>>Perkins couldn't help but feel regret. But something just compelled him
>>to press on, think logically, and keep his head clear.
TOM: It's called Plot Contrivance. Don't worry, Perkins ol' pal, you'll get used to them after awhile.
>>But some sort of security alert was definitely afoot, for to his horror, he
>>also saw a contingent of security guards surrounding the structure, with
>>no way in but straight ahead.
TOM: This being Area 51, the lair of the country's most valuable technological and military secrets, there was usually never anything around more than Gus, the night watchman, unless something really serious was going down.
MIKE: Well, him and our Sesame Street traffic cop.
>>He wanted to stay put for a while, but the sound of the rattlesnake had
>>grown louder, and the sound of its passage was almost ringing in his ears.
TOM: Yes, by this point the demonic little creature was a full Five. Yards. Away. Oh the horror. Shoot me. Please.
>>He could turn back, perhaps, maybe wend his way to the gate, open it
>>and...
CROW: Wend? The hell does that mean?
MIKE: Bend? Send? Wind? Wand?
TOM: Single gate? Single entrance? For the repository of all the government's secret and forbidden knowledge, this place sure sucks.
>>Maybe I should just get out of here and give it up, he thought.
CROW: But what about the cool sci-fi chick? Come on, pal, you know this is the only way you're ever going to get any action.
TOM: All this just to get a date.
MIKE: Should never have started that long-distance relationship, they only lead to trouble.
CROW: Don't you know it. Looping off ears with chainsaws, breaking into military facilities...
>>The doors to the hangar had opened, and Perkins saw more security
>>guards, perhaps a dozen or so,
TOM: <author> Or perhaps not, I'm not telling, so there. Naaah.
>>coming through. One of the guards, apparently their leader,
TOM: What, did he have a huge neon sign over his head blinking on and off? Just decide whether he's the frigging leader and stick with it you wishy-washy excuse for a writer! I swear, you're more non-committal then most politicians I know.
MIKE: <senate committee member> Was the man in fact a leader?
CROW: <random politician> I do not recall at this time.
MIKE: <scm> Did he look like a leader?
CROW: <rp> I'm not sure that I remember at the moment.
MIKE: <scm> Would you have any reason to believe that he was a leader?
CROW: <rp> I do not remember if I am not to recall knowing the negative to that at this time.
MIKE: <scm> <beat> Was that a yes?
CROW: <rp> I think I made myself perfectly clear on the subject.
>>with many stripes and medals on his dark uniform, shouted a muffled
>>command to his troops.
TOM: <soldier 1> Ah, sir, maybe if you tried turning the megaphone on before holding it up to your mouth it would help.
>>Within seconds, they began to disperse, walking toward the barracks he
>>observed to his left.
TOM: Who observed? The maybe-leader? Wimp boy? Who?
MIKE: Maybe it was the snake.
CROW: Yes. The snake knows all. You must bow down before the glory that is Snake.
>>There were scattered bushes about, and long spaces of emptiness between
>>them.
TOM: Yes, scattered does imply that there is space between.
>>Perkins wanted to get as close to the hangar as possible before attempting
>>the final lunge toward its entrance.
TOM: It's Stating The Obvious Man!
CROW: Also known as Counselor Troi.
MIKE: Obligatory Star Trek riff has been completed, we apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused and will now return you to your evening of pain, already in progress.
>>He stayed hidden, hoping by now that the rattlesnake had grown weary
>>of the pursuit and was seeking another victim.
TOM: And again with the snake. It is just a snake!
MIKE: Not to mention that by this point it's probably reached the 8 yard point and is closing in at a terrifyingly rapid pace of some .00001 miles per hour.
CROW: Oh yes, let's go after our scrawny, nerdish, delusional friend here instead of something more our size. Like a gerbil. One who has not shot himself up on illegal narcotics before attempting to raid this place. No wonder the damn things are endangered.
>>But the insidious rattling sound just grew louder, urgent, threatening,
>>deadly...
MIKE: Little Baby Timmy is back, and he'll not rest till his diaper is changed!
TOM: I'm sorry, but a rattle is just not what I pictured as the most horrifying thing of Area 51. I think that video game spoiled me to the true majesty of... of...
CROW: A run-down shack in the middle of snake-infested desert equipped with 10 guards and five brain cells?
TOM: Yeah, something like that.
>>Only a few guards were left now.
CROW: The survivors were beginning to question the wisdom in accepting invitations to a party hosted by Agatha Christie.
>>Soon they'd be gone. If only there was time.
TOM: There are so many song riffs I could do at this moment. If only I hadn't lost my will to live five sentences ago, I might try to do one.
>>Perkins thought he could see the beady eyes of that awful reptile not a
>>dozen yards from him. He moved slowly, in a gentle rhythm, trying not to
>>attract attention, not to show fear.
TOM: A dozen yards? That's 36 feet! You're telling me that he can see a snake's eyes from 36 feet in the deep blackness of night while he's trying not to be captured by MiBs? The Amazing Wedgie Man?
MIKE: That's one powerful prescription on those eyeglasses.
>>He couldn't delay any longer. Even if he managed to elude the security
>>forces, he wouldn't fare as well with what he feared was a poisonous
>>snake stalking him even now.
CROW: And why would the snake be stalking him? It's not like it'd be able to, oh eat him or anything.
MIKE: I don't know, Perkins kind of strikes me as a mouse-ish sort of guy.
CROW: Warning two, Mike.
>>The doors to the hangar were sliding toward the center now. He could
>>hear the large machines, the incessant grating of gears and rollers that
>>seemed to fill his ears.
CROW: Almost drowning out the voices of the magical fairies as they tried to tell him about the alien princess that he must save.
MIKE: The alien Rockoid princess no less.
TOM: Sounds vaguely like a 70s rock band...
MIKE: And now, live, it's the Rockoids and Perkins, Wonder Geek!
TOM: <crowd noises>
>>But, for some reason, the doors didn't fully shut.
CROW: Why? We don't know. Call up your friends and family and play a fun game of Mad Libs trying to find out how.
MIKE: Ok, I've got "Rabid bunny rabbits attempted hostile takeover and the door jammed in one of their Easter-egg grenades".
TOM: Damn, that beats out my "Bits of the Mir station had just fallen through the roof onto the head of the sliding-door operator killing him instantly"
>>What an incredible stroke of luck!
CROW: Bullshit.
TOM: Plot Contrivance.
MIKE: Way of showing how inept the author is at finding his own way in.
TOM: <Perkins> Hey I'm the closest thing there is to a self-insertion character here, you shall not question how my vaguely wimpy will is done!
>>The gap between the doors remained, maybe a foot or two, just enough
>>room for a grown man to sneak inside.
CROW: <Church Lady> Well isn't that convieeeeenient?
>>There wasn't any time to think, just act!
TOM: Unfortunately, the rattlesnake had succeeded in its devilish task and Perkins tripped over his shoelaces, fiendishly tied together while he wasn't paying attention.
MIKE: He landed on soft padding and immediately fell into a deep coma from which he never awoke.
CROW: Huzzah!
>>Perkins boldly ran straight to the hangar, not looking back for signs of
>>pursuit.
TOM: So... Three minutes after a base-wise alert, there's no one left to notice umbra-nerd racing towards the entrance of Mankind's Hidden Repository of the Unknown?
MIKE: Well, Charles noticed, but he was on break. Union rules and all.
>>Without thinking about it, he squeezed between the small cracks.
CROW: Woah! Perkins is the Terminator 2000!
>>There was just enough room for him to get in, but just as he was inside, the
>>door slid shut with a thud!
MIKE: Just drop it, Servo. Just drop it and move on.
>>He was inside!
TOM: It's times like these that you have to wonder if our esteemed author fully understands the definition of the word 'paragraph'.
CROW: Considering how many sentences begin with 'and', "then" or 'but', I would have to say "no".
MIKE: And for all you grammar-flamers out there, we're aware that our own grammar sucks. Do not flame us, we have a Death Ray.
CROW: Really? Where?!
MIKE: I'm not going to tell you. Especially after what you did with that Doomsday device we got in the cereal box.
CROW: So says Mike Nelson, Destroyer of how many words was it?
MIKE: Three, and- Hey!!
>>He was frightened, and there was no way he could ignore the feeling.
TOM: The large growing stain on the front of his pants made it rather inescapable.
>>He looked around him, slowly moving his head right and left, listening
>>for the subtle sounds that would betray the presence of man.
TOM: And suddenly it's an animal documentary.
CROW: The wild Perkins must be careful in scavenging his natural habitat as there are many risks to his health. Snakes, small birds, rocks, most varieties of grass, a few of the larger twigs...
>>But nobody was there.
TOM: Well, heck! To think that all Mulder ever had to do to unearth the vast conspiracy was to amble up to the front door and step inside.
MIKE: Makes all that business with train-cars and ESP seem rather pointless.
>>And his flashlight was gone! Damn! He must have dropped it when he fell
>>on that manhole cover.
CROW: Ok, quick question. How do you 'fall' on a manhole cover?
MIKE: How do you get knocked unconscious from falling on gravel?
CROW: Point. Moving on.
>>And it was just so dark in there!
TOM: Gee, George, yud almost think it was night or sumthink.
>>Perkins looked at a nearby shelf and saw a small flashlight lying there,
>>apparently just waiting for him, he felt with a grim smile.
CROW: He then realized that was rather silly and felt it with his hand instead.
MIKE: Meanwhile, the smile, feeling abandoned, scampered off into the darkness where it embarked on many a fascinating and dangerous adventure. But we're keeping you here with Clark Kent's kid brother, so tough noogies.
>>He picked it up with his left hand, turning it on as he shielded its beam
>>with his right.
MIKE: That kind of defeats the whole purpose, don't you think?
TOM: I'll turn on the light just so I can block it again! Aren't I smart?
>>He cautiously pointed it about, examining his surroundings carefully,
>>while trying to keep the beam from betraying his presence.
CROW: Alas, it was no use, the beam had already set up a fourth-column resistance, complete with passwords, encryption, and catchy musical numbers. The Drugged-out Wimp Occupation would soon be defeated.
TOM: La resistance lives on!
>>But there was no indication of any top secret technology here!
>>It was just an ordinary hangar, with a few jet planes lying about in
>>various states of repair.
TOM: Well… I certainly feel cheated.
CROW: I am so not buying the sequel to this.
>>Well, why should he be surprised? Most of those rumors about military
>>secrets turned out to be false!
MIKE: Except the ones that were true.
TOM: Again with the exclamation points. Does that really need an exclamation point? No. Why have it? We don't know.
CROW: Most were wrong! But some where right! I like cheese! Al Gore will speak now for the Democratic Convention! My wall-paper's peeling! <normal voice> Kill me.
>>But why the extraordinary security measures for a simple Air Force
>>base? It just didn't add up!
TOM: Extraordinary security measures? So far we've seen a rent-a-cop who's apparently been living there since 1956, five more inept guards, and some guy who may, or may not be a leader, all of whom seem to be off on their donut and coffee break. And this is high security? What's lax?!
CROW: Rex the dog, three days after the vet puts him to sleep.
MIKE: Ah, ah ah... Rule 4 of all fiction: The Dog Lives. The Earth may be destroyed, the galaxy exploded, the universe collapsed, but the dog Must Live.
>>Perkins reached into his back pocket, grateful the tattered map was still
>>there. He pulled it out and stared at it, shining his flashlight over the
>>contents, trying to pick out the small details that Gonzales had dutifully
>>entered.
CROW: Cheese deposits here, acme anvil here, heavy machinery that will slice, dice, fold, and mutilate yet never actually kill, here.
MIKE: What did I tell you guys?
CROW: Sorry.
>>He saw the small elevator circled in thick black ink. He looked around,
>>but didn't see it right away. The walls were dark, and he was careful
>>shining his flashlight about.
MIKE: Therefore meaning that they were no longer dark.
TOM: Whatever happened to shielding the light so the guards wouldn't notice?
CROW: He must've realized that the entire security force had slipped and fell through the plot-holes left lying about the base. He's in the clear.
>>He pointed it upward slowly, looking for the presence of a TV camera or
>>some other security probe, but found nothing there.
TOM: Which is good, because if there was a security camera, nothing would alert the guard at the other end like shining a bright light right into the camera lens.
CROW: The hope of our alien civilization, ladies and gentlemen.
MIKE: I do hope those Rockoids have their insurance premiums paid up.
>>How could they be so careless? Or maybe there was nothing top secret
>>about this base, and nothing to hide!
CROW: Again, does this need an exclamation mark? Really?
MIKE: Looks like those special pills are starting to kick in, oh yeah...
TOM: Or maybe they were just being reeeaaal clever and putting up a fake front while all the real stuff was hidden. Underground perhaps. Just maybe. You know? Maybe? Huh? Huh? HUH?!?
MIKE: Sheesh. Our hero has all the wisdom and knowledge of these things as a moldy piece of asparagus, we get the point already. Just let the poor man be, Servo.
TOM: <breaks down sobbing> But it just won't end, oh gods why won't it end?
MIKE: <pats Servo's dome> There there, hon.
>>And then, there it was, off toward the rear left of the hangar. A small
>>sliding elevator door, plain as day!
CROW: Actually, that particular day had been anything but plain. For starters, there had been a vast riot throughout Paris as the French realized that not only were they out of wine, but Clinton had just beat all of them for most affairs completed in a 30 day period. Then a rain of fish covered the Vatican in mullet, giving the Pope a nasty sprained ankle after he slipped on a salmon while on his way to have his hat renovated, and then Susie said that Jonny would never consider telling Mary that Joey had decided that he might possibly consider think about perhaps asking her if she might be wondering if the two of them could perhaps go out to the Christian BBQ and book burning that weekend.
MIKE: Riiiiiight....
>>He walked there, huddling close to the planes so he couldn't be seen;
CROW: Which was really smart save for the fact that the planes were under bright spotlights.
TOM: Doah!
>>he still felt there was some sort of surveillance measure active here,
MIKE: <Puma Man> I sense danger!
>>and he tried to make his motions as gentle as possible, hardly making
>>sounds at all as his athletic shoes touched the hard concrete floor.
TOM: <Perkins> Shhhh, shhh, there's a good floor, don't mind me...
CROW: Any minute now, he's going to trip over a floor-tile and crash into a rack of spare parts making enough noise to wake up most of southern Vegas.
>>He passed one plane that was just yards from the elevator, and with a
>>start felt something on his shoulder!
CROW: It was the Scooby-Do gang! Within seconds, Perkins had been unmasked as Jerkin's, the owner of the gift-shop just outside the base, hoping to scare up UFO stories to get more business. In the end he was released, but only on the condition that he would supply Shaggy and Scooby with a trunk-load of pot to last them the next week or so.
<Mike looks at Crow>
CROW: What? Why else would they always be so hungry?
>>The flashlight was shut off, as Perkins felt the slippery substance that
>>wet his tattered shirt.
CROW: There are so many things I could say at this point that I won't.
MIKE: And we will all sleep easier for it.
>>And he smiled as he realized how silly he had been to react with such
>>fear.
TOM: Hah! This from the man who turns pale at the thought of falling acorns
>>It was just a few drops of leaking fuel or engine oil.
CROW: Cue blood-covered corpse falling from rafters in five, four, three...
>>As he turned his flashlight back on, another drop or two fell on his
>>shoulder. Then he felt something almost slimy touch his mouth, and the
>>jet fuel left a horrible taste. He carelessly wiped it off with his free hand,
>>trying to keep his face clear.
TOM: Again, story, I ask you. What the Hell was the point to that?!? He got some fuel on his cloths! So what?! Get on with it already, don't drag this out any longer then need be, we beg of you!
>>Then he took the last few yards that had to be traversed to get to the
>>elevator. He saw a little security panel to the left of the door and felt
>>frustrated!
MIKE: Frustrated slapped him across the face and immediately filed a class-action suit against Perkins, Area 51, the elevator, the author, and you; just because.
>>Clearly it wasn't his day.
TOM: Rampant 1950's security, deadly petting zoo animals, lethal gravel... what was your first clue?
>>His expertise at safecracking was laughable. He remembered that
>>incident inside some nameless sheik's palace in the Middle East briefly,
>>how he had fitted some sensitive earphones to his ear, turned a few
>>knobs, and then the alarm went off.
CROW: And he was in the military's intelligence unit? Makes you wonder how we ever became a world power to begin with.
MIKE: I'm starting to think that the entire Hiroshima thing was just a little boo-boo on the pilot's part. "Whoops. I was supposed to press the 'drop peace-treaty' button, not 'drop atomic death and ruin' My bad."
TOM: Ah yes, America. How much longer until the Canadian visas are in?
CROW: Three days.
>>He had gotten out of there with a whole skin then, but two days later
>>there was that incident with the mysterious nerve gas, and he wasn't so
>>lucky that time. It was something he once again fervently wished he could
>>forget.
MIKE: Good god. He's the Gilligan of the Secret Service.
CROW: And let me guess. These visions of blood and space battles and aliens and hot blue-skinned broads all started after you were blasted by the brain damaging chemicals. Riiiiight....
>>Then Perkins remembered the map and looked at it again.
TOM: Remembered? He just looked at it 10 seconds ago you moronic excuse for an author!!!
MIKE: Servo. Down! Down boy, calm yourself. Breath in, breath out...
TOM: <pants heavily>
>>He thought the security panel was supposed to be outside the hangar, not
>>inside!
CROW: Is anyone else starting to get the impression that Super-Wimp's exit from the armed services wasn't entirely his own idea?
ALL: <raise their hands>
>>Could Gonzales have made a mistake? And those silly numbers--2-19-86.
>>Oh well! Nothing ventured...
TOM: No, no, that's just the latest date at which a story about a lone man and his quest to uncover the government conspiracy would've been considered an original plot-line.
>>He dutifully typed the numbers.
MIKE: <Perkins> And with $785 of expenses, and $300 of write-offs, factored at 5% interest with a .06 cumulative over a six month period....
>>Each sequence was separated by the little Enter key...
CROW: Such a cute little Enter key it was too. They're always so adorable when they're young.
MIKE: Yeah, yeah, but then they grow big and hungry and you just wind up flushing them down the toilet, leaving them to wander the sewers, feasting upon abandoned iMacs and Apples.
>>and he waited...and he waited.
MIKE: And waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited....
TOM: Intense Nothing! Happening!! Action!!!!