What do you mean, you voted AGAINST Ron Paul...?
Just a word from our political correspondent...
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Sunday, March 29, 2009
What do you mean...?
What do you mean, you voted AGAINST Ron Paul...?
Just a word from our political correspondent...
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Friday, March 27, 2009
Top Tens: Harry Potter vs Lord of the Rings
Top Ten reasons why The Lord of the Rings is better than Harry Potter
Top Ten reasons why Harry Potter is better than The Lord of the Rings
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- Arwen and Galadriel *so* much hotter than Professor McGonagall.
- Getting rescued by a giant eagle...or getting rescued by a flying Ford Anglia...?
- Army of the Dead...or Moaning Myrtle...?
- Legolas can take down an Oliphaunt single-handedly.
- Which is scarier, getting trampled by Saruman's Uruk-Hai army, or losing House Points to Snape...?
- Treebeard could take the Whomping Willow with one...um...branch...tied behind his back.
- Where would you rather live? Under the stairs at the Dursleys' house, or under the hill at Bag End?
- Legolas is still the prettiest.
- It took a flaming Balrog to take down Gandalf, and he didn't stay dead.
- Gandalf, miles underground in a magnificent dwarven kingdom, battling millions of enemies and one colossal flame demon, shattering the massive stone bridge with his staff while shouting "You Shall Not Pass!"...or Ron, in the secret and forbidden territory of the Girl's Bathroom, facing down a troll and staring at the troll snot covering his wand.
Top Ten reasons why Harry Potter is better than The Lord of the Rings
- Frodo only had one giant spider to escape from, not an enormous horde of them, and he couldn't even do it.
- Three wizards in training can beat a troll in less time than it takes all nine of the Fellowship to beat one.
- Sure, Eowyn killed the leader of the RingWraiths. But can she recite the text of every book in the Rohan library...?
- Voldemort actually has the guts to come out and fight, while Sauron just hides in his tower.
- Harry can take down a dragon AND a basilisk single-handedly.
- Dobbie attracts a...very interesting...following to the theater.
- Invisibility cloak from father is a much better gift than a dead rabbit from Gollum, and doesn't have "Property of Sauron" in burning letters inside.
- Everyone has an aunt or uncle they'd like to see puff up and blow away, but not many people actually get to make it happen.
- Ron makes a much better travelling companion than Gollum, but is he as good a cook as Sam?
- Buckbeak could take down a Ringwraith without losing a feather.
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Give us a Kiss!
...I don't know about you, but I'm having horrific flashbacks of great-aunt Petunia at last year's family reunion...
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Thursday, March 26, 2009
At home with NickelAtATime
That's right, we have six kids. Pick your jaws up off the floor and quit looking at me with pity in your eyes.
Yes, every day is a circus.
Starting from the top, we have a twelve year old daughter, eleven year old daughter, five year old son, four year old daughter, four year old son, and a one year old daughter. And a partridge in a pear tree.
The twelve year old is Ms. Einstein. She's a senior carrying a 12.9 GPA in high school and is working on picking out her college. She was reading medical textbooks when she was three and disagrees with Alex Trebek twice a week. In her spare time, she's rebuilt the toaster to work in a tenth the time and hacked the cable box so that we get Russian traffic reports and game shows (and she only had to sacrifice all the foreign language, golf, Nascar, and remedial basket-weaving channels to do it, no big loss). Her next projects? Rewiring the house to run on macromolecular solar cold fusion and curing her mother's asthma.
The eleven year old? Ms. Music. She plays the trumpet, baritone, tuba, harmonica, and mouth-harp, and will be touring with Mangione next spring. She keeps trying to teach me to play the trumpet, even though the noise that usually comes out inspires local farm animals to run over and claw at the walls of the house. Did you know you can get three different notes out of a trumpet without even pushing any of the buttons? Well...she can. I can actually get twelve, but calling those noises "notes" would be an insult to any decent self-respecting musical note anywhere.
The five year old thinks he's Spiderman. He leaps from the top bunk, out the second-story window, onto the top of the family bus and bounces into the farmer's field next door, with absolutely no fear. His magical mystical spider powers are apparently triggered by chocolate, hot dogs, and fluffernutter sandwiches, which fuel his exploits for a full twelve hours. We had to draw the line, though, when we found the four year old daughter wrapped up in a cocoon and dangling from the ceiling fan. We're not quite sure what she did to end up there, but interpreting from munchkinnish leads us to believe that it somehow started with the sentence "Spiderman isn't real!"
Four-year-old daughter is going to be a chef. How do I know this? Because she doesn't like anything we put on the table and will loudly proclaim "Daddy messed up dinner. AGAIN. Me need to teach you how to cook." The fact that it's true doesn't necessarily give her the right to say so, does it? This is also the art major of the bunch, who will happily decorate the house in purple and orange crayon. Taking the crayons away and scrubbing the wall leads to panoramic art in watercolor. Repainting the wall in white and taking away the paint set results in artwork in chalk...wiping the wall down and crushing the chalk in punishment promptly leads to masterpieces painted entirely in chalk dust. We're debating just giving her oils, interior latex, and a roller, and letting her paint and repaint whatever she wants.
Four year old son, on the other hand, says he's changing his name to Batman. I wouldn't mind so much except I must be playing the parts of the Joker, Riddler, Penguin, and BullseyeTargetMan, based on the number of times he's accidentally head-butted me in the crotch. He's a good kid, though. He says he wants to grow up, so he can drink coffee, stay up late, drive cars, fly planes, and play poker. None of that scares me except maybe the poker part; I already can't beat him at Memory, Monopoly Junior, Uno, and Blackjack, so I've been hesitant to teach him Texas Hold-em. I only bring home so much paycheck, you know?
And the one-year old only has two kinds of toys...those that can be dropped so Daddy will pick them up...and those that can be used to inflict pain and punishment on Daddy. A WhackDaddy is any item not nailed down that can be dropped, swung, hurled, or otherwise applied to the most sensitive areas on a Daddy's body, and she's got quite a collection of them. And now that she's mastered the art of walking without falling on her face, Daddy has no place to hide anymore. Spidermankid's bunkbed used to be the ideal spot, but she's also recently mastered the art of climbing ladders... and as she's working her way up the ladder, why does she mumble something that sounds distinctly like Elmer Fudd's "Gonna kill da wabbit...?" Strangely enough, she gets along beautifully with the dog, though I've never understood why his eyes get wide and his tail goes down every time she comes within three feet.
My sweetie...bless her heart...is locked into a madhouse with these six, all day, every day, trying to get some semblance of home-schooled learning into them. I have no doubt this is difficult, since I'm sure that one of the children tries to emulate whatever she reads to them. Which kind of explains why we no longer have any fish ("Put me down," said the fish, "this is no fun at all! Put me down," said the fish, "I do not wish to fall!" --The Cat in the Hat).
"I would really like some quiet 'US' time," she told me a few days ago, right after I got home from work. I gently removed the cream pie from her eyes, combed the peanut butter and bubble gum out of her hair, untied her hands, kicked the burning sticks away from her feet, and reminded her that we have SIX kids. "Us" time requires
But no, I'm not complaining or anything. Really. Please, ignore the Ebay ad titled "Great kids, Cheap!"...because they made me take it down.
Editor's Note: Any similarity between this essay and real life is strictly coincidental, unintentional, and otherwise especially unintended, though it must be added that all of the nickels received by NickelAtATime are currently covering college costs for a twelve year old.
If you laughed at this joke, don't forget to hit PayPal and send your nickels in to nickelatatime@gmail.com!
Yes, every day is a circus.
Starting from the top, we have a twelve year old daughter, eleven year old daughter, five year old son, four year old daughter, four year old son, and a one year old daughter. And a partridge in a pear tree.
The twelve year old is Ms. Einstein. She's a senior carrying a 12.9 GPA in high school and is working on picking out her college. She was reading medical textbooks when she was three and disagrees with Alex Trebek twice a week. In her spare time, she's rebuilt the toaster to work in a tenth the time and hacked the cable box so that we get Russian traffic reports and game shows (and she only had to sacrifice all the foreign language, golf, Nascar, and remedial basket-weaving channels to do it, no big loss). Her next projects? Rewiring the house to run on macromolecular solar cold fusion and curing her mother's asthma.
The eleven year old? Ms. Music. She plays the trumpet, baritone, tuba, harmonica, and mouth-harp, and will be touring with Mangione next spring. She keeps trying to teach me to play the trumpet, even though the noise that usually comes out inspires local farm animals to run over and claw at the walls of the house. Did you know you can get three different notes out of a trumpet without even pushing any of the buttons? Well...she can. I can actually get twelve, but calling those noises "notes" would be an insult to any decent self-respecting musical note anywhere.
The five year old thinks he's Spiderman. He leaps from the top bunk, out the second-story window, onto the top of the family bus and bounces into the farmer's field next door, with absolutely no fear. His magical mystical spider powers are apparently triggered by chocolate, hot dogs, and fluffernutter sandwiches, which fuel his exploits for a full twelve hours. We had to draw the line, though, when we found the four year old daughter wrapped up in a cocoon and dangling from the ceiling fan. We're not quite sure what she did to end up there, but interpreting from munchkinnish leads us to believe that it somehow started with the sentence "Spiderman isn't real!"
Four-year-old daughter is going to be a chef. How do I know this? Because she doesn't like anything we put on the table and will loudly proclaim "Daddy messed up dinner. AGAIN. Me need to teach you how to cook." The fact that it's true doesn't necessarily give her the right to say so, does it? This is also the art major of the bunch, who will happily decorate the house in purple and orange crayon. Taking the crayons away and scrubbing the wall leads to panoramic art in watercolor. Repainting the wall in white and taking away the paint set results in artwork in chalk...wiping the wall down and crushing the chalk in punishment promptly leads to masterpieces painted entirely in chalk dust. We're debating just giving her oils, interior latex, and a roller, and letting her paint and repaint whatever she wants.
Four year old son, on the other hand, says he's changing his name to Batman. I wouldn't mind so much except I must be playing the parts of the Joker, Riddler, Penguin, and BullseyeTargetMan, based on the number of times he's accidentally head-butted me in the crotch. He's a good kid, though. He says he wants to grow up, so he can drink coffee, stay up late, drive cars, fly planes, and play poker. None of that scares me except maybe the poker part; I already can't beat him at Memory, Monopoly Junior, Uno, and Blackjack, so I've been hesitant to teach him Texas Hold-em. I only bring home so much paycheck, you know?
And the one-year old only has two kinds of toys...those that can be dropped so Daddy will pick them up...and those that can be used to inflict pain and punishment on Daddy. A WhackDaddy is any item not nailed down that can be dropped, swung, hurled, or otherwise applied to the most sensitive areas on a Daddy's body, and she's got quite a collection of them. And now that she's mastered the art of walking without falling on her face, Daddy has no place to hide anymore. Spidermankid's bunkbed used to be the ideal spot, but she's also recently mastered the art of climbing ladders... and as she's working her way up the ladder, why does she mumble something that sounds distinctly like Elmer Fudd's "Gonna kill da wabbit...?" Strangely enough, she gets along beautifully with the dog, though I've never understood why his eyes get wide and his tail goes down every time she comes within three feet.
My sweetie...bless her heart...is locked into a madhouse with these six, all day, every day, trying to get some semblance of home-schooled learning into them. I have no doubt this is difficult, since I'm sure that one of the children tries to emulate whatever she reads to them. Which kind of explains why we no longer have any fish ("Put me down," said the fish, "this is no fun at all! Put me down," said the fish, "I do not wish to fall!" --The Cat in the Hat).
"I would really like some quiet 'US' time," she told me a few days ago, right after I got home from work. I gently removed the cream pie from her eyes, combed the peanut butter and bubble gum out of her hair, untied her hands, kicked the burning sticks away from her feet, and reminded her that we have SIX kids. "Us" time requires
- three and a half months advance notice
- three babysitters
- two more babysitters on call, for whichever of the first set run screaming from the house
- Eighty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents worth of pizza, popcorn, lemonade, Irish whiskey and ultra-industrial strength Sta-Wake tablets
- two fully charged and prepaid cel phones (one spare, to replace the one that will either get flushed down the toilet, dropped in the blender, or fed to the dog)
- written consent forms (in triplicate) from each of the munchkins that has mastered the art of signing their own name (you'd be amazed at how high this percentage is...and should I be worried that a five year old with the same name I have knows how to sign contracts...?).
But no, I'm not complaining or anything. Really. Please, ignore the Ebay ad titled "Great kids, Cheap!"...because they made me take it down.
Editor's Note: Any similarity between this essay and real life is strictly coincidental, unintentional, and otherwise especially unintended, though it must be added that all of the nickels received by NickelAtATime are currently covering college costs for a twelve year old.
If you laughed at this joke, don't forget to hit PayPal and send your nickels in to nickelatatime@gmail.com!
KFC
Little Mikey wasn't like other swans. While his siblings were perfectly happy to chow down on grass all day, Mikey was seriously craving some KFC.
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Nickelatatime@gmail.com
Monday, March 3, 2008
The Naked Never
STAR TREK: THE NEXT PARODY
"The Naked Never"
or
"Wesley and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamboat"
Captain's Log, Stardate Unknown
The Enterprise is trapped in a rift in space.
Since the return of Hugh to the Borg, their collective has been shattered. Splinter collectives, usually no larger than a single ship, have been raiding Federation border worlds. One of them dropped out of warp near the Enterprise while we were visiting the all-female colony of Theta Iotia Three.
The Enterprise pursued the Borg at warp nine. But deep in interstellar space, the Borg ship disappeared through a strange hole in the space-time continuum.
The Enterprise was unable to stop before it, too, fell into the same bottomless pit.
Captain Picard turned off the log recorder and scowled at the viewscreen. Weird bands of color and energy discharges danced around the Borg ship, just a few short kilometers ahead. "Well, Mr. Crusher, it appears your field trip from Star Fleet Academy is bout to be more exciting than you thought."
The young Ensign spun the chair around to face the Captain. "Sir, we've tried everything we can think of to get back to normal space. But nothing--warp, impulse, thrusters, or tractor beams--seem to be able to budge us from this spot."
"Keep on it, Wesley."
"Aye, sir." Wesley spun the chair back to face the viewscreen. The bridge was silent for a few moments. Then: "Sir, medical crewmen report a disturbance in the Arboretum."
"Is it the Borg, Mr. Worf? A boarding party?"
"No, sir. Apparently, several children have been affected by a mysterious illness." Worf frowned. "Sir, there must be something wrong with the comm channel. They reported that...that the children were transforming into something else. But it makes no sense."
"Number One, you have the conn. I'll go examine this mystery illness myself."
"Aye, sir."
Doctor Crusher met him outside the Arboretum. "Whatever this is, it doesn't seem to be contagious. Three of the children are still perfectly normal. Several of the crewmen have been near the children, with no ill effects. But the results are...well...shocking. See for yourself." The door slid open, and Picard stepped inside.
Near the small pond a small animal was trying to work its way to its feet. It was a brightly colored brown, with dark spots on its back and wide soulful blue eyes. It stood, shakily, and smiled; then it shouted "Flower!" A smaller animal, grey, with long ears and large feet, scampered over to where Picard and Beverly were standing. It smiled up at them. Then it beat one foot against the deckplate a dozen times in quick succession.
"The tricorders don't know what to make of them, Captain. One second they read as normal, preschool age children. The next, the readings make no sense at all. I even tried focusing the tricorder on one for an extended period at close range." She held up a melted, blackened box, shaped roughly like a tricorder.
The grey animal was rubbing up against Picard's trousers when Worf walked up. "Sir?"
The grey animal scurried away from Worf in a panic, running between the unsteady legs of the brown animal. The brown one followed the grey one with his eyes, and then looked back at Picard. When it saw Worf, it took three steps and leaped into the bushes. Panic drove it though the leap perfectly, despite its shaky legs, but apparently couldn't support it for the landing. Leaves and twigs flew through the air, and crashes sounded from behind the leaves.
Picard turned from the carnage to see Worf's troubled face. "Sir, we are receiving reports of other such...transformations...all over the ship. Some of them have turned violent, though no serious injuries have been reported yet. I have dispatched security personnel throughout the ship, but there is no guarantee of personal safety at this time. The incidents are too widespread."
Picard understood the unspoken comment: as Security Chief, Worf saw Picard's safety as his personal responsibility.
"Understood, Mr. Worf. I'm returning to the Bridge. Keep order as best you can."
"Yes, sir."
The Bridge, at least, was still calm. Riker vacated the Captain's chair as Picard entered. "Captain," he said, "I believe Data has located the cause of our problems." He stepped over to the Science station, and began calling up images on the screen.
In Ten-Forward, a grey cat was chasing a brown mouse, scattering dishes and overturning tables. In Sick Bay, a large orange headless creature wearing tennis shoes was chasing nurses around the room. In Engineering, a brown creature that vaguely resembled a coyote was tinkering with parts removed from the matter/antimatter control panel. Intermixed with the modern technology were pieces from containers marked "ACME."
"Sir, I have reason to believe we have become trapped in a Disney Vortex. It is very similar to a Tykon's Rift, and is named after the physicist who first theorized it's existence." A smiling face appeared on the screen. "The physicist was frozen in the late twentieth century, and defrosted twenty-seven years ago."
The image changed again, showing the Enterprise and the Borg ship in a roughly triangular area of space. One band around the Enterprise glowed. "A Disney Vortex is an area where reality and imagination intertwine. Each of the colored bands represents a particular era of imagination or literature. The band currently surrounding the Enterprise is apparently roughly associated with
twentieth-century Earth, and the effects we see will approximate the popular fiction of that period."
The band surrounding the Borg ship illuminated. "We are very lucky to have landed in human terms. The Borg ship is trapped in an area equivalent to pre-spaceflight Klingon entertainment." The view changed, to show a live view of the Borg cube. It was bouncing back and forth, with puffs of smoke in various locations. As Picard watched, a piece of the cube broke away and
drifted deeper into the Vortex.
"According to the data we have on the Vortex, several physical laws are placed on hold. For example, physical harm is impossible, due to the nature of the Vortex. Unfortunately for us, physical motion of the ship is also impossible.
"Sir, this is the first time anyone has ever been trapped in a Disney Vortex. The opportunities for scientific exploration are endless. It will, however, get harder and harder to maintain order."
"Understood. Well, Mr. Data, Mr. Crusher, please work together with Mr. Laforge, and figure out a way for both the Enterprise and the Borg ship to leave the Vortex." On the screen, a man with very large forearms and a pipe in his mouth was juggling two-hundred pound barbells in the exercise chamber while singing "I yam what I yam!!"
"To all hands: The area of space we are in has many bizarre effects, and will undoubtedly make it difficult for each of us to do our jobs. In any case, I know that you are Starfleet's finest crew, and will do your best under any circumstances. Picard out." Picard sat back down in the command chair.
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
We have been trapped in the Disney Vortex for thirty-six hours. The patience of the crew is beginning to wear thin. So far, the Bridge has been the least effected by the disturbances...but I fear that is merely because there are so few people on the bridge, and our turn is coming soon.
'Too soon,' Picard thought. Worf was now sporting a long, drooping red moustache, and Wesley appeared to have sprouted large, round black ears from the top of his head.
Commander Riker walked onto the Bridge, but Picard had to look twice to recognize him. He was wearing an old-fashioned uniform of some kind, covered in splotches of green, black, and brown. There was an antique firearm over his shoulder, and he was staring at his hand. "I can't straighten my fingers out, sir," was all he said as he took his place.
Data stood, examining Riker closely. "Commander, it would appear you have been modeled after a toy. Accessing further...Last name Joe, first name George, middle initial I. A military entertainment of GLEEP! BONG!! between ages of ZIINNNGGG!! Blip! GONG!! with Kung-Fu Grip." Data returned to his seat, seeming quite pleased with himself.
The intercom chimed. It sounded like a foghorn. "Captain, this is Sickbay. I think you'd better come down here."
"On my way, Doctor." Picard stood, looking at Riker. "Will, I want a full meeting of department heads in twenty minutes."
Riker saluted. Then he shouted "Yo! Joe!"
As Picard was leaving the bridge, a scaly green creature about waist-high casually strolled in. It had small wings, and smoke wafted out of its nostrils. It slouched over to Worf, and gazed up at him with sad, soulful eyes. Worf glared at it, and it cringed.
Then it sneezed, and the tactical station caught fire. "Yow! My biscuits are burnin'!" Worf shouted, beating the flames out with his hands. He glared at Riker through the smoke, and muttered through his singed red moustache, "Dragons is SO Stupid!!"
Picard entered the Turbolift, only to find a creature there. It was less than two feet tall, mostly white, with long black ears. "What floor, sir?" it asked, in a depressive monotone.
Picard tried to ignore it. "Sickbay," he said. Then he found himself plastered against the ceiling. The Turbolift was oving down at something approaching Warp Six. It came to an abrupt halt, and Picard came to a second halt--on the floor of the Turbolift.
"Your floor, sir." Picard stepped--or rather, fell--out of the turbolift, dropping two full feet to the deck. The doors snapped shut, and the lift shot away. He let out a sigh, and straightened out his uniform with a brisk tug. Sickbay was just a few meters down the corridor.
Halfway to Sickbay, a green glowing figure passed him. Less than ten feet behind it, a small group of adolescents and a large brown dog were cautiously following the footprints the glowing creature had left behind. "Roobie Rooo!" the dog said.
Just outside the door to Sickbay, Picard passed Ensign Barclay. He was carrying a laser rifle, and he seemed...shorter...somehow. He smiled at Picard. "SSSHHhhhh...be wery, wery quiet. Hahahaha...." Barclay stalked around the corner.
Picard shook his head, and walked through the doors to Sickbay.
When he reached Beverly's desk, he was munching on a carrot and had grown two long, floppy ears. "Nyahh...what's up, doc?"
Then he frowned at the carrot. It wilted. Then it disappeared. The ears followed. Then he looked at Beverly. She was dressed in the red costume of a medieval princess. There was a small bird perched on her shoulder, and squirrels kept jumping in and out of her lap. She was staring at a holo of Picard, humming under her breath; Picard caught the word "Prince" once or twice.
"Oh! Captain!" She hurriedly hid the holo and picked up her tricorder. "Captain, we have to get out of here soon. According to these readings, after fifty or so hours stuck here, some of the changes will start becoming permanent."
Commander Data strode in to Sickbay. "Gleep! Zinnggg!!! DingDingDINGDING!!!"
The Sickbay doors opened again, and Barclay charged in. He was much shorter now. "Now I've got you, you wascawwy wobot!" he shouted, dropping the weapon and leaping for Data.
A cloud of dust and debris filled Beverly's office. When it cleared, Data was standing, with Barclay's ankle in one hand. Barclay was swinging his fists, but he was now too short to hit anything but air.
"Mr. Data, are we ready to begin the briefing?"
"Whoop! WHOOOP!!"
Picard sighed. "Very well. Let go of Mr. Broccoli, and we can go to the briefing. Beverly?" He turned, but Beverly was lost in her holo again. "I suppose Medical can sit this one out."
Data let go of Barclay, and the lieutenant crashed through the deck, causing quite a fuss in Ten-Forward. Picard and Data strolled out, and Beverly laughed at the little white powder-puff tail attached to the back of Picard's uniform.
This was the strangest briefing Picard had ever attended. Lieutenant Laforge seemed to have put on over four hundred pounds overnight. Commander Data was unintelligible. Worf held an Ancient West six-shooter in each hand, trying to spin them on his index fingers; every now and then, one would go off, and the projectile would ricochet around the room until it broke something. Commander Riker had painted his face in green and black, and was honing an eighteen-inch long penknife on a grey stone while staring suspiciously at the rest of the senior staff. Counselor Troi was wearing a very revealing evening gown and loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that "She wasn't bad, just drawn that..."
"Hey, hey, HEYEY!!" Laforge shouted. "Le's get this show on the road."
"Zip! ZIP!" Data commented. Picard put his head in his hand.
"Captain?" Laforge said. Picard looked up--at least one of his bridge crew could still talk to him. "Mr. Data says he has a plan."
"You can understand him?"
"He's easier to understand than Old Weird Harold, back in Philly." Laforge sat back, and put his feet up on the table. It groaned under the weight.
Data made a sound like a siren. "WoooWooooWooo. Ding! Ding! Swish, Zoom!!!"
"He says we need to wait till the last minute," Laforge translated. "Say, about forty-nine and a half hours."
Picard asked for details, and the android made a noise that sounded like a train wreck. He then launched into a series of sounds that not even Laforge could comprehend. The Captain closed his eyes, and simply said, "Make it so."
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
We are at forty-eight hours and counting. Mr. Laforge and Mr. Data have begun to carry out their plan for our escape. I fear we may be cutting this extremely close, perhaps even risking permanent damage, but we have little choice.
The helmsman now bore no resemblance to the doctor's son. His ears wiggled. He suddenly stood, and walked to the viewscreen. Picard and the rest of the bridge crew could only watch in astonishment as he pulled a writing instrument from some pocket of the voluminous robe he was wearing and drew a doorway on the surface of the viewscreen.
He opened the doorway, stepped through the viewscreen, and closed the door behind him. He quickly dashed forward across the disk of the Enterprise main hull, past a startled Data, who was already outside the ship.
"Magnification!" Picard ordered. The view followed Wesley as he hopped off of the front of the ship and onto a large rock outcropping. He placed a large, floppy-brimmed pointed hat onto his head and began waving his arms. Stars began dancing around the Enterprise. Comets and fireballs circled around Wesley, and splashes of water soaked his feet. Then something blocked the view.
"Down in Front!!" Riker shouted, as Data strolled in front of the viewscreen. He apologized, stepping through the makeshift airlock Wesley had created, with his head bouncing around on the end of a spring. The apology sounded like a dying calliope.
The show ended, and Wesley strode back to the Bridge. When he walked back in, he was carrying both the floppy hat and a broom, which he sheepishly offered to Picard.
Picard took the hat, and then the broom. When Wesley turned around to go back to his station, Picard let him have it with the broom; Wesley landed in the chair, and it spun six times.
The intercom chimed. It said, "SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!!!" Laforge strode in, and things shook and fell off of the consoles with each step. Data made a noise like a cannon going off.
"Hey, hey HEYEY!! The man says it's time to begin!"
"Very well. Mr. Crusher, please attach a tractor beam to the Borg ship. I would prefer not to leave them behind."
Wesley said, "Haha." and pulled a large lever.
Deep inside the ship, parts began to move. At the very front of the Secondary Hull, the sensor array snapped downward, leaving a darkened opening.
A mechanism appeared, looking rather like a large cannon, with the words "ACME Super-Duper Sucker Beam" written on the side. The mechanism moved slowly, targeting the Borg ship, and fired.
Something flew away from the Enterprise, and the cannon stuck out a banner that read "BANG! (because you can't hear anything in space, stupid!)" The projectile was wider at the front than at the back. It was cylindrical, and very narrow, except where it flared out suddenly at the front. Most of it was brown, except from the flare forward, which was red. It trailed a string back to the Enterprise, which pulled taut as the projectile hit the Borg ship with a squish.
The Borg cube tried to escape. The top third of the ship rotated ninety degrees. Then the third on the right side. But the projectile had stuck dead center, so it couldn't escape.
"Mr. Data, Mr. Laforge, you may continue."
The two had gotten the assistance of the coyote in Engineering for this. The rear third of the secondary hull popped open, and an enormous hand popped out, at the end of a long, hinged arm. The hand reached down into the ship, and came up with a container of some sort, and reached out over the nose of the ship.
As it did, Picard could finally see what Data had done while he was outside. There was an eyeball painted in the zero of "1701" and another in the "D". The "N" in "Enterprise" had been painted over with a nose.
The giant hand held the container up for inspection. It said "Pepper." A liberal amount was sprinkled on the front of the ship.
"All Hands, Brace for Impact!" Picard shouted. He was answered by a chorus of chirps, sqwawks, beeps and giggles.
The bridge bucked. Again, further this time. The front hull of the ship buckled, and the viewscreen cracked.
They all heard a sneeze loud enough to shatter stars, and the great starship was propelled backwards--towards the entrance to the Disney Vortex--at warp seven. The Borg ship was pulled along with.
In moments, everything was back to normal.
"Well. Number One, Mister Worf, please coordinate damage repair crews. And hail the Borg ship--let's see how well they survived.
"Sir, no response to our hails. The channel is open, but they appear to be ignoring us."
"Perhaps they need to hear a language they can understand." Picard straightened out his uniform, and strode to the viewscreen. "Borg Ship, this is Locutus of the Enterprise. Prepare to be assimilated into the Federation."
The screen changed, and the Borg that appeared filled the viewscreen. With a shiver of recognition, Picard recognized the laser-sight apparatus he had once worn, but this Borg looked...different, somehow. He was distinctly yellow, instead of the more common white, and he literally sneered at Picard.
Then he spoke. "Assimilate my shorts, dude!"
The Borg ship moved off at high warp.
Picard looked at Wesley. "Mr. Crusher, please set course for the nearest Starbase where we can initiate repairs." He straightened his uniform one more time, and pointed his index finger at the viewscreen. He said "Engage."
Or, at least, he tried to. He meant to. But what came out sounded distinctly like "Bedee bedee bedee That's All, Folks!"
"The Naked Never"
or
"Wesley and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamboat"
Captain's Log, Stardate Unknown
The Enterprise is trapped in a rift in space.
Since the return of Hugh to the Borg, their collective has been shattered. Splinter collectives, usually no larger than a single ship, have been raiding Federation border worlds. One of them dropped out of warp near the Enterprise while we were visiting the all-female colony of Theta Iotia Three.
The Enterprise pursued the Borg at warp nine. But deep in interstellar space, the Borg ship disappeared through a strange hole in the space-time continuum.
The Enterprise was unable to stop before it, too, fell into the same bottomless pit.
Captain Picard turned off the log recorder and scowled at the viewscreen. Weird bands of color and energy discharges danced around the Borg ship, just a few short kilometers ahead. "Well, Mr. Crusher, it appears your field trip from Star Fleet Academy is bout to be more exciting than you thought."
The young Ensign spun the chair around to face the Captain. "Sir, we've tried everything we can think of to get back to normal space. But nothing--warp, impulse, thrusters, or tractor beams--seem to be able to budge us from this spot."
"Keep on it, Wesley."
"Aye, sir." Wesley spun the chair back to face the viewscreen. The bridge was silent for a few moments. Then: "Sir, medical crewmen report a disturbance in the Arboretum."
"Is it the Borg, Mr. Worf? A boarding party?"
"No, sir. Apparently, several children have been affected by a mysterious illness." Worf frowned. "Sir, there must be something wrong with the comm channel. They reported that...that the children were transforming into something else. But it makes no sense."
"Number One, you have the conn. I'll go examine this mystery illness myself."
"Aye, sir."
Doctor Crusher met him outside the Arboretum. "Whatever this is, it doesn't seem to be contagious. Three of the children are still perfectly normal. Several of the crewmen have been near the children, with no ill effects. But the results are...well...shocking. See for yourself." The door slid open, and Picard stepped inside.
Near the small pond a small animal was trying to work its way to its feet. It was a brightly colored brown, with dark spots on its back and wide soulful blue eyes. It stood, shakily, and smiled; then it shouted "Flower!" A smaller animal, grey, with long ears and large feet, scampered over to where Picard and Beverly were standing. It smiled up at them. Then it beat one foot against the deckplate a dozen times in quick succession.
"The tricorders don't know what to make of them, Captain. One second they read as normal, preschool age children. The next, the readings make no sense at all. I even tried focusing the tricorder on one for an extended period at close range." She held up a melted, blackened box, shaped roughly like a tricorder.
The grey animal was rubbing up against Picard's trousers when Worf walked up. "Sir?"
The grey animal scurried away from Worf in a panic, running between the unsteady legs of the brown animal. The brown one followed the grey one with his eyes, and then looked back at Picard. When it saw Worf, it took three steps and leaped into the bushes. Panic drove it though the leap perfectly, despite its shaky legs, but apparently couldn't support it for the landing. Leaves and twigs flew through the air, and crashes sounded from behind the leaves.
Picard turned from the carnage to see Worf's troubled face. "Sir, we are receiving reports of other such...transformations...all over the ship. Some of them have turned violent, though no serious injuries have been reported yet. I have dispatched security personnel throughout the ship, but there is no guarantee of personal safety at this time. The incidents are too widespread."
Picard understood the unspoken comment: as Security Chief, Worf saw Picard's safety as his personal responsibility.
"Understood, Mr. Worf. I'm returning to the Bridge. Keep order as best you can."
"Yes, sir."
The Bridge, at least, was still calm. Riker vacated the Captain's chair as Picard entered. "Captain," he said, "I believe Data has located the cause of our problems." He stepped over to the Science station, and began calling up images on the screen.
In Ten-Forward, a grey cat was chasing a brown mouse, scattering dishes and overturning tables. In Sick Bay, a large orange headless creature wearing tennis shoes was chasing nurses around the room. In Engineering, a brown creature that vaguely resembled a coyote was tinkering with parts removed from the matter/antimatter control panel. Intermixed with the modern technology were pieces from containers marked "ACME."
"Sir, I have reason to believe we have become trapped in a Disney Vortex. It is very similar to a Tykon's Rift, and is named after the physicist who first theorized it's existence." A smiling face appeared on the screen. "The physicist was frozen in the late twentieth century, and defrosted twenty-seven years ago."
The image changed again, showing the Enterprise and the Borg ship in a roughly triangular area of space. One band around the Enterprise glowed. "A Disney Vortex is an area where reality and imagination intertwine. Each of the colored bands represents a particular era of imagination or literature. The band currently surrounding the Enterprise is apparently roughly associated with
twentieth-century Earth, and the effects we see will approximate the popular fiction of that period."
The band surrounding the Borg ship illuminated. "We are very lucky to have landed in human terms. The Borg ship is trapped in an area equivalent to pre-spaceflight Klingon entertainment." The view changed, to show a live view of the Borg cube. It was bouncing back and forth, with puffs of smoke in various locations. As Picard watched, a piece of the cube broke away and
drifted deeper into the Vortex.
"According to the data we have on the Vortex, several physical laws are placed on hold. For example, physical harm is impossible, due to the nature of the Vortex. Unfortunately for us, physical motion of the ship is also impossible.
"Sir, this is the first time anyone has ever been trapped in a Disney Vortex. The opportunities for scientific exploration are endless. It will, however, get harder and harder to maintain order."
"Understood. Well, Mr. Data, Mr. Crusher, please work together with Mr. Laforge, and figure out a way for both the Enterprise and the Borg ship to leave the Vortex." On the screen, a man with very large forearms and a pipe in his mouth was juggling two-hundred pound barbells in the exercise chamber while singing "I yam what I yam!!"
"To all hands: The area of space we are in has many bizarre effects, and will undoubtedly make it difficult for each of us to do our jobs. In any case, I know that you are Starfleet's finest crew, and will do your best under any circumstances. Picard out." Picard sat back down in the command chair.
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
We have been trapped in the Disney Vortex for thirty-six hours. The patience of the crew is beginning to wear thin. So far, the Bridge has been the least effected by the disturbances...but I fear that is merely because there are so few people on the bridge, and our turn is coming soon.
'Too soon,' Picard thought. Worf was now sporting a long, drooping red moustache, and Wesley appeared to have sprouted large, round black ears from the top of his head.
Commander Riker walked onto the Bridge, but Picard had to look twice to recognize him. He was wearing an old-fashioned uniform of some kind, covered in splotches of green, black, and brown. There was an antique firearm over his shoulder, and he was staring at his hand. "I can't straighten my fingers out, sir," was all he said as he took his place.
Data stood, examining Riker closely. "Commander, it would appear you have been modeled after a toy. Accessing further...Last name Joe, first name George, middle initial I. A military entertainment of GLEEP! BONG!! between ages of ZIINNNGGG!! Blip! GONG!! with Kung-Fu Grip." Data returned to his seat, seeming quite pleased with himself.
The intercom chimed. It sounded like a foghorn. "Captain, this is Sickbay. I think you'd better come down here."
"On my way, Doctor." Picard stood, looking at Riker. "Will, I want a full meeting of department heads in twenty minutes."
Riker saluted. Then he shouted "Yo! Joe!"
As Picard was leaving the bridge, a scaly green creature about waist-high casually strolled in. It had small wings, and smoke wafted out of its nostrils. It slouched over to Worf, and gazed up at him with sad, soulful eyes. Worf glared at it, and it cringed.
Then it sneezed, and the tactical station caught fire. "Yow! My biscuits are burnin'!" Worf shouted, beating the flames out with his hands. He glared at Riker through the smoke, and muttered through his singed red moustache, "Dragons is SO Stupid!!"
Picard entered the Turbolift, only to find a creature there. It was less than two feet tall, mostly white, with long black ears. "What floor, sir?" it asked, in a depressive monotone.
Picard tried to ignore it. "Sickbay," he said. Then he found himself plastered against the ceiling. The Turbolift was oving down at something approaching Warp Six. It came to an abrupt halt, and Picard came to a second halt--on the floor of the Turbolift.
"Your floor, sir." Picard stepped--or rather, fell--out of the turbolift, dropping two full feet to the deck. The doors snapped shut, and the lift shot away. He let out a sigh, and straightened out his uniform with a brisk tug. Sickbay was just a few meters down the corridor.
Halfway to Sickbay, a green glowing figure passed him. Less than ten feet behind it, a small group of adolescents and a large brown dog were cautiously following the footprints the glowing creature had left behind. "Roobie Rooo!" the dog said.
Just outside the door to Sickbay, Picard passed Ensign Barclay. He was carrying a laser rifle, and he seemed...shorter...somehow. He smiled at Picard. "SSSHHhhhh...be wery, wery quiet. Hahahaha...." Barclay stalked around the corner.
Picard shook his head, and walked through the doors to Sickbay.
When he reached Beverly's desk, he was munching on a carrot and had grown two long, floppy ears. "Nyahh...what's up, doc?"
Then he frowned at the carrot. It wilted. Then it disappeared. The ears followed. Then he looked at Beverly. She was dressed in the red costume of a medieval princess. There was a small bird perched on her shoulder, and squirrels kept jumping in and out of her lap. She was staring at a holo of Picard, humming under her breath; Picard caught the word "Prince" once or twice.
"Oh! Captain!" She hurriedly hid the holo and picked up her tricorder. "Captain, we have to get out of here soon. According to these readings, after fifty or so hours stuck here, some of the changes will start becoming permanent."
Commander Data strode in to Sickbay. "Gleep! Zinnggg!!! DingDingDINGDING!!!"
The Sickbay doors opened again, and Barclay charged in. He was much shorter now. "Now I've got you, you wascawwy wobot!" he shouted, dropping the weapon and leaping for Data.
A cloud of dust and debris filled Beverly's office. When it cleared, Data was standing, with Barclay's ankle in one hand. Barclay was swinging his fists, but he was now too short to hit anything but air.
"Mr. Data, are we ready to begin the briefing?"
"Whoop! WHOOOP!!"
Picard sighed. "Very well. Let go of Mr. Broccoli, and we can go to the briefing. Beverly?" He turned, but Beverly was lost in her holo again. "I suppose Medical can sit this one out."
Data let go of Barclay, and the lieutenant crashed through the deck, causing quite a fuss in Ten-Forward. Picard and Data strolled out, and Beverly laughed at the little white powder-puff tail attached to the back of Picard's uniform.
This was the strangest briefing Picard had ever attended. Lieutenant Laforge seemed to have put on over four hundred pounds overnight. Commander Data was unintelligible. Worf held an Ancient West six-shooter in each hand, trying to spin them on his index fingers; every now and then, one would go off, and the projectile would ricochet around the room until it broke something. Commander Riker had painted his face in green and black, and was honing an eighteen-inch long penknife on a grey stone while staring suspiciously at the rest of the senior staff. Counselor Troi was wearing a very revealing evening gown and loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that "She wasn't bad, just drawn that..."
"Hey, hey, HEYEY!!" Laforge shouted. "Le's get this show on the road."
"Zip! ZIP!" Data commented. Picard put his head in his hand.
"Captain?" Laforge said. Picard looked up--at least one of his bridge crew could still talk to him. "Mr. Data says he has a plan."
"You can understand him?"
"He's easier to understand than Old Weird Harold, back in Philly." Laforge sat back, and put his feet up on the table. It groaned under the weight.
Data made a sound like a siren. "WoooWooooWooo. Ding! Ding! Swish, Zoom!!!"
"He says we need to wait till the last minute," Laforge translated. "Say, about forty-nine and a half hours."
Picard asked for details, and the android made a noise that sounded like a train wreck. He then launched into a series of sounds that not even Laforge could comprehend. The Captain closed his eyes, and simply said, "Make it so."
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
We are at forty-eight hours and counting. Mr. Laforge and Mr. Data have begun to carry out their plan for our escape. I fear we may be cutting this extremely close, perhaps even risking permanent damage, but we have little choice.
The helmsman now bore no resemblance to the doctor's son. His ears wiggled. He suddenly stood, and walked to the viewscreen. Picard and the rest of the bridge crew could only watch in astonishment as he pulled a writing instrument from some pocket of the voluminous robe he was wearing and drew a doorway on the surface of the viewscreen.
He opened the doorway, stepped through the viewscreen, and closed the door behind him. He quickly dashed forward across the disk of the Enterprise main hull, past a startled Data, who was already outside the ship.
"Magnification!" Picard ordered. The view followed Wesley as he hopped off of the front of the ship and onto a large rock outcropping. He placed a large, floppy-brimmed pointed hat onto his head and began waving his arms. Stars began dancing around the Enterprise. Comets and fireballs circled around Wesley, and splashes of water soaked his feet. Then something blocked the view.
"Down in Front!!" Riker shouted, as Data strolled in front of the viewscreen. He apologized, stepping through the makeshift airlock Wesley had created, with his head bouncing around on the end of a spring. The apology sounded like a dying calliope.
The show ended, and Wesley strode back to the Bridge. When he walked back in, he was carrying both the floppy hat and a broom, which he sheepishly offered to Picard.
Picard took the hat, and then the broom. When Wesley turned around to go back to his station, Picard let him have it with the broom; Wesley landed in the chair, and it spun six times.
The intercom chimed. It said, "SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!!!" Laforge strode in, and things shook and fell off of the consoles with each step. Data made a noise like a cannon going off.
"Hey, hey HEYEY!! The man says it's time to begin!"
"Very well. Mr. Crusher, please attach a tractor beam to the Borg ship. I would prefer not to leave them behind."
Wesley said, "Haha." and pulled a large lever.
Deep inside the ship, parts began to move. At the very front of the Secondary Hull, the sensor array snapped downward, leaving a darkened opening.
A mechanism appeared, looking rather like a large cannon, with the words "ACME Super-Duper Sucker Beam" written on the side. The mechanism moved slowly, targeting the Borg ship, and fired.
Something flew away from the Enterprise, and the cannon stuck out a banner that read "BANG! (because you can't hear anything in space, stupid!)" The projectile was wider at the front than at the back. It was cylindrical, and very narrow, except where it flared out suddenly at the front. Most of it was brown, except from the flare forward, which was red. It trailed a string back to the Enterprise, which pulled taut as the projectile hit the Borg ship with a squish.
The Borg cube tried to escape. The top third of the ship rotated ninety degrees. Then the third on the right side. But the projectile had stuck dead center, so it couldn't escape.
"Mr. Data, Mr. Laforge, you may continue."
The two had gotten the assistance of the coyote in Engineering for this. The rear third of the secondary hull popped open, and an enormous hand popped out, at the end of a long, hinged arm. The hand reached down into the ship, and came up with a container of some sort, and reached out over the nose of the ship.
As it did, Picard could finally see what Data had done while he was outside. There was an eyeball painted in the zero of "1701" and another in the "D". The "N" in "Enterprise" had been painted over with a nose.
The giant hand held the container up for inspection. It said "Pepper." A liberal amount was sprinkled on the front of the ship.
"All Hands, Brace for Impact!" Picard shouted. He was answered by a chorus of chirps, sqwawks, beeps and giggles.
The bridge bucked. Again, further this time. The front hull of the ship buckled, and the viewscreen cracked.
They all heard a sneeze loud enough to shatter stars, and the great starship was propelled backwards--towards the entrance to the Disney Vortex--at warp seven. The Borg ship was pulled along with.
In moments, everything was back to normal.
"Well. Number One, Mister Worf, please coordinate damage repair crews. And hail the Borg ship--let's see how well they survived.
"Sir, no response to our hails. The channel is open, but they appear to be ignoring us."
"Perhaps they need to hear a language they can understand." Picard straightened out his uniform, and strode to the viewscreen. "Borg Ship, this is Locutus of the Enterprise. Prepare to be assimilated into the Federation."
The screen changed, and the Borg that appeared filled the viewscreen. With a shiver of recognition, Picard recognized the laser-sight apparatus he had once worn, but this Borg looked...different, somehow. He was distinctly yellow, instead of the more common white, and he literally sneered at Picard.
Then he spoke. "Assimilate my shorts, dude!"
The Borg ship moved off at high warp.
Picard looked at Wesley. "Mr. Crusher, please set course for the nearest Starbase where we can initiate repairs." He straightened his uniform one more time, and pointed his index finger at the viewscreen. He said "Engage."
Or, at least, he tried to. He meant to. But what came out sounded distinctly like "Bedee bedee bedee That's All, Folks!"
Please note that this is an act of parody, and all names, likenesses, locations, technological marvels and Treknological terms are all owned by their respective copyright owners!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Lord of the Rings II
This post is a response to Bruce, over at the Ranting Room, and his Friday Challenge
Specifically, he says
And so, with the deepest of apologies to Master Tolkein himself, I would like to humbly present the following...
(Roll the film!)
(You're gonna love this!)
(Shh.)
The Beginning
(We got a Saruman sound-alike to voice this part!)
The Third Age was done, with the apparent end of the Ring. The Fourth Age took hold, the age of Men, as the last of the Elves departed for the West. And over the centuries, the Third Age was forgotten, or worse, relegated to the mists of time--barely remembered, and distorted in the remembering.
Without the rage and fury of Sauron to keep it alive, Mount Doom quieted, and the magma cooled. Without the hordes of Orcs to ravage and ruin the lands, plants returned, and animals of the wilderness followed the food. And without the stewardship of the Elves and the Wizards to keep the memory alive, Mordor became a forgotten relic of a lost era.
Nearly a thousand years after the apparent destruction of the Ring, a massive earthquake felled a swath of the Mountains of Shadow. (We stole footage from some old Earthquake and Avalanche disaster movies for this part). The Great River Anduin was diverted, and Mordor filled like a bowl, until finally the raging waters carved a path through to the Bay of Balfalas. (That will prove to the Tolkein Purists that we did our research and know the geography!) Over time, Mount Doom became a forgotten spot on long disintegrated maps, and the Mountains of Shadow a range of islands and rocky spires, noted for their windswept beauty, black sandy beaches, and scantily-clad natives.
Just because something has been forgotten does not mean it no longer exists. (That's the part I put in. Nice and mysteriously ominous.)
The Fourth Age was followed by the Fifth Age, more commonly known as the Enlightenment. Next came the Sixth Age, or the Industrial Revolution, followed by the Seventh Age, which was heralded by the invention of the Apple Computer. After that came the Eighth Age (which no one remembers), the Ninth Age (the era of Disco), the Tenth Age (the horrific reign of the boy bands), and the Eleventh Age (the final retirement party of the Baby Boomers).
The Twelfth Age, then, is where the Ring came to light again--it had not been destroyed, but merely encased in stone. The Twelfth Age, of powerful corporations and sun-covered beaches, of Playstation 8 and Windows Vista 73.574, when the harried and haggard programmers of New Shire Software received their annual bonus--a two week vacation to the windswept beauty of the Spire Islands...
Gilbert Smiggle, 45 year old computer geek (Smiggle? Smeagol? Get it?), comes home from the islands with a lot more than he bargained for. Overweight, with post-adolescent acne and a fear of people, Gilbert gets laughed at in a swimsuit and spends the bulk of the vacation reading tech books and ogling women. (He was going to be a surfer dude, but someone else stole that idea, so we had to do a last-minute rewrite.) On the last day of the trip, coincidentally his birthday, he foolishly accepts a dare to go para-sailing, and under the influence of one too many local drinks served in a coconut with a tiny umbrella, he soon finds himself a hundred feet over the waters of the resort. His harness fails; the rope breaks. The wing catches on the very tip of a rock spire and the glider is flung, down, into the water.
Gilbert is knocked unconscious by the impact, but washes ashore, alive and unhurt, clutching a small lava rock...and as if by magic, he can hear a voice, whispering promises...
Gilbert's co-workers, especially Fred Boggs (affectionately nicknamed "Mister Fredo" by his peers) and Samantha Wise, (might as well avoid all the rumors and innuendo and just make Sam female) are mystified by the change in his demeanor after the vacation. He becomes sullen, argumentative, and downright ornery, before finally getting fired. (We're not sure what gets a programmer fired, but we'll figure something out.)
All alone in his cubicle, packing things in boxes to leave, he knocks the lava rock off the desk. It hits the ground and cracks, reavealing a gleam inside. (Just picture the golden glow lighting his face as he realizes the treasure is inside...imagine the Golden Ticket scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory!) He smashes it onto the ground, and discovers the One Ring. At that exact moment, a heretofore forgotten volcano erupts in the middle of the ocean.
Gilbert heads for the resort, using the ring's invisibility to gain revenge on the fools who strapped him to the parachute ("Dude! Like, those are awesome engravings on that ring! That would make an awesome tattoo! Yearrhghgh!!...Master...Dude...I will like totally destroy any who come against you.")...before striding towards Mount Doom to rebuild his master's Empire.
The Middle
(Okay, now we need to ratchet up the suspense, and make sure everyone knows that the world is really in danger here!)
Disaster looms.
Floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes batter the world (like during the opening credits of Flash Gordon). Monsters crawl out of the ground to terrorize cities (Think Cloverfield, 20,000 Fathoms, Ishtar). World leaders are being eaten by dragons (fortunately, the vice president was home sick that day).
A meteor the size of a VW microbus takes out New Shire Software. Fredo and Sam survive the disaster, barely, along with Meep and Peer, a tweedle-dee tweedle-dum pair of H1B Visa programmers (clone the guy from Short Circuit). And as the four of them pick their way out of the rubble, they see a strange sight...a tall white boat gliding silently up to the shore of Lake Michigan (yeah, I know, Lake Michigan doesn't connect to the Grey Havens. It's magic, get over it.). A tall and bearded man, with a long beard and pointy hat, steps down from the boat and approaches them.
Gandalf has returned. (We haven't been able to get Ian to sign on, and figured maybe we'd do a "yeah, I died again, so I look a little different now" scene to explain the difference).
Gandalf explains the nature of the Ring to the survivors, pointing out that they are reincarnations of the original characters, and describes how they must gather a Fellowship, travel across the sea, invade Gilbert's inner sanctum, steal the Ring right off his finger, and destroy it in the lava of Mount Doom ("Dude, what have you been smoking...?").
They in turn have to explain the late 21st century to him, leading to a few humorous moments (the best of these involves the effects of various weeds and plants packed into his beloved pipe, so they DO find out what he's been smoking).
As they work their way across the planet to Mount Island Doom, they gather a motley assortment of fellow survivors.
--Harry Gordon, an Army Ranger who is the sole survivor of his unit (the rest were eaten by a dragon).
--Jim Lee, a midget with an attitude and a foul mouth.
--Brenda Legol, a man-hating female Marine (who, as time goes on, comes to develop a relationship with Jim Lee). (We're trying to line up that female space marine from Aliens for this part)
--Barry Morrow, a senior database programmer from a competitor company.
Harry, Jim, and Brenda head off to Texas, hoping to use their military contacts to find an army to invade Mordor with. Meep and Peer, through a zany set of misadventures, accidentally end up being drafted into Gilbert's army.
The remainder of the group manages to find their way to a freighter willing to take them across the sea.
The Ending
The assembled heroes sneak into Gilbert's lair by hacking into his computerized security system via a wireless laptop.
Once inside, they are scattered while running from a trio of Balrogs. (Sequels have to be bigger and better than the original, so instead of just ONE Balrog, we'll have THREE!) Fredo and Sam rescue Meep and Peer from the horrors of Basic Training, saving them from having cybernetic armor welded on, futuristic weapons attached, and troublesome testosterone-producing body parts mechanically removed, and meet up with Gandalf just outside of Gilbert's penthouse office.
Once inside, they discover they have been betrayed, as Barry wants the ring for himself. He disarms the fellowship, and Gilbert prepares to blast them. But, before the execution, explosions rattle the mountain. Aircraft and parachutes fill the sky. Troops on surfboards come flooding over the horizon. The reinforcements have arrived!
The climax is a massive battle scene (on the same scale as Gondor, Saving Private Ryan, the Matrix's Burly Brawl, or maybe even the animated Hobbit), as combined forces from the United States and a dozen other countries ravaged by Gilbert's magic descend upon Mount Doom. They are confronted by cybernetically-enhanced, armor-wearing, laser-firing Neo-Orc Borg, specially bred for just this sort of combat...and the humans are hopelessly outmatched. (Remember on one of those extra DVDs that came with the Lord of the Rings, didn't they say something, somewhere, about Sauron representing technology, or something like that...? No? Okay, never mind.)
Just as the battle seems lost...another White Ship pulls up. Hundreds of Elven warriors leap ashore, led by Elrond (played by Hugo Weaving, reprising his role from the original. Hey, if he'll spend an entire movie behind the mask of a guy who's been dead a thousand years, he'll sign up for pretty much anything.). Their rapid-fire armor-piercing magical arrows (they've had several thousand years to improve on the original, after all) slowly but surely begin to turn the tide of battle. (Everyone knows the impossibly huge battle scenes are what sold the original, so ours will be even more impossibly huge!)
In one particularly exciting scene, Brenda Legol tight-rope walks across a lava-filled chasm, ducks the swing of a flaming sword, and stands on the burning head of a Balrog, before flinging two foam-filled fire extinguishers down it's throat, causing it to swell up and explode in a deluge of brimstone and shaving cream. (We needed some way to show that she really *was* the reincarnation, you know? Every movie had one of those impossible scenes, and she's got to be just as good as the original!)
With the Armies of Good taking the upper hand in The Battle of the Fifteen Armies, the Fellowship surrounds Gilbert and Barry on the bridge high over the river of lava. Gandalf and Elrond engage in a wizard's duel with Gilbert, and the humans can do little more than hide. (We're talking a REAL Wizard's Duel here, none of this hokey telekinesis stuff like the original had. Lightning bolts, fireballs, dragons made of smoke, the works!) Meep gets blasted against a wall, and Peer, in a fit of foolhardy rage, leaps on Gilbert's back. That gives Barry the opening he needs to grab for the Ring. It bounces free, all three men fight for it, swatting it around and across the bridge...and all three of them topple over the edge.
Barry catches hold of the rocks with one hand, and saves Peer with the other, redeeming himself. (See? Just like the original, only better, because he doesn't get killed!) Gilbert sees the ring tumbling down the rocks, grabs for it, almost catches it--and loses his grip on the rocks in the process. He and the Ring fall screaming into the lava while Barry and Peer are pulled up to safety. (And the bad guy gets what's coming to him!)
Gandalf strides to the lava's edge, reaches in with his bare hand, and pulls out the Ring. He buries it in the lava again, and mutters a magic spell, which causes the lava to heat to nova temperature; all the Fellowship hide their eyes from the light. He pulls out a mangled lump of metal, dripping gold into the lava. "It's finally done," he says. "Sauron is no more." (But we can cut this scene, save it for the Director's Cut or something, to leave room for another sequel).
In a tearful departure, Gandalf, Elrond, the surviving elves, Harry, Jim, and Brenda, all pile onto the White Boats and head off for parts unknown, leaving Fredo, Sam, Meep, and Peer surrounded by dead cyber-orcs and wondering how they're ever going to get off Island Mount Doom...before being greeted as saviors by bikini-clad natives and deciding to stay put. (And we thought about putting in a scene where Gandalf dashes back to shore to pick up some island pipe-weed to take with him, but we weren't sure if that would be over the top or not).
(So...boss...what do you think...?)
Specifically, he says
In one of those horrible, hideous, tragic twists of fate that can only happen when a gigantic multinational media conglomerate gets its grubby mitts on a well-loved literary property, The Lord of The Rings II has just been given the greenlight. Tolkien's ending was too darn final to be overcome — but wait, here's a new idea! How about if the One Ring was not destroyed, but merely encased in lava for a few millennia, while the seas rose, and the land fell, and the slopes of Mount Doom became a peaceful tropical island known for its papayas and black-sand beaches. And there, at the edge of the sea, the One Ring waits...
That's this week's challenge. Three sections: beginning, middle, and end; I want you to sketch out a rough outline for the screenplay of The Lord of The Rings II: The Return of The One Ring.
And so, with the deepest of apologies to Master Tolkein himself, I would like to humbly present the following...
(Roll the film!)
(You're gonna love this!)
(Shh.)
The Beginning
(We got a Saruman sound-alike to voice this part!)
The Third Age was done, with the apparent end of the Ring. The Fourth Age took hold, the age of Men, as the last of the Elves departed for the West. And over the centuries, the Third Age was forgotten, or worse, relegated to the mists of time--barely remembered, and distorted in the remembering.
Without the rage and fury of Sauron to keep it alive, Mount Doom quieted, and the magma cooled. Without the hordes of Orcs to ravage and ruin the lands, plants returned, and animals of the wilderness followed the food. And without the stewardship of the Elves and the Wizards to keep the memory alive, Mordor became a forgotten relic of a lost era.
Nearly a thousand years after the apparent destruction of the Ring, a massive earthquake felled a swath of the Mountains of Shadow. (We stole footage from some old Earthquake and Avalanche disaster movies for this part). The Great River Anduin was diverted, and Mordor filled like a bowl, until finally the raging waters carved a path through to the Bay of Balfalas. (That will prove to the Tolkein Purists that we did our research and know the geography!) Over time, Mount Doom became a forgotten spot on long disintegrated maps, and the Mountains of Shadow a range of islands and rocky spires, noted for their windswept beauty, black sandy beaches, and scantily-clad natives.
Just because something has been forgotten does not mean it no longer exists. (That's the part I put in. Nice and mysteriously ominous.)
The Fourth Age was followed by the Fifth Age, more commonly known as the Enlightenment. Next came the Sixth Age, or the Industrial Revolution, followed by the Seventh Age, which was heralded by the invention of the Apple Computer. After that came the Eighth Age (which no one remembers), the Ninth Age (the era of Disco), the Tenth Age (the horrific reign of the boy bands), and the Eleventh Age (the final retirement party of the Baby Boomers).
The Twelfth Age, then, is where the Ring came to light again--it had not been destroyed, but merely encased in stone. The Twelfth Age, of powerful corporations and sun-covered beaches, of Playstation 8 and Windows Vista 73.574, when the harried and haggard programmers of New Shire Software received their annual bonus--a two week vacation to the windswept beauty of the Spire Islands...
Gilbert Smiggle, 45 year old computer geek (Smiggle? Smeagol? Get it?), comes home from the islands with a lot more than he bargained for. Overweight, with post-adolescent acne and a fear of people, Gilbert gets laughed at in a swimsuit and spends the bulk of the vacation reading tech books and ogling women. (He was going to be a surfer dude, but someone else stole that idea, so we had to do a last-minute rewrite.) On the last day of the trip, coincidentally his birthday, he foolishly accepts a dare to go para-sailing, and under the influence of one too many local drinks served in a coconut with a tiny umbrella, he soon finds himself a hundred feet over the waters of the resort. His harness fails; the rope breaks. The wing catches on the very tip of a rock spire and the glider is flung, down, into the water.
Gilbert is knocked unconscious by the impact, but washes ashore, alive and unhurt, clutching a small lava rock...and as if by magic, he can hear a voice, whispering promises...
Gilbert's co-workers, especially Fred Boggs (affectionately nicknamed "Mister Fredo" by his peers) and Samantha Wise, (might as well avoid all the rumors and innuendo and just make Sam female) are mystified by the change in his demeanor after the vacation. He becomes sullen, argumentative, and downright ornery, before finally getting fired. (We're not sure what gets a programmer fired, but we'll figure something out.)
All alone in his cubicle, packing things in boxes to leave, he knocks the lava rock off the desk. It hits the ground and cracks, reavealing a gleam inside. (Just picture the golden glow lighting his face as he realizes the treasure is inside...imagine the Golden Ticket scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory!) He smashes it onto the ground, and discovers the One Ring. At that exact moment, a heretofore forgotten volcano erupts in the middle of the ocean.
Gilbert heads for the resort, using the ring's invisibility to gain revenge on the fools who strapped him to the parachute ("Dude! Like, those are awesome engravings on that ring! That would make an awesome tattoo! Yearrhghgh!!...Master...Dude...I will like totally destroy any who come against you.")...before striding towards Mount Doom to rebuild his master's Empire.
The Middle
(Okay, now we need to ratchet up the suspense, and make sure everyone knows that the world is really in danger here!)
Disaster looms.
Floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes batter the world (like during the opening credits of Flash Gordon). Monsters crawl out of the ground to terrorize cities (Think Cloverfield, 20,000 Fathoms, Ishtar). World leaders are being eaten by dragons (fortunately, the vice president was home sick that day).
A meteor the size of a VW microbus takes out New Shire Software. Fredo and Sam survive the disaster, barely, along with Meep and Peer, a tweedle-dee tweedle-dum pair of H1B Visa programmers (clone the guy from Short Circuit). And as the four of them pick their way out of the rubble, they see a strange sight...a tall white boat gliding silently up to the shore of Lake Michigan (yeah, I know, Lake Michigan doesn't connect to the Grey Havens. It's magic, get over it.). A tall and bearded man, with a long beard and pointy hat, steps down from the boat and approaches them.
Gandalf has returned. (We haven't been able to get Ian to sign on, and figured maybe we'd do a "yeah, I died again, so I look a little different now" scene to explain the difference).
Gandalf explains the nature of the Ring to the survivors, pointing out that they are reincarnations of the original characters, and describes how they must gather a Fellowship, travel across the sea, invade Gilbert's inner sanctum, steal the Ring right off his finger, and destroy it in the lava of Mount Doom ("Dude, what have you been smoking...?").
They in turn have to explain the late 21st century to him, leading to a few humorous moments (the best of these involves the effects of various weeds and plants packed into his beloved pipe, so they DO find out what he's been smoking).
As they work their way across the planet to Mount Island Doom, they gather a motley assortment of fellow survivors.
--Harry Gordon, an Army Ranger who is the sole survivor of his unit (the rest were eaten by a dragon).
--Jim Lee, a midget with an attitude and a foul mouth.
--Brenda Legol, a man-hating female Marine (who, as time goes on, comes to develop a relationship with Jim Lee). (We're trying to line up that female space marine from Aliens for this part)
--Barry Morrow, a senior database programmer from a competitor company.
Harry, Jim, and Brenda head off to Texas, hoping to use their military contacts to find an army to invade Mordor with. Meep and Peer, through a zany set of misadventures, accidentally end up being drafted into Gilbert's army.
The remainder of the group manages to find their way to a freighter willing to take them across the sea.
The Ending
The assembled heroes sneak into Gilbert's lair by hacking into his computerized security system via a wireless laptop.
Once inside, they are scattered while running from a trio of Balrogs. (Sequels have to be bigger and better than the original, so instead of just ONE Balrog, we'll have THREE!) Fredo and Sam rescue Meep and Peer from the horrors of Basic Training, saving them from having cybernetic armor welded on, futuristic weapons attached, and troublesome testosterone-producing body parts mechanically removed, and meet up with Gandalf just outside of Gilbert's penthouse office.
Once inside, they discover they have been betrayed, as Barry wants the ring for himself. He disarms the fellowship, and Gilbert prepares to blast them. But, before the execution, explosions rattle the mountain. Aircraft and parachutes fill the sky. Troops on surfboards come flooding over the horizon. The reinforcements have arrived!
The climax is a massive battle scene (on the same scale as Gondor, Saving Private Ryan, the Matrix's Burly Brawl, or maybe even the animated Hobbit), as combined forces from the United States and a dozen other countries ravaged by Gilbert's magic descend upon Mount Doom. They are confronted by cybernetically-enhanced, armor-wearing, laser-firing Neo-Orc Borg, specially bred for just this sort of combat...and the humans are hopelessly outmatched. (Remember on one of those extra DVDs that came with the Lord of the Rings, didn't they say something, somewhere, about Sauron representing technology, or something like that...? No? Okay, never mind.)
Just as the battle seems lost...another White Ship pulls up. Hundreds of Elven warriors leap ashore, led by Elrond (played by Hugo Weaving, reprising his role from the original. Hey, if he'll spend an entire movie behind the mask of a guy who's been dead a thousand years, he'll sign up for pretty much anything.). Their rapid-fire armor-piercing magical arrows (they've had several thousand years to improve on the original, after all) slowly but surely begin to turn the tide of battle. (Everyone knows the impossibly huge battle scenes are what sold the original, so ours will be even more impossibly huge!)
In one particularly exciting scene, Brenda Legol tight-rope walks across a lava-filled chasm, ducks the swing of a flaming sword, and stands on the burning head of a Balrog, before flinging two foam-filled fire extinguishers down it's throat, causing it to swell up and explode in a deluge of brimstone and shaving cream. (We needed some way to show that she really *was* the reincarnation, you know? Every movie had one of those impossible scenes, and she's got to be just as good as the original!)
With the Armies of Good taking the upper hand in The Battle of the Fifteen Armies, the Fellowship surrounds Gilbert and Barry on the bridge high over the river of lava. Gandalf and Elrond engage in a wizard's duel with Gilbert, and the humans can do little more than hide. (We're talking a REAL Wizard's Duel here, none of this hokey telekinesis stuff like the original had. Lightning bolts, fireballs, dragons made of smoke, the works!) Meep gets blasted against a wall, and Peer, in a fit of foolhardy rage, leaps on Gilbert's back. That gives Barry the opening he needs to grab for the Ring. It bounces free, all three men fight for it, swatting it around and across the bridge...and all three of them topple over the edge.
Barry catches hold of the rocks with one hand, and saves Peer with the other, redeeming himself. (See? Just like the original, only better, because he doesn't get killed!) Gilbert sees the ring tumbling down the rocks, grabs for it, almost catches it--and loses his grip on the rocks in the process. He and the Ring fall screaming into the lava while Barry and Peer are pulled up to safety. (And the bad guy gets what's coming to him!)
Gandalf strides to the lava's edge, reaches in with his bare hand, and pulls out the Ring. He buries it in the lava again, and mutters a magic spell, which causes the lava to heat to nova temperature; all the Fellowship hide their eyes from the light. He pulls out a mangled lump of metal, dripping gold into the lava. "It's finally done," he says. "Sauron is no more." (But we can cut this scene, save it for the Director's Cut or something, to leave room for another sequel).
In a tearful departure, Gandalf, Elrond, the surviving elves, Harry, Jim, and Brenda, all pile onto the White Boats and head off for parts unknown, leaving Fredo, Sam, Meep, and Peer surrounded by dead cyber-orcs and wondering how they're ever going to get off Island Mount Doom...before being greeted as saviors by bikini-clad natives and deciding to stay put. (And we thought about putting in a scene where Gandalf dashes back to shore to pick up some island pipe-weed to take with him, but we weren't sure if that would be over the top or not).
(So...boss...what do you think...?)
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