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From rsk@gynko.circ.upenn.edu Thu Dec 26 18:58:21 1991
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Date: Thu, 26 Dec 91 18:58:15 EST
From: rsk@gynko.circ.upenn.edu (Richard Kulawiec)
Posted-Date: Thu, 26 Dec 91 18:58:15 EST
Message-Id: <9112262358.AA01503@gynko.circ.upenn.edu>
To: rsk@chestnut.circ.upenn.edu
Subject: Satellite of Love News #11
Status: OR
==========
Item 1:
==========
From: rsk
Date: Wed Dec 25 21:49:48 EST 1991
Subject: A Christmas wish for MST3K fans
[ I hope you'll forgive this rambling, which was probably brought
on by too much Frangelico on Christmas evening. ---Rsk ]
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the ship,
Not a creature was stirring, even Fugitive Ken was hip
The Mads, those nefarious underground fiends back on earth,
Were throwing a hat party full of Robot Monster mirth.
The stockings were hung with shadowrama care,
In hopes that Jack Perkins soon would be there.
Tom Servo and Crowwwwww! were were all snug in their beds,
While visions of RAM chips danced in their heads.
And Magic Voice in her sound booth and I in my jacuzzi,
Had just settled down for a long cheesy movie.
When out on the Moonbase there arose such a clatter,
I asked Cambot to see what was the matter.
Away to the hexfield viewer I flew in a flash,
Rocket number nine showed a fiery crash.
Moon Zero Two on the crest of the newfallen slime,
Gave a cheap special effect more or less sublime.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a killer forklift and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver so squalid and rank,
I knew in a moment it must be Sandy Frank.
More rapid than Gamera his coursers,
They came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
Now Trumpy! Now Gaos! Now Milhouse, er, Nixon!
On Donald! On Marla! On Gorby and Yeltsin!
To the top of the porch, to the roof up high,
"Nipple, nipple, tweak, tweak, FLY, FLY, FLY!"
As dry leaves that before the Wild Rebels fly,
When they meet with the Sidehackers up in the sky.
So up to the housetop like Ro-Man they flew,
With a sleigh full of films, and Sandy Frank, too.
And then in a twinkle I heard on the roof,
Godzilla, Megalon and some Untamed Youth.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney Sandy Frank came with a bound.
He was dressed head-to-toe in a red jumpsuit,
With a logo that said "Gizmonic Institute".
A bundle of tapes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a bozo, a movie-mashing hack.
He had films by the dozens, all his bombs and their cousins,
As I thought of the prospect, my head starting buzzing.
He brought all the reels for "Zardoz," "Heaven's Gate",
"Orca," "Myra Breckenridge", "Dune" and "Blind Date";
A grainy old print of "Plan Nine from Outer Space",
The uncut release of "The Sailer Who Fell From Grace".
There were VHS copies of "Damnation Alley",
"The Sandpiper", "Demon Seed", "Mandingo" and "Grizzly!"
Nothing too sappy, nothing too gory,
A double bill of "Viva Knievel!" and "Love Story".
He had "Lizstomania," You Light Up My Life" and the rest,
And he even brought that bomb "Rabbit Test".
I quaked in my boots, so fast beat my heart,
Not unlike Gypsy contemplating Richard Basehart.
A wink of his eye and a twist-off rubber head,
Soon gave me to know I had far worse to dread;
Roger Corman would be next, to bring us his work,
And fill all the load pans, that pain-inflicting jerk.
And laying his finger deep inside of his nose,
And giving a snort, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, finally picked up the pace,
And away they all flew, as if shot into space.
I heard him cry as he hit top speed,
"He doesn't speak your language, dickweed!"
With many apologies to Clement C. Moore, whose work I have horribly butchered.