[Dot Matrix, wearing a Sprite-sized CPU outfit, is standing in front of a transparent green cube, holding up a filelocker.]
Dot: And now for something completely different-
[Dot points the filelocker at the green block and releases the bearded, tattered binome within. Staring dolefully at the camera he gasps out:]
[The Liberty Bell March plays in the background. Daisywheels grow into frame, one by one, revealing the words "Monty Python's Flying Circuits." The camera pulls back to reveal that the flowers are growing out of Phong's drawer. A blue foot smashes down, cutting the music short.]
[Scene: A lower-middle-class flat. Mrs. Bossanova - a large, green, buff, unshaven pepperpot - is puttering around the kitchen, muttering to herself in falsetto as she shoves random items into the oven. Someone knocks on the door.]
Mrs. Bossanova: [screeching in falsetto] Come in!
[Sound of door opening and closing again. Then an even larger, buffer, dark blue pepperpot wearing a blonde beehive comes into the kitchen.]
Mrs. Bossanova: [In an even screechier falsetto] Oh, hello, Mrs. Nesbitt! What brings you here today?
Mrs. Nesbitt: Have you seen my null?
Mrs. Bossanova: No, no, I haven't.
Mrs. Nesbitt: [opening her purse and taking a green null out] Here he is.
Mrs. Bossanova: Oh, yes, I remember him now. [looks closer] He doesn't look at all well.
Mrs. Nesbitt: He isn't. I'm going to put him down today.
Mrs. Bossanova: Oh no! Has he been ill?
Mrs. Nesbitt: No, I just don't like him any more.
[Mrs. Nesbitt throws the null over her shoulder. It lands on the floor with a splat and a squeal.]
Mrs. Bossanova: I completely understand. I had a lovely little dog once. Oh, he was the light of my life. Brightened many a sad day. [pause, sigh] But one day he went off chasing nulls and never came back. [pause, another sigh] I owe Hexadecimal a favor.
Mrs. Nesbitt: Oh, I don't know about that. I'm shopping around for something a little more, you know, personal.
Mrs. Bossanova: Oh, yes. Something like "gun, command line: euthanasia."
[Both laugh in shrieky falsettos at the oh-so-witty joke.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: [glancing at the oven] Are you cooking something?
Mrs. Bossanova: Oh, yes.
[Mrs. Bossanova goes to the oven and starts taking things out and putting them on every available surface. The items include a shoe, bottles of mustard and relish, a set of power tools, some laundry, and finally a baking tray of little pink cakes with green, leaflike wrappers.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: Oh, those look lovely!
Mrs. Bossanova: They're mocchis. Imported. Have one?
Mrs. Nesbitt: Oh, thank you. [She takes one between two clawed fingers and nibbles daintily at it.] Where is it imported from? The Orient?
Mrs. Bossanova: No, we just had a game of "Monster Rancher."
[Another knock at the door is heard.]
Mrs. Bossanova: [hollering especially screechily] Who is it?
[Ray Tracer, dressed in a grey three piece suit and carrying a salesman's case, comes into the kitchen.]
Ray: G'day, ladies, could I interest you in some quality kitchen utensils?
Mrs. Nesbitt: [enthusiastically] Oooh, yes!
Mrs. Bossanova: Do go on.
[Ray opens his case and begins taking out various size wooden mallets as he speaks.]
Ray: I have some of the finest fish hammers available with me. Look at this tuna hammer - it's perfectly balanced for the discerning lady.
Mrs. Bossanova: I don't like tuna.
Mrs. Nesbitt: No. Nasty fish. Running around with a bad crowd, dolphins and such.
Ray: Then we have this custom-made bass hammer. A bit smaller, not so suitable for the large fish, but ideal for luncheons. It also works on sunfish, cod, and orange roughy.
Mrs. Bossanova: Do you have anything smaller?
Ray: Yes. What kind of fish were you thinking of?
Mrs. Bossanova: Sardines.
Ray: Just a nano... [searches around in his suitcase] Ah, here we go! [takes out a teeny wooden mallet] We don't sell a lot of these - they're for the discerning chef.
Mrs. Bossanova: Oh, how darling! It's just perfect. No more nasty unhammered sardine sandwiches for my lunch. I'll take five.
Ray: [taking four more out] Thank you, madam. That'll be six shillings five farthings four bob and thruppence.
[Mrs. Bossanova gives him a coin.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: Do you have anything larger?
Ray: Well, yes...
Mrs. Nesbitt: Let me see it.
Ray: I must warn you, madam... it's not something I usually sell to ladies such as yourselves...
[Mrs. Nesbitt stands, towering over Ray. In the background, Mrs. Bossanova is opening tins and whacking the contents with a small mallet.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: I said, let me see it.
[A Great Big Hammer comes in from the side and pounds Mrs. Nesbitt on the head with a sound like a ringing gong. She does not flinch. She turns, grabbing the hammer by the shaft with one hand and patting her beehive into place with the other.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: Ooooooh! I like this one! I'll take it.
Ray: [nervously, edging toward the door] Excellent choice, madam. As our 1024th customer, you can have it for free. [He flees. A door slams offstage.]
Mrs. Nesbitt: What a nice young man.
Mrs. Bossanova: Yes, they don't program them like that any more. Have a sardine sandwich? Freshly hammered!
Mrs. Nesbitt: In a nano - I have something to take care of first. [holding the hammer up and looking around the floor] Here, nibbles, sweetie. I've got a treat for you!
[A soft squeaking comes from floor level. Mrs. Nesbitt swings the hammer down. A squeal is heard. It quickly fades into the distance. A door slams offstage. Mrs. Nesbitt goes chasing after it.]
[A cartoon cutout of Mrs. Nesbitt, still holding up the hammer, goes chasing across various cartoon landscapes. An ice cave, Floating Point Park, the Core, a cow pasture, and finally the Web.]
Mike the TV: But elsewhere, in another time, in another space-
[Scenes of a dreadful battle in the Web. The Saucy Mare's web armor is breached and the ship is boarded by webriders. The crew of the Saucy Mare pose, ready to do battle. The Webriders stand in a row and speak in buzzing whistles.]
Webrider: [Buzzing whistle]
Webrider: [Buzzing whistle]
Capacitor: I can't understand a word you're saying!
Webrider: [Gesturing with agitation] [Buzzing whistle]
Capacitor: [to his crew] Does anyone have a Babel fish?
[The lead Webrider, frustrated, raises his visor, revealing a melted-looking face.]
[All of Capacitor's crew shy back in sudden alarm.]
Capacitor: Oh no! Can it be?
Webrider: [Nodding with an evil grin] Ni!
[Mr. Christopher comes into frame and speaks to Capacitor.]
Christopher: These are the dreaded Webriders Who Say Ni, Captain! They never let anyone pass until they've gotten what they want!
[All the Webriders nod agreement and say "Ni!" amongst themselves.]
Capacitor: And what is it ye be wanting?
[The Webriders look at each other.]
Webriders: [all together] Ni!
Mouse: [voiceover] All right, I've had enough of this. It's gettin' too silly.
[The camera pulls out, revealing Mouse watching the scene on Mike the TV. The Webriders look at each other, confused, and rhubarb "Ni" amongst themselves.]
Mouse: Nope, sorry, that's the end of this sketch. Let's see what else is on.
Mike: [flicking past various channels] Now on Mainframe Cable! We have sport! On a more intellectual note, we have sport. For those with tastes for the finer things in life, sport! And then, for the ladies... sport.
[The viewpoint zooms in on the screen. Five geeky looking binomes are stretching, jogging in place, and generally preparing for sport. Mike narrates.]
Mike: This is the day of the semi-second No-Class Internet Twit championship! First event is the Hackerspeak Competition!
[A gunshot starts the competition. The Twits start chattering among themselves in a hackerspeak rhubarb: "PH33R MY $K1LZ!" "I h8 w1nd0z3!!" "br1n9 7h3 910ck 4nd w3'11 2h007 p33p2!!"907 70 r0k 7h3 r0k r0k b0dY r0k 47 8 0c10k! !" "I m4k3 munny 0n th3 w3b!" and so on. Another gunshot goes off.]
Mike: They're off to a hot start! The judge has had enough after only 2 nanoseconds. Next event: Being Ignored By Your Peers!
[The Twits rush off to another group of young binomes. They chatter again in hackerspeak - "ph33r m4 1337n3ss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" "ph33r m3 m0rt4lz," "d0 I m4k3 j00 h0rny, b4by?", earning looks of contempt. Another gunshot.]
Mike: And there they go to the next challenge: Guessing The Password!
[The Twits rush to doorways and start shouting random words to the gatekeepers. "Klaatu!" "MaKeItSo!" "Groovy!" "Jellybaby!" "Ph33r!" and so on. Finally, one yells "NCC1701" and is grudgingly admitted by the gatekeeper. He shouts the password to the others, who then shout it to their gatekeepers and are also let through.]
Mike: As ever teamwork is their hallmark! And that is what will make or break the next event: the Chat Room Invasion!
[The Twits swarm into a marked off field where six binomes are talking amongst themselves in a lively yet orderly fashion. They begin shouting yet more hackerspeak, adding in "Me too!" and "Age roll call!" and other annoying things, and laughing (h4w h4w h4w!!), drowning out the real discussion. When they all start chanting "Spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam" the other binomes leave in disgust.]
Mike: And this brings us to the final, make or break event - The Parental Evasion!
[Various binome pepperpots come onto the field. They drag the whining, protesting Twits off one by one, leaving the playing field empty.]
Mike: None of them made it past bedtime. There is no winner!
Mouse: [shaking her head in disgust] Lusers. How do I turn this thing off?
[Ray Tracer steps into frame.]
Ray: Might this help?
[He hands her a big ol' mallet with the word "CLUE" on the pounding surface.]
Mouse: Just what the disk doctor ordered!
[She takes the hammer and clobbers Mike with it. Then she hands the hammer back to Ray and goes outside for a walk. She walks along streets... sidewalks... more streets... toward the camera.... away from the camera... finally reaching Wall Street's skyscrapers. The viewpoint leaves her to follow a binome who is walking into a Very Important Looking building. He goes down a hall and into an office. Inside, Hexadecmal is seated at a desk, reading a folder.]
Hexadecimal: Hello! What can I do ya for?
Binome: I'm here for an argument.
Hexadecimal: An argument? You're here for an argument? [laughs, amused.]
Binome: [enthusiastically] Yes, I am.
Hexadecimal: Have you ever considered the Spamalope? Every year they used to migrate between the two seas - A sea and D sea - but now none exist anywhere but in captivity.
Hexadecimal: Every year the poor things are flayed, and their skin used to make naugahyde! Did I mention that Spamalopes are also called Naugas? They are!
Hexadecimal: And have you SEEN that purple telly-thingie? He walks around carrying a handbag and he has a triangle on his head! I know what that means! [wailing] Won't someone think of the children?!
Binome: But I-
Hexadecimal: You know, if people can get music for free, then they'll spend more of their money buying it. Oh, they can make up all sorts of statistics to say otherwise, but trust me, it's true. And it's fair use! 50 million people can't be wrong!
Binome: [desperately] Wait!
Hexadecimal: [sweetly] Ye-e-e-e-es?
Binome: I came in here to have an argument! You haven't let me get a word in edgewise!
Hexadecimal: You came in here for an argument?
Binome: Yes! And I don't have any idea what the Web you're talking about, either!
Hexadecimal: The Argument Clinic moved next door milliseconds ago.
Binome: Then which office is this?
[Hexadecimal crosses to the door and opens it, revealing the sign on the outside: "BUREAU OF SILLY TALKS." After the joke is thoroughly enjoyed by the laugh track, Bob in his shiny web armor steps through the door, and swats the binome with a rubber chicken.]
Bob: [deadpan] Take that.
[Hexadecimal and the binome both give him strange looks.]
Hexadecimal: "Take that?"
Bob: [woefully] It's my only line!
[The Liberty Bell March begins as the credits roll]
Dot "1337" Matrix
Enzo "W3 r00l" Matrix
Gavin "Shiv3r m3 73mp1473z!" Capacitor
Ray "Nic3 b4ud"Tracer
Mike "Ph33r my c0mm3rci41z!" the TV
Mouse "Give it up, lamers" the real Hacker
Written and Produced by:
Kim "$l4x" McFarland
Dialogue Help from:
Mrs. Nesbitt's Agent:
A Minor Glitch
A hot bath
M4d 7h4nnkz 70: