Mystery Science Theater 3000 Presents: "The Black Island" "The Black Island" is (C) 1952 by August W. Derleth, and originally appeared in "Weird Tales" magazine. This MST3K Parody is (C) 2002 by Tarl Roger Kudrick (tarlrk@comcast.net), with a couple of jokes added by Francis Heaney. Disclaimers: Any deviation from the original text of "The Black Island" is either the result of Tarl's heavy editing, or a transcription error. Text which was italicized in the original is _underscored_like_this_ in the Usenet version. Also, Mystery Science Theater 3000 (aka MST3K) is a registered trademark of Best Brains, as are the MST3K characters and locations. ============================================== Opening credits, then: (Mike, Tom Servo, and Crow are not facing the audience, but each other, and are embroiled in a vicious argument. Other than the usual backgrounds, the only scenery is a small table in front of them. The table has a small block of Roquefort on it, near the table's left edge.) TOM: I didn't do it! CROW: Well I certainly didn't do it. TOM: Yes you did, I saw you. MIKE: ONE of you did, that's for sure. CROW: What makes you think one of US did it? Maybe you did it and you just forgot! MIKE: (Suddenly noticing the audience.) Oh, hello everyone and welcome to the Satellite of Love. We're having a small problem here and we'll be with you shortly. CROW: I'm not having a problem. I didn't do it. TOM: Well I sure didn't! Why would I want to... MIKE: (to audience) You see, the problem is that I had this perfectly wonderful piece of Roquefort cheese here, on the table in front of me... CROW: And you still do... MIKE: ...but a few minutes ago it was on the right-hand side of the table. CROW: And it still is. TOM: Not your right, Mike's right. MIKE: Oh, so now you agree with me! TOM: Not that kind of right! CROW: Now I'm all confused. MIKE: Anyway, a few minutes ago, the cheese was over here. (Points to one side of the table, the side with no cheese.) Now it's over here. (Points to cheese.) And I know I didn't move it... CROW: And neither did I. TOM: Well I didn't! CROW: Yes you did! TOM: No, YOU did! MIKE: Well, luckily for me, best-selling author Spencer Johnson, M.D., wrote a self-help book called "Who Moved My Cheese?" which, I believe, is designed exactly for people who find themselves in this kind of situation. (Holds up the book, showing it to audience.) It's a very thin book with very few words per page, and lots of pictures and it's available in hardcover, softcover, braille versions, audio tape, audio CD, CD-ROM, and large print versions. (Holds up one of each.) And it's all about dealing with the stress that comes from having people make great changes in your environment that you have no control over. CROW: You can put the cheese back, you know. MIKE: Just like what's happened to me. CROW: I mean it's right in front of you. TOM: Yeah Mike, I really don't see the big deal here. MIKE: Anyway, let's read the book and see what advice Dr. Spencer Johnson has for me. (Opens book to first page.) Let's see, here's the title page... "Who Moved My Cheese?" by Dr. Spencer Johnson, M.D. (Turning pages) Then we have a list of other books by the same author, then a table of contents, then some legal information like copyrights and the ISBN number... TOM: The 'N' in 'ISBN' stands for 'number', Mike. You don't have to say "ISBN number"; it's redundant. CROW: That reminds me, does anyone know where the nearest ATM machine is? MIKE: (Turning more pages) Okay, here we go. "Who Moved My Cheese?", chapter one. (Clears throat, assumes lecturing stance.) Gypsy. (Then he looks confused.) CROW: I'm Crow, Mike. MIKE: Uh, no, guys, that's the whole text of the book. (Shows book to bots.) It just says "Gypsy". (Mike's eyes widen as he suddenly gets it, and shouts to stage left:) Hey! Gypsy! GYPSY: (Enters from stage left.) Yes? MIKE: Did you move my cheese? GYPSY: What? Why...no! Of course not...(begins to shake)...I'd never...(now shaking uncontrollably) MIKE: (Folds arms.) Gypsy... GYPSY: Okay okay! I moved it! I'm sorry! But I couldn't help myself! It was so cold, and sweet! And it looked awful sitting on that side of the table! It looks much better over here! CROW: I told you I didn't do it. TOM: Why would Mike believe anything YOU say? You also denied pouring oatmeal into his socks. CROW: I didn't do that, either! TOM: We have photographs. CROW: They were faked. TOM: You printed up commemorative T-shirts. CROW: Well...uh... MIKE: (Exasperated, to audience) Give us some time, folks. We'll straighten this out, and then we'll be right back. [commercial break] (We're back at the SOL. The table and the cheese are gone. Crow is wearing a T-shirt that says "I poured oatmeal into Mike's socks", but the word "never" is now written in thick magic marker with an arrow pointing to space between "I" and "poured". Tom and Mike are directing annoyed looks at Crow.) CROW: (Innocently) What? (Suddenly the intercom flashes. Mike was about to say something to Crow, but now turns his attention to the intercom and activates it.) MIKE: Hello? (It's Pearl, Bobo, and Brain Guy speaking from the interior of Castle Forrester. The three of them can barely move because the whole castle is filled to the ceiling with bananas.) PEARL: Hello, my subjects. MIKE, CROW, AND TOM: Hi Pearl. MIKE: What's with all the bananas? BRAIN GUY: Here Bobo, have a banana! BOBO: But I'm getting full, and... (Brain Guy stuffs a mostly-unpeeled banana into Bobo's mouth) ...uh...um...mmmm! Yum! BRAIN GUY: (Disgusted) Eat up! There's plenty more where that came from! PEARL: You see, my little experimental rats, last month I sent out my final application for a very generous research grant, so I could afford new high-tech devices and things to continue torturing you with. And I got my grant, too! Every cent! But a certain APE whose name I won't mention answered the mail that day and went to one of those check-cashing places, and... MIKE: Spent all the money on bananas. PEARL: Wrong, smart guy! He had just enough money left over to buy this little desk lamp. (Holds up little lamp.) Which is ALSO in the shape of a banana. (It is, too.) Of course we had to move out the DESK to make room for the BANANAS... BRAIN GUY: Eat up, Bobo! (He stuffs another banana into Bobo's mouth. Pearl tosses the banana lamp over her shoulder and it hits Bobo on the head, making him spit out his banana, earning him a stern look from Brain Guy.) CROW: Um, exactly how many bananas are there... BRAIN GUY: Two million, six hundred fifty-three thousand, four hundred eighty-eight. Minus one. (Stuffs another banana into Bobo's mouth.) BOBO: Mmmph mmmph umph! PEARL: You can see the problem. Not only is there hardly any room to even move around here, but now I don't have any money to fund the search for new, horrible experiments to perform on all of you. (Mike, Crow, and Tom exchange disbelieving and almost hopeful looks. Could this be the end of their suffering?) PEARL: Luckily, we worked so hard to find places to STORE all these bananas that I discovered an old lab run by Professor Forrester himself, and specifically, a couple of the old inventions he used to do the invention exchanges with. I must stay that the discovery of the "Texterizer" ALMOST makes up for...Yikes! (Pearl spins and falls on the floor, below camera range.) BRAIN GUY: (Looking down) For a floor covered with banana peels. PEARL: (Climbs back to her feet and stares daggers at Brain Guy and Bobo. Bobo munches on bananas and Brain Guy just shrugs. Pearl returns her attention to the SOL.) Well...anyway. The "Texterizer" is a fiendishly wonderful device, so we're changing the tone of the experiment this time. You're not going to have to watch a hideous movie today. MIKE, CROW, AND TOM: Yeah! PEARL: You're going to be converted into text characters, and be forced to endure a really pretentious, overwrought, and entirely derivative horror story instead. MIKE, CROW, AND TOM: Awww... CROW: Text? You mean we'll be described, instead of seen? PEARL: That's the long and short of it. CROW: But how will people know what I look like? TOM: What are you afraid of, Crow? CROW: My studly good looks are so much more impressive in person! No words can do them justice! What can you say except, maybe...uh...(now in theatrical voice) Crow, that massive Adonis-like hunk of pure manly robotness...uh... MIKE: You mean unless we're described, no one will see that I look like... TOM: A loser? CROW: A nerd? MIKE: No! A normal-looking, well-adjusted... uh... (Looks really discouraged.) CROW: Well I'm not normal-looking. I'm so sexy that women everywhere fling themselves at me and I have to fight them off with sticks. TOM: I don't like being described! Why can't we be characters in an Ann Beattie story? She never describes HER characters. PEARL: Because Ann Beattie is generally regarded as a good author and would never write something like what you're about to suffer through. It's called "The Black Island", and it's written by an H. P. Lovecraft wannabe named August W. Derleth. It was written before "fan fiction" even got that name, but it certainly qualifies. Brain Guy... BRAIN GUY: Yes? (Stuffs another banana into Bobo's mouth.) PEARL: Activate the "Texterizer". BRAIN GUY: Right away. (The famous movie-delivery special effect noise occurs. On the SOL, the "movie sign" begins, but it's a slightly different obnoxious buzzer now.) PEARL: Story time! MIKE, TOM, AND CROW: AAUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!!!! CROW: With apologies to Charles Schulz! (Now they are inside the story.) MIKE: Well. That wasn't so bad. TOM: Of course the story hasn't started yet, either. > THE BLACK ISLAND > Copyright 1952 by August W. Derleth CROW: Shouldn't that be "The African-American Island?" > THAT SOME RECORD OF THE EVENTS leading up to the so-called "top > secret experiment" conducted at an uncharted South Pacific > island on a September day in 1947 ought to be made, I have no > question. TOM: But should I have written it in crayon? > That it would be wise is a moot point. CROW: Which I shall now debate at length. > There are some things against which the human race, which has in > any event but a brief moment to remain on this planet to add to > the brief moment of its previous existence, MIKE: One brief moment plus one brief moment equals, uh... TOM: Half an interlude, I think. > can only be inadequately forewarned and fore-armed; and, this > being so, it is conceivable that it would be better to remain > silent CROW: Better for us anyway. > and let one's fellow men wait upon events. > In final analysis, however, there are judges far better > qualified than I, and the progression of events both before and > since that "experiment" has been so disturbing and so suggestive TOM: Kind of like a lap dance from Nancy Reagan. > of incredibly ancient evil TOM: Kind of like a lap dance from... MIKE: We got you the first time, Servo. > almost beyond man's grasp that I am compelled to make this > record before time dims these events--if it ever could--or > before my obliteration, which is inevitable, and may, indeed, > be nearer than I think. TOM: It can't be near enough for me. > The episode began prosaically enough in the most famous > bar in the world, in Singapore. MIKE: Oh yeah! THAT bar! The... (snaps fingers) the famous one! CROW: With those things! MIKE: Right, with the things! > I saw the five gentlemen sitting together when I first came > into the bar and sat down. I was not far from them, and alone, > and I looked at them casually, CROW: And spilled my drink down my pants. > thinking that someone I knew might be among them. TOM: Because the narrator has SO many friends. > An elderly man with dark glasses and a strangely impressive > countenance, and four young men, in late twenties or early > thirties, intent upon some discussion conducted with > considerable animation. CROW: They were talking to Roger Rabbit. > I recognized no one; so I looked away. I had sat there perhaps > ten minutes, perhaps a little less; Henry Caravel had come up > to me in passing, and we had taken note of the time together; TOM: "It has been perhaps ten minutes," Henry said. CROW: "Perhaps less," I said. > he had just gone when I heard my name spoken. CROW: Followed by gales of derisive laughter. > "Perhaps Mr. Blayne could enlighten us?" > The voice was cordial, well-modulated, with a peculiar > carrying power. MIKE: Just like Alvin the Chipmunk's. > Looking up, I saw the five gentlemen at their table gazing > towards me expectantly. At that instant, the old man stood. > "Our discussion is archaeological in a sense, Mr. Blayne," > he said. CROW: An old fossil like him ought to know. > "If I may presume-- ALL: NO! > I am Professor Laban Shrewsbury, a fellow American. TOM: And NOT a Communist spy, despite the hammer and sickle on my big furry hat. > "Will you join us?" > I thanked him and, moved by a lively curiosity, went over to > his table. > He introduced his companions--Andrew Phelan, Abel Keane, > Claiborne Boyd, and Nayland Colum-- MIKE: Sound like perfectly ordinary American names to ME. > and turned once more to me. > "Of course, we all know Horvath Blayne. ALL: Hi Horvath! > "We have been following with keen interest your papers on > Angkor-Vat CROW: And his orchestra. > "and the Khmer civilization, and, with even more interest, your > studies among the ruins of Ponape. TOM: The Perils of Ponape Pitstop. > "It is no coincidence that we are at the moment discussing the > pantheon of Polynesian deities. Tell us, in your opinion, does > the Polynesian sea-god, Tangaroa, have the same origin as > Neptune? CROW: Yes! TOM: No! MIKE: Wait--which one's the planet? > "Probably Hindu or Indo-Chinese in origin," I guessed. > "These people are not primarily sea-farers," said the > professor promptly. "There is a concept older than those civil- > izations, MIKE: Namely, "Fudge is good." > even if we concede at once that the Polynesian civilization > is much younger than those of the Asiatic continent which > gave rise to them. TOM: I REFUSE to concede that! CROW: Sit down, Servo. > No, we are not interested so much in their relation to > other figures in the pantheon, MIKE: Then why are you going on about it? > as to the conceit which gave them being in the first place. And > to its relation to so many batrachian or ichthyic figures and > motifs TOM: Wait, wait. Batrachian? Ichthyic? CROW: Good thing we're text now, because I can't even pronounce that last one. > which occur and recur in the art work, ancient and modern, to be > found in the South Pacific islands." > I protested that I was not primarily an artist, and > certainly could not presume to be a critic of art. MIKE: When you PRESUME, you make a PRES out of U and ME both. > The professor brushed this aside with courteous detachment. > "But you are familiar with art. TOM: Well, he scribbled on the walls when he was a kid. > "And I wonder whether you can explain why the primitives of the > South Pacific should emphasize the batrachian or ichthyic MIKE: There's those words again! > "in their artifacts and arts, while the primitives of the North > Pacific, for example, emphasize characteristics which are > clearly avian. There are exceptions, of course; CROW: You can hardly do primitive art without being at least a LITTLE batrachian or ichthyic. > "you will recognize them. The lizard figures of Easter Island and > the batrachian pieces of Melanesia and Micronesia are TOM: On sale in the gift shop. > "common to these areas; the avian masks and headdresses of the > North Pacific Indian tribes are common the Canadian coast. > But we find on occasion among those coastal Indian tribes > disturbingly familiar motifs; consider, for instance, the > markedly batrachian CROW: He said it again! TOM: I was going into withdrawal. > "aspects of the shaman's headdress of the Haida tribe common to > Prince of Wales Island and the ceremonial shark headdress of the > Tlingit of Ketchikan, Alaska. TOM: Now you're just making stuff up. > "The totems of the North Pacific Indians are primarily avian in > concept, whereas such things as the ancestor figures carved into > the tree-ferns of the New Hebrides quite clearly suggest CROW: Batrachian? TOM: Ichthyic? MIKE: Avian? > aquatic dwellers. ALL: Awwww! > I remarked that ancestor-worship was common to the Asiatic > continent. > But this was not his principal thesis, which I recognized in > the expectance with which his companions attended to him. TOM: Was this published in "Weird Tales" or an erotic magazine? MIKE: Quiet. > He came to it presently: Apropos the sea-deities of primitive > peoples, had I ever encountered in my archaeological inquiries of > any of the legends pertaining to the mythological being, > Cthulhu, whom he regarded as the progenitor of all sea-gods and > the lesser deities connected with water as an element? TOM: In other words, "Have you ever heard of Cthulhu?" CROW: Were there editors in 1952? > The comments he had made now fell into a distinct and well- > knit pattern. MIKE: A horsey! > Cthulhu, as the ancient god of water, the seas, a water > elemental in a sense, must be considered as the primal deity of > the South Pacific, TOM: He had the hottest babes AND Aquaman's home phone number. > while the avian motifs expressed in the > artifacts and works of art common to the North Pacific derived > from a worship of an air elemental rather than one of the sea. MIKE: Can you imagine the arguments the North and South Pacific must have had? "Your god's all wet!" "Oh yeah? Yours is full of hot air!" CROW: They were always fighting over who really owned the horizon, too. > I was indeed familiar with the Cthulhu Mythos, with its > remarkable lore in essence so similar to the Christian Mythos TOM: That its authors were quickly sued by the Church. > of the expulsion of Sathanus and his followers and their ever- > ceaseless attempts to reconquer heaven. > Moreover, the Cthulhu Mythos had sprung ALL: Boing! > from a collection of incredibly old manuscripts and similar > sources purporting to be factual accounts, CROW: Published by the same people who do the National Enquirer. > though nothing was adduced to prove them anything other than > fiction of a highly skilled order; MIKE: Unlike the current piece. > these manuscripts and books--the _Necronomicon_ of the mad Arab, > Abdul Alhazred; the _Cultes_des_Goules_, the work of an > eccentric French nobleman, the Count d'Erlette; the > _Unaussprechlichen_Kulten_ of von Junzt, the _Celaeno_ > Fragments_; the _R'lyeh Text_; the _Pnakotic Manuscript_; CROW: The _Weinerschitzen_Chronicles_, by Otto van Shnerfsveiner, TOM: The _Handbook_of_All_Things_Gross_and_Disgusting_, as seen in elementary school kitchens all across America, MIKE: Do you realize that this whole thing, since "Moreover," is one long sentence? > and the like--had been seized upon by writers of contemporary > fiction MIKE: As a comforting reminder that ANYTHING will get published eventually, if you lower your standards enough. > and freely used as the source for incredible CROW: Crap. > tales of fantasy and the macabre, and these had given a kind of > aura of authenticity to what, at best, was a collection of lore > and legends perhaps unique in the annals of mankind but surely > little more. > "But you are skeptical, Mr. Blayne," observed the professor. MIKE: "Nope! My mind's a blank slate!" > "I'm afraid I have the scientific mind," I answered. TOM: I hope it isn't contagious. > "I rather think all of us here think similarly of > ourselves," he said. CROW: "Yes, we're all pretentious twits." > "Am I to understand that you believe in this volume of > lore?" TOM: "Uh...how many lifelines do I have left?" > He gazed at me disconcertingly from behind his dark > spectacles. > "Mr. Blayne, for more than three decades I have been on the > trail of Cthulhu. MIKE: And it led straight to this bar. > "Time after time I have believed that I have closed his avenues > of ingress into our time; TOM: But what about his boulevards of influx? CROW: And don't forget all those parkways of interjacence. > "time after time MIKE: Stop quoting Cyndi Lauper song titles! > "I have been misled in thinking so. TOM: And Peter Gabriel album titles! > "Then if you believe one aspect of the pantheon, you must > believe all the rest," I countered. > "That is not necessarily so," CROW: And George Gerswhin... MIKE: Okay, I think we can stop that now. > he replied. "But there are > wide areas of belief. I have seen and I know." MIKE: That settles that. > "I, too," said Phelan, and his supporting cry was echoed > by the others. CROW: You tell 'em, Phelan! TOM: Woo-hoo! > The truly scientific mind is as hesitant to deprecate as it > is to lend support. MIKE: Neither a deprecator nor a lender be. > "Let us begin with the primal struggle between the Elder Gods > and the Great Old Ones," I said cautiously. "What is the nature > of your evidence?" CROW: It's sticky. > "The sources are almost infinite. TOM: He must have a REALLY wide area of belief. > "Consider almost all the ancient writings which speak of a > great catastrophe which involved the earth. Look to the Old > Testament, to the Battle of Beth-Horon, led by Joshua MIKE: Against the world champion New England Patriots, led by Tom Brady. TOM: In this story, shouldn't that be Tomhavath Bradyusesrach or something? MIKE: Sorry. > 'And he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still > upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the > sun stood still, and the moon stayed ....' Look to the "Annals > of Cuauhtitlan" of the lore of the Nahua Indians of Mexico, > which speak of an endless TOM: Paragraph? > "night, a tale verified by the Spanish priest, Fra. Bernardino > de Sahagun, who, coming to the New World a generation after > Columbus, CROW: Couldn't believe the mess Columbus had made. > "told of the great catastrophe in which the sun rose but a little > way over the horizon and then stood still, a catastrophe > witnessed by the American Indians. TOM: That's a catastrophe? A sun that took a little rest break one morning? MIKE: Hey, they had to reset all their clocks and everything. > "There are parallel accounts in other ancient manuscripts--the > _Popul_Vuh_ of the Mayas, CROW: Here we go again. > "the Egyptian _Papyrus_Ipuwer_, the Buddhist _Visuddhi-Magga_, > the Persian _Zend-Avesta_, the Hindu _Vedas_, TOM: And I expect book reports on all of these by Monday. > "the curiously coincidental records left in ancient art--the > Venus tablets of Babylon, found in the ruins of Ashurbanipal > at Nineveh, certain of the panoplies at Angkor-Vat, which you > must know-- CROW: Or at least you saw the movie version, right? > "and there are the strangely altered clocks of ancient times-- > the water clock of the Temple of Amon at Karnak, now inaccurate > for day and night; MIKE: Which one's dark again? > "the shadow clock of Fayum, Egypt, inaccurate too; TOM: Darn thing just keeps flashing "12:00" over and over. > "the astronomical panel in the tomb of Senmut, in which the > stars are shown in an order they do not have. CROW: The actors go first, THEN the director! > "And these stars, I submit, are not just accidentally those of > the Orion-Taurus group, held to be the seat of both of the > Elder Gods-- TOM: Cthulhu always calls dibs on the Orion seat, it's not fair! > "who are believed to exist at or near Betelgeuze-- ALL: Betelgeuze Betelgeuze Betelgeuze! CROW: Darn it, nothing happened. > "and at least one of the Ancient Ones, Hastur; and were > presumably home to all the Ancient Ones. MIKE: Where they sat around all day playing shuffleboard and complaining about young people. > So that the catastrophe duly recorded in the old documents may > very well have been evidence of the titanic battle which was > waged between the Elder Gods and the rebellious Ancient Ones. CROW: Almost as titanic as Tonya Harding vs. Paula Jones. > I pointed out that there was a current theory concerning > erratic conduct on the part of the planet now called Venus. MIKE: So there! > Professor Shrewsbury shrugged this away almost with > impatience. "The concept of Venus as a one-time comet can be > disproved scientifically; TOM: Nothing can be disproved scientifically! Haven't you read Karl Popper? > "the concept of the conflict between the Elder Gods and the > Ancient Ones cannot. I submit, Mr. Blayne, that your actual > conviction of disbelief is not as strong as your words." CROW: Or your breath. > "You see, it would be folly to pretend that this meeting was > an accident. Your movements had been studied enough to make it > occur. MIKE: In other words, they're stalking him. > "It is just possible that in your studies of ancient ruins and > the drawings, hieroglyphs, and other remains found among them, > you may have happened upon something which might afford us a > clue to the place we seek." > "And what is that?" I asked. > "An island." So saying, he unfolded before me a crudely > drawn map. MIKE: Written in mustard on the back of his napkin. > I examined the map with interest which was quickened > appreciably when it dawned upon me that this was no ordinary map > done by the hand of an ill-informed person, TOM: ...but an EXTRAORDINARY map done by the hand of an ill-informed person! > but rather a map drawn by someone who clearly believed in the > objects he drew; that these objects were not placed as he had > placed them suggested an artist of centuries ago. MIKE: Huh? > "Java and Borneo," I said, identifying them. TOM: What "them"? CROW: The objects that were not placed as he had placed them! Pay attention, will you? > "These islands are apparently the Carolines and the marked place > is northward, but the directions are not very clear." TOM: What part of "Get bent" don't you understand? > "Yes, that is its drawback," agreed Professor Shrewsbury > dryly. CROW: Ah, such wit. > I looked at him sharply. "Where did you get this, Professor?" > "From a very old man." > "He must have been very old, indeed," I agreed. > "Almost fifteen centuries," he answered, without a smile. MIKE: But he didn't look a day over thirteen centuries. > "But, come, do you recognize this place beyond the Carolines?" CROW: Kentucky? > I shook my head. > "Then we fall back upon your own research, Mr. Blayne. You > have been in the South Pacific ever since the end of the Second > World War. MIKE: Three-hour tour, my butt. > "You have gone from island to island, CROW: And got voted off every one of them. > and you will have seen certainly that in some areas there is a > marked emphasis on the batrachian motif," TOM: There he goes again! > "or the ichthyic motif--it matters little, save that we have > reason to believe one island at least to be either the focal > point or near the focal point of the occurrence of artifacts and > works of art stressing the batrachian." > "Ponape," I said. MIKE: There's no need to be rude. > He nodded, and the others waited expectantly. MIKE: For Blayne to finally sit on the whoopee cushion they'd planted half an hour ago. > "You see," he went on, "I have been to the Black Island which > has no name CROW: Yes it does! You just called it the Black Island. TOM: Did Raymond Smullyan write this story? > "and is uncharted MIKE: Even though it's on this map... > "because it is not always visible and rises to the surface only > at rare intervals. CROW: You mean, it's like your logic. > "But my means of travel was somewhat unorthodox, TOM: I only travel by skipping. > "my attempt to blast the island and its horrible ruins was > ineffective; we must find it again, and we shall find it most > readily by picking up the trail of the batrachian motif in > Polynesian art." MIKE: There it goes! CROW: Quick, after it! > "There are certain legends," I put in, "which speak of a > vanishing land. It would presumably be stationary?" CROW: A paper island? TOM: He means movement. It rises and sinks, it comes and goes...sounds pretty stationary to me. > "Yes, making its appearance only when upheavals of the ocean's > bed thrust it up. And then evidently not for long. CROW: So it definitely doesn't move at all. MIKE: Glad we cleared THAT up. > "I need not remind you that there have been recent tremblors > recorded by seismographs for the region of the South Pacific; > conditions are thus ideal for our quest. MIKE: "Because I've always wanted to be swept overboard by a tidal wave." > "We are at liberty to suppose it to be part of a larger, submerged > land area, quite possibly one of the legendary continents." > "Mu," said Phelan. TOM: Who was still under the Professor's hypnotic suggestion that he was a pig with a species-identity problem. > "If Mu existed," countered the professor gravely. > "There is ample evidence to believe that it did," I said, > "together with Atlantis. If you were to fall back upon your own > kind of evidence, MIKE: It would really hurt. > "there is plenty of legendry to give the belief body--the Bible's > story of the Deluge, for instance; the ancient books' accounts of > catastrophes, TOM: If he starts listing all those catastrophes again, I'm leaving. > "the submerging of vast land areas depicted in the drawings found > at the sites of so much archaeological discovery." CROW: And those stories of crop circles! TOM: And those rumors of cave drawings showing human-like figures wearing things that might be space helmets! MIKE: And the pyramids! CROW: What about the pyramids? MIKE: Well...uh... Hmm. They're pointy. Humans hadn't discovered points yet, back then. TOM: So...you're saying, pyramids... MIKE: Must have come from Atlantis! CROW: She's a witch! Burn her, burn her! > One of the professor's companions grinned and said, "You're > entering in to the spirit of it." ALL: Thank you! > The professor, however, gazed at me without smiling. "You > believe in the existence of Mu, Mr. Blayne?" > "I'm afraid I do." MIKE: THIS marriage is off to a bad start. > "And presumably also in the ancient civilizations said to have > inhabited Mu and Atlantis," he went on. "There are certain legends > attributable to some such lost civilizations, Mr. Blayne-- > particularly in relation to their sea deities-- TOM: The legend of the angry god and the city that kept saying "Betcha can't make a really BIG typhoon!" > and there are survivals of ancient worship in the Balearics, in > the islands of the Carolines, at Innsmouth, Massachusetts, and in > a few other widely separated areas. CROW: Do you get the idea Professor Shrewsbury is a bit defensive about all this? > "If Atlantis lay off the coast of Spain, and Mu near the > Marshalls, MIKE: What if it's near the TJ Maxx? > "presumably there might have been yet another land area at one > time lying off the coast of Massachusetts. And the Black Island > might be part of yet another land area; MIKE: Like, um...an island? TOM: Maybe the island was part of a peninsula. > "we cannot know. But it is certain that the Bible's Deluge and > other similar legendary catastrophes might well have resulted in > the banishment of Cthulhu to one of the lost continents of this > planet." CROW: Obviously this is a meaning of the word "certain" that I'm not familiar with. > I nodded, aware for what seemed the first time of the intense > scrutiny of the others. TOM: My fly was open. > "The Black Island CROW: Which has no name. > "is thus far the only known avenue directly to Cthulhu; all > others are primarily in the possession of the Deep Ones. MIKE: Those are the guys who used to skip all their classes, flash peace signs, and say "Heavy, man." > "We must therefore search for it by every means at our disposal." TOM: "I'll look under the table, you look under the skirts of the waitresses." > It was at this point of our conversation that I became aware CROW: That I was sitting at a table full of idiots. > of a subtle force vying with my interest, MIKE: Common sense, perhaps? > which was far keener than I had permitted myself to show; it was > a blind feeling of hostility, TOM: We understand completely. > and I looked from one to another of them, but there was nothing in > their eyes save only an interest similar to my own. Yet the aura > of fear, of enmity, was unmistakable, perhaps made all the more > so by its very tenuousness. CROW: So, because the fear was flimsy and slight, you were more certain than ever that it was real. TOM: At least he's consistent. > I looked past my companions, allowing my glance to travel along > the bar, among the tables; CROW: ...chat with the ladies, order a drink, start singing off key... > I saw no one who was even aware of us, though the bar, as always, > was crowded with people of nationalities of all walks of life. TOM: He's being ignored by every ethnicity on Earth. > The conviction of hostility, the aura of fear, persisted, MIKE: Until it was chased away by my glance, still wandering around the bar looking for a fight. > lying against my consciousness as were it a tangible thing. CROW: "As were it?" > I gave my attention again to Professor Shrewsbury. He talked > now of the trail of Cthulhu through the arts and crafts of > primitive peoples, and his words conjured up from my own memories > a thousand corroborating details-- TOM: And you just feel compelled to list every one of them, don't you. CROW: Hold me Mike, I'm scared! MIKE: (Holding bots) Here we go! > --of the curious figures found in the Sepik River valley of New > Guinea; of the tapa cloth designs of the Tonga islanders; of the > hideously suggestive Fisherman's God of the Cook Islanders, with > its misshapen torso and its substitution of tentacles for arms and > legs; of the stone tiki of the Marquesas, markedly batrachian in > aspect; of the carvings of the New Zealand Maori, which depict > creatures neither man nor octopus, neither fish nor frog, but > something of all four; of the revolting war-shield design used by > Queenslanders, a design of labyrinth under water with a tortuously > malefic figure at the end of it, tentacles extended as if for > prey; and the similar shell pendants of the Papuans; of the > ceremonial music of the Indonesians, particularly the Batak dream > music, and the Wayang shadow-play of leather puppets on the > ancient themes dramatizing a legend of sea-beings. ALL: (Gasping for breath.) MIKE: We made it! (They all high-five each other.) > All these pointed unmistakably to Ponape from one direction, TOM: South by southeast, > while the ceremonial figures used in some parts of the Hawaiian > Islands and the great heads of Rano-raraku on Easter Island > made a similar indication from the other. CROW: Using only their middle fingers, no less. > "You are thinking of Ponape," said Professor Shrewsbury > quietly. > "Yes--and what might lie beyond. MIKE: Just, please, don't list all the possibilities. > "If the Black Island is not between Ponape and Singapore, it must > lie between that island and Easter Island. MIKE: Doesn't the Bermuda Triangle come into play somewhere here? > "What do you expect of me?" CROW: At this point, nothing. > "I submit that you are perhaps more qualified to speak with > authority on the arts and artifacts of the South Pacific than > anyone else within the entire region. We are satisfied that the > primitive drawings and sculptures of these people will point > unmistakably to the approximate location of the Black Island. CROW: We're hoping for a sign that says, "It went thataway." > "Specifically, we are interested in the occurrence of any work > similar to the Fisherman's God of Cook Island, which, we have > reason to believe, is a representation, as seen by the primitive > mind, of Cthulhu himself. By narrowing the circle of its > incidence, it is logical to suppose that we can box in the site > of the island. TOM: I'd like to box in his head. > I nodded thoughtfully, certain that I could almost > effortlessly construct the ring that Professor Shrewsbury > visualized. MIKE: What ring? CROW: An engagement ring, I think. TOM: No, the box. MIKE: What box? TOM: The box they want to put the island in! CROW: You can't put an island in a box. MIKE: Is the box going to be ring-shaped? CROW: One Ring to Confuse Them All. > "Can we count on you, Mr. Blayne?" > "More than that. If you have room for me, I'll join your > party." (The text fades away; Mike and the bots feel themselves returning to normal form aboard the Satellite of Love. They all stretch.) MIKE: Oh, it's good to be three-dimensional again. TOM: Mike, what magazine was this story published in again? "Weird Tales?" MIKE: That's what I was told. TOM: Well with all the horribly suggestive statues, and rooms full of men looking meaningfully at one another... MIKE: Leave it alone, Servo. CROW: It's a fair question, Mike. MIKE: Well, I'll tell you what, with all the words like "batrachian" and "ichthyic" flying around, I thought it might have gotten published somewhere else, like...uh... TOM: Like what? CROW: Yeah, like where? MIKE: Uh... (Long pause.) CROW: You don't even know what those words mean, do you. MIKE: I do too! TOM: Oh? So why don't you tell us? CROW: Yeah Mike. What's "batrachian" mean? MIKE: Well, uh... TOM: Yes? MIKE: Uh... CROW: Dum de dum, hmmm hm hmmm...(taps foot)...doo de doo... MIKE: (Standing tall and confident) It means "like Batman". TOM: And "ichthyic"? MIKE: Like Robin, of course! Why do you think "batrachian" and "ichthyic" kept appearing together like that? CROW: Makes sense to me. TOM: I don't know, Mike. MIKE: Well, if you don't believe me, go look it up in our on-board dictionary. TOM: Okay, I will! (Exits stage right.) MIKE: We'll be right back, folks. [Commercial break.] ============================================== (Commercial break ends. We see Mike, Crow, and Tom Servo huddled around a computer screen which is facing towards them, and away from the audience.) CROW: E-mail...there's no entry? TOM: Automobile...see "horseless carriage"? Mike, when was this dictionary programmed, anyway? MIKE: I don't know! It just came with the Satellite. CROW: (still reading dictionary) Liberal: a person who believes in the primary importance of individual rights and freedoms...Man, this really IS out of date! MIKE: Hey! We don't DO political humor here on the Satellite of Love. TOM: Yeah, you Republican. MIKE: Look, if it's really bothering you, I'll call Pearl and see if she can get us an upgrade. (Activates comm system.) Pearl? (Switch to inside of Castle Forrester. Now there are not quite as many bananas as before, but they're still almost up to the ceiling. Bobo is leaning against the mountain of bananas, moaning. He looks like he's gained three hundred pounds and his hands are over his stomach. Pearl is in front of the comm system.) PEARL: Hello Mike. How's the story going? MIKE: It's terrible. PEARL: Good! BOBO: (Moans horribly) MIKE: I wanted to complain about the Satellite of Love's on-board dictionary. PEARL: (Stares at him stupidly.) And what, may I ask, makes you think I give a flip about your dictionary? CROW: It doesn't have the word "batrachian" in it. PEARL: (Same blank look.) TOM: Or "ichthyic"! PEARL: Look you morons, I've got problems of my own right now. In case you hadn't noticed, we've still got a bajillion bananas down here and I'm finally convinced that Bobo can't eat any more of them. BOBO: No more, no more! Oooohhh.... MIKE: Why not have Brain Guy just "zap" them all somewhere? PEARL: Because bananas are very high in potassium and believe it or not, for some reason, very large quantities of potassium seem to interfere with Pasty Guy's mental abilities. MIKE: I find that hard to believe. CROW: No, it's true, Mike. I saw an inscription on a bathroom wall in a men's room in Spokane once that left an unmistakable impression that potassium interferes with psychic powers. TOM: And let's not forget all those mysterious figurines carved out of some unnaturally-colored wood in the northern forests of Siberia. If you squint just right, they do look sort of like Brain Guy sitting next to a banana and looking unhappy. CROW: And what about the legend of the Ghost Clown? It's said that when the Ghost Clown appears in your circus, it's time to give up! TOM: That was a Scooby Doo episode. CROW: That counts! BOBO: (Moans loudly, and starts rocking back and forth.) PEARL: (Wincing) And did I mention the other problem? Bananas give Bobo gas. MIKE: Whoops. PEARL: Exactly. CROW: So we can't do political humor, but toilet humor is fine? TOM: Toilet humor is universal. CROW: Wouldn't it depend on the culture? I'm sure in SOME cultures... TOM: (Agitated) Look! The famous drunken explorer Ebeneezer Anchenstemen of Korvat-Yakherder wrote with CERTAINTY in his diary about... (Lights flash, the buzzer sounds) ALL: Story Time! Aaaaaaa..... 3... 2... 1... > We shipped for Ponape on the second day, traveling by one of > the regular steamers plying the islands. I had thought we were to > have possession of a ship of our own, CROW: But our moms wouldn't let us have one. > but Professor Shrewsbury offered an explanation that other > arrangements had been made out of Ponape. TOM: That's not an explanation, that's a restatement of the problem. > We gathered together on the deck soon after leaving the docks, > primarily for the purpose of comparing notes CROW: Do people look at YOU strangely when you use words like "batrachian"? Oh, me too! > and I discovered that all of them spoke matter-of-factly of being > under surveillance in Singapore. TOM: They saw themselves on "America's Most Gullible" the very next day. > "And you," Professor Shrewsbury turned to me. MIKE: Did "turned to me" mean "said" back in 1952? CROW: We'll have to ask our dictionary when we get back. > "Were you aware of being followed, Mr. Blayne?" > I shook my head. "But I had thought someone trailed after > you," I admitted. "Who were they?" > "The Deep Ones," offered Phelan. TOM: Ann Landers and Andy Rooney. > "They are everywhere, but we've had other followers far more > dangerous. The star protects us from them; they cannot harm us > as long as we carry it." MIKE: What star? > "I have one for you, Mr. Blayne," said Professor Shrewsbury. MIKE: WHAT star? Did I miss something? CROW: Leave it alone, Mike. > "Who are the Deep Ones?" I asked. > Professor Shrewsbury offered an immediate explanation. TOM: Which I delayed telling you about so I could tell you that it really was immediate, first. > The Deep Ones, he said, were minions of Cthulhu. Originally they > had been aquatic only--hideously suggestive of human beings, but > essentially TOM: Uh oh... > batrachian or ichthyic; ALL: AAAAAAAA!!! > but over a century ago CROW: They became batrachian AND ichthyic? > certain American traders had come into the South Pacific and > formed alliances with the Deep Ones, mating with them ALL: EEEEWWWWW!!! Gross! TOM: I TOLD you this should have been in an erotic magazine! > and thus producing CROW: An argument for contraception even the Pope would agree with. > a hybrid breed which could exist equally well on land or in the > sea; TOM: Meaning it would die quickly in both places. > it was this hybrid breed which was to be found in most of the port > cities of the world, never very far from water. MIKE: They hung out in bathrooms a lot. > That they were directed by some sort of super-intelligence from > the sea seemed unquestionable CROW: Because they always got water-based questions right when they appeared on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire". > since they were never long in discovering any member of Professor > Shrewbury's party, all of whom had had previous encounters with > the followers of Cthulhu-- MIKE: Mostly at wild parties. > and, indeed, with certain minions of others of the Ancient Ones. TOM: Like Dick Clark. > Their purpose was clearly menacing, but the power of the five- > pointed star, which was sealed with the seal of the Elder Gods MIKE: "Do not open until Xmas" > rendered them impotent. CROW: Finally, an infallible family planning device. > Should anyone of them fail to carry the star, however, he might > fall victim to the Deep Ones, or the Abominable Mi-Go, TOM: As in "Oh Mi-Go, this story is LAME!" > or to the Tcho-Tcho people, the Shoggoths, the Shantaks, MIKE: The Stay-Puf Marshmallow Men, > or any among a score or more of those human and semi-human > creatures dedicated to the service of the Ancient Ones. CROW: No wonder it's so hard to find good service nowadays; the Ancient Ones took all the dedicated employees. > Professor Shrewsbury excused himself to go to his cabin MIKE: Because he could hardly keep a straight face anymore. > and bring to me the star of which he had spoken. It was a rough- > surfaced stone, grey in color, with a barely distinguishable seal > representing a pillar of light, as closely as I could approximate > it. MIKE: It's a star! CROW: It's a pillar! TOM: It's a stone! MIKE: It's three batrachian repellents in one! > It was not large; TOM: So I threw it back. > it scarcely covered my palm, but it had a peculiar effect on me, > for it felt as if it burned my flesh, and I found it curiously > repellent. CROW: Normally he LIKES being set on fire. > I put it into my pocket, and there it seemed incredibly heavy; > there, too, it left a burning sensation on my skin, despite the > clothing between; MIKE: I told you to wear your asbestos underwear, but do you ever listen to me? > it did not appear to have a similar effect on the others, as far > as I could ascertain. TOM: Because none of them were leaping about, shouting "I've got something hot in my pants!" > Indeed, it became so heavy, ALL: Man, > presently, and afflicted me so sorely with the sensation of heat, > that I found it necessary to excuse myself and hasten to my cabin > so that I could remove the stone from my person and leave it among > my possessions. MIKE: A box of string and a Betty Boop "Thought of the Day" calendar. > Only then did I feel free CROW: What, did he remove his underwear, too? > to rejoin my companions, where I took a listener's part in their > discussion of events beyond my ken-- TOM: Like whether or not the little engine "could"-- > not alone of Cthulhu and Hastur, and their minions, or of the > others, not alone of the Elder Gods and that titanic battle which > must have taken place aeons ago and involved countless universes, MIKE: Which for this guy means "more than three". > but of certain adventures these five had shared together, CROW: Including crossovers with Doc Savage and The Shadow, > for they made countless references to ancient tablets, to books > which, to judge by the dates which occurred in their conversation, TOM: These guys got dates? How? > had been made long before mankind had learned to write even on > papyrus. MIKE: All they had was toilet paper. > They spoke repeatedly, too, of a "library" on "Celaeno", which was > beyond my ken. CROW: Big...room...with...books. > I was loath to ask, but I gathered that they had undergone a > period of exile at an archeological site--a library at a place > called "Celaeno", MIKE: Brilliant deduction! CROW: Sherlock Holmes has nothing on this guy. > of which I knew nothing TOM: And that's different from every other topic in the world, how? > and was reluctant to admit ignorance of a site so archaeologically > ancient under a name I had hitherto associated only with the > stars. MIKE: So instead I talked loudly about sports. > Their references to the Ancient Ones intimated too of feuds > among these beings, between Hastur and Cthugha on the one hand, > and Cthulhu and Ithaqua on the other; CROW: The Ancient Ones invented tag-team wrestling! > evidently these beings were united only against the Elder Gods, MIKE: Even back then, kids wouldn't respect their parents. > but vied with one another for the worship of their minions and the > destruction or seduction of such inhabitants of their regions as > came within their orbits. TOM: Destroy, seduce, or get out of the way! > I gathered, too, that Professor Shrewsbury and his companions had CROW: Used the phrase "snipe hunt" one time too many to be taken entirely seriously, > been drawn together often by mere chance, that all had been > exposed to similar dangers, and MIKE: Were actually all the same person. > all had eventually sought the haven which the professor had > discovered many years before. TOM: In his parents' basement. > It was somewhat disquieting, too, to reflect upon certain casual > references made by the Professor CROW: Like, "The last time we found a guy this dumb and dragged him out to an island in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't even a decent snack." > to events in which he had played a part but which had taken place > much longer ago than could have been possible, considering his > age; MIKE: Like, "Great idea, making the Earth round, no?" > but I concluded, finally, that I must have been in error and > misunderstood. TOM: As usual. > That night I had the first of the curiously disturbing dreams MIKE: He dreamed of Altoids? > which haunted our voyage. Though I slept soundly enough, CROW: So, then, the dreams weren't THAT bad. > I was never free of dreams. TOM: Or maybe they were. > I dreamed that night MIKE: Yes, we got that. > that I found myself in a great city deep in the sea. My > subaqueous existence TOM: I told you this guy was all wet. > did not trouble me; I was able to breathe, CROW: For about half a second, then I drowned. > move about as I pleased, and carry on a normal existence in the > ocean's depth. MIKE: But boy, were those McDonald's hamburgers soggy! > The city, however, was not a modern city; it was quite ancient-- > quite possibly a city as might have been visualized by an > archaeologist-- CROW: An archaeologist with a city planning degree. > far more ancient than any city I had ever known before, with vast, > monolithic buildings, on the walls of many of which had been > emblazoned representatives of the sun, the moon, the stars, MIKE: Green clovers, blue diamonds... > and certain grotesquely horrible figments of the artist's > imagination, TOM: The artist? Does he mean the artist who used to be called Prince? CROW: He's got an awful imagination all right; I saw "Purple Rain". > some of them amazingly similar to the Fisherman's God of the Cook > Islanders. MIKE: And others that looked a lot like Elmer Fudd. > Moreover, some of the buildings featured doorways of unusual size, > both in width and height, as they were constructed for beings > beyond the conception of mankind. CROW: You know, like, big ones. > I moved about among the city's streets unmolested, MIKE: He actually sounds disappointed! > but I was not alone. TOM: Other people were unmolested too. > Other human or semi-human MIKE: Or hemi-demi-semi-human, > beings became visible from time to time, most of them strangely > batrachian ALL: AAAAAAAA!!! > in their aspects and movements, and my own locomotion was rather > more batrachian than human. CROW: Which was the FIRST name Rob Zombie thought of for that song, but then he changed his mind. > I saw presently that all the inhabitants were TOM: Staring at me and giggling. > moving in one general direction, and I followed in their wake. MIKE: If all the batrachian semi-humans jumped off a cliff, would you do that, too? TOM: Please? > Thus I came presently CROW: You'd think a guy with a vocabulary as big as his would know the word "soon". TOM: It's people like him who insist on saying "utilize" instead of "use". > to a rise in the sea-bottom, at the top of which CROW: At the top of the bottom? TOM: Are you SURE this wasn't printed in an erotic... MIKE: Quiet! > stood a ruined building which was clearly a temple. The building > was of black stone, of pieces suggesting the Egyptian pyramids; CROW: In that they were black and rectangular. > it was no longer intact, but had fallen away, disclosing beyond > the great doorway a passage which struck downward, into the sea- > bottom. TOM: A passage into the sea's bottom? Oh Mike, this imagery is reeeeeaaaalllllllyyyy getting to me... > Around this doorway, in a semi-circle, clustered the denizens of > that ocean depth, I among them, waiting upon some event which was > foreordained. CROW: "And it shall come to pass that a complete boob will interrupt our conga line." > I grew aware of a chanting ululation rising from among them, MIKE: "I like Ike! I like Ike!" > but I could distinguish no words, for the language was not one I > knew. Yet I had the conviction that I should know it, CROW: Because I'd taken four straight years of it in high school, > and several of the strange beings near me stared at me in a > particularly revolting way, MIKE: Which differed from the revolting way strangers usually stared at him. > accusingly, as if I were guilty of some breach of conduct. TOM: Dummy, it's black-tie only! > Even while others were still joining the throng from the city > below, a kind of glow began to come into being in the doorway, > an oddly diffused light, not white or yellow, but pale green, CROW: Also not pink, or blue, or orange, or beige, but pale green. And not dark green, or forest green, or... MIKE: We get it, Crow. > lambent, like the movement of the curtain auroras, MIKE: What curtains? > deepening in intensity as the moments passed. Then, deep in the > heart ALL: (singing) Of Texas... > of the passage, rising out of the light, came a great amorphous > mass of flesh, MIKE: It's Peter Griffin! > preceded by incredibly long, lashing tentacles, a thing with the > head of what might have been a gigantic human being in its upper > half TOM: Stewie? > and an octopoid creature below. CROW: Or it might have been an ant, I'm really not sure. > I caught but a single, horrified glimpse of it; then I screamed > aloud and woke. ALL: THE END. > I lay CROW: Damn! > for some time trying to ascertain the reason for being of the dream I had had. TOM: I'm going to lay here for some time trying to ascertain the meaning of that sentence. > That it grew from my knowledge of the ancient legends, I could not > doubt; MIKE: But did the anchovy pizza I ate at midnight have anything to do with it? > but how could I account for my perspective in the dream? I was not > an interloper CROW: That IS weird; normally this guy's shunned everywhere he goes. > as I was in fact on my way to discover the point of egress for > Cthulhu. MIKE: If only Cthulhu would post signs or something. > Moreover, CROW: There's ALWAYS a "moreover" with this guy. > I was a witness to something more than was set down in any of the > references or sources I had read, and nothing of what I had > dreamed had been envisioned in anything Professor Shrewsbury had > said. TOM: Yeah, like who'd think a fish god would live in the ocean? > But I puzzled over this problem in vain. MIKE: Then gave up and tossed it in my closet with the Rubik's Cube, the 23-skidoo game, and that triangular solitaire puzzle with all the holes and the golf tees. > The only explanation I could credit lay in the work of a perfervid > imagination, which might conceivably have conjured up the > substance of my dream. CROW: In other words, you dreamed it. > Lulled by the smooth movement of the ship, I drifted off to sleep > once more, and again into dream. > This time, however, the setting was far different. TOM: Was it one of those flying dreams? > I dreamed I was the spectator at cataclysmic events > far out among the constellations and galaxies. CROW: And there wasn't a hot dog vendor for miles. > There a great battle was joined between beings far beyond the > conceptions of a mere human being. MIKE: So I'm not going to even bother trying to describe them. > They were great, constantly changing, masses of what appeared to > be pure light--sometimes in the form of pillars, sometimes as > great globes, sometimes as clouds; TOM: He's right, I could never have imagined anything as amazing as that. CROW: And I dreamed that I was waving a pennant that said "Go, Mass of Light Sometimes in the Form of a Cloud!" MIKE: And a big styrofoam finger. > these masses struggled CROW: Against their capitalist oppressors, > titanically with other masses likewise constantly changing not > only in intensity and shape, but also in color. MIKE: Sounds like he's trying to watch those scrambled pay stations without buying the converter box. > Their size was monstrous; compared to them, I had the size of an > ant to a dinosaur. MIKE: Brain-wise, too. > The battle raged in space, and from time to time one of the > opponents of the pillars of light would be caught up and flung > far outward, dwindling to the sight, CROW: So far this isn't anything you can't see on "WWF Raw". > and altering hideously in shape, taking on the aspect of a solid, > fleshy form, yet undergoing unceasing metamorphosis. TOM: Into other solid, fleshy forms. > Suddenly, in the midst of this interstellar engagement, MIKE: A fight broke out over where the wedding should be held. > it was as if a curtain had been drawn across the scene; CROW: Oh, THERE'S the curtain! > it faded away abruptly, and slowly another took its place, or, > rather, a succession of scenes-- TOM: Previews! MIKE: We never get previews with OUR movies. > a strange, black-watered lake, lost among crags in an utterly > alien landscape, CROW: Here, lake! Here, lake! > certainly not terrestrial, TOM: Hence his use of the phrase "utterly alien". > with a boiling, churning disturbance in the water and the rising > of a thing too hideous to be named; CROW: I name thee: Moe. > a bleak, dark, windswept landscape with snow-covered crags ringing > in a great plateau, in the center of which rose a black structure > suggesting a many-turreted castle, within which sat enthroned a > quartet of sombre beings in the guise of men, MIKE: Who looked just like the Marx Brothers. > attended by bat-winged birds; a sea kingdom, a far cry from > Carcassone, similar to that of which I had originally dreamed; > a snowy landscape, suggestive of Canadian regions, TOM: He's dreaming of the vacation slides from Hell. > with a great shape striding across it, as on the wind, blotting > out the stars, showing in their place great shining eyes, a > grotesque caricature on mankind in the Arctic wastes. CROW: It must have been drawn by Ralph Steadman. > These scenes passed before my eyes in dream with ever- > increasing rapidity, and only one was remotely recognizable; MIKE: The one that looked like Canada? TOM: The one that looked like the Arctic? CROW: The one that looked like a castle? > a sea-coast town TOM: We're wrong again! (All of them mutter and tear up little tickets.) > which, I was confident, was in Massachusetts > or at least somewhere along the New England coast, MIKE: Or at least somewhere in the United States, or on planet Earth. > and there I saw, moving about in its streets, people I remembered > having seen far back in memory--particularly the always heavily > veiled figure of the woman who had been my mother. CROW: Until the day she got her sex changed and became my father. TOM: Heavily veiled? What, was she from the mid-East? MIKE: Would YOU want to be seen in public if you had this guy for a son? > The dream ended at last. ALL: Hooray! > I woke again, far from sleep now, filled with a thousand > perplexing questions, CROW: Like, "How'd that seaweed-covered corpse get in my bed?" > unable to know the meaning of what I had seen in dream, TOM: It means you're a loony. > the kaleidoscope of events utterly beyond my ken. MIKE: But not beyond my Barbie. > I lay trying to thread them together, CROW: I hope he has more success than the author's having. > to evoke or create a common link; I could find none save the > nebulous mythology of which Professor Shrewsbury had spoken. ALL: DUUUHHHHH!!! > I rose presently and went out on deck. CROW: Please fall overboard. > The night was calm, a moon shone, MIKE: Just one? What a rip-off. > the ship moved steadily through the South Pacific toward our goal. > The hour was late, past midnight, and I stood at the rail watching > the passing scene--the stars, wondering where, if any place, life > such as mankind knew it existed; TOM: If he means intelligent life, he can rule out that boat. > the sea, with the moonlight glinting and gleaming on the gently > swelling water, wondering whether, indeed, there had ever existed > the legendary sunken continents, MIKE: Wouldn't the sea water KNOW if those continents existed? It would wash over them all the time. > whether cities had sunk beneath the sea's surface in ages gone by, CROW: Or just a few minutes ago and I'd missed it, > and what denizens of the deep lurked in those depths as yet > unknown to man. MIKE: But which WOMEN were already writing scientific articles about. > Presently, however, the sound of our passage began to have a > peculiarly illusory effect, TOM: Such as? > and at the same time I was given to imagining TOM: C'mon, tell us what the effect was! > that dark shapes swam with the ship, alongside, shapes in the > guise, however distorted, of human beings; CROW: Boy those Mary Kay saleswomen are persistent. > it seemed to my already overwrought MIKE: Prose? > mind that the very water seemed to whisper my name: Horvath > Blayne! Horvath Blayne! over and over, TOM: Would you just answer the damn ocean already? > and it was then as if a dozen voices whispered back: Horvath > Waite! Horvath Waite!, CROW: [As voices] "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Horvath Waite over!" > until at last I was overcome by the conviction that I should turn > back, go away, return to my ancestral home, MIKE: We'd like that very much! > as if I did not know that it had been destroyed in the holocaust > of 1928. > For my name had not always been Blayne, TOM: The kids at school named me Lunkhead. > having undergone a change in name MIKE: That WOULD be the traditional way in which names do not stay the same. > in the home of my foster-parents in Boston. My grandfather's > name had been Asaph Waite CROW: Does ANYONE in this story a normal name? TOM: Even the writer's name is August Derleth. > and I had never consciously seen him, MIKE: I only saw him when I was unconscious. > and he perished with my grandmother, my father, and my mother in a > disaster which had struck their town when I was yet only a babe in > arms, TOM: Proving once again that babies and rocket launchers just don't mix. > and while I was on a visit with cousins who had forthwith adopted > me after a loss which, to any other older child, would have been > shockingly tragic. MIKE: But my cousins just laughed when they heard about my whole family dying. > So overpoweringly suggestive did these illusory voices > calling my name become, that I turned at last and sought > the comparative peace of my cabin, where I took once again to > my berth, hoping this time for sleep undisturbed by any dream. TOM: Just then, the alarm went off. (The text fades again, and Mike, Crow, and Tom Servo reappear on the Satellite of Love. There's a new computer screen facing them, and they look at it, surprised.) MIKE: Hey, where'd this come from? GYPSY: (Entering from stage right.) I found it in an old storeroom. It's a new computer dictionary. TOM: (Turns on the dictionary.) Okay, let's look up "batrachian". Hmmm...it means "frog-like". CROW: And "ichthyic" means "fish-like". MIKE: That's it? That's all the author was trying to say? That all this weird artwork looked like frogs and fishes? CROW: Well you know Mike, if you find artwork featuring frogs and fishes, and you follow the path they lay out, you can find some pretty horrible things. MIKE: Oh? CROW: Sure. Come over to this bookshelf, filled with randomly selected books. (Sure enough, there's a bookshelf behind all of them.) Here's a book with a frog on the cover. It's called "Francine Frog and her Friends" and it's got a cute little picture of a frog on it. TOM: I get it...and further along, on the SAME shelf, there's a book called "The History of Trout Fishing". And it's got pictures of a trout on the cover. See? (Shows Mike.) MIKE: Okay, but... CROW: And if we follow the path laid out by these books, we come to...(goes further down bookshelf)...a book on...uh... (Loses his enthusiasm.) Building kitchen cabinets. MIKE: (Taking book) "The Handyman's Guide to Kitchen Cabinetry". What's so scary about that? TOM: Uh, well...have you ever tried to BUILD one of those things? CROW: Yeah Mike, have you? MIKE: Well, no, but... TOM: Well they're awful! You need nails, and screws, and hammers... CROW: Hammers, Mike! Hammers! TOM: And you never have the right screw sizes! The book calls for 9/16th screws, but all you have are 17/32nd screws, and... CROW: And the trees! Think of all the trees that die making the wood for the cabinets! TOM: Right, Mike! The trees! CROW: This book is a nightmare, Mike! (Waves book around.) TOM: The horror! The horror! Waaaahhhhh... CROW: (Also starts crying) MIKE: All right, all right, calm down guys. GYPSY: There there. MIKE: (To audience) We'll be right back. ============================================== (Mike, Tom Servo, and Crow are text characters again.) TOM: Hammers...nails...screws... MIKE: It's okay, Tom. Look! The story's starting again. CROW: Oh, THAT'll help. > On our arrival at Ponape, our party was met by a grim- > visaged American naval officer in white uniform, who drew > Professor Shrewsbury to one side and spoke briefly with him, CROW: "I thought I told you never to visit me here!" > while we waited, together with a shabby-looking seaman who seemed > also to desire some words with the professor. This seaman > presently caught the professor's eye; certainly Professor > Shrewsbury did not resent the seaman's familiarity, TOM: Are we absolutely, POSITIVELY SURE this wasn't published in an erotic magazine? MIKE and CROW: YES!!! CROW: I think. > and within a few moments he was walking at the professor's side, > talking animatedly in a dialect I did not clearly understand. MIKE: It was that weird language that smart people talk. > The professor listened to him but a short while. Then he > halted our party and abruptly altered our immediate plans. CROW: How can anything that happened that fast take so long to describe? > "Phelan and Blayne, come alone with me. The rest of you go > to our quarters. Keane, send for Brigadier-General Holberg." MIKE: On the theory that if we keep adding people to this story, eventually, it'll make sense. > Phelan and I therefore accompanied Professor Shrewsbury and > his rough companion, who led the way through devious streets and > lanes to a building which was assuredly little more than a hovel. > Lying on a pallet there, another seaman awaited us. TOM: (Whining) Mike... MIKE: For the last time, it was published in "Weird Tales"! > Both men had evidently had foreknowledge of our arrival, MIKE: Because they'd baked us a cake. > for the professor had sent ahead months ago for any lore of a > mysterious island which rose on occasion and vanished as > strangely. CROW: And if a seedy-looking sailor living in a crappy hovel isn't a reliable witness, I don't know what is. > It was manifestly such knowledge as the ailing seaman wished now > to impart. MIKE: You've just read August Derleth's official entry in the "Worst Sentence Ever Written" contest. > His name was Satsume Sereke; he was of Japanese extraction, > but clearly of mixed blood, TOM: He was Type A AND Type B. > and of more than the usual education. CROW: Which for these guys means he could tie his shoes correctly. > He was approaching middle age, but looked older. He had been a > hand on a tramp steamer, MIKE: [As Homer Simpson] Mmmmm...steamed tramp. > the _Yokohama_, out of Hong Kong; the steamer had been wrecked and > he had been one of the men in a life-boat. Before permitting him > to go farther, Professor Shrewsbury now asked us to take careful > note of what Sereke said. TOM: Okay, let's see. Uh, so far he's said he survived a boat accident. Everyone got that? MIKE and CROW: Yup. > The account I set down differed in no detail from Phelan's. CROW: Doesn't he mean Sereke's? MIKE: Maybe he's talking about a checking account. > "Our course was for Ponape. Bailey had a compass, and so we > knew where we were going. MIKE: Nowhere, fast. > "The first night after the storm we were moving along all right-- > Henderson and Melik were at the oars, with Spolito and Yohira-- TOM: Nope, they added more people and the story still doesn't make a lick of sense. > "it was clear, we had enough food and water, nobody dreaming > anything, I mean-- MIKE: So the food and water was real, not imaginary. > "we saw something in the water. We thought it was sharks or > porpoises, maybe marlins, we couldn't see well enough. It was > dark, and they stayed away from the boat, they just followed us > and went along with us. CROW: Yes, it's the only thing better than a story within a story: a pointless, meandering story within a pointless, meandering story. > "Along about my watch, they came closer. TOM: It's a new game: Find the unnecessary word! CROW: So far, I've found about two thousand of them. > "They had a funny look, like they had arms and legs instead of > fins and a tail, but they were up and down so much you couldn't > be sure. Then, quicker than a cat, something reached over into > the boat and got Spolito--just pulled him out; he screamed, MIKE: I'm about ready to scream, too. > and Melik reached out for him, but he was gone before Melik could > get to him; Spolito just went down and never came up again. All > our followers were gone quick. After that nothing more, and when > morning came we saw the island. > "It was an island, where none was before. CROW: To boldly go where no island had gone before. > "There were remains of buildings on it, buildings like I never saw > before, TOM: "With neon signs flashing 'Live Nudes'." > "with big, odd-shaped blocks of stone. There was an open door, > very large, partly broken away. Henderson had the glasses, CROW: How many people were on this boat, anyway? > "and he got a good look. Henderson wanted to go to the place, but > I didn't. Well, he talked, and Mason, Melik, and Gunders TOM: Gunders? > "decided to go ashore; Benton and I held back MIKE: To keep an eye on Jonny, Hadji, and Bandit, > "and the way we settled it was we rowed over, and Benton and I > stayed in the boat with the glasses to watch the others. CROW: Who went off in the boat without the glasses. > "All four of them went on to that doorway. MIKE: HOLD IT! Four of them? I thought Mason, Melik, and Gunders went ashore, and Henderson, Benton, Sereke, and Yohira stayed on the boat. CROW: And Bailey. MIKE: Who's Bailey? CROW: The guy with the compass. TOM: I thought he was the guy with the glasses. MIKE: No, the boat has the glasses. CROW: Blayne has the glasses. The narrator's saying "I". TOM: No, Blayne's retelling Sereke's story. MIKE: This story wasn't worth telling the FIRST time! > "I don't know how it happened MIKE: Welcome to the club! > "but something big and black just puffed out of the doorway and > fell on the four of them. ALL: Hooray! > "It pulled back with a horrible sucking noise, TOM: It's Ross Perot! > "but Henderson and Mason and the others were gone. MIKE: "And the others." Even the author can't keep track. > "Benton had seen it, too, but not as clear. ALL: ClearLY! > "I didn't go to look, I didn't want to see any more. We rowed as > fast as we could and got away from there. We never stopped rowing > until the freighter _Rhineland_ picked us up." TOM: "Hello, sailors!" > "Did you set down the latitude and longitude of the island?" > asked Professor Shrewsbury. > "No. But we lost the ship at about South Latitude 49 degrees > 51 minutes, West Longitude 128 degrees 34 minutes. MIKE: I guess he was too busy writing down longitude and latitude to notice that big coral reef they were heading for. > "It is toward Ponape from there, but not close to Ponape." CROW: And the sound you just heard was a thousand English teachers rolling in their graves. > "You saw this thing in the morning, by daylight?" > "Yes, but there were fogs--green fogs; it was not clear." MIKE: We know how you feel. > "How far out of Ponape?" > "Perhaps a day." > Professor Shrewsbury succeeded in establishing no more. TOM: Oh man, he was our last hope. > We returned to the quarters he had arranged for us. There we > found Bridagier- TOM: Lethbridge-Stewart. > General Holberg, a grim, grey-haired man of approximately sixty, CROW: Years or I.Q. points? > waiting for us. Immediately after introductions had been > exchanged, he came to the subject of his presence and his reason > for it. > "I have been told to place myself at your disposal, Professor > Shrewsbury. TOM: That's it, I'm leaving. MIKE: No, Tom! It was "Weird Tales" magazine! TOM: But Mike! If there was only one woman in this story, anywhere! A waitress! A random passerby! Anything! > "Operation Ponape is apparently your personal project." > "You have been given some of the documents to read, surely?" > "I have read the documents, yes. ALL: "But stop calling me Shirley!" > "I have no comment to make. This is your field, not mine. I have > a destroyer ready for your use as soon as you wish to come aboard. > The weapon is in readiness, subject to my order. I understand you > will attempt destruction with other weapons first?" MIKE: "Yes, we're going to read this story aloud to the thing." > "That is the plan, yes." > "When do you expect to leave Ponape, sir?" > "Within a week, General." > "Very good. We shall be at your disposal." TOM: (Whimpers) > The events of that week on Ponape were essentially trivial, CROW: And will be elaborated on until you just want to cry. > concerning primarily the amassing of powerful explosive weapons > for use on the Black Island, if indeed we could find that > uncharted land area. TOM: If not, we'd find something else to blow up. > But behind these superficial tasks loomed something profoundly > disturbing. It was not alone the undeniable fact that we were > under surveillance; MIKE: Who'd want to watch THESE guys? > we had come to expect that. It was not only that we were > constantly aware of an impending task of singular magnitude; this > too was to be expected. No, it was something more, it was the > consciousness of the proximity of a vast and primeval power, > which gave off a malignance almost tangible. ALL: (snoring sounds) > All of us felt this; I alone felt something more. TOM: What? What did you feel? Other men's firm buttocks? Huh? MIKE: Tom, please! > The day of our departure from Ponape dawned sultry and hot-- MIKE: [As Billy Crystal] "Sultry! Sultry!" > and for me, filled with foreboding. We set out early on the > destroyer CROW: All of them fit onto Remo Williams? > _Hamilton_, with General Holberg aboard. Professor Shreswbury had > worked out a course; TOM: Myths for Morons 101. > aeroplanes had been scouting the sea in the vicinity of the place > the _Yokohama_ had gone down. It was for this spot that the > _Hamilton_ set out. > I do not know whether I actually expected the destroyer to > reach the Black Island; TOM: Before everyone on the boat died of boredom. > certainly I did not share the General's calm confidence. CROW: He should have brought enough for the whole class! > But in late afternoon of that day we sighted an uncharted island, > and within a short time we were lowering a boat containing > Professor Shrewsbury, Phelan, Keane, and myself; a second boat > carried paraphernalia together with Boyd and Colum, and two men > from the destroyer. MIKE: (Taking notes furiously) Okay, that's four people in each of two boats. > Significantly, the ship's guns were trained TOM: They were on loan from Barnum and Bailey. > on the structure just visible on the island. MIKE: (Looking up from his notes) Wait, what struc...oh, never mind. (Throws notebook away, gives up.) > It did not surprise me to find the Black Island to be the > temple peak of my dream. Here it was, exactly as I had seen it, CROW: Yet they rowed past it six times because he was too busy scaring everyone with the theme from "Jaws". > with the carven door open and the mouth of that great portal > yawning MIKE: That portal's as bored as we are. > to the sun despite an aura of mist CROW: So, like, you can't yawn if it's misty? > which lay greenly over everything. TOM: I'm almost positive it's impossible to lie "greenly". > The ruins were breathtaking, though plainly ravaged by quakes and, > quite clearly, by explosives, whose ineffectual damage differed > from that greater damage of the earthquake, CROW: Was each piece of damage clearly labeled or something? > which had burst asunder many of the angles of the colossal stone > building. The building was composed of angles and planes which > were non-Euclidean, MIKE: Even geometry's getting multicultural now. > hinting horribly of alien dimensions and spheres CROW: So if it's hinting horribly, that means, um, it's being really blatant about it? MIKE: No, it means that there's almost no hint at all of alien things. > as if this building and what remained of the sunken city beyond > it had been constructed by non-terrestrials. TOM: Cheap alien construction! See what happens when you always go with the lowest bidder? > Professor Shrewsbury cautioned us before we landed. CROW: "The next person who calls me 'Booze-berry' is going to get slapped." > "I believe Sereke's story to be essentially true," MIKE: "Except for all the parts about scary things." > he said, "and I have no hope that this attack will seal the > opening or destroy its guardians. TOM: Then why the blazes are you bothering??? > "We must therefore be prepared to flee at the slightest suggestion > that something is rising from below. CROW: "Gentlemen, this island could belch at any moment." > "We need not fear anything other which might appear; MIKE: So if flying saucers start dive-bombing them from above, that's okay? TOM: You really need to stop applying logic here, Mike. > "the stones will protect us from them; but if He who waits CROW: Estragon? > "dreaming below rises, we dare not linger. Let us therefore lose > no time in mining the portal." > The surface of the island was cloying. The pale green mists > which continued to hang about the island TOM: Get a job! > were humid and faintly malodorous, an animal-like smell which was > neither a musk nor a pungeance, but a cloying, almost charnel > smell. CROW: Maybe Brain Guy zapped Bobo there. > We worked rapidly. The aura of dread which clung to the island > heightened steadily, apprehension of some impending horror > increased; there was a mounting tension among us, ALL: We get it! > despite the fact that Professor Shrewsbury CROW: Was playing his Lawrence Welk records. > maintained a ceaseless vigilance at the very threshold of the > yawning cavern, MIKE: Oh no...(yawns again) > ingress to which was afforded by the broken doorway; TOM: Thanks to its allowance of food stamps. > it was plain to see that he expected danger from this source, if > no other, though the very waters around the island were fraught > with peril, CROW: [fake British accent] At least let me have a little peril! TOM: [fake British accent] No, it's too perilous. > if Sereke's story were uncolored by imagination. MIKE: Like this one. > At the same time I was hideously aware of CROW: Horrendous sentence structures, > inimical forces which seemed almost personal; I felt them > physically, quite apart from the chaotic confusion of my own > thoughts. TOM: Which he also felt physically. > In truth, the island affected me profoundly, MIKE: I'm not sure I'd ever use this guy and "profound" in the same sentence. > and its effect was cumulative, not only fear but also a deep > depression of my spirits; not only apprehension but also a basic > disorder of such a nature as to stir up within me a conflict, of > the significance of which I was not cognizant, but a conflict > which was disarmingly disorganizing, CROW: And a redundancy that was not only redundant, but a general pattern of repeating myself which was making me repeat myself, and also a general repetitiveness which caused repetition, and... MIKE: (Slaps Crow.) CROW: Thanks, I needed that. > so that I found myself at one and the same time eager to help > and anxious to impede or destroy the work being done by my > companions. TOM: I know which one I'm going to choose. > It was almost with relief that I heard the professor's abrupt > cry, "He is coming!" MIKE: (Singing) Ct-hul-hu is coming, to town! He knows if you've been evil, he knows if you're a dweeb... CROW: ...and your Doom will be Carmackian... TOM: ...as he kicks your ass batrachian! MIKE: Hold everything! First, Cthulhu's batrachian, not the narrator. Second, "Carmackian" and "batrachian" look like they rhyme, but they don't. TOM: Way to kill the Christmas spirit, Mike. > I looked up. There was a faint green luminosity showing far > down the well of dark within the portal, MIKE: Someone dropped one of those "glow-sticks" down there. > just such a luminosity as I had seen in my dream. I knew that what > would emerge from that maw would be akin to the being seen in my > dream, also, a terrifyingly horrible caricature MIKE: Of Roseanne Barr singing the National Anthem. > of an octopoid creature with the grotesquely gigantic half-head of > a human being. TOM: Half head, half foot. > And for one instant I was moved not to follow the others, but > to hurl CROW: Now there's a sentiment I can agree with! > myself down into that pit of darkness, down the monolithic steps, > to that nether place in accursed R'lyeh where Great Cthulhu lay > dreaming, waiting for his time to rise once more MIKE: What is he, bread dough? > and seize the waters and the land of Earth. > The moment broke. ALL: CRASH!!! > I turned at Professor Shrewsbury's sharp call, CROW: "Marco!" > and followed, with the malevolence of that charnel place rising > behind me like a cloud, and with the horrible conviction that I > was marked as the especial CROW: [As Max of the Freelance Police] Especial. Especial. I don't think that's a word, Sam. > victim of that ghastly being making its way out of the depths > below that eldritch temple. TOM: And the Stephen R. Donaldson award for greatest number of SAT vocabulary words used in a single paragraph goes to: August W. Derleth! > I was the last of them to reach the boats, MIKE: (Sing-songy) You're the rotten egg! > and at once we pushed off for the destroyer. > The sun had not yet gone down, TOM: Elton John comes through in the clutch! > so that what took place on that awe-inspiring island CROW: "That what took place?" > was plainly visible to all of us. We had moved as far out into the > sea as the wires to the explosives permitted. MIKE: Exactly six feet. > There we waited TOM: To give Godzilla a chance to rise up and fight Cthulhu for us. > upon Professor Shrewsbury's order to detonate the explosives, and > we were accordingly given CROW: Blindfolds and cigarettes? > the opportunity to see the emergence of the ghastly being from the > depths. MIKE: And get its autograph. > The first movement was of tentacles, which came oozing forth > from the opening, slithering over the great rocks. Then abruptly > there loomed within the portal, preceded by an emanation of green > light, a thing which was little more than a protoplasmic mass, TOM: Next on Fox--When Lime Jello Attacks! > from which a thousand tentacles of every length and thickness > flailed forth CROW: Do you realize that if you replace the word "tentacles" with "sentences", you're describing how this story was made? > from the head of which, a single malevolent eye peered. A shocking > sound as of retching, TOM: Came from all the readers, > accompanied by ululations and a fluted whistling MIKE: Retching and ululations in C minor, by Prokofiev. > came to us across the water. > At that instant, Professor Shrewsbury gave the signal. TOM: But Batman never showed up and we all died. > The explosives burst with a tremendous concussion. What had > survived that earlier explosion, including now the portal itself, > burst upward and outward. CROW: Someone left the Jiffy Pop on the stove too long. > The thing in the doorway TOM: Didn't we make fun of that movie, once? > was torn open, and in a few moments, portions of the stone blocks > fell upon it, further shattering it. CROW: How can something that soft and gooshy "shatter"? > But, chillingly, when the sound of the explosion had died away, > there came to our ears still, the ululations and the whistling and > the retching sounds we had heard. MIKE: So we crossed "explosives" off our list of possible asthma cures. > And there, before our eyes, the shattered mass of the thing from > the depths was flowing together like water, _reforming_, shaping > itself anew once more! TOM: Oooh, a plot twist! MIKE: This plot is so flimsy it would twist if someone coughed. > Professor Shrewsbury's face was grim, but he did not hesitate. > He ordered the boats returned to the destroyer at once; CROW: Those late fees can really pile up. > what we had seen lent strength and purpose to our arms, and we > reached the _Hamilton_ within a very short time. MIKE: Even considering that we'd been using the oars backwards the whole time. > General Holberg, glasses in hand, faced us on the top deck. > "A shocking thing, Professor Shrewsbury. TOM: "It's a good thing I'm drunk." > "Must it be the weapon?" > Professor Shrewsbury nodded silently. MIKE: I really hate those LOUD nodders. > General Holberg raised one arm aloft. > "Now let us watch," he said. CROW: His armpit stench is the weapon? > The thing on the island was still growing. It towered now > above the ruins, expanding into the heavens, beginning to flow > down to the water's edge. > "Horrible, horrible," murmured General Holberg. "What in God's > name is it?" TOM: The national debt? > "Perhaps something from an alien dimension," replied the > professor wearily. "No one knows. It may be even that the weapon > is powerless against it." MIKE: "But the 'Saved By the Bell' marathon has never failed!" > "Nothing can resist that, sir." > "The military mind," murmured the Professor. CROW: It's true, nothing has ever survived the military mind. > "How long will it take, General?" TOM: "One second to push the button and six paragraphs to describe it with mind-numbing repitition, sir." > "The carrier should have had our signal by this time; the > plane was loaded. MIKE: As was the pilot. > "It should not take longer than it takes us to reach the limit > of safety." CROW: So...next week, then? > On the island a great black mass stood out against the > setting sun, CROW: Revenge of the 50 foot Hershey's Kiss. > diminishing now only because we were moving so > rapidly away from it. Presently the island itself was lost, TOM: This story can't even keep its landmasses straight. > and only the suggestive black mass remained. MIKE: It's "Chef!" > Overhead roared an aeroplane, making for the island. > "There it goes!" cried General Holberg. "Please look away. CROW: We're trying, believe me. > "Even at this distance the light will be blinding." TOM: What, is Donny Osmond going to smile at it? > In a few moments the sound came, shockingly. In another few > seconds the force of the explosion struck us like a physical > blow. MIKE: Complete with "WHAP" sound effects written on the screen. > It seemed a long time before the General spoke again. CROW: "Missed!!!" > "Look now, if you like." > Over the place where the Black Island had been loomed now a > gigantic cloud, mushrooming and billowing skyward, MIKE: How Cthulhu Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, today on Oprah. > of white and grey and tan colors, beautiful in itself to see. And > I knew what the "Weapon" had been, TOM: Wait...it was supposed to be a surprise? CROW: If this guy were any denser, he'd collapse and form a black hole. > remembering Hiroshima and the Bikini experiment. MIKE: Which proved conclusively that during World War II, major Japanese cities were lousy places to shoot the "Sports Illustrated" swimsuit issue. > "I rather think it cannot have survived that," said General > Holberg calmly. ALL: "NOTHING could have survived THAT!" > I remember now, after all these months, how sober and grave > Professor Shrewsbury was at our parting. MIKE: We'd really chosen the wrong person to be the clown at our party THAT day. > I remember how he said something in sympathy, CROW: "Sorry you're so stupid." > and I did not then understand it, TOM: Which kind of proves the Professor's point. > but since then I have come to know that somehow, despite the fact > that behind those black glasses he always wore, that strange and > wise man had no eyes with which to see, and yet saw, he saw more > than I myself knew about myself. MIKE: And the fact that even a blind man could see it really tells you something. > I think this now often. CROW: Keep practicing. > We parted where we had met, at Singapore. From Singapore I went > back to Cambodia, then to Calcutta, then to Tibet and back to the > coast, from which I took ship for America, MIKE: And I STILL couldn't find that place with all the kangaroos. > driven now by more than curiosity about archaeology, by an > insistence upon knowing more about myself, of my father and my > mother, and my grandparents. We parted as friends, united by a > common bond. TOM: I told you, superglue is not a toy! > Professor Shrewsbury's words had been hopeful, yet faintly > prophetic. MIKE: "The Cubs will win it all someday, I swear." > Perhaps, he had said, _He_ had died in the atomic blast; CROW: And it was actually Cthulhu who was parting from Blayne! > but we must recognize, he had insisted, that something from an > alien dimension, something from another planet, TOM: Or at least another time zone, > might not be subject to our natural laws; one could only hope. > His work was either done or had gone as far as it could go, > short of ceaseless vigilance to stop up temporarily every avenue > to the open that might be attempted MIKE: (bewildered) "every avenue to the open that might be attempted?" > by Cthulhu or those who followed him, who worshipped him and did > the bidding of the Ancient Ones. > Because I alone, of the six of us, had no doubt. CROW: The rest of them preferred the Go-Go's. > I knew by an intuition I could not then explain that R'lyeh still > stood in its depths, wounded but not destroyed. TOM: Ooh goody! There's gonna be a sequel! CROW: Kill me now. > I went home to find out why I had had what I recognized as > a feeling of kinship for the Deep Ones, MIKE: And rechecked my birth certificate. Yup! Atlantis hospital, R'lyeh. > for the thing that lived in the sunken realm of R'lyeh, for > Cthulhu, CROW: a.k.a. "Mom", > of whom it was once said and is still said, and will be said until > the coming again, _"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah-nagl > ftaghn"_. TOM: At least until we stop trying to talk and eat Fluffernutters at the same time. > I went home to Massachusetts and discovered why my mother went > veiled for most of her life, MIKE: You looked in a mirror? > to learn what it meant to be one of the Waites of Innsmouth, > destroyed by the Federals in 1928 to wipe out the accursed plague > which had come upon the inhabitants, including the Waites who were > my grandparents and my parents. CROW: Twist Ending alert! Twist Ending alert! > For their blood flows in my veins, the blood of the Deep Ones, > the spawn of that black mating in the South Pacific. And I know > that I have earned their special hatred MIKE: And ours, too. > as a traitor to that blood, for even now, I feel the longing to > descend into the depths ALL: Go! Go! > to make my way to the glory of Y'ha-nthlei CROW: Gesundheit. > where it lies in the Atlantic off Devil's Reef beyond > Innsmouth, to the splendor of R'lyeh in the waters near Ponape, > and even now I know the fear of going to them with the taste of > treachery in my mouth. TOM: This is a job for Listerine. > At night I hear them calling, "Horvath Waite! Horvath Waite!" MIKE: But are they calling with 1-800-COLLECT and saving me a buck or two? > And I wonder how long it will be before they seek me out and > find me. CROW: Either them or an angry mob of "Weird Tales" subscribers. > For weeks after, I asked myself which one of us would be the > first to be discovered. And today the papers brought me an answer. MIKE: I'd been "outed" by the Boston Globe. > "Gloucester, Mass.--The Rev. Abel Keane, a newly ordained > clergyman, was drowned today while swimming near Gloucester. He > had been accounted an excellent swimmer, but went down within > sight of many other bathers. TOM: Who all cheered. > "His body has not yet been recovered." CROW: Because it's all wet and yucky. > Now I ask myself who will be next? > And how long will it be in the endless progression MIKE: Of this story? > of days before those who serve Him will summon me to atonement in > those black depths where Great Cthulhu lies dreaming, waiting upon > his time to rise again and take possession of all the lands and > seas TOM: The property taxes ALONE will kill him. > and all that lives within them, once more as before, once more and > forever? CROW: Because, naturally, Cthulhu would hold a grudge against a guy who had serious doubts about the expedition in the first place, and basically did nothing but watch other people fail to destroy him. MIKE: Well, yeah! I HATE that! =============================== (The text fades, mercifully. Mike, Tom Servo, and Crow return to the SOL.) CROW: That was one of the most hideous experiences of my entire life. Excuse me while I relieve my frustrations by striking a target which I shall choose, I promise, entirely at random. (Walks directly over to Tom and hits him.) TOM: Hey! CROW: Don't blame me, blame my random number generator! (Tom and Crow start fighting. Mike separates them.) MIKE: Listen guys, it's bad enough we have to suffer through stories like "The Black Island", okay? Let's remember that we're all in this together and... (The intercom buzzes) MIKE: ...and that it's all Pearl's fault. (Switches on the intercom.) (Scene switches to Castle Forrester. Somehow, there are only a couple of hundred bananas left, and there are dozens of people racing around to pick them up. With all the people, the place seems MORE crowded than before. Bobo is back to his normal weight, and he's in the background with Brain Guy, trying to keep some semblance of order as people are unpeeling and eating bananas.) PEARL: Good day, Mikey, Rustbuckets. I'm actually smiling. Do you know why? (Mike opens mouth and is about to speak.) PEARL: Because I'm a genius, that's why. Oh--I know, my great intellect has been established many times already, but sometimes...(she sighs, preening to the camera)...sometimes I just outdo myself. (She points down, and the camera pans down to show that Pearl is sitting on a HUGE pile of cash. Camera pans back up.) BRAIN GUY: (To random person in background) That's five bananas you've eaten, so it's five dollars! RANDOM PERSON: I gave you five. BRAIN GUY: You gave me FOUR, see? (Pulls out dollar bills.) One, two, three, four...five. (Pouts.) BOBO: (To the crowd) And the lucky banana STILL hasn't been found! Hurry, there are only about two hundred left! MIKE: The LUCKY banana? PEARL: (Barely able to contain her smugness.) Yes, that's right. We've opened the castle to the surrounding countryside and convinced these imbeciles that one of the zillion bananas Bobo ordered actually had some kind of winning ticket inside it. A dollar a banana gets you a chance to win the whole pool of money! Of course... (looks around carefully and whispers) ...there IS no lucky banana, so guess who keeps all the money? MIKE: You're a twisted, evil, vicious, cold-hearted person, Pearl. PEARL: (Beaming, almost in tears) Thank you! CROW: And why didn't we think of it first? TOM: Yeah, there's gotta be SOMETHING on this tub we can raffle off. MIKE: Now, wait a minute, guys! You can't get rich off the naive hopes of millions of innocent people! CROW: Why not, Mike? MIKE: Because we're floating out in space. There's no one around to fall for it. TOM: Curse your logic! (Crew is silent for a while.) CROW: Uh, Mike... MIKE: Yes, Crow? CROW: One of the enormous piles of dirty laundry in my bedroom is actually a LUCKY pile of dirty laundry! When cleaned, it'll reveal a secret formula for getting rich! MIKE: (Puts hands on hips in disgust. Then he thinks about it.) How rich? (There is a scream from the intercom. The SOL crew looks over and scene switches to Castle Forrester.) RANDOM WOMAN: (Shrieking) I found it! I won! I won! PEARL: (Her face has gone dead white, whiter than Brain Guy's.) RANDOM WOMAN: I'm rich! I'm rich! (She's jumping up and down and waving the winning ticket. All the other random people are putting down their bananas and leaving, disappointed.) PEARL: (Her voice barely a whisper.) How? BOBO: (Comes up behind Pearl, starts shoveling money at the lucky winner.) PEARL: Brain Guy? BRAIN GUY: Yes? PEARL: What are the odds of a lucky winning ticket naturally occurring in a banana? BRAIN GUY: Approximately sixty-eight quadrillion, three hundred and fifty-one trillion... BOBO: Oh, I can explain THAT! (Chuckles to himself and comes over.) PEARL: (Getting a very nasty look on her face.) Oh? BOBO: Of course! The way I see it, there HAD to be a lucky winner in the pile SOMEWHERE, or the contest wouldn't have been FAIR! PEARL: (Steam is starting to come out of her ears.) BRAIN GUY: I think I'm going to go somewhere far away for a while. (Exits stage right, fast.) BOBO: I mean, we'd have ended up taking all these peoples' money, and they wouldn't have even had a CHANCE to win! So I--very cleverly, I might add--picked a banana at random and... PEARL: (Turns from camera, starts walking towards Bobo.) BOBO: ...and it wasn't easy sealing the banana back up, either...uh, Pearl? PEARL: (Picks up very large baseball bat.) Go on...keep talking. BOBO: Uh, Pearl...you should be happy for the woman, I mean, she won a lot of money! Uh...oh oh...(He runs off). (Pearl, screaming, chases him off-camera as the lucky winner exits stage left with a wheelbarrow full of money. End credits roll, with traditional music.) Stinger: "It is toward Ponape from there, but not close to Ponape."