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(cue goofy, happy theme music played over the "Odessa Steps" sequence from Eisenstein's "Battleship Potemkin")
LOKAR: Yes, well, welcome to my little TV show of film crrrr-itiscism, "Call That A Movie? I Call It CRRRAP!" As you viewers who have ANY short-term memory left may recall, last week the very thread that held this show's Damoclean Sword of impending cancellation at bay was nearly cut by Yours Truly when I placed "Sisto III: The subtitle escapes me," on my list of the 10 Worst Films of the 20th Century, without having actually seen the said offal. And now, Mr Turner, in his infinite tomahawk-chopping wisdom, has descended from Mount Olympus in his broadcast park, and insisted we allow some shuffling half-wit to give his bleeding precious counter-opinion. Oh, but do brace ones self! Surely the dry wit that ensues will be worthy of the Algonquin Round Table in its prime, for now the staggering cognitive powers of the series' star is upon us like a whirlwind!
SISTO: Hey, buddy! Give you a lift t--
L: Silence your yammering. The festering tripe that comprises the Sisto series makes the puking and mewling of a babe seem as the music of the spheres.
S: (blank look)
L: Oh, must I degrade--DE-GRRRADE--myself to monosyallables? "Me--No--Like."
S: But you didn't even see it!
L: Oh, please. I assume there was some merry japery wherein some unsuspecting dolt confused your name with some household product, then a string of your trademark idiocies, until, in the denouement, it became apparent the whole thing was based indeed upon a misunderstanding of your name, and finally you said something horrifically DENSE.
S: I thought you said you didn't see it!
L: One doesn't have to go to the Arctic to know it's cold.
S: Well, then, Mr Genius-Bug! Maybe you should read the thumbs-up review ol' Gene Siskel gave me! (hands Lokar a newspaper)
L: Fascinating. The Chicago Tribune has published his review in the form of a sheet of "Hello Kitty" notebook paper stapled onto the comics section, and allowed him to hand-write it in Sharpie marker. And Mr Siskel first spelt his name "Gene Sisto" before crossing off a bit and adding "kel." (reads) "This moovin pitcher is a big fistfull of joy and also goodly made. Menny is the scenes ware yule go Hey! Talk about your goodly made, cause hear it is! Crisco I mean Sisto wont let you to tear yer eyeballs from the screne do to the forts of his--" What is this word?
S: "Personality."
L: Oh, yes. And here I was, laboring under the misconception that it might have vowels. "--the forts of his personality, which has writ itself large upon the tabula rasa of the Human Psyche, speaking to our deepest needs." And next to that is a photo of a frolicking pup. It behooves me to inform our audience that it, like the preceding sentence, has been cut out of a magazine and glued onto the erstwhile review.
S: I like doggies.
L: Even if this was not a transparent hoax, who would care a fig for the opinion of a critic with a comb-over? Like that fools ANYbody. Besides, a creature of refinement goes for the natural look. (runs hand over his bald skull)
S: Well, you ain't seen somethin yet! We just finished "Sisto IV: The Slackening," an, hoo-whee! Talk about yer movies! It's cinematastic!
L: "Slackening." This isn't some puerile Gen-X whine-fest starring Keanu and Winona, is it?
S: Nah, it's product placement, cause I gotta wear em the whole movie. Farrah Action Slacks. Me, I'm more a Grrr-animals an Underoos kinda guy, but they wouldn't cough up the dough. An guess what! I got the movie right here! You can be the first to see it!
L: Oh, rapturous joy. May I instead simply gouge my eyes out and trod upon them?
S: Suit yerself. Free country.
L: RRRRRoll the CRRRRAP!
The Imperial dreadnought "Abhorrent" came out of hyperspace 10 million miles away from Zargon III, and that was damn bad luck for that planet.
The Annihilator class warships are 40,000 miles long, and powered by neutron star engines. The gravitational force ripped Zargon III from its orbit and sent a billion people screaming into the certain, agonizing death of deep space. The ship's Captain watched and thought, That planet better not whack into us and ding my starship.
What's one planet when The Empire spans a thousand galaxies? The Captain smiled cruelly. And what are a thousand galaxies, now that there was evidence that it was possible to cross into Alternate Universes? An infinite number of worlds to grind beneath the Empire's heels...
"The ship is ahead," reported the Science Officer. The ship that caused the Unified Field Point Singularity, the ship that could travel across the realities. "On screen," the Captain ordered.
The ship was small and battered. Its paint job was 6 tones of primer. Above the rear thrusters was a bumper sticker that read, "My other spaceship is an Escort."
"Increase magnification." The pilot was jerking around violently, and apparently screaming. "Is he being torn apart by the gravitational force?"
"No," said the Science Officer. "It seems he is unaware of our prescence. Sensors indicate he's...'rocking out' to the 'Best of Queen.' On 8 track."
Obviously this lower life form had blundered across the secret of dimensional travel. The grip of terror the Empire held the Universe in was so complete that simply pretending it needed help from this microbe should be enough to cause him to share it. He could always be destroyed later.
"Ready communications." The mere sight of Imperial forces had caused entire civilizations to commit suicide from sheer terror. Best to make the demand first sound like a request, he thought, as the Science Officer and the Weapons Master joined him in the anti-gravity field before the view screen. "Open communications."
"--silhouetto of a man, Scaramouche, Scara--" The pilot saw the viewscreen and froze. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped. The Captain knew that look, that combination of fear and awe.
Hovering in space, he called 'Wee-eee are the Hot Dog Men! Help us!"
The pilot's face remained frozen for half a second, then "BAAAAAH-HA HA HA!!! Hot Dog Men?? AHHH-HAHAHAHA! Lookit you danglin there! HEEE HEE HEE, I can't stop la-aughin!"
This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. He looked at the Science Officer, who said "Perhaps he has been driven mad with fear of us, as were the Oyster People of Cephalapod XII."
The Captain turned back to the screen. "We are the Overlords of the Galaxies!"
"Oh, my Galactic Overlord has a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R! BAHHHH-HAHAHAHA!!"
The Science Officer said, "Perhaps he thinks we are imposters, as were the Rip-Off People of Gypulon II when they ran that pyramid scheme."
"Wee-eee-eee are so too the Hot Dog Men!"
"Oh, I ain't doubtin that! Why the hell wouldja joke about a thing like that, hee hee! Now, if you said 'Howdy do, we're the Corn Dog Guys with a side of kraut,' I'd need some ID!"
The Science Officer shrugged. "Perhaps he's a moron."
The Captain seethed, "Do you know who you're speaking to?!"
"Well, we ain't been formally introduced, but I'm guessin yer name is--Frank? Or Nathan? You're famous where I come from!"
"Who are you, who dares to address the Empire in such a fashion?!"
"I'm...B & M, of the Brick Oven Baked People from the planet Flatulent! We wish to join the mighty Hot Dog Men so that we may flood the Universe with beanie-weenie casserole! Haw!"
Calm down, the Captain told himself. Remember the mission. Gain his trust. "We need your help!"
"Sorry, Foot Long! Fresh outta Grey Poupon!"
"The Empire is threatened by an evil race of--"
"Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks? Look out for them sissy kids, they'll scratch yer eyes out. You came to the right guy, though, cause I once beat the weiner filling outta both Grote AND Weigel! But why you need me to keep yer buns from gettin toasted? Are you All Chicken? Get it? All beef frank with you--I mustard forgot!"
To hell with gaining his trust! "Worm, you have the secret of dimensional travel! Give it to us!"
"Ahh, you wouldn't like it, Mr Bun-Length. No matter what reality you go to, there's nothin good on TV."
"Give it to us or we shall incinerate you with our heat ray!"
"Ooh, this is the first time a weiner tried to roast me! Pleeeeease don't shoot! I plump when I cook!"
Screw the mission! "DESTROY HIM!"
"Eat my dust, pig inna blanket!" Sisto vanished into another reality.
The Captain turned to his crew and said PSSSSHHHHHHHH "Oh baby! Yeah baby! Ooh! Ahh!"
SISTO: (rushing to turn it off) Whoops! Musta left it in the VCR last night when I taped...Barney.
LOKAR: When he takes the purple costume off, Barney bears an uncanny resemblance to John Holmes. And from the context of the scene, I assume the naked lady who looks like Traci Lords must be "B.J." Imagine my torment at having missed even the merest frame of your effluent.
S: Too bad, cause the Captain's punchline was the funniest dang thing you ever did hear.
L: And what hermit fanboy freak was responsible for this filmic atrocity?
S: Only the longest-workin director in Hollywood! The beloved Alan Smithee! D'ja like it?
L: Oh, may we all treasure this cinematic ball of filth like a race of theatre-going dung beetles! Wire the Film Preservation Society! Toss out that print of Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai!" Use Griffith's "Intolerance" to wipe your soiled bottoms! And while you're at it, throw away "Citizen Kane," as the great cineaste Sisto didn't "get" the bit with the sled!
S: Did so get it! Citizen Kane's runnin to kick the sled, but Lucy pulls it away, an he goes "AAAAUUUUGGHH!" and lands on his bohunkus, an everyone sez "You're a blockhead, Citizen Kane!" but his scraggly lil tree teaches the true meanin of Christmas to everyone, even the Grinch. I always cry at that part.
L: I feel my IQ shrinking every second I spend in your vicinity. RRRRemove yourself from my prescence, and don't let the portal strike your buttocks whilst you egress!
S: Don't hafta tell me twice. Hey, Crabby Appleton! Here's a poem for ya: "Little Miss Muffett sat on a tuffet--
L: AAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! SPIDERS!!!!!!!!!!!
