TITLE: Spam! Spam! AUTHOR: Maya Tijan ERA: MARATHON, Episode 101 - the Marine, Robert Blake, and Durandal in the theater, with Mads Dr. Strauss, Tycho, and Blue Moon(or NONE if you don’t want to make a new era) CATEGORIES: AD, RANT ORIGINAL AUTHORS: cladapts and Performance Strategies, Inc. Marathon characters and situations are all property and copyright Bungie Software, Inc. Mystery Science Theater 3000 belongs to Best Brains, Inc. These two pieces of spam are copyright their original writers, cladapts@valkyrie.net and Performance Strategies, Inc., even if I didn’t use all of that second one. My nice new theme song, so sue me if it’s bad: “In the fairly distant future With a satellite for a base A nameless guy and his two friends Are stuck in outer space Annoyed by a man whose name is Strauss A boring doctor who’s a real louse With his strange and evil mini-ons He tortures those poor people Just because he’s feeling meee-ean(BWAHAHAHA!) ‘We’ll send him painful fanfics, The worst we can find(la la la) Because we think it’s really fun To watch him lose his mind!’(la la la) Now remember this guy can’t control When the fanfic begins or ends(la la la) He’ll try to keep his sanity With the help of his odd friends: (Weird People Roll Call!) Cambot!(Who are these guys?) Leela!(Who’s Richard Basehart?) Robert Blake!(Frog blast the vent core!) DURANDAAAAAL!(I’m the god!) If you’re wondering how they eat and breathe, And other science facts(la la la) Just repeat to yourself ‘It’s just a show’ You should really just relax For Marathon Science Theater 3000!”(twang) [We’re on the bridge of the Satellite of Love. There is no sign of Joel or Mike, or of any of the 'Bots. Instead, we have a big, hulking guy with a buzz cut, mean-looking but with a few toys in the attic. This is the Marine, unless Bungie actually gives him a name.] Marine: Hey, what happened? Where am I? Where're the Pfhor? And WHERE ARE MY GUNS!? Leela? Leela! [Leela enters. She's a brunette with glasses, as played by Bridget Jones, and she’s wearing a VISOR-type thing with lots of neat blinking lights on the back of her head.] Leela: How may I help you? Marine: Leela? But - but - you're a computer! Leela: That is how you normally perceive me. However, I am controlling this human body through the implant on my head. Marine: The barrette with the blinking lights? Leela: That is the implant, yes. Marine: It looks like a barrette with Christmas lights. Leela: That is immaterial. Now please stop bothering me. I am occupied with the running of this ship. [She exits.] Marine: Hey! Leela! Hey, come back here! LEELA! Verdammt! DURANDAL! [Enter Durandal, a short and compact man with brown hair. He's also wearing an implant/barrette.] Durandal: You called? Marine: Not you too! Durandal: Sorry, I'm Me Three. You're thinking of either U2, a band, or You Two, who will be calling us any time now. Marine: Huh? Durandal: Never mind. I know what you mean, and yes, I'm also controlling this body through an implant. Marine: You mean the barrette. Durandal: No, I mean the implant. Marine: It looks like a barrette. Durandal: Well, it's not. It's an implant. [Blake zips onstage. Oddly enough, he's not wearing a barrette - er, implant. He looks like Jason Jones from Bungie Software as played by Mike Nelson.] Blake: Hello, everybody! Marine: Hey, who are you? Blake: I'm Robert Blake. I was on Tau Ceti when you were defending the Marathon. Marine: Oh yeah, I remember you. You made me flip all those switches for that weird computer Thoth. [The Mads light flashes, and Durandal hits it.] Durandal: You Two is calling. Marine: Who? [Deep 13 - but there are no familiar faces here, either. There's Tycho - think Arch Hall, Sr. with an implant. There's Dr. Strauss, who looks like Dr. F without the white streaks in his hair, and with a blue lab coat. Lastly, we have Blue Moon, a Mother of All Hunters who seems curiously passive.] Dr. S: Well hello, everyone! And how are we all today? [SoL] Durandal: Strauss! What are YOU doing here? [D13] Dr. S: Durandal? Well, things can't get any better! Thought that you were rid of me, didn’t you? Now you can suffer along with all your pitiful little "friends". I know why you were looking for me - and I'm not pleased! After all I did for you… well, I'll settle with you after this little bit of pain I'm sending. Tycho, if you would do the honors? Tycho: It looks like I'll have my own revenge on you, rats. Today, you're getting one of the most annoying creations ever devised by the fiendish mind of man - SPAM! [SoL] Marine: Ooh, yum! I love that stuff! [Blake and Durandal just give him the evil eye.] Marine: Oh, wait - he means the other kind of spam, doesn’t he? Durandal: Yes. Marine: Uh-oh. [D13] Dr. S: Now, Tycho, if you will resume where you were so rudely interrupted… Tycho: As I was saying, not only is this spam, it’s TWO BIG FAT SLICES OF SPAM! BWAHAHAHAHA! Now, Blue Moon, if you would be so kind… [Blue Moon pushes the button via the simple expedient of firing some green energy blobs at it.] [SoL] [Various lights, divers alarums, obvious confusion.] All: OH MAN! WE GOT SPAM SIGN! [Dogbone… Cafeteria Doors… Portal… Drawbridge… Holey Door… Borg Door… Hatch…] [The three take their seats. From left to right, it's Blake, Marine, and Durandal.] Marine: I WANT MY ROCKET LAUNCHER! GIMME MY ROCKET LAUNCHER AND I’LL TOAST THIS CRUD! Blake: I hate to tell you this - but I haven’t seen any weapons up here yet. Marine: WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! Durandal: Look, once we take a break I’ll see if I can’t find you a gun or two, okay? Marine[sniffling]: ’Kay. >From: "cladatps" >Newsgroups: alabama.general Blake: Oh great, here come the hicks. Marine: Well, at least it’s not West Virginia. >Subject: Civilized Devils Don't Care How World Started Marine: I don’t care about how the world started. Does that make me a civilized devil? Durandal: Nothing can make you civilized, Pfhorkiller. >Date: Tue, 7 Sep 1999 17:04:22 -0400 >Lines: 112 Durandal: One hundred and twelve lines of pure, unadulterated, unfiltered SPAM! Blake: Don’t remind me. >Organization: cladatps Blake: Clothing Adapts? Durandal: Clad ATP? Marine: Can Los Angeles Defeat All Those Plaid Sandwiches? Durandal: Makes as much sense as anything, I guess. >MIME-Version: 1.0 >X-Priority: 3 Blake: Code: Gibberish. Importance: Zero. >X-MSMail-Priority: Normal >X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 5.00.2314.1300 Durandal: X-Asuka: Side Story - Sakurazuka Seishiro. >X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300 >NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.4.214.171 >Message-ID: <37d536aa.0@news.valkyrie.net> [Marine hums the Ride of the Valkyries.] >X-Trace: 7 Sep 1999 16:00:42 GMT, 208.4.214.171 >Path: news.msfc.nasa.gov!news.maxwell.syr.edu!news- >peer1.sprintlink.net!news-in- Marine: -news-in-news-news-in… where? >central.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news3.sprintsvc.net!ne >ws.valkyrie.net!208.4.214.171 Blake: Wow! Look at all those exclamation points! I feel so excited! >Xref: news.msfc.nasa.gov alabama.general:21086 >Status: N Durandal: N is for Noose. Marine: No news is good news! Blake: In this case, definitely. > >Civilized devils are only concerned with what Mother Nature >(reality) and Capitalism demands of everyone in THE REAL WORLD. Marine: - Marathon next week, on MTV! > >Adhering to Mother Nature (reality) and Capitalism’s demands. Blake: This is certainly. An interesting way. Of writing utter crap. >Makes it impossible to have any welfare programs or poverty- >stricken people in America or THE REAL WORLD. Durandal: I thought having poverty-stricken people was the POINT of capitalism. > >Mother Nature (reality) DEMANDS that EVERY business and >organization Marine: - send a hundred dollars to the following addresses, or they’ll break the chain! > market the cost (in the market cost of their product >or service). Cost of EVERY employee’s living [union wage], Marine: Richard Gere sent the money, and the next day he was a millionaire with a hundred hot babes hanging on his every word! >business profit, and ALL TAXES. Taxes are needed to fund the cost >of EVERY Community, State, and Nation existing in THE REAL WORLD. Marine: Bill Clinton broke the chain, and the next day he was caught being unfaithful to his wife! SEND ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS IN CASH TO THE FOLLOWING ADDRESSES AND YOU’LL HAVE GUARANTEED GOOD LUCK! > >Capitalism DEMANDS that EVERY American live on wages or profit >from an independent business. Blake: Does that include organized crime, or is that in another category? > >The majority of we, the government, of the state of Ohio Durandal: - also known as “The Buckeye State,” after the cute, furry little creatures called “buckeyes” which inhabit it; their high-pitched, chittering call has been known to drive the government, as well as Dave Barry, up the wall. Marine: Take a breath there, Lloyd. >successfully elected a Governor and Representatives to enact a >lottery to fund schools. Blake: A school-funding lottery? That’s a new way of parting suckers from their money. Durandal: There’s one born every minute… > This majority graduated from the 12th >grade with a 9th grade proficiency test that cannot read, write, >think for themselves, or count change when the power goes off the >cash register. Marine: Yeah, I wanna know how to do that, too! Durandal: With your usual weaponry, you can just pump customers full of lead. Marine: That may be true, but then they can’t come back and buy more stuff! Blake: That’s pretty amazing business acumen, coming from *him*. > The resolution on the second ballot to earmark Durandal: What happened to good, old-fashioned bookmarks? Blake: E-books. >this revenue to fund schools. Read that the excess the state did >not spend to operate the lottery from the excess the state >collected above the winners take would go to schools. Marine: Umm… I’m not the best writer ever, but aren’t there supposed to be a couple of commas in there somewhere? > The state >has successfully spent most of this revenue to operate the >lottery. Blake: Wait, I thought they just said that the money was supposed to go to the schools… Marine: Don’t think about it - you’re only making it worse. > >Americas innocent children are the victims of the “mob” marketing >more money every quarter in the retail cost of everything needed >to build, operate, and maintain schools, mankind needs to live in >the real world and “parasites” have to steal to live. Durandal: Awfully long sentence… cladatps must have the typing capacity of a stenographer! Marine: How do you pronounce that so easily? Durandal: What, cladatps? Marine: No - stengriffey - stonegraph - stenographer. > These >innocent children don’t have a clue what Mother Nature (reality) >and Capitalism demands of them. Durandal: Oh, I think they do… Marine: Yeah, that’s why they’re planning on blowing up the planet once they get old enough to push the button. > >“Parasites” are volunteers without wages, scab labor with >insuffiant wages, Slicks who DEMAND the “RIGHT” to work for less >wages than they can live on (including farmers), Slick Holy >Hucksters living on tax deductible donations, slave labor >children delivering newspapers and pushing Amish plows, Blake: And here I thought that delivering newspapers was a good, clean way to earn money to buy your own “Playboy”’s… silly me. > and >slaves working for outsourcers, in sweat shops and labor camps >for less wages than they can live on in THE REAL WORLD. Marine: Ah, screw THE REAL WORLD… give me the Matrix any time! > >The bottom line is that the state deducts all the tax the winner >owes if they elect to take a cash payoff. The state keeps and >invests the winner winnings. Durandal: Excuse me… doesn’t the *winner* usually get to keep what he or she wins? Blake: Not in this guy’s universe. > The state pays the winner every year >for 26 years with the dividends from investing the winners money. >After this practice for 26 years the state has all the winners >take from the lottery, the taxes they deduct yearly, and the >money from the investment over and above the cost of paying the >winner. Blake: And this guy not only remembers all of this, but can spit it back out on demand? I love the “rote memorization” school of Churning Out Spam. > >Economically raped, Marine: Ooh! Ooh! It’s _Ninja_Scroll_! Things are looking up! Durandal: Number One: Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not what they’re talking about. Number Two: What do you MEAN, things are looking up if it’s _Ninja_Scroll_?! Marine: I LOVED that movie! Durandal[to the world at large]: It figures. > taxpaying devils are responsible to hold Pro- >American businesses accountable to adhere to Mother Nature’s >(reality’s) demand. Blake: Oh, *now* I get it - this guy’s been screwed by the IRS, and now he’s blaming everyone who meekly - huh? Durandal: You know, “to” in Japanese is one way of saying “and”… > Demand that they market the cost of taxpaying >devils paying face value for welfare checks used to buy lottery >tickets. Blake: Hasn’t cladatps ever heard of including the SUBJECT in the sentence? Durandal: Shush. You’re not making this any easier for yourself. > Bear the cost of the state investment. Pay personal >property and real estate tax to fund schools. Pay for Anti- >American businesses 50%, 60%, and 100% tax abatements on personal >property and real estate. Marine: Maybe the only math I can do is 9 Pfhor + 1 Puffy = BIG trouble, but wouldn’t that plan leave those people broke? Blake: Why should cladatps care? You don’t think he/she pays his/her taxes, do you? > >Taxpaying devils pay for donors tax refund while school Durandal: - officials continue to debate whether prom dresses can show off your abs. >administrator sits on the rooftop and oversees innocent children Blake: Have either of you ever known an innocent child? Much less groups of them together being innocent? Others[simultaneously]: No, have you? >collecting $550,000 for tax refunds to build private Christian >school. Pay for the more money the “mob” markets every quarter in >the retail cost of everything needed to build, operate, and >maintain schools (to measure economic strength and growth). Marine: So the mob runs the schools, eh? The way the twentieth century went, I’m not surprised… Durandal: I don’t think that’s what he meant, but it still makes more sense than almost anything else in this article. > >The “mob” is foreign and domestic investors, the Bulls on Wall >Street, the Hillarys investing in the futures market and >pharmisucital drugs, Blake: WHAT kind of drugs? Marine: And where can I get some? > and Slick Holy Hucksters [missionaries] >supported with tax deductible donations. Blake: But missionaries are supposed to *help* people, not siphon off their money! Marine: One word: fundamentalists. Blake: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about them. Never mind, then, cladatps has a point. > >Donors supporting public and private schools economically rape Marine: Quit promising things you don’t deliver! Durandal: Oh, go *away*, hentai. >the same taxpaying devils for their tax refund that fund the >schools with there tax dollars. Blake: Were-tax dollars? Marine: And I thought *I* had seen some pretty weird things… > Pay personal property and real >estate tax Anti-American businesses ethically, morally avoid. Durandal: I move in a motion that the organization cladatps join and be accepted by the Department of Redundancy Department. Others: Hear, hear, yes, yes, definitely, absolutely, certainly. > Pay >for donors tax refund for supporting glorified, socialized, non- >profit, tax exempt, Communist organizations to build, operate, >and maintain private schools. Blake[singing]: One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn’t belong… Durandal: Try “several of these things.” > >This Judeo-Christian societies need to defy Mother Nature Marine: - by refusing to acknowledge the need to pee… Blake: Go away. >(reality) and Capitalism’s demands. Has created a $5.6 trillion >investment opportunity for the “mob”. Innocent children are >responsible to pay interest on this debt until they are 18 years >old. Blake: Until they can buy tobacco and liquor to support the government, in other words. > Then pay this debt and interest with the $5.15 per hour >labor wage. We, the government, elected Presidents and >Representatives to enact. Durandal: Or possibly “in act.” Considering the twentieth-century American government, that’s just as likely. > >Until the media’s sponsors market the cost (in the market cost of >their products or service) of the media conducting a poll to >determine how many thousand years this will take no one really >knows. Blake: Nobody really knows anything. Face it. Marine: Yeah, haven’t you been listening to your quantum physicists? > >It obviously does not matter since their civilized behavior will >land them in Hell for eternity. Marine: Durandal, where do I go when I die? Durandal: You go to Hell. Marine: Boy, I’m glad I don’t stay. > >SHAME ON EVERYONE THAT ECONOMICALLY RAPES AND DUMPS ON INNOCENT >CHILDREN FOR MONEY THEY CANNOT EVEN DIGEST. Durandal: Shame on you, Vid Boi! Marine[protesting]: But I - Durandal: You watch hentai anime. Marine: But that has nothing to do with - Durandal: Why should I care? I just like saying, “Shame on you, Vid Boi!” > >The alternative to this ethical, moral, defiant, Bullarkie >demands. Revoking every tax law, tax exemption, tax refund, and >tax credit, we now have. Marine: Oh, so *that’s* where the commas went. > >Levy the same percentage of tax on every American citizen’s >income. Durandal: Ah, poll taxes - the refuge of the politically innocent. > This is to cover the full cost of America existing in THE >REAL WORLD. This would make taxpayers out of prostitutes, illegal >drug producers, dealers, and users, and donors supporting >glorified socialized, non-profit, tax exempt, Communist Durandal[to Marine]: Commie! Commie! Commie! [Marine barks furiously.] Blake: Now give the guy a biscuit, Arthur. >organizations. This would demand that Amish, “parasites”, the Blake: - Jerry Springer Show, the Ricky Lake show, the - >“mob”, Holy Slicks and Slick Holy Hucksters adhere to Mother >Natures’ (reality’s) demand that they market the cost of income >tax in the market cost of their product or service. This would >deny Holy Slicks buying a place in Heaven from Slick Holy Durandal: Interchangeability is not always a virtue. >Hucksters for “send your tax deductible donation to us”. The >ability to economically rape Marine: Look, they did it again! Blake: Your kind of people, obviously. > honest, law abiding, discriminated >against, economically raped, Marine: Jeez, I give up. All talk and no action, this lot. Durandal: Shut up. > rejected by the presorters for >Armageddon, Durandal: So Armageddon is about taxes, is it? That would explain a lot about why Lucifer fell. > taxpaying slaves for their tax refund. > >The existing IRS could be used to collect this tax. It could be >easily enforced by demanding every citizen show how their living >on the income they declared. Blake: You know, I think they already do that. > >www.cladatps.com > Blake: And on that happy note - let’s get outta here! Durandal: Amen to that. [They exit.] [Hatch… Borg Door… Holey Door… Drawbridge… Portal… Cafeteria Doors… Dogbone…] [Everyone’s squeezed into the bridge somehow. Leela and Marine are arguing.] Leela: I searched the *entire ship*. I left no stone unturned. I looked EVERYWHERE! THERE ARE NO WEAPONS! Marine: But Durandal *promised* me he would get me one! [Leela gives Durandal a look that could kill.] Durandal: *I* didn’t know Strauss would be that thorough! I was sure he must have left something behind! Blake: Uh - I’ll just go and take a look around, then. I might be able to find something. [He swiftly exits stage right.] Marine[whiny voice]: Please, Leela? *Please* find me a gun? Leela: *Look*, you - look, THERE ARE NO GUNS HERE! Marine[really whiny voice]: *Pleeease*? Durandal: Let’s try calling that Hunter. Maybe he’ll have a spare around somewhere. Marine: But the Pfhor don’t like me. Why would one give me anything? Durandal: Well, it’s worth a shot. [aside] Anything to make him shut up. [He hits the button to call Deep 13.] [D13] [It’s just Blue Moon there.] [SoL] Marine: *You* talk to him - I don’t know Pfhoric. Durandal: Sure. [To Blue Moon] Nah soz, pezb xusa ze jaa! Knox’j id? [trans.: “Hey man, long time no see! What’s up?”] [D13] Blue Moon: Zexnuzb sirn. Xna exnac bihj palx lec o rezlacazra ec jesaxnuzb. [trans.: “Nothing much. The other guys left for a conference or something.”] [SoL] Durandal: Beet cuttozra. Knox tkaaqj. Joh, hei bex ozh jdoca bizj hei reipt buwa sa? [trans.: “Good riddance. What dweebs. Say, you got any spare guns you could give me?”] [D13] Blue Moon: U tez’x mzek. U’s zex agaz jiddejat xe xopm xe hei. [trans.: “I don’t know. I’m not even supposed to talk to you.”] [SoL] Durandal: Nah, keipt *u* te ozhxnuzb? Ux’j fijx xe maad nus [gestures towards Marine] noddh. [trans.: “Hey, would *I* do anything? It’s just to keep him happy.”] Marine: What are you *saying*? Durandal: Just getting straight who’s boss. He’ll be happy to help us, as long as you promise not to hurt him. Marine: Oh, all right. Tell him I promise. Durandal: Na johj na kez’x te ozhxnuzb. Kupp hei jazt id o biz zek? [trans.: “He says he won’t do anything. Will you send up a gun now?”] [D13] Blue Moon: Emoh, u biajj ux roz’x nicx. Pax sa fixj joo knox u roz luzt naca… [He rummages around in boxes.] Tez’x xapp sh qejjaj, xneibn, ec xnah’pp mupp sa. [trans.: “Okay, I guess it can’t hurt. Let me just see what I can find here… Don’t tell my bosses, though, or they’ll kill me.”] [SoL] Durandal: Ze dceqpas. [trans.: “No problem.”] [D13] [Blue Moon discovers a real nice machine gun with attached grenade launcher.] Blue Moon: Naca hei be. [trans.: “Here you go.”] [He sends it up.] [SoL] [The gun appears in Marine’s arms.] Marine: WHOOOHOOO! It’s Emma! YEEESSS! [He runs off to be alone with her - um, it.] Durandal: Xnozmj, soz. [trans.: “Thanks, man.”] [D13] Blue Moon: Ze dceqpas. [He cuts off the channel.] [SoL] Leela: Thank goodness. I thought we’d *never* get him to stop whining. Durandal[teasing]: You know, you pamper him shamelessly. He’s just a human, after all. Leela: Oh, and WHO was it again that was so desperate to get the man his guns that he called up an old Pfhor friend? Durandal: Now, Qpia Seez and I parted on the best of terms… Leela: …with him promising to wear your guts as a necklace, using your eyeballs for beads, if you ever tried to “borrow” anything from him ever again! Durandal[uneasy]: It’s a very old Pfhor ritual… Leela: …for a dishonorable enemy! You were just lucky that his commanders mellowed him out! And you accuse ME of spoiling him! [Spam Sign!] Durandal: Look, we’ll finish up the verbal sparring latter, I’ve got to go! [Dogbone… Cafeteria Doors… Portal… Drawbridge… Holey Door… Borg Door… Hatch…] [Marine has Emma slung over his shoulder. He’s *very* happy.] Marine: Whoohoo! Thanks a *ton*, Durandal! Durandal: You’re welcome. > >CORTISOL THE DEATH HORMONE-THE ANGEL OF DEATH- Blake: And it’s even in all caps! Hi, Death! How’s the granddaughter? And Albert? Durandal: Dream on, Twoflower. >GROWING BODY OF RESEARCH INDICATES THE NEED FOR >ANTICORTISOL COMPOUNDS Durandal: Sorry, but no. Come on, you two, we’ve had enough for today - let’s go protest to Strauss. Oh yeah, and do some partying, too. Marine: Sounds good to me. [The three exit again.] [Hatch… Borg Door… Holey Door… Drawbridge… Portal… Cafeteria Doors… Dogbone…] [Everybody on the bridge is partying. Durandal has a pointed party hat, Blake is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, the Marine is playing with a noisemaker, and Leela makes general cheering sounds.] Marine: Was it just me, or did the whole cladatps thing not make any sense at all? Durandal: Oh, I'm sure it made perfect sense to someone somewhere. Not anyone here, but somewhere. [The Mads’ light flashes.] Marine: Yo, someone gonna get that? Durandal: Sure. [He hits the light.] What’s up, Pussycats? [D13] [Blue Moon is nowhere to be seen. Tycho and Strauss are standing around, foaming at the mouths and yelling.] D. S: WHAT ARE YOU FOOLS *DOING*?! GET BACK IN THAT THEATER AT ONCE! [SoL] [All stick out their tongues.] Marine: Neener neener neener! You can’t make us! Blake: Nyah nyah nyah! Leela: As much as I would like them to go away, these people have a point. You cannot make us do anything, much less return to the theater. [D13] [Tycho begins throwing things around.] Dr. S: YOU INSOLENT IDIOTS! I’LL HAVE YOUR HEADS! [SoL] Durandal: Just try it, Bernie, and then I’ll show you what kinds of things Rampant AIs can think up! [D13] Dr. S[sputtering]: “Bernie”? You - you - THAT DOES IT! NEXT TEXT FILE: TURTLENINJA! [SoL] [The party stops dead.] Blake: No… no… not… Marine: You *can’t*… Durandal: I can’t believe that even *you*, Strauss… [D13] Dr. S: Oh yes! I can and I will! Just you wait, you little - [Tycho throws something heavy at the screen, and everything goes blank.] Dr. S: Tycho…! [Fade out to ending credits.] A few ending notes from the author: Sorry about having two host segments so close to another - but I didn’t want to get rid of the one with Blue Moon and I also didn’t want to MiSTie “CORTISOLE THE DEATH HORMONE.” I dunno - I just didn’t see many riffs in it. This is my second MiSTing, and I hope you all like it. If not, no skin off my nose… Well, see you all later! ______________________________________ Pay personal property and real estate tax Anti-American businesses ethically, morally avoid.