Repair Tech Wars - -No Hope

This parody script was written by Rob K., a former co-worker. I take no credit or responsibility for its content.

REPAIR TECH WARS

Episode IV

NO HOPE


Far, far away, in a galaxy a long time ago...


A vast sea of stars serves as the backdrop (there are three). Highway to hell is played in the background as the following words roll across the screen.


It is a period of war. Repair Tech spaceships, striking from a hidden base; have won their first victory against the evil TRW
Empire.
During the battle, Repair Tech spies managed to steal secret plans to TRW's ultimate weapon, the Death Module, an armored air bag that deploys with enough power to destroy an entire planet.
Pursued by TRWs sinister agents, Princess Layme races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save the Repair Techs and restore freedom to the galaxy...


The awesome yellow planet of Marshalline emerges from a total eclipse, her two moons glowing against the darkness. A tiny silver spacecraft, a Repair Tech Blockade Runner firing lasers from the back of the ship, races through space. A giant TRW Morale-Destroyer purses it. Hundreds of deadly laser bolts streak from the TRW Morale-Destroyer, causing the main solar fin of the Repair Tech craft to disintegrate.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER -- MAIN PASSAGEWAY.

An explosion rocks the ship as two robots, Jay-Eye-Em (JIM) and Em-Eye-Kay-Eee (MIKE) struggle to make their way through the shaking, bouncing passageway. Both robots are ugly and pretty useless.
Jim is a short, round looking freak. His face looks like a two-year-old baby's. Mike, on the other hand, is a tall, slender robot. He has a gleaming; long, luxurious head of hair that makes him look kind of like a girl.
Another blast shakes them as they struggle along their way down the corridor.

MIKE: Uh-oh! My Repair Tech training tells me they shut down the main reactor. It feels like they might have damaged the struts as well. This sucks!

Repair Tech troopers rush past the robots and take up positions in the main passageway. Normally, they'd aim their guns at the door, but I decided it's more fun when people fight hand-to-hand and have weapons such as chair, 2x4s, etc. Kind of like wrestling...

MIKE: That's it. We're dead.

JIM: Did you say your gay? I already knew that.

MIKE: I think the Princess is pretty much screwed.

JIM: Thanks to me. I'm a pimp...and not a gay one.

Tension mounts as loud metallic latches clank and the scream of heavy equipment are heard moving around the outside of the ship.

MIKE: Oh know. Sounds like the shocks are gone.

EXTERIOR: SPACECRAFT IN SPACE.

The TRW craft has easily overtaken the Repair Tech Blockade Runner. The smaller Repair Tech ship is being drawn into the underside dock of the giant TRW starship.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER.

The nervous Repair Tech troopers aim their...2x4s. Suddenly a tremendous blast opens up a hole in the main passageway and a score of fearsome armored space suited TRW-Troopers make their way into the smoke-filled corridor.
In a few minutes the entire passageway is filled with flying chairs, 2x4s, and written warnings. The deadly chairs ricochet in wild random patterns creating chaos. TRW-Troopers scatter and duck behind storage lockers. Chairs hit several Repair Tech soldiers who scream and stagger through the hall, holding shattered arms and faces. An explosion hits near the dumb robots.

MIKE: Why do I listen to you? It's your fault I'm going to die...

JIM: You listen to me because your gay and you like my butt...

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DESERT REDNECKLAND -- DAY.

A death-white wasteland across the horizon. The tremendous heat of two huge twin suns settles on a lone figure, Rick Manwalker, a farm boy with heroic aspirations who acts much younger than his 34 years. His shaggy hair and baggy tunic give him the air of a simple but lovable lad; unfortunately this assumption is totally false.
A light wind whips at him as he adjusts several valves on an old battered 65 Mustang... He is aided by a beat up tread-robot with six arms. The little robot appears to be barely functioning.
A bright sparkle in the morning sky catches Rick's eye and he instinctively grabs a pair of electro binoculars from his utility belt (he keeps them on hand for peeping purposes). He stands transfixed for a few moments studying the heavens, then dashes toward his dented, crudely repaired AMC Gremlin. He motions for the robot to follow him.

RICK (whining): Gees! Hurry up! Come on! What are you waiting for ya piece of crap?! I'll kill you!

The robot scoots around in a tight circle, stops short, and smoke begins to pour out of it. Rick throws his arms up in disgust. Exasperated, the farm boy jumps into his Gremlin leaving the smoldering robot to hum madly.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER -- MAIN HALLWAY.

The awesome, seven-foot-tall, old and fat Dark Lord of TRW makes his way into the blinding light of the main passageway. This is Darth Battlehammer, right hand of the TRW CEO. His face is obscured by his flowing black robes and grotesque breath mask, which stands out next to the fascist white armored suits of the TRW-Troopers. Everyone instinctively backs away from the imposing warrior and a deathly quiet sweeps through the Repair Tech troops. Several of the Repair Tech troops break and run in a frenzied panic.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER.

A woman's hand puts a folded piece of paper into Jim's pants.

JIM: That's what I'm talkin' about! I am soooo not gay!

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER.

Mike stands in a hallway, somewhat bewildered. Jim is nowhere in sight. The pitiful screams of the doomed Repair Tech soldiers can be heard in the distance.

MIKE: Jim! Jim, where in the hell are you at?

A familiar clanking sound attacks Mike's attention and he spots little Jim at the end of the hallway in a smoke-filled alcove. A beautiful young girl (about sixteen years old...giggidy, giggidy, giggidy, oh yeah....) is kneeling in front of Jim. Surreal and out of place, dreamlike and half hidden in the smoke, she finishes adjusting Jim's pants, then watches as the little robot joins his companion.

MIKE: You've got to be kidding me! We're under attack and your getting your groove on???

TRW-Troopers can be heard battling in the distance.

MIKE: They're heading right for us! What are we going to do now???
We'll be put away without any Internet connection for the rest of our lives!!!

Jim scoots past his friend and races down the sub hallway. Mike chases after him.

MIKE: Wait a minute! Don't leave without me!

JIM: Well, quit acting gay and get moving...MF.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER -- CORRIDOR

The evil Darth Battlehammer stands amid the broken and twisted bodies of his foes. He grabs a wounded Repair Tech Officer by the neck as a TRW Group Leader rushes up to the Dark Lord.

GROUP LEAD: The Death Module plans are not in the main computer.

Battlehammer squeezes the neck of the Repair Tech Officer, who doesn't really seem to be bothered by the Dark Lords feeble grip.

BATTLEHAMMER: Tell me where the transmissions are, jackass!

Battlehammer tries to lift the Repair Tech off his feet by his throat. It doesn't work. A couple of TRW-Troopers grab the Repair Tech by the arms, and lift. Now the Battlehammer looks cool...

BATTLEHAMMER: Tell me now!

REPAIR TECH OFFICER: Dude, that outfit makes you look fat. And old. Anyhoo, we're on a diplomatic mission.

BATTLEHAMMER: Oh really? I look fat and old? Well, you look dead!

Battlehammer tries to choke the guy to death, but the Repair Tech just kind of rolls his eyes. Battlehammer grabs a gun and shoots the Repair Tech in the head.
Battlehammer tosses the dead soldier (with help from the TRW-Troopers) against the wall and turns to his troops.

BATTLEHAMMER: Commander, tear this ship apart until you've found those plans and bring me the Princess. I want her! I mean I want her alive!

The TRW-Troopers scurry into the sub hallways.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER -- SUBHALLWAY.

The lovely young girl huddles in a small alcove as the TRW-Troopers search through the ship. She is Princess Layme Orgasmo, a member of the Terre Haute Senate. The fear in her eyes slowly gives way to anger (and a bit of lust), as the muted crushing sounds of the approaching TRW-Troopers grow louder. One of the troopers sees her.

TROOPER: I see her! Get her!

Layme steps from her hiding place and kicks one of the troopers in the balls. She starts to run but is tackled from behind. The troopers inspect her inert body...most thoroughly.

TROOPER: She's a fine piece of...I mean, inform Lord Battlehammer we have a prisoner.

INTERIOR: REPAIR TECH BLOCKADE RUNNER -- SUBHALLWAY.

Jim stops before the small hatch of an emergency life pod. He snaps the seal on the main latch and a red warning light begins to flash repeatedly. The stubby astro-robot works his way into the cramped pod.

MIKE: Hey, Jim, you're not permitted in there. It's against the rules. It's stuff like that, that shows you don't have a positive attitude.

JIM: Dude, you are such an idiot...

MIKE: Don't call me a mindless philosopher you overweight glob of crap! Now come out before somebody sees you and we get in trouble!

JIM: First of all, I didn't call you a mindless philosopher. I called you an idiot. Second of all, you're gay. Third of all, I'm on a secret mission.

MIKE: Secret mission my ass! You are so full of it! You're always making up stuff. I'm done hanging out with you!

JIM: Dude, like I care. It's easier to get laid without you around...unless I want cyber-sex.

The sound of TRW-Troopers gets closer. Mike pees himself.

JIM: Just get in here, retard.

The lanky robot jumps into the life pod.

MIKE: I'm going to regret this. Quit touching my ass!

TO BE CONTINUED...




INTERIOR: TRW MORALE-DESTROYER.

On the main view screen, the life pod carrying the two terrified robots speeds away from the stricken Repair Tech spacecraft.

GUNNER: There goes another one! I bet I can take it out with one shot...

CAPTAIN: Dude get over here! I found nude pictures of Lindsey Lohan on the Internet!

The gunner quickly leaves his post.

INTERIOR: LIFEPOD.

Jim and Mike look out at the receding TRW starship. Stars circle as the pod rotates through the galaxy. Jim gets dizzy and throws up.

MIKE: That's funny; you're a wuss.

JIM: At least I'm not gay.

MIKE: (whines) Oh man, I stepped in it!


INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- HALLWAY

A squad of TRW-Troopers leads Princess Layme down a low-ceilinged hallway. Her hands are bound and she is goosed with an electric prod when she is unable to keep up with the briskly marching troops. They stop in a smoky hallway as Darth Battlehammer emerges from the shadows. The sinister Dark Lord stares hard at the frail young senator, but she doesn't move. When that doesn't work, he farts really loud. The girl wrinkles her nose in disgust. Several troopers gag.

LAYME: Lord Battlehammer, I should have known. Only you would take time off work to fly across the galaxy to pick up underage girls. The
HR Department will not sit for this, when they hear you've attacked a diplomatic...

BATTLEHAMMER: Don't play games with me, Your Highness...unless they're sexy games. Those are okay. Anyway, the HR Department will totally ignore this issue because that is their job! You weren't on any training mission this time. You passed directly through a restricted system. Plus, you were speeding and you don't have a TRW parking tag! Repair Tech spies beamed several transmissions to this ship.
I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you...or we can conduct a strip search.

LAYME: I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm always up for a strip search. I'm a member of the TRW Entertainment Committee on a diplomatic mission to Terre Haute...

BATTLEHAMMER: You're a part of the Repair Tech Alliance...and a traitor. And you're stupid! Take her away!

Layme is marched away down the hallway and into the smoldering hole blasted in the side of the ship. A TRW Team Leader turns to Battlehammer.

TEAM LEADER: Holding her isn't a good idea. You should just give her a final verbal written oral warning.

BATTLEHAMMER: Don't tell me what to do! You're not my boss! She's my only link to finding those damn Repair Techs.

TEAM LEADER: She'll put in her two weeks notice before she tells you anything.

BATTLEHAMMER: Leave that to me. Send a distress signal and then inform the HR Department that all aboard were killed!

TEAM LEADER: Why? The HR Department is on our side. Why do we have to lie?

BATTLEHAMMER: It's not a lie. I'm going to kill everybody. HR just needs to know for payroll purposes.

A Group Leader approaches Battlehammer and the Team Leader. Battlehammer pats the Group Leader on the head for being obedient.

GROUP LEADER: Lord Battlehammer, the Death Module plans are not aboard this ship and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but the gunners didn't shoot it down because they found nude pics of Lindsey Lohan on the Internet.

Battlehammer turns to the Commander.

BATTLEHAMMER: Layme must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to get them. In the meantime, I demand to see these pics of Lindsey Lohan!

TEAM LEADER: Yes, sir! Can I look too?

BATTLEHAMMER: No...this is something I'll need to do in private...

EXTERIOR: SPACE.

The TRW Morale-Destroyer comes over the surface of the planet Marshalline.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DESERT.

The two useless astro-droids kick up clouds of sand as they leave the life pod and clumsily work their way across the desert wasteland. The life pod in the distance rests half buried in the sand. Jim wrote, "Mike is gay" on the side.

MIKE: How did I get into this? I really don't know. All I wanted was an extra dollar an hour. Instead, I get 38 cents and my hours changed. On top of that, I'm now running from the evil TRW Empire.

JIM: Dude, will you please shut up???

MIKE: I've got band practice in the morning. I'm meeting a girl from Pakistan on the Internet later! My life is falling apart!

JIM: Do you want me to kill you?

MIKE: Man...this place is hot...

JIM: Well, I'm not standing around here with your gay ass all day. I'm outta here!

Suddenly Jim starts off in the direction of the rocky desert mesas. Mike stops and yells at him.

MIKE: Where do you think your going?

JIM: Anywhere there isn't gayness.

MIKE: Well, I'm not going that way. The acoustics wouldn't be right for band practice. I'm going this other way. And don't' try to talk me out of it!

JIM: No problem...

MIKE: I mean it! I'm not going to follow you!

JIM: Yup...heard ya the first time...

MIKE: Don't beg me to go with you!

JIM: Wouldn't dream of it...

MIKE: Fine! Be that way! You just go ahead with your make believe missions! See if I care! You go to hell! You go to hell and you die!

Mike throws a rock at Jim and starts off in the direction of the vast dune sea.

MIKE: And don't let me catch you following me begging for help.

JIM: It won't happen unless I need help not picking up any girls...

He turns and trudges off in the direction of the towering mesas.

MIKE: Man, I hate that guy. He doesn't even know the difference between a shock and a strut.

JIM: Man, I hate that guy. He's gay.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DUNE SEA.

Mike, hot and tired, struggles up over the ridge of a dune only to find more dunes, which seem to go on for endless miles. He looks back in the direction of the now distant rock mesas and flips off Jim (who he can no longer see).

MIKE: That malfunctioning little turd. This is all his fault! In fact, it's everybody's fault but mine! He tricked me into going this way, but only because I'm stupid.

In a huff of anger and frustration, Mike knocks the sand from his joints. His plight seems hopeless, when a glint of light in the distance reveals an object moving towards him.

MIKE: What's that? It looks like a giant truck. Man, I can't wait to see the shocks on that thing.

The android waves frantically and yells at the approaching transport.

MIKE: Over here, jerkoff! Hey, dumbass! Please, help...moron!



EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SUNSET.

The gargantuan rock formations are shrouded in a strange foreboding mist and the ominous sounds of unearthly creatures fill the air. Oh, wait. The mist and ominous sounds are coming from Jim's ass. Jim moves cautiously through the creepy rock canyon, inadvertently making a loud farting noise as he goes.

JIM: Damn low-carb diet...

Jim hears a distant, hard, metallic sound and stops for a moment. Convinced he is alone, he adjusts himself and continues on his way.

In the distance, a pebble tumbles down the steep canyon wall and a small figure darts into the shadows. A little further up the canyon a slight flicker of light reveals a pair of eyes in the dark recesses only a few feet from the path. The unsuspecting robot waddles along the rugged trail until suddenly, out of nowhere, a little midget jumps out and hits Jim on the head with a hammer.

JIM: Awww, sh--

Jim falls backward onto his back. Out of the rocks scurry three midgets, almost as tall as Jim. They take turns hitting Jim with the hammer, making sure he is good and knocked out. They wear grubby cloaks and their faces are shrouded so only their beady eyes can be seen. They all huddle around Jim's inert form and make him an unwilling participant to a little midget love...

TO BE CONTINUED...


EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SANDCRAWLER -- SUNSET.

The eight midgets carry Jim out of the canyon to a huge tank-like vehicle the size of a four-story house. They weld a small disk on the side of Jim and then put him under a large tube on the side of the vehicle and the little robot is sucked into the giant machine.
The filthy little midgets scurry like rats up small ladders and enter the main cabin of the behemoth transport.

INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER -- HOLD AREA.

It is dim inside the hold area of the Sandcrawler and smell like midget love...oh wait, that's Jim. Jim finds a small flashlight and begins making his way around heaps of junk. The narrow beam swings across rusty metal rocket parts and an array of grotesquely twisted and maimed astro-robots. He pauses momentarily when he finds an old copy of Penthouse. After reading Forum, he continues on. As his situation appears more and more hopeless, Jim begins to cry.

INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER -- PRISON AREA.

Jim enters a wide room with a four-foot ceiling (which means the ceiling is about a foot above his head). In the middle of the scrap heap sit a dozen or so robots of various shapes and sizes. Bill's loadbox is among the heap. Some are engaged in electronic conversation, while others simply sit and rust. A voice of recognition calls out from the gloom. Jim slaps his head in frustration.

MIKE: Jim! It's you! Why do you smell like midget love?

Mike covers his nose.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SANDCRAWLER -- SUNSET.

The enormous Sandcrawler lumbers off toward the magnificent twin suns, which are slowly setting over a distant mountain ridge. The Sandcrawler stops at an Arby's and then continues its journey.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DESERT -- DAY.

Four TRW-troopers mill about in front of the half-buried life pod that brought Jim and Mike to Marshalline. A trooper yells to a group leader some distance away.

FIRST TROOPER: Someone named Mike was in the pod. I'm certain of it!

GROUP LEADER: How do you know?

FIRST TROOPER: Well, somebody wrote, "Mike is gay" on the side of the pod.

In true TRW management fashion, the Group Leader reached his own decision...

GROUP LEADER: Okay, clearly you are correct. Somebody named Mike was in the pod and according to these tracks, they headed off to the east. But, I'm going to ignore the facts and tell you what is really going on here. "Mike is gay" could be taken a many number of ways. You are reading it wrong so therefore there is a lack of communication. In fact, I bet you are Mike!

The group leader pulls out a gun and shoots the trooper.

GROUP LEADER: Case solved! I'm going to lunch...

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DUNES.

The Sandcrawler moves slowly down a great sand dune. You can hear Mike inside going "Wheee!!!"

INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER.

Mike and Jim noisily bounce along inside the cramped prison chamber. Jim appears to be sleeping. Mike takes his wallet before waking him.

MIKE: Midget lover! It's time to wake up!

Suddenly the shaking and bouncing of the Sandcrawler stops creating quite a commotion among the mechanical men.

MECHANICAL MEN: *random mumblings*

Mike slaps Jim a couple of times to wake him up. Jim comes out of sleep mumbling something about "No...no midgets..." A dozen or so midgets make their way through the odd assortment of robots.

MIKE: That's it. We're dead.

A midget starts moving toward them.

MIKE: Do you think they'll make us their midget love slaves?

JIM: Why are you asking me?

THREEPIO: Oh...I don't know. *coughmidgetlovercough*

JIM: Shut up.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DESERT -- RATT HOMESTEAD -- AFTERNOON.

The midgets mutter gibberish as they busily line up their battered captives, including Jim and Mike, in front of the enormous Sandcrawler, which is parked beside a small homestead consisting of three large holes in the ground surrounded by several tall moisture vaporators and one small adobe blockhouse.
The midgets scurry around fussing over the robots, straightening them up or brushing some dust from a dented metallic elbow. One of the midgets pauses to hump Jim's leg.
Out of the shadows of a dingy side building limps Owen Ratt, a large burly man in his mid-fifties. His reddish eyes are sunken in from years of cocaine use. As the farmer carefully inspects each robot, his slump-shouldered nephew, Rick Manwalker, closely follows him. One of the vile little midgets walks ahead of the farmer spouting an animated sales pitch in a queer, unintelligible language.
A female voice calls out from one of the huge holes that form the homestead. Rick goes over to the edge and sees his Aunt Beru standing in the main courtyard.

BERU: Rick, tell Owen that if he gets a translator to be sure it speaks Ghetto.

RICK: Quit telling me what to do! Tell him yourself!

Rick returns to his uncle as they look over the equipment for sale with the midget leader.

OWEN: I have no need for a droid that can play the drums.

MIKE: (quickly) Sir -- not in an environment such as this -- but...I've nailed two chicks at once...

JIM: ...and a guy...

MIKE: What??? That's not true!

OWEN: What I really need is a droid that understands how to play XBox.

MIKE: Xbox! Sir -- My first job was playing Playstation 2...very similar to the Xbox. In fact...

OWEN: Do you speak Ghetto?

MIKE: Word up, broham. It's like a second language for
me...I used to deal crack...

OWEN: All right shut up, hippie! (turning to midget) I'll take this gay one.

MIKE: I'm not gay!

OWEN: Rick, take these two over to the garage, will you? I want you to give both of them a bath before dinner.

Rick: But I was going into Terre Haute Station to pick up some shocks...

OWEN: You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done. Don't make me backhand you!
Get to it!

RICK: Gees, my life sucks! Okay... the short droid and the Asian one. Well, come on, Cling Dong Chong. Let's go.

As the midgets start to lead the three remaining robots back into the Sandcrawler, Jim lets out a pathetic little whine and starts after his old friend Mike.

JIM: Miiiikkkkeee! Don't leave meeeeeee!!! Not with the midgets!

A slimy midget, who hits him in the face with a loadbox, restrains him.

Owen is negotiating with the head midget. Rick and the two robots start off for the garage. When nobody is looking, Jim picks up a rock and throws it at the Asian robot, hitting him in the head. The robot falls to the ground, bleeding from the nasty gash.

RICK: Uncle fatass...

OWEN: What?

RICK: This Asian unit is unstable. Look! It's got a big gash in its head!

OWEN: (to the head midget) Hey, what're you trying to push on us?

The midget goes into a loud spiel. Meanwhile, Jim has sneaked out of line. He farts loudly. Mike taps Rick on the shoulder.

MIKE: (pointing to Jim) Excuse me, sir, but that short, round unit is pretty useless. Whatever you do, don't buy him.

JIM: Why, you sonofabi--

RICK: Hey! Don't tell me what to do! I'm not a slave to The Man! Uncle lardbutt...

OWEN: What?

RICK: What about the short one?

JIM and MIKE: (in unison) I'm not gay!

OWEN: (to midget) What about that short one? We'll buy that one.

With a little reluctance the scruffy dwarf trades the damaged droid-droid for Jim.

RICK: See! I do what I want!

MIKE: Uh, great. You bought a really worthless droid that isn't good at anything except bugging me. He's a first-class pain in the ass. And he's a Braves fan. How pathetic...oh, here he comes.

Owen pays off the whining midget as Rick and the two robots trudge off toward a grimy homestead entry.

RICK: Okay, let's go get you two cleaned up.

JIM: Cool, bath time. Hey Rick, don't forget to wash my taint!

MIKE: (to Jim) You are soooo disgusting! I hope we don't have to share a bath!

JIM: If we do, just don't touch my sac.

INTERIOR: RATT HOMESTEAD -- GARAGE AREA -- LATE AFTERNOON.

The garage is cluttered and worn and it smells like ass. Mike lowers himself into a large tub filled with warm water. Near the battered AMC Gremlin little Jim rests on a stool.

MIKE: This is awesome! It's been awhile since I've had a bath.
I've got dust in places that just aren't appropriate!

JIM: (mumbles) At least you don't smell like midget love...

Rick seems to be lost in thought as he runs his hand over the damaged fin of a small two-man bicycle spaceship resting in the garage. Finally Rick's frustrations get the better of him and he slams a wrench across the workbench.

RICK: I hate my life. This place sucks. I'm never gonna get out of here and I'll be stuck washing robots forever!

MIKE: Hmmm...I think you're a big whiner.

Rick glances at the battered robot. His face turns bright red with anger.

RICK: What would you know!

MIKE: Hey, don't take it personally. I'm just saying that you whine like a little bitch. I mean, you cry like a girl. I hope you're not offended.

RICK: Well...I'll let it slide this time, but if you ever say anything like that again I'll kill you.

MIKE: Whatever you say, Rick.

RICK: Uh, you can call me Sir.

MIKE: I see, sir Rick.

RICK: (snarls) Just sir.

MIKE: And I am Mike, human-cyborg relations, and this is my...ummm...acquaintence, Jim.

RICK: Hi.

JIM: Whaddup dog!

Rick grabs a sponge and begins washing Jim's naked body. Mike climbs out of the tub and begins drying himself off in front of a very disgusted Rick.

RICK: Man, Jim, you are filthy...and you smell like midget love. It looks like you boys have seen some action.

MIKE: With all we've been through, sometimes I'm amazed we're not dead yet, what with the Rebellion and all.

RICK: You know of the Repair Tech Rebellion against the TRW Empire?

MIKE: That's how we came to be in your service, if you take my meaning.

RICK: No, don't follow you at all. Have you been in many battles?

MIKE: Oh yeah! All the time. I'm always kicking somebody's ass. I was kicking the hell out of some TRW troopers on the last ship we were on, but Jim insisted we run away. I wanted to stay and fight, but I couldn't let Jim wander off by himself.

JIM: You are soooo gay...

Rick struggles to remove something from between Jim's butt cheeks. He uses a large pick. That's P-I-C-K...pick.

RICK: Well, my midget love smelling friend, you've got something jammed in here real good. Were you on a cruiser..?

A hidden message pops out of Jim's butt, sending Rick tumbling head over heels. He sits up and unfolds the piece of paper that has a nude picture of Layme Orgasmo. Rick looks at the paper and sees hastily scribbled words. He begins reading the message.

RICK: "Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop. You're my only hope." What is this?

JIM: What's what?

RICK: "Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop. You're my only hope. Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop. You're my only hope."

MIKE: The message he pulled out of your ass! Where did it come from?

JIM: Besides my ass?

MIKE: Yes!

JIM: I have no idea. It's hard to say what else is stuck up there.

RICK: Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop. You're my only hope. Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop. You're my only hope.

JIM: It's probably nothing important. In fact, I think it's an old message someone passed to me in class when I was younger. I think it said, "Mike is gay." I wouldn't worry about it.

The beautiful girl intrigues Rick.

RICK: this beautiful girl intrigues me. Who is she?

MIKE: How am I suppose to know??? Do I look like her pimp?

RICK: Help me, Obi-Roger Bishop...

MIKE: Why do you keep reading the same part of the message over and over?

RICK: The only words I know how to read just happen to be the ones in the first couple lines of this message. It's a really lucky coincidence that they're in an order that makes since. Jim, what does the rest of the message say?

JIM: I don't remember. Go screw yourself, gay man.

MIKE: Behave yourself, Jim. You're going to get us written up.
You can trust him. He doesn't work for The Man.

JIM: I used to work for Obi-Roger Bishop. He lives here on Marshalline. It's a private message for him. And that's all I'm telling you. You're gay.

RICK: Obi-Roger Bishop? I wonder if he means old Roger Bishop?

MIKE: You know this Obi-Roger Bishop?

RICK: Well, I don't know anyone named Obi-Roger, but old Roger lives out beyond the dune sea. He's kind of a strange old slacker.

Rick gazes at the picture of the young princess for a few moments.

RICK: I wonder if she's single. It sounds like she's in trouble and is in dire need of the Rickster. Somebody read this message to me.

JIM: The restraining bolt on my head has kind of made me loopy. If you take the bolt off, I may be able to focus long enough to read the message.

Rick looks longingly at the lovely, little princess and hasn't really heard what Jim has been saying.

RICK: H'm? Oh, yeah, well, I guess you're too small and useless to run away on me if I take this off! Okay.

Rick takes a wedged bar and pops the restraining bolt off Jim's head.

RICK: Okay, here's the message.

Rick hands Jim the note. Jim quickly shoves the note back up his ass.

RICK: Well, wait a second. Why'd you do that for? Give me back the message! I want to know what it says! WHAAAAAAAA!!!!

JIM: Message? Dude, what are you talking about?

MIKE: You know exactly what he's talking about! Take that message out of your ass this minute! Don't make me go up there!

A women's voice calls out.

AUNT BERU: Rick? Rick! Get in here and eat!

Rick stands up and shakes his head at the malfunctioning robot.

RICK: All right, hold your horses ya ugly spinster!

MIKE: I'm sorry, sir, but Jim is pretty much a dick.

Rick tosses Jim's restraining bolt on the workbench and hurries out of the room.

RICK: Well, see if you can pull that message back out of his ass. I'll be back later.

MIKE: (to Jim) Why are you carrying a message around in your ass?

JIM: Long story. Do you think that Rick guy is mad?

MIKE: Oh, I think that's pretty obvious. Why, are you worried?

JIM: No...I just want to see if I can make him cry.

MIKE: You are such an idiot...


TO BE CONTINUED...



INTERIOR: RATT HOMESTEAD -- DINING AREA.

Rick's Aunt Beru fills a container with some malt liquor (King Cobra maybe?) She puts the pitcher on a tray with some cocoa pebbles and heads for the dining area.

Rick is already at the table with his uncle.

RICK: You know, I think Jim might have been kidnapped.

OWEN: Well, duh! That's why we got him so cheap!

RICK: Well, I stumbled across a message while I was cleaning him. He says he belongs to someone called Obi-Roger Bishop.

Owen is greatly alarmed at the mention of the name and backhands Beru out of general principle. She goes flying out of her chair.

BERU: OUCH!!! Son-of-a-bit--

RICK: I thought he might have meant old Roger. Do you know who he's talking about? Well, I wonder if he's related to Roger.

Owen breaks loose with a fit of uncontrolled anger and throws a fork at Beru. It sticks in her forehead.

BERU: The pain!!! Oh, the pain!!!

OWEN: That old man's just a crazy old slacker. Tomorrow I want you to
take Jim into Givinhead and have his memory flushed. That'll be the end of all that crap he's been spewing. He belongs to us now.

RICK: But what if this Obi-Roger comes looking for him?

OWEN: He won't, I don't think he's alive any more. He died around the same time as your father.

RICK: He knew my father?

OWEN: Oookkkkaaayyyy...what in the hell did I just say that makes you think he knew your father? Because he died around the same time as your father? Hell, I guess maybe your father knew everybody that just happened to die around the same time as him. I tell you what, boy; when you want to be stupid you sure do go all out! In the morning I want Jim and Mike on the south ridge working on those condensers.

RICK: Whatever...jerk. I think Jim and Mike are going to work out fine.
In fact, I was also thinking about our agreement about my staying on another season. And if these new droids do work out, I want to transmit my application to TRW this year.

Owen's face becomes a scowl and he kicks Beru in the shin.

BERU: That's it...I've had enough.

OWEN: Do you mean the next semester before harvest?

RICK: Sure, there're more than enough droids...and besides, we don't even live on a farm ya crazy bastard!!!

OWEN: Harvest is when I need you the most, Rick. Just one more season. This year we'll make enough on the harvest so I'll be able to kill you and hire someone to take your spot. And then you can go to TRW next year.

RICK: Did you say kill me?

OWEN: What? No...no...of course not.

Rick continues to toy with his food, not looking at his uncle.

OWEN: You must understand I need you here, Rick.

RICK: Only because all the drug dealers won't sell to you.

OWEN: It's only one more season.

Rick pushes his half-eaten plate of food aside and stands.

RICK: Yeah, and that would make sense if we lived on a farm.

AUNT BERU: Where do you think you're going?

RICK: It looks like I'm not going anywhere because I have to harvest a crop we don't have. I have to finish cleaning Jim.

Resigned to his fate, Rick runs out of the room crying. Owen pulls out a small bag of coke.

AUNT BERU: Owen, I don't want him to stay here forever. Let's just kick him out. He's just a waste of space.

OWEN: Yeah, but we get a tax break for claiming his as a dependant. Extra cash means extra meth.

AUNT BERU: Rick's just not a farmer, Owen. Corn surrounds our home and he thinks we have nothing to harvest. He has too much of his father's stupidity in him.

OWEN: That's what I'm afraid of...that and a sudden shortage of crack.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- RATT HOMESTEAD.

The giant twin suns (they look like big, golden boobs) of Marshalline slowly disappear behind a distant dune range. Rick stands watching them for a few moments, smokes a joint, and then reenters the homestead.

INTERIOR: RATT HOMESTEAD -- GARAGE.

Rick enters the garage, but doesn't see the robots anywhere. Rick removes a small loadbox from his utility belt. He presses a button on the loadbox, sending an electrical shock through Mike who was hiding behind the AMC Gremlin.

RICK: What are you doing hiding there? Were you going to molest me?

Mike stumbles forward, but Jim is still nowhere to be seen.

MIKE: It wasn't my fault! It's all Jim! Please don't kill me! I told him not to go, but he's stubborn and stupid; kept babbling on about his mission.

RICK: Oh, no!

MIKE: I know! It's horrible!

RICK: I forgot to save a lot of money on my car insurance with Geico!

Rick races out of the garage followed by Mike.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- RATT HOMESTEAD.

Rick rushes outside and searches the horizon for Jim. Mike slowly follows him.

MIKE: Jim has always been a problem. He's a self-centered, egotistical, obnoxious twerp. And he's a Braves fan...yuck!

RICK: How could I be so stupid? It must be genetic. Crap! We'll never find him!

MIKE: Shouldn't we go after him?

RICK: Okay...one time for the cheap seats...WE'LL NEVER FIND HIM!!! Besides, it's too dangerous with all the White Trash People around.

Owen yells to Rick that he's shutting the power down for the night.

OWEN: Rick, I'm shutting the power down for the night.

Told ya.

RICK: Go screw yourself! I hate you! WHAAAAA!!!

Rick scans the horizon again, checks behind a rock, and digs into the sand a few inches, but he can't find Jim anywhere.

RICK: You know, Jim is going to cause me a lot of trouble.

MIKE: I tried to warn you, but you didn't listen so I really don't give a crap what kind of trouble you're in.

INTERIOR: RATT HOMESTEAD -- PLAZA.

The next morning, Rick's crack head of an uncle walks outside and begins looking for him. He pops a couple of ludes and calls out for Rick because Rick is carrying the rest of his stash.

OWEN: Rick? Rick? Rick? Where is that little bastard?

INTERIOR: RATT HOMESTEAD -- KITCHEN.

Aunt Beru is in the kitchen preparing the morning meal: eggs topped with finely cut cocaine, ham and bennies, and milk with some powdered morphine.

OWEN: Have you seen Rick this morning?

AUNT BERU: He said he wanted to run into town and get a whore before he got started today.

OWEN: Huh? Isn't Rick gay?

AUNT BERU: I think so.

OWEN: Hmmmm...he must've been talkin' about getting him a man-whore. Oh well, as long as he's out workin' in the field before lunch I really don't give a damn what he does.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- DESERT WASTELAND -- RICK'S GREMLIN -- DAY.


Mike is driving the ultra cool AMC Gremlin and the desert flies by in a blur...a very, very slow blur. In fact, Mike drives like an old woman. Rick looks impatient.


Rick leans over the back of the seat and grabs a couple of beers. He hands one to Mike.

RICK: Want a cold one?

Mike pops open the beer and sips it with his pinky pointing out. Rick rolls his eyes in disgust.

RICK: Old Roger Bishop lives out this way somewhere, but surely little fatass Jim didn't make it all the way here. We must have missed him. Uncle Owen Methface is going to kill me.

MIKE: Just lie to him.

RICK: That's a good idea! I could tell him it was all your fault! He'll probably trade you for some weed...

MIKE: On second thought, you should just tell him the truth. If he finds out you lied he'll probably make you stop whining, and I don't think you could handle that.

RICK: Hey, I think I see Jim up ahead of us. Maybe I'll just run him over...

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- ROCK MESA -- DUNE SEA -- COASTLINE -- DAY.

From a rock mesa, a couple of White Trash people are watching the AMC Gremlin speed across the landscape. One of the White Trash People sets his beer to the side and aims his rifle. The other White Trash Person grabs the rife and stops him from shooting.

WHITE TRASH 1: Why in tarnation are you stoppin' me from shootin' them thar city folk?

WHITE TRASH 2: Cause ye might hurt the purty auto mobile they's is driven. If we can sneaks up on em, we can kill em deader then a rat at a snake's birthday party and keep the car for ourselves!

The first White Trash Person seems to like the idea and celebrates by smashing a beer can on his head. The White Trash People disappear into the rocks.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALINE -- ROCK MESA -- CANYON.

The White Trash People approach thier huge Ford trucks. The trucks are raised way up high with monster tires and lights mounted on the top of the hood. Some Hank Jr. blares from the radio as the White Trash Person starts the truck. The White Trash People leave the small, secluded valley in a cloud of dust.

EXTERIOR: MARSHALLINE -- ROCK CANYON -- FLOOR.

The AMC Gremlin is parked. Rick, with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder, stands in front of Jim.

RICK: Where in the hell do you think you're going?

JIM: Where ever I want, biiiaaatttch.

MIKE: Dude, you're going to get us into trouble. I don't know who this Obi-Roger Bishop guy is, but I think you just need to give up on reuniting with your old boyfriends. If you keep it up, Rick is going to kick your ass.

RICK: Ummm...yeah, that's right! Anyway, it's getting late. I bet Uncle "I Would Sell My Soul For An Ounce" isn't going to be too happy.

MIKE: I think we should just kill Jim and dump him off behind one of these rocks.

RICK: No, we need him to clean the toilets back at the house.

JIM: HOLY CRAP!!! WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE!!!

RICK: What's wrong with you?

JIM: There's White Trash People heading towards us from the southeast!

RICK: How do you know that?

JIM: We're downwind from them...

Rick swings his bat into position.

RICK: Cool! It's ass whoopin time! Let's go see what they're up to. They're probably just scavenging for an old couch or something...

TO BE CONTINUED....