tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents,

MIKE: *Sniff* *Sniff* CK One?

>        Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.

CROW: No way, man!  This here's uncut, prime Columbian blow!

>        Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,
>        A dozen more of ours they sweep away!

TOM:  Well you shouldn't leave them laying on the floor!


>        XV. Antarktos
>        Deep in my dream the great bird whispered queerly

CROW: ..."Hey, Snuffleupagus, wanna fool around?"

>        Of the black cone amid the polar waste;
>        Pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly,
>        By storm-crazed aeons battered and defaced.

MIKE: Somebody carved "Cthugha loves Ithaqua" on it.

>        Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses,
>        And only pale auroras and faint suns
>        Glow on that pitted rock, whose primal sources
>        Are guessed at dimly by the Elder Ones.

MIKE: (as Elder One) Hey, any of you guys lose a black pointy thing? 
BOTS: (as Elder Ones) Nah.
MIKE: (as Elder One) I guess we'll just leave it here then...

>        If men should glimpse it, they would merely wonder

MIKE: "How can I slap a Nike logo on this thing?"

>        What tricky mound of Nature's build they spied;
>        But the bird told of vaster parts, that under
>        The mile-deep ice-shroud crouch and brood and bide.
>        God help the dreamer whose mad visions shew
>        Those dead eyes set in crystal gulfs below!

TOM:  Dear God, it's merely a massive alien blackhead!


>        XVI. The Window
>        The house was old, with tangled wings outthrown,
>        Of which no one could ever half keep track,

MIKE: (as Yokel) Cletus, did that dang house just sprout another pair 
      of wings?
CROW: (as Yokel) A-yup.

>        And in a small room somewhat near the back
>        Was an odd window sealed with ancient stone.
>        There, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone
>        I used to go, where night reigned vague and black;

TOM:  Night was a just and noble ruler, until his cousin Dusk made plans
      to usurp the throne...

>        Parting the cobwebs with a curious lack
>        Of fear, and with a wonder each time grown.
>
>        One later day I brought the masons there
>        To find what view my dim forbears had shunned,
>        But as they pierced the stone, a rush of air

TOM:  Inflatable stones?  That's some pretty cheap construction!

>        Burst from the alien voids that yawned beyond.
>        They fled - but I peered through and found unrolled
>        All the wild worlds of which my dreams had told.

MIKE: (as Narrator) It's Candyland!  Candyland!


>        XVII. A Memory
>        There were great steppes, and rocky table-lands

TOM: (monotone announcer voice) Come to Table Land.  Great discount
     prices on all tables.  Financing available.

>        Stretching half-limitless in starlit night,
>        With alien campfires shedding feeble light

ALL:  (singing) Kumbaya, Great Cthulu, Kumbaya... 

>        On beasts with tinkling bells, in shaggy bands.

MIKE: They can go on tour in the Mystery Machine!

>        Far to the south the plain sloped low and wide
>        To a dark zigzag line of wall that lay
>        Like a huge python of some primal day
>        Which endless time had chilled and petrified.

CROW: Some Monty Python sketches didn't age very well...

>        I shivered oddly in the cold, thin air,

TOM: (as Narrator) I normally shiver when it's hot and humid.  How odd.

>        And wondered where I was and how I came,

CROW: (as Narrator) Whoops!  This is a surprise.  Anybody got a fresh
      pair of undies?

>        When a cloaked form against a campfire's glare
>        Rose and approached, and called me by my name.

MIKE: (as Narrator) Good thing everyone was wearing their "Hello, my 
      name is..." badges!  This could have been embarrassing!

>        Staring at that dead face beneath the hood,
>        I ceased to hope - because I understood.

TOM:  You understand?   Well then HOW ABOUT CLUEING ME IN?!  What is
      this ridiculous poem ABOUT!?
MIKE: Calm down, calm down.

>        XVIII. The Gardens of Yin
>        Beyond that wall, whose ancient masonry

TOM:  Did you know that wall's at the 33rd level of initiation?

>        Reached almost to the sky in moss-thick towers,
>        There would be terraced gardens, rich with flowers,
>        And flutter of bird and butterfly and bee.

MIKE: How lovely.
TOM:  How beautiful.
CROW: How do you suppose Lovecraft will warp it?

>        There would be walks, and bridges arching over
>        Warm lotos-pools reflecting temple eaves,
>        And cherry-trees with delicate boughs and leaves
>        Against a pink sky where the herons hover.

CROW: So, do the herons have tentacles?  Is there an ghoul under the 
      bridge?  Are the cherry trees actually Dark Young?  Come on,
      don't disappoint me, Lovey-Dovey!

>        All would be there, for had not old dreams flung
>        Open the gate to that stone-lantemed maze

MIKE: (as Maze) Oh, why did I have to be made out of stone?  I wanted 
      to be a hedge maze, everybody loves hedges...
TOM:  No, he said "lantemed," not "lamented."
MIKE: What does that mean?
TOM:  [pause] Hell if I know.

>        Where drowsy streams spin out their winding ways,

TOM: That stream's got Joel Eyes!

>        Trailed by green vines from bending branches hung?
>        I hurried - but when the wall rose, grim and great,
>        I found there was no longer any gate.

CROW: (as Narrator, sarcastic) Oh, pooh.  I guess I'll have to stay in
      this nice, safe garden instead of crawling through the monster-
      infested maze.  Shucks.


>        XIX. The Bells

TOM:  To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
      bells, bells, bells, - To the moaning and the groaning of the 
      bells!

>        Year after year I heard that faint, far ringing
>        Of deep-toned bells on the black midnight wind;

MIKE: (as Narrator) I am going to KILL whoever invented car alarms!

>        Peals from no steeple I could ever find,
>        But strange, as if across some great void winging.
>        I searched my dreams and memories for a clue,

TOM:  (as Narrator) But all I could find was a Yahtzee.

>        And thought of all the chimes my visions carried;
>        Of quiet Innsmouth, where the white gulls tarried
>        Around an ancient spire that once I knew.

CROW: Spires...  Sure can't get enough of those.

>        Always perplexed I heard those far notes falling,
>        Till one March night the bleak rain splashing cold
>        Beckoned me back through gateways of recalling
>        To elder towers where the mad clappers tolled.

MIKE: Clap on, clap off, clap on, clap off, clap on, clap off, clap on, 
      clap off, CLAP ON, CLAP OFF!  BWA-HA-HA-HA!

>        They tolled - but from the sunless tides that pour
>        Through sunken valleys on the sea's dead floor.

TOM:  (as Clapper) Good pay, but the commute down there is murder...


>        XX. Night-Gaunts
>        Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
>        But every night I see the rubbery things,

CROW: (as Narrator) My wife keeps trying to spice up our sex life...

>        Black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings,

MIKE: ...8'1", 680 lbs.  Likes long walks on the beach and candlelit 
      dinners.  Seeking SWF for dancing, romance and human sacrifice.  
      Call Zgggnyx.

>        And tails that bear the bifid barb of hell.
>        They come in legions on the north wind's swell,
>        With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,

TOM:  Okay, who let Clinton in here?

>        Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings

MIKE: Nooo!  Not another Carnival Cruise with Kathy Lee!

>        To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well.
>
>        Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
>        Heedless of all the cries I try to make,

TOM:  (as Night-Gaunt) Hey, who's screaming?
CROW: (as Night-Gaunt) Eh, it's that whiny Kitty Genovese again.  Just 
      ignore her.

>        And down the nether pits to that foul lake
>        Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.

TOM: (as Shoggoth) I can't believe I ate the whole thing...

>        But oh! If only they would make some sound,
>        Or wear a face where faces should be found!

CROW: Yeah, _Servo!_
TOM:  Hey, I like my smooth features!
MIKE: Features?  You don't _have_ any features, just a bubble and a beak!
TOM:  Not having any visible eyes is pretty cool!  I might be staring at 
      your hinder right now and you couldn't tell!
MIKE: Just read the poem, Tom.


>        XXI. Nyarlathotep

CROW: Hey, baby, wanna see my third leg?
MIKE: Crow!  Not only was that uncalled for, it was stupid!
CROW: No, Mike!  He really _does_ have a third leg!
MIKE: Oh... Sorry.

>        And at the last from inner Egypt came
>        The strange dark One to whom the fellahs bowed;

TOM:  Don King?

>        Silent and lean and cryptically proud,
>        And wrapped in fabrics red as sunset flame.
>        Throngs pressed around, frantic for his commands,
>        But leaving, could not tell what they had heard;

MIKE: (as Thronger) I can't believe he didn't notice the PA system
      was broken...

>        While through the nations spread the awestruck word
>        That wild beasts followed him and licked his hands.

CROW: Fine, as long as that's _all_ they're licking...


>        Soon from the sea a noxious birth began;

MIKE: Michael Jackson spawned again!?

>        Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold;

CROW: Spires!  Gotta love spires!

>        The ground was cleft, and mad auroras rolled
>        Down on the quaking citadels of man.

TOM:  Nooo!  They're destroying all our Warhammer 40,000 miniatures!

>        Then, crushing what he chanced to mould in play,
>        The idiot Chaos blew Earth's dust away.

CROW: Thanks, Chaos!  Our planet hasn't been this sparkly clean in
      years!


>        XXII. Azathoth
>        Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,

MIKE: (as Narrator) We're on the edge of space and he still insists on 
      showing me his home movies!

>        Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,
>        Till neither time nor matter stretched before me,
>        But only Chaos, without form or place.

CROW: He's been transported to a Thinker Fic!

>        Here the vast Lord of All in darkness muttered

TOM:  Shhh!  Azathoth's going to do his Brando impersonation!

>        Things he had dreamed but could not understand,

CROW: (as Azathoth) I keep dreaming about trains going into tunnels 
      while I'm eating hot dogs and smoking a cigar.  What could it 
      mean?

>        While near him shapeless bat-things flopped and fluttered
>        In idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned.

MIKE: So _this_ is where all that Batman merchandise from the early
      nineties went to!

>        They danced insanely to the high, thin whining

TOM:  They must be Celene Dion fans.

>        Of a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw,

MIKE: Look out!  It's a WereYanni!

>        Whence flow the aimless waves whose chance combining
>        Gives each frail cosmos its eternal law.

TOM:  Which isn't nearly as important as Ape Law.

>        "I am His Messenger," the daemon said,

CROW: (as Daemon) FedEx charged way too much to ship out here.

>        As in contempt he struck his Master's head.

TOM: (as Daemon) Ha-ha!  You can't fire me - I'm in the union!


>        XXIII. Mirage
>        I do not know if ever it existed -
>        That lost world floating dimly on Time's stream -
>        And yet I see it often, violet-misted,

TOM:  (singing) Purple haze all in my brain...

>        And shimmering at the back of some vague dream.

CROW:  I was giving a sponge bath to Carmen Electra... or was it Bea 
       Arthur?  Or maybe I was just using a lathe made out of staples, 
       I don't remember clearly...

>        There were strange towers and curious lapping rivers,
>        Labyrinths of wonder, and low vaults of light,

TOM:  Careful, I hear that David Bowie and a bunch of muppets live in 
      there...

>        And bough-crossed skies of flame, like that which quivers
>        Wistfully just before a winter's night.
>        Great moors led off to sedgy shores unpeopled,

CROW: ...and unNewsweeked and unLifed and unPopularScienced...

>        Where vast birds wheeled, while on a windswept hill
>        There was a village, ancient and white-steepled,

MIKE: [begins folding his hands] This is the church, and this is the 
      steeple.  Smash open the door and eat all the people!

>        With evening chimes for which I listen still.
>        I do not know what land it is - or dare
>        Ask when or why I was, or will be, there.

TOM:  Oh, go ahead and ask!  There are no stupid questions...
CROW: What about, "How come fish don't taste like licorice?"
TOM:  [pause] I withdraw my last statement.


>        XXIV. The Canal
>        Somewhere in dream there is an evil place
>        Where tall, deserted buildings crowd along
>        A deep, black, narrow channel, reeking strong
>        Of frightful things whence oily currents race.

MIKE:  Ah.  New York along the Hudson.

>        Lanes with old walls half meeting overhead
>        Wind off to streets one may or may not know,

TOM:  Oh, great.  Was I looking for Oak Street, Oak Lane, Oak Avenue
      or Oak Terrace?

>        And feeble moonlight sheds a spectral glow
>        Over long rows of windows, dark and dead.

MIKE: I'll be, Linux actually won...

>        There are no footfalls, and the one soft sound
>        Is of the oily water as it glides
>        Under stone bridges, and along the sides
>        Of its deep flume, to some vague ocean bound.

CROW: (as Water, falsetto) Honey, can we just stop and ask directions?
TOM:  (as Water) No!  We'll just keep gliding until we find an 
      ocean!  I don't _care_ which one!  And will you kids SHUT UP
      back there!?

>        None lives to tell when that stream washed away
>        Its dream-lost region from the world of clay.

MIKE: The stream left _no witnesses!_


>        XXV. St. Toad's
>        "Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" I heard him scream

TOM:  (as Narrator) Where?
MIKE: (as Screamer) Look up!
TOM:  (as Narrator) AHHHHHH! *Splat!*

>        As I plunged into those mad lanes that wind
>        In labyrinths obscure and undefined
>        South of the river where old centuries dream.
>        He was a furtive figure, bent and ragged,

CROW: (as Figure) Hmph!  You're no spring chicken yourself!

>        And in a flash had staggered out of sight,
>        So still I burrowed onward in the night

TOM:  (as Narrator) Good thing I brought my shovel...

>        Toward where more roof-lines rose, malign and jagged.
>
>        No guide-book told of what was lurking here -
 
MIKE: The Guide just listed it as "Harmless."  Oh, wait, "_Mostly_ 
      Harmless."

>        But now I heard another old man shriek:
>        "Beware St.Toad's cracked chimes!" And growing weak,
>        I paused, when a third greybeard croaked in fear:

TOM:  You scared him to death?

>        "Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" Aghast, I fled -
>        Till suddenly that black spire loomed ahead.

CROW: Who-hoo!  More spires!
MIKE: Are you alright, Crow?


>        XXVI. The Familiars
>        John Whateley lived about a mile from town,
>        Up where the hills begin to huddle thick;
>        We never thought his wits were very quick,

TOM:  But the Make.Money.Fast folks loved him.

>        Seeing the way he let his farm run down.

MIKE: He kept forgetting to put fresh batteries in it.

>        He used to waste his time on some queer books
>        He'd found around the attic of his place,

TOM:  (as Yokel) Durn it, John, how many times you gonna read that
      "Philadelphia" book?

>        Till funny lines got creased into his face,
>        And folks all said they didn't like his looks.

MIKE: He's been on Mr. Blackwell's list for the past three years.

>        When he began those night-howls we declared
>        He'd better be locked up away from harm,

CROW: ...and Agents for H.A.R.M.

>        So three men from the Aylesbury town farm
>        Went for him - but came back alone and scared.

TOM:  (as Yokel) What done happened out thar, Cletus?
CROW: (as Scared Yokel) Y'all... Y'all ain't seen true horroah until ya 
      seen ol' Whateley streaking...

>        They'd found him talking to two crouching things
>        That at their step flew off on great black wings.

CROW: Whew!  It almost became a Gargoyles crossover, but common sense
      prevailed...


>        XXVII. The Elder Pharos

MIKE: (as Pharaoh) Eh, back in my day, we had to lift those stones to
      the top of the pyramids with our bare hands!  We didn't have 
      no sissy "ancient astronauts" to help us!

>        From Leng, where rocky peaks climb bleak and bare
>        Under cold stars obscure to human sight,

TOM:  You mean like Tiny Ron?
MIKE: Who's that?
TOM:  He was "Al" in the Naked Gun movies.
MIKE: Oh... that _is_ a pretty obscure star.

>        There shoots at dusk a single beam of light

CROW: Okay, if the comedian in the audience with the laser pointer
      would kindly stop shining it in my eyes...

>        Whose far blue rays make shepherds whine in prayer.

MIKE: (as Shepherd, whiny) Aw, God, how much farther do I need to follow 
      this star?  My feet hurt...

>        They say (though none has been there) that it comes
>        Out of a pharos in a tower of stone,
>        Where the last Elder One lives on alone,

MIKE: (as Elder One)  Why can't I get a roommate?  I'm clean, I always 
      come through on the rent... It's probably that whole "feasting
      on the blood of the innocent" thing, I'll bet.

>        Talking to Chaos with the beat of drums.

BOTS: [begin making beat-box noises] 
MIKE: (as Elder One, rappin') Yo!  King In Yellow is my name, and 
      killin' mere mortals is my game!

>        The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken mask
>        Of yellow, whose queer folds appear to hide

TOM: ...one _serious_ case of acne.

>        A face not of this earth, though none dares ask
>        Just what those features are, which bulge inside.

CROW: They're still talking about his face, right?

>        Many, in man's first youth, sought out that glow,
>        But what they found, no one will ever know.

MIKE: They forgot to take Rad-X before heading to the Glow, despite 
      warnings from Tycho and Ian.


>        XXVIII. Expectancy
>        I cannot tell why some things hold for me
>        A sense of unplumbed marvels to befall,

TOM:  (as Narrator) You know that noise when you open a can of tennis
      balls?  That blows my mind!

>        Or of a rift in the horizon's wall
>        Opening to worlds where only gods can be.

MIKE: I thought Gods-Only sections were ruled unconstitutional.

>        There is a breathless, vague expectancy,

CROW:  Right before the leather strap strikes...

>        As of vast ancient pomps I half recall,

MIKE: (as Narrator)I never should have threatened to kick Bruce Lee's 
      ass...  I don't remember much right after that.

>        Or wild adventures, uncorporeal,
>        Ecstasy-fraught, and as a day-dream free.

TOM:  Can be yours on Ultima Online!  Huzzah!

>        It is in sunsets and strange city spires,

CROW: Spires?  In this poem?  No way!

>        Old villages and woods and misty downs,
>        South winds, the sea, low hills, and lighted towns,
>        Old gardens, half-heard songs, and the moon's fires.

TOM:  (singing) These are a few of my favorite things...

>        But though its lure alone makes life worth living,
>        None gains or guesses what it hints at giving.

CROW: I just hope it doesn't give me socks again.


>        XXIX. Nostalgia
>        Once every year, in autumn's wistful glow,
>        The birds fly out over an ocean waste,
>        Calling and chattering in a joyous haste

MIKE: They'll regret that when their long distance bill comes.

>        To reach some land their inner memories know.
>        Great terraced gardens where bright blossoms blow,
>        And lines of mangoes luscious to the taste,
>        And temple-groves with branches interlaced

TOM:  Using the Gif89 standard, I hope.

>        Over cool paths - all these their vague dreams shew.
>
>        They search the sea for marks of their old shore -

MIKE: (as Bird) Look!  Dead fish, medical waste, oil slicks - 
      we're home!
BOTS: (flatly) Yay.

>        For the tall city, white and turreted -
>        But only empty waters stretch ahead,
>        So that at last they turn away once more.
>        Yet sunken deep where alien polyps throng,
>        The old towers miss their lost, remembered song.

TOM: (as Tower) Man, why don't they play "The Thing That Should
     Not Be" anymore?  That was the BEST Metallica song...


>        XXX. Background

MIKE: Aren't you supposed to give that at the beginning?

>        I never can be tied to raw, new things,

CROW: (as Narrator) I can, however, be tied to a metal rack, provided
      I get to wear my favorite leather mask.

>        For I first saw the light in an old town,
>        Where from my window huddled roofs sloped down
>        To a quaint harbour rich with visionings.

TOM:  The phone psychic people have their convention there.

>        Streets with carved doorways where the sunset beams
>        Flooded old fanlights and small window-panes,
>        And Georgian steeples topped with gilded vanes -
>        These were the sights that shaped my childhood dreams.

MIKE: Explains quite a lot about Mr. Lovecraft, eh?

>        Such treasures, left from times of cautious leaven,
>        Cannot but loose the hold of flimsier wraiths
>        That flit with shifting ways and muddled faiths

TOM:  Half Catholic and half Baptist.  Kinda... "Cactus."

>        Across the changeless walls of earth and heaven.
>        They cut the moment's thongs and leave me free
>        To stand alone before eternity.

MIKE: (as Narrator) Oh, _very_ funny, guys!  Haze the new guy, sure!
      Now get back here and pick me up!  Guys?  Guys!?


>        XXXI. The Dweller
>        It had been old when Babylon was new;

TOM:  But it still wrote crappy Babylon 5 fanfics.

>        None knows how long it slept beneath that mound,
>        Where in the end our questing shovels found

CROW: ...the Holy Grail!  At long last, their quest was over!

>        Its granite blocks and brought it back to view.
>        There were vast pavements and foundation-walls,
>        And crumbling slabs and statues, carved to shew
>        Fantastic beings of some long ago
>        Past anything the world of man recalls.

MIKE: The world's long-term memory ain't what it used to be.

>        And then we saw those stone steps leading down
>        Through a choked gate of graven dolomite

TOM:  Dolemite?
CROW: _Dolemite?_
MIKE: DOLEMITE?
ALL:  It's The Avenging Disco Godfather!
TOM:  I had no idea Lovecraft was such a big fan of blaxpoitation films!

>        To some black haven of eternal night
>        Where elder signs and primal secrets frown.

TOM:  Ooh!  Elder signs!  Let's read them!
MIKE: "Beneath the waves..."
CROW: "...Cthulhu dreams..."
TOM:  "...one day he'll rise..."
MIKE: "...and hear your screams!"
ALL:  "Burma Shave!"

>        We cleared a path - but raced in mad retreat

TOM:  Zoinks!  Let's get out of here, Scoob!

>        When from below we heard those clumping feet.

CROW: (as Narrator) AUUUGH!  Why did I get an apartment above a disco!?


>        XXXII. Alienation
>        His solid flesh had never been away,

MIKE: So he was _really_ surprised when his skin took a vacation
      without him.

>        For each dawn found him in his usual place,

TOM:  Face down in the gutter.

>        But every night his spirit loved to race
>        Through gulfs and worlds remote from common day.
>        He had seen Yaddith, yet retained his mind,

CROW: Never let the valet park your brain if you want it back in one
      piece.

>        And come back safely from the Ghooric zone,
>        When one still night across curved space was thrown
>        That beckoning piping from the voids behind.

TOM:  The lure of hyperdimensional plumbers?

>        He waked that morning as an older man,
>        And nothing since has looked the same to him.

MIKE: (as Dreamer) These cataracts are horrible!

>        Objects around float nebulous and dim -
>        False, phantom trifles of some vaster plan.

ALL:  (monotone) Fnord.

>        His folk and friends are now an alien throng
>        To which he struggles vainly to belong.

MIKE: Sounds like _my_ family...


>        XXXIII. Harbour Whistles
>        Over old roofs and past decaying spires

CROW: Do you get the feeling that Lovecraft is OBSESSED WITH SPIRES?

>        The harbour whistles chant all through the night;

TOM:  [wolf whistle]
CROW: Hello, sailor!

>        Throats from strange ports, and beaches far and white,
>        And fabulous oceans, ranged in motley choirs.

TOM:  Please open your hymnals to page 104,  "Smokin' in the Boys' Room."

>        Each to the other alien and unknown,
>        Yet all, by some obscurely focussed force
>        From brooding gulfs beyond the Zodiac's course,
>        Fused into one mysterious cosmic drone.

ALL:  (monotone) MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm-BOOOOOOOOOoooooooop...

>        Through shadowy dreams they send a marching line
>        Of still more shadowy shapes and hints and views;

CROW: Whose brilliant idea was it to have "Death" as the theme for this
      year's St. Patrick's Day parade?

>        Echoes from outer voids, and subtle clues
>        To things which they themselves cannot define.

TOM:  Their # key is broken.
CROW: (as Foghorn Leghorn) That's a programming joke, I say, that's a 
      programming joke, son.

>        And always in that chorus, faintly blent,
>        We catch some notes no earth-ship ever sent.

TOM: [whistles Close Encounters of the Third Kind theme] 


>        XXXIV. Recapture
>        The way led down a dark, half-wooded heath
>        Where moss-grey boulders humped above the mould,

TOM:  Mike, what are those boulders doing up there?
MIKE: They're telling secrets, that's all.

>        And curious drops, disquieting and cold,

CROW: Peppermint Visine?  Who the Hell thought that up?

>        Sprayed up from unseen streams in gulfs beneath.
>        There was no wind, nor any trace of sound
>        In puzzling shrub, or alien-featured tree,

TOM:  This must be where formica comes from.

>        Nor any view before - till suddenly,
>        Straight in my path, I saw a monstrous mound.

MIKE: Not to mention the enormous Almond Joy!

>        Half to the sky those steep sides loomed upspread,
>        Rank-grassed, and cluttered by a crumbling flight
>        Of lava stairs that scaled the fear-topped height

CROW: Interior decorating by Moltar.

>        In steps too vast for any human tread.
>        I shrieked - and knew what primal star and year
>        Had sucked me back from man's dream-transient sphere!

MIKE: Dustin Hoffman, 1987!  I was going to have to be in Ishtar 
      with him!


>        XXXV. Evening Star
>        I saw it from that hidden, silent place
>        Where the old wood half shuts the meadow in.
>        It shone through all the sunset's glories - thin
>        At first, but with a slowly brightening face.

CROW: I'd blush too...

>        Night came, and that lone beacon, amber-hued,
>        Beat on my sight as never it did of old;

TOM: (as Narrator) It used to just give my eyes little love taps...

>        The evening star - but grown a thousandfold
>        More haunting in this hush and solitude.
>
>        It traced strange pictures on the quivering air -

MIKE: Ah, just like that Muppet Babies episode where Scooter used his 
      computer's light pen to draw all those cool things in midair!
[The Bots turn and stare at Mike]
MIKE: What?  WHAT!?


>        Half-memories that had always filled my eyes -
>        Vast towers and gardens; curious seas and skies
>        Of some dim life - I never could tell where.

CROW: (as Narrator) My GPS was flaking out.

>        But now I knew that through the cosmic dome
>        Those rays were calling from my far, lost home.

MIKE: (as Narrator) ...collect, I might add.  Cheap bastards.


>        XXXVI. Continuity
>        There is in certain ancient things a trace
>        Of some dim essence - more than form or weight;

TOM:  Size isn't everything...

>        A tenuous aether, indeterminate,
>        Yet linked with all the laws of time and space.

CROW: But he screwed up on the HTML and all the links are pointing to
      his hard drive.

>        A faint, veiled sign of continuities
>        That outward eyes can never quite descry;
>        Of locked dimensions harbouring years gone by,
>        And out of reach except for hidden keys.

MIKE: Just check under the welcome mat.

>        It moves me most when slanting sunbeams glow
>        On old farm buildings set against a hill,
>        And paint with life the shapes which linger still
>        From centuries less a dream than this we know.
>        In that strange light I feel I am not far
>        From the fixt mass whose sides the ages are.

MIKE: You two were really quiet during that last paragraph.
CROW: "fixt mass whose sides..." Huh?  I don't get it.
TOM:  I stopped getting it after the first sentence... *sigh*

>Howard-Phillips Lovecraft (1890-1937)

MIKE: Great job guys, let's get out of here.
[Mike picks up Tom and exits stage right, followed by Crow.]

 [Theatre]
    [1]
    [2]
    [3]
    [4]
    [5]
[SOL Bridge]

[Mike and Tom stand at the console, dazed.  A loud hammering can be 
 heard, echoing throughout the ship.]

MIKE: Well, that was certainly... certainly...

TOM:  Eldritch?

MIKE: Yeah, that's a good word for it.  Say, where's Crow?

TOM:  He was saying something about needing to add some spires to the 
      satellite.  [The hammering grows louder] That's probably him now.

MIKE: Not again... we'd better just call the Mads and get this over 
      with before anything else happens.

TOM:  Before we do that, could I ask you one question?

MIKE: Sure.

TOM:  Thanks.  *A-hem*  WHAT IN THE NAME OF HASTUR WAS THAT POEM 
      ABOUT?!?!  It made no sense!  First, this guy steals a book.
      Then a town disappears and some old guy seals up a well, while 
      the book stealer flies to the edge of the universe and listens to 
      elevator music!  When he gets back to earth he freaks out a bunch
      of masons and... and... and I have no idea what happened next!
      AUUUUGHH! [Tom breaks down and collapses into Mike's arms.]

MIKE: Calm down, Tom!  It's only a poem!  Couldn't you tell it was
      just a morality tale against shoplifting?

TOM:  [Sniffing] Really?  What was all the weirdness about then?

MIKE: It was just his conscience trying to convince him to do the right
      thing and take the book back!  

TOM:  And it was _supposed_ to be that strange and pointless?

MIKE: Yeah, kind of like Glen or Glenda!  Remember when Ed Wood 
      had to admit to his fiancee that he was a transvestite?  He 
      passed out and started having this weird dream about bushy-
      eyebrowed guys, trees falling on people in their living rooms
      and half-naked women wrestling!
      
TOM:  It _kinda_ makes sense, now.

MIKE: Feel better?

TOM:  I guess so.  You know the one thing that this poem needed?

MIKE: What's that?

TOM:  Some half-naked women wrestling!  Throw out all the crap about
      books and daemons and dreams, just bring in some half-naked 
      women and let 'em wrestle!  We could call it Half-Naked
      Wrestling Women From Yuggoth and...

[The hammering noise abruptly stops and Crow zips on screen.]

CROW: You were discussing half-naked women wrestling and _I_  wasn't 
      informed?  What did I miss?

[The red button begins to flash.]

MIKE: You guys... [taps button]

[CASTLE FORRESTER]

[The Mads are standing waist-deep in what appears to be thick, black
pudding, the surface of which constantly bubbles and swirls.  Observer
holds his brain high over his head and stares at the black ooze with
open disgust on his face.  Bobo cowers in the corner, not sure if 
he's more afraid of the goo or of a very furious Pearl who is groping 
through the slime, blindly searching for... something.]

PEARL: Nelson!  How did the experiment go?  Why were you in there so
       long?

[SOL]

MIKE: We had a few complications, but... what in the world happened 
      down there?

[CASTLE]

PEARL: Well, the Grovel-o-Matic worked perfectly, only some simian
       MORON...

BOBO: I'm sorry!

PEARL: ...managed to change the setting from "Summon Cthulhu" to 
       "Summon Shoggoth!"  I've got to find the stupid thing before...

GROVEL-O-MATIC: (muffled) Bah weep granah weep ninni bong...

[Without warning, the pudding-like substance rises another foot.]

PEARL: Great, there's _another_ one!  Brain Guy!  Get over here - 
       I need your help finding...

[Suddenly, a tentacle rises from somewhere in the dark goo, wraps 
around Observer and drags him beneath the surface.]

OBSERVER: Ahhh!  Pearl!  Bobo!  Help meeeeemmpght...

PEARL: And now it's eating Observer!  Bobo, you got us into this 
       mess, so do something about it!  

BOBO: I'm trying, Lawgiver, I'm trying! (to self) C'mon Bobo, what
      would the Grape Ape do in this situation?  [begins bonking 
      himself on the head] Think, Bobo, think!  If the shoggoth
      doesn't eat ya, then Pearl's gonna beat ya!  Wait a minute -
      eat!  EAT!  Oh, I knew cartoons wouldn't let me down!

PEARL: What are you yapping about?  We've go to _do_ something!

BOBO: But I _know_ what to do now!  Remember that time Shaggy and 
      Scooby were trapped in the giant mixing machine and the 
      villain started pouring butterscotch pudding on them!?  Do
      you know how they escaped!?

PEARL: No, and there better be a point to this.

BOBO: I'll tell you how they escaped - they ATE their way out!  And
      that is exactly how Professor Bobo, son of KoKo and heir to 
      the legacy of of Godo, Coco and Chim Chim will save Castle 
      Forrester!  Listen up, pudding!  IT'S LUNCHTIME!

[With a triumphant war cry, Bobo leaps beneath the surface of the 
pulsating goo.  We hear slurping and gobbling noises for a few
seconds.  Suddenly, Bobo's head breaks the surface.]

BOBO: Eeeeyuck.... This isn't going to be as much fun as I thought.

[FWOOSH TO BLACK]

BOBO: Could somebody run out and pick me up some Listerine?

---------------------------------------------      
FUNGI FROM YUGGOTH
With short: THE TRIUMPH OF CTHULHU
A Production of MYSTERY USENET THEATRE 3000
MiSTed by JEFFREY RAY ROBERTS
Original Poem by H.P. LOVECRAFT
Short Story by TERI JACOBS
Saturated thanks to VALERIA and AMANDA VAN RHYN for beta testing.

-==-
Comments?  Criticism?  [hopeful pause]  Fan mail?
Send some email to jr_roberts1@hotmail.com 
Or, visit my website at https://www.angelfire.com/co/ConHugeCo
Case sensitive, no warranty implied, not valid in all fifty states.
Sorry, Tennessee!

-==-
Why were these stories chosen?

1.
"Fungi From Yuggoth" is damn confusing. It was originally published 
in "Weird Tales" over a period of several years, and seems to be 
a collection of completely random ideas.  This, combined with
Lovecraft's trademarked "overwriting", made it easy to twist his words
into something that would sound silly/perverted to contemporary ears.
Still, his longer works are absolute masterpieces.  If you haven't
read "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" and "The Colour Out of Space", you 
should. (But why would you read this MiST if you haven't?)
My favorite part of this poem, by the way, is Sonnet 29, "Nostalgia"

2.
"The Triumph of Cthulhu" is so matter-of-fact in its presentation that
I felt it would make a perfect initiation for those unfamiliar with 
the Mythos.  While the style of the story is very well done, the premise
is so deadly serious that it was quite enjoyable to make fun of. :)
A special note should be made:  I attempted to contact the author at
his/her listed email address, but have received no reply.  My letters 
did not bounce, however.  Requests to postmaster@aol.com to see if this 
account was still active have gone unanswered.



No attempt was made to contact Mr. Lovecraft.



Mystery Science Theatre 3000 characters are copyright Best Brains Inc.
Cthulhu and "Fungi From Yuggoth" are copyright Arkham House.
The One and "The Triumph of Cthulhu" are copyright Teri Jacobs.
For what it's worth, this MiSTing is copyright Jeffrey Ray Roberts.

-=Feb 19, 1999=-
>His solid flesh had never been away


Fin.