Monday, July 17, 2017

From 1975, It’s ... Star Track! [part 2]

This silly skit was wrestled into final shape by yours truly, based on the profound question:

What if the Enterprise encountered Noah's Flood on a far planet, and the whole thing were a Gilbert-and-Sullivan musical?


Captain Crook, Dr McClown, and Mr Spot have met Noah's wife.  Noah is missing, and up on the ship Chief Engineer Shoddy has detected a massive rainstorm on its way.  Mrs Noah, the typical Jewish mother, decides that Mr Spot looks eligible and ask if he's married.

NOAH’S WIFE:  No?  Then, have I got a girl for you!

(She turns and calls.)

NOAH’S WIFE:   Delilah!  Where are you honey?  Delilah, come here!

(A luscious young thing, poured into a slinky dress, undulates from behind the Ark.   She is blonde, slender, and firmly packed.   She speaks with a southern accent so syrupy you could spread it on your cornbread.)

DELILAH:   Yes, Mama?

NOAH’S WIFE:  C’mere, Delilah.

(Mr Spot turns and catches sight of Delilah.   His Adam’s apple starts dancing; his fists clench and unclench; he starts to slobber.)
  Here, we resume our story ...

DELILAH (purrs):  Oohh!

(She sighs and comes closer.   She lifts a finger to trace the curve of one of Spot’s ears.)

DELILAH:  Look at his ears, Mama! Aren’t they somethin’?

McCLOWN:   What’s the matter, Spot? Your human half too much for you?

NOAH’S WIFE:   Young man, meet our Delilah.  Delilah, meet – what’s your name, honey?

SPOT:  I – uhh ... I’m –

(Music up.)

“I’m Called Mr Pointy-Ears”

SPOT:  I’m called Mr Pointy-Ears, never-smile Pointy-Ears,
Though I could never say why.
But still I’m just Pointy-Ears, sad-sack old Pointy-Ears,
Green-skinned and pointy-eared I!

I’ve got brains and logic, and feats astrologic,
I play chess and use the Spot pinch;
My heart’s made of granite, but back on my planet,
I’m someone my folks want to lynch!

So, pity poor Pointy-Ears, half-Vulcan Pointy-Ears,
Always so quiet and shy!
I’m only green Pointy-Ears, sad-sack old Pointy-Ears;
Watch Mr Pointy-Ears cry!

(Music ceases.  Spot falls to his knees, sobbing.  Delilah kneels beside him, stroking his hair.)

DELILAH:  Oh, you poor deah!

KROOK:  Groans, can’t you help him?

McCLOWN:  I’m a doctor, not a voice teacher!  (He fumes.)  I don’t know, Jim.  My guess is that his Vulcanian spawning cycle is coming on.

KROOK:  You mean ...

McCLOWN:  Yup, it’s the time of the pon farr.  One look at her, and he’s Shirley Temple with ears!

KROOK:  Not again!

SPOT (rising slowly to his feet):  No, Captain, I’ll – I’ll be all right.  (sniffs) I beg your forgiveness for this gross display of human emotion.

NOAH’S WIFE:  Oh, such manners!  Would you like to stay for dinner?  I’m sure my husband would like to meet you!

(Meanwhile, McClown takes a few steps, looking around, and steps into a pile of buffalo bagels.  Trying to scrape off his boot, he asks:)

McCLOWN:   Uh, ma’am, may I ask why all of these animals are hangin’ around in the first place?

NOAH’S WIFE:  Well, Noah doesn’t tell me much; but as I understand it, the price of fur coats is goin’ through the roof in a few months, if we can corner the market.  We just gotta keep ’em dry.

SPOT:  Fascinating.

NOAH’S WIFE:  But my crazy husband goes around talking about voices out of the sky.  (points behind her)  We had this thing half-built, and he measures it.  Thirty-nine cubits.  So, “Tear it down,” he says.  “It’s got to be EXACTLY forty cubits,” he says.  And now the voice is telling him, we forgot armadillos.  So I’m sitting here waiting for my crazy husband to come back with a set of preserved pairs!

(Krook’s Communicator beeps.  He flips it open.)

KROOK:  Krook here.  What’s up?

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Shodd here, Cap’n.  Meteorological readings indicate a low-pressure front in the upper atmosphere, and it’s headin’ straight for ya.

McCLOWN:  What the hell does that mean?

SPOT:  It’s going to rain.

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Aye, I just said that.

KROOK:  Shoddy, how much time do we have?

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Estimated time before the storm reaches you – twenty minutes.  But, Cap’n, we’re havin’ a spot o’ trouble with the matter-gain relay circuits.  If ye wait for the storm to get much closer, I dinna know if I can pull ye through!  As I said, ye have twenty minutes at most – an’ not a second more.

McCLOWN:  Twenty minutes!  Holy Moses!



McCLOWN:  Never mind.

KROOK:  Thanks, Shoddy.  Krook out.  (closes Communicator)  Well, gentlemen, I’d say ... we have a problem.

SPOT:  Captain, couldn’t the sensors of the Paralyzed be of some help to this poor woman?

KROOK:  How’s that?

SPOT:  Mr Guru could try to locate her husband’s life-form readings.  Then Mr Shodd can use the Transporter to beam Mr Noah here.

KROOK:  I see.  Good idea.

SPOT:  Naturally.

KROOK (flipping open his Communicator again):  Krook to Paralyzed.

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Paralyzed here, Captain.  What is it?  We’re standing by to beam you aboard.

KROOK:  Not yet.  We’re not ready.  How much time do we have?

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Ye have ten minutes, and not a moment more.

KROOK:  Shoddy, can you use the ship’s sensors to pinpoint an old man for us and beam him to these coordinates?  He should be within, say, a 50-mile radius.

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Just a minute, Captain.  Wait – we’ve got a readin’ for a 600-year-old man, with two armadillos.

NOAH’S WIFE:  That’s him!

KROOK:  Beam him here, please, Shoddy.  We’ll keep in touch.  Krook out.

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Aye, sir.  Paralyzed out.

KROOK:  He should be here any minute now.

(Offstage:  the familiar hum, a flash of light, and a hearty “Hi-ho, Silver!”  NO:  just the familiar hum and a flash of light.  A doddering old man totters around the corner of the Ark, carrying a scaly bundle under each arm.  Each bundle looks suspiciously like a dirty basketball trailing a licorice stick.)

NOAH’S WIFE:  Noah!  You’re here, finally!  Where’ve you been?  What took you so long?  So ... this is an armadillo?  Wipe your feet!  Want some chicken soup?  (to the Paralyzed three)  Thanks – come back some other time, will you?

(Noah, his wife, and Delilah enter the Ark.  Delilah offers a special wave to Spot.)

KROOK (turning to McClown and Spot):  Well, gentlemen, I think our task here is finished here.

McCLOWN (with a silly grin):  I hope we gave them a good sendoff.

KROOK:  Let’s get back to the ship.  (flips open his Communicator)  Shoddy!  We’re coming home.

SHODDY’S VOICE:  You had us worried, sir.  One minute to the thunderstorm.

SPOT:  Captain – with your permission, I would prefer to remain behind for an hour or two.  This climate would afford an unparalleled opportunity for the study of atmospheric conditions extant on primitive planets, and their overall relation to –

SHODDY’S VOICE:  Mr Spot, how long can you tread water?

KROOK:  Three to beam up.  Krook out.

(They sprinkle glitter over themselves.  Curtain.)

The End

... As you may imagine, the biggest single laugh came with "I'm a doctor, not a voice teacher!"

As far as costuming, we did it on the cheap.  We wore black pants rolled up.  We bought sort-of-shimmery shirts, and hand-sewed TREK emblems.

As you can see from this photo taken ten minutes ago, I also used a blue magic marker to color the neckline.


Thanks for visiting this corner of Memory Lane.  See you next week for a new article on Supes and the ol' ball and chain.

All original content
© by Mark Alfred