The Pen Is Mightier Than A Paper (Cut)
by PapaRob
PapaRob carries on:
Date: Wed, 22 May 1996 12:06:39 -0400
tanding amidst the river rock in the front yard of a home awash in a sea of pink tile roofs, Rob continues his uncanny impression of Ricky Ricardo, "I Yiii Yiii!!" Thick, hot blood begins to well up from the insidious paper cut slicing deeply throught the pad of his left ring finger. Rob quickly attemps to stem the flow of blood (and associated pain) by squeezing tightly on the knuckle, all to no avail.
"My gosh, what happened?" Sue worriedly asks as the tiny tot in her arms begins to wail.
Rob, whose teeth are tightly clenched against the pain, can barely choke out a response, "Paper.....cut...." Suddenly, through the pain drenched fog in his mind, a horrible thought occurs to Rob. He is in Arizona, the Monkee List Clubhouse is somewhere in the realms of cyberspace. As his life blood slowly seeps away, Rob is struck by the realization that if he cannot pass the offending issue of MBF on to another Lister, then the paper cut chain will be ended forever! (Hmmm.....maybe not such a bad thought after all.....naaaah.)
As his consciousness begins to slip through his bloody grasp, Rob knows that he has only one final chance. His last sight is of his beautiful wife and child standing worriedly over him as he begins to chant the words of the long lost magic spell that will transport him through time and cyberspace to the Monkee clubhouse in search of another victim. "Nom nee yoho ring gee kyo, nom nee yoho ring gee kyo......"
A thick, roiling fog begins to envelop Rob as the spell takes effect. As the vision of Sue fades from his sight, Rob feels the cold clammy grasp of cyberspace take hold of his mortal soul. Horrible images of microchips, serial cables and Steve Case float past him. Rob lets out a blood curdling scream and clamps his eyes shut against the horrific images of these nether regions. His mind can take no more of this and he blessedly passes out......
Awaking much later, Rob carefully opens his eyes, praying to whatever gods may exist in the realms of cyberspace that he has successfully been transported to the Monkees List Clubhouse. Expecting to see sunny blue skies and gaily painted carnival rides, Rob is surprised to open his eyes upon a gray, gloomy sky the color of dirty ditch water. And there is not a sound. Absloute silence. The silence of the grave.
Rob slowly picks himself up off of what used to be the front lawn of the Monkee Clubhouse, yet is now nothing but a bed of dead and dying weeds, and brushes the clinging dust from his trousers. At least he did manage to bring the dog-eared copy of MBF with him through the ether into cyberspace, but what in the nine hells has happened to the Clubhouse?!
Rob slowly turns and gazes upon the front facade of the Clubhouse. His stomach tightens as he sees peeling paint, boarded up windows, cracked flower pots full of long dead flowers and piles of old, stale twinkies and empty KoolAid wrappers blown up against the foundation. This horrible sight is almost too much for Rob's mind, already strained by the effects of interdimensional travel, to handle! If there are no listers left to pass along the cutting MBF to, Rob may be trapped in this nightmare forever! Taking a tight grip on his sanity, he begins to slowly shuffle towards the front door.
Climbing the front steps, Rob notices an old yellowing scrap of paper tacked to the front door. A door which is barely hanging on its rusted hinges. The scrawled handwritten notice reads, "Closed due to lack of interest." No! It can't be so! There must still be someone here!
Rob pushes open the creaking door and steps into the dusty foyer. "Heeelllloooooo!!! Anybody home?" Rob shouts. He is answered by only echoes. Rob steps through the entry way and heads for the kitchen, figuring that everyone always hung around the kitchen. Nope. Empty. A sinking feeling building within him, Rob begins a methodical search of the abandoned clubhouse.
As he is heading back from the long drained jacuzzi, and through the library, Rob could almost swear that he can hear something coming from back in the east wing. It almost sounds like music. Rob cautiously creeps toward the strange eerie music. It appears to be coming from the old video room! As he gets closer, a strange flickering light can be seen through the cobweb choked doorway and the unmistakeable sounds of "I'm a wind-up man, programmed to be entertaining...." Can 33 1/3 still be running after all these years?
Rob fights his way through the mass of webs, getting dirty looks from a rather large and intelligent looking spider up in the corner, and steps into the video room. There, in front of an old black and white RCA 13-inch television, sits a bedraggled, bearded ancient man staring blankly at a grainy copy of 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee (with horrible sound).
"H...Hello?" Rob timidly asks.
The old fogie slowly turns toward Rob with an audible creak. Blinks his rheumy eyes a few times and croaks out "PapaNezHeadRob...... is that you?"
"Do....do I know you? Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Of course you know me! It's Davi3d! I'm always here!"
"What the heck happened to this place?"
"Well, after Smilin' Alan stopped posting, Nick moved to Colorado and became a Hooters girl, we managed to talk about the old 30th anniversary tour for a few months, but soon that dried up. There just wasn't anything to talk about anymore. We'd parodied everything to death, rehashed every old episode a hundred times and discussed the merits of Ceiling in My Room ad infinitum. Let's face it, there just isn't that much stuff to talk about. After a few years, everyone slowly drifted away. We said our final smootchies and closed the place up. I volunteered to stay around as caretaker, but I guess I've kinda let the place go a bit..."
"A bit?" Rob exclaimed. "I'll say. The place is a dump!"
"Yeah, well after a while, I just didn't care anymore. It's pretty boring here. I've watched every old tape and re-read every old Monkee Business Fanzine over and over." Davi3d said. "You know, we've got an almost complete collection of back issues of MBF? There's only one issue missing - Spring, 1996. I wonder what happened to it?
Rob pulled the blood stained and dog-eared copy of MBF out of his pocket with a flourish, "Well, it's your lucky day! I just so happen to have that particular issue with me!" With a flick of his wrist, Rob tossed the magazine across the dusty video room towards Davi3d.
"Wow, thanks!" said Davi3d as he fumbled with the flying MBF. "I thought I'd never seeeeEEEEEEEYOWCH!" his final sentence trailing off into a series of high pitched yelps of pain as the offending magazine slices deeply through the webbing between his right thumb and forefinger........
(Take it away, Davi3d)