A Word from our Sponsors

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Mundementia One: And now, a word from our sponsors...

by J.(Channing)Wells

::?Shartooie TiaraNet Dataflux -INTERRUPT
RE: MANDATORY ADVERTISING SPACE

?Shartooie Dataflux Sysadmin writes:
//Message (STORY: Mundementia One (*/not entirely sure) REM: All
parts)) Mandatory Paid Advertisement//

_Mundementia One_ has been brought to you by:

_CAPTAIN WEBFOOT_. "In the 21st century, Justice has a New Name."

And...

_BREEM!_ "No Comment"

::?Shartooie TiaraNet Dataflux Commercialspace -INITIATE

--Waiting--

***Commercialspace1***

(SFX: Ominous Music Throughout)

(Vid: Camera pans across a darkened cityscape.)

VOICEOVER: He was a cop. A guardian of the mean streets.

-- (Break Notes: All cross fades accomplished with flash of "lightning" and rumble of "thunder.")

(Vid: Switch to interior of police car. Distorted, hazy.)

POLICE RADIO: Car Twenty-Three. Car Twenty-Three. We have a two-zero-oh-one-nine on the corner of Jefferson and three- hundred-and-ninety-fifth. Captain Lee, do you copy, over.

LEE: (darkly) I'm on my way.

(Vid: Squealing of tires as police car pulls a 180-Degree Bootlegger. Roars off in opposite direction.)

(Vid: Dark Silhouetted images of a big fracas, a lone police officer standing strong against a mob of ne'erdowells and assorted evildoers with assorted cutleries.)

LEE: (mid-fight) I'm placing you _all_ UNDER ARREST!

(Vid: One ne'erdowell tossed mightily into a nearby brick wall, sliding slowly to the ground.)

(Vid: Back to the pan over the darkened city.)

VO: But he was betrayed by his own police force.

(Vid: Inside police station. Two campy-looking unwashed Slavic terrorists holding machine guns are standing near the dispatcher's console.)

SLAV 1: Ha ha! How clever ve vere to have gotten jobs in the police force of the city and to have risen up through the ranks until Ve can now control the Verkings of justice throughout the greater urban area!

SLAV 2: Ha, Yes! Now ve can eliminate that Pesky Captain Abraham Lee!

SLAV 1: Yes! And vithout him in our vay, nothing can stop us from turning the entire United States into another Colony of our Blessed Soviet Empire!

SLAV 2: And then, ve vill have enough money to hire men who vill actually teach us how to speak Russian in truth instead of just English vith a bad Russian accent, vhich is vat ve are now relying on!

BOTH: HA HA! HA HA!

(Vid: Inside Captain Lee's police car)

POLICE RADIO: (in a a bad Russian accent) Ah. Yes. Hello, Captain Abraham Lee. Ve vould like to report that there is a Three-Four-Five-Six taking place on... ah... (brief titters in the background) Taking place on ah... Three Mile Island!

LEE: (darkly) I'm on my way.

(Vid: Squealing of tires as police car pulls a 180-Degree Bootlegger. Roars off in opposite direction.)

(Vid: Inside Nuclear Reactor. Lots of sirens going off)

LEE: (into police radio) Chief! I'm here! But I think you were mistaken! There doesn't seem to be any--

(Vid: Exterior of Nuclear Power Plant. Tremendous explosion which engulfs the entire place.)

(Vid: The two cheaply Slavic guys again, in the police station, listening to the noise of the blast over the police radio.)

SLAV 1: Ha ha! Ha ha!

SLAV 2: Vith Captain Lee dead, nothing can stop us!

SLAV 1: And it is utterly inconceivable that some private scientific company vould attempt to re-clone him and that he vould return to seek vengeance upon us!

BOTH: HA HA! HA HA!

(Vid: Back to the cityscape.)

VO: Now... he's back.

(Vid: Inside highly technical facility.)

BEAUTIFUL FEMALE SCIENTIST: I'm telling you! We _can_ rebuild him! We _have_ the technology! All we need to do is to re-construct his body from some of the tissue scraps we've managed to recover, put his brain--thankfully undamaged in the blast--back in, and *shabang!* We'll have Officer Lee back to help us fight the corruption that has infested our city!

(Young geeky-looking aide enters, clutching printouts.)

GEEKY AIDE: Doctor! Doctor! These studies that I've just done (he thumps the printouts) have indicated that Captain Lee wasn't the only one on Three Mile Island when it blew!

BFS: (with a stern look) But... our reports indicated that he was alone! Who else was there?

GA: Not who. _What_.

BFS: What?

GA: That's what I said. _What_.

BFS: What is what?

GA: _This_ is what.

(The aide holds up a schematic plotter-graph of an ordinary seagull)

GA: (continues) Seagulls, Doctor. _THOUSANDS_ of them were barbequed when that place went up. That, compounded with the massive amounts of radiation that were released in the blast leads me to the possible conclusion that our genetic sample may have been corrupted!

(pause)

GA: (continues) Should we be worried about this?

(pause)

BOTH: (waving hands dismissively) Naaah.

(Vid: Busy city street)

VO: Now, in the 21st century, Justice has a New Name.

PASSERBY 1: (pointing) Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird!

PASSERBY 2: It's a plane!

PASSERBY 1: No, no, NO! You DOLT! It _IS_ a bird! LOOK!

(PASS1 grabs PASS2's face and yanks it to an upward-looking posture.)

PASSERBY 2: Oh, yeah...

(Vid: Dark Silhouetted images of a big fracas, a lone, strangely seagullish-looking Vigilante Crimefighter standing strong against a mob of ne'erdowells and assorted evildoers with assorted cutleries.)

VO: A New Personality.

LEE: (mid-fight) Surrender now, and you won't get hurt!

(Peck! Squawk!)

(Vid: Feathers flying)

(Vid: One ne'erdowell tossed mightily into a nearby brick wall, sliding slowly to the ground.)

(Vid: LEE inspecting a stretch of filthy-looking sidewalk.)

VO: And a New Predilection for Discarded Food.

LEE: Ooh! A _French Fry!_

(Vid: Backlit, somewhat half-seagull-shaped figure, standing proudly, arms akimbo. He wears a snazzy spandex jumpsuit with a white lightning bolt emblazoned on the chest. Wind ruffles his cape and his headfeathers.)

VO: CAPTAaaaaaAAAAAIN WEBFOOOOOOOOOT!

(SFX: Scree! Scree!)

VO: Evildoers... cover your freshly-washed automobiles.

(Vid: Business information and ratings.)

VO: Now playing at theatres _EVERYWHERE._ (Fnord)

***END Commercialspace1***

--Filler--

***Commercialspace2***

(SFX: Calm, tranquil music. Ocean waves.)

(Vid: A beach at sunset. A father and a daughter, walking along, with the surf gently ebbing and flowing in the background. Oranges, pinks and the faintest hint of violet. A Golden Retriever walks happily along off his leash some medium distance away, bothering crabs.)

DAUGHTER: (after a time) Daddy...?

FATHER: Yes, sweetheart?

DAUGHER: Daddy, what was the Cuban Missile Crisis?

FATHER: (composes his thoughts) Well, sweetie, that was when there was this big scare that the Soviet Union was going to attack us using surface-to-surface missiles launched from Communist-controlled Cuba, which as you know, is not all that far off the American Coast.

DAUGHTER: Oh.

(pause)

DAUGHTER: (continues) Daddy, where's Mommy?

FATHER: (tossing a stick of driftwood into the surf) Mommy's at Bloomingdale's, honey.

DAUGHTER: Oh.

(pause)

DAUGHTER: (continues) Daddy, what's wrong with your hair?

FATHER: You know, punkin, _my_ daddy used to walk with _me_ on the beach just like this when _I_ was a little boy.

VOICEOVER: Sometimes it's funny how the things that never change are the things that stay exactly the same.

DAUGHER: Daddy, are power tools safe to use?

FATHER: Yes, sweetie. As long as you wear your safety goggles.

VOICEOVER: And we start to realize that our children are created using exactly half of our own genes and half of somebody else's... somebody with whom we have probably had sex. At least once.

DAUGHTER: Daddy...

FATHER: Yes, honeybunches?

DAUGHTER: Daddy... I _like_ this shirt.

FATHER: I know. I like it too, hon.

(The FATHER smiles gently and lifts the DAUGHTER into his arms.)

FATHER: (continues) That's why we bought it for you.

(The FATHER smiles and 'beeps' the DAUGHTER's nose. The DAUGHTER giggles happily.)

(Fade camera back to panoramic view of the sunset, with father and daughter walking, silhouetted against the bright orange sun. Then dissolve to an ordinary-looking can of something sitting on a white background. The label on the can says "Breem!" but other than that, there is no clue as to its function.)

VOICEOVER: Breem. Our commercials don't tell you anything about our products. So why should _we_?

***END Commercialspace2***

--reload--

?Shartooie Dataflux Sysadmin writes:
//Message (STORY: Mundementia One (*/not entirely sure) REM: All
parts)) Mandatory Paid Advertisement//

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

::?Shartooie TiaraNet Dataflux -RESUME

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