Episode 703- Deathstalker and the Warriors from Hell
Carissa, who truly runs like Natron Means, succumbs to Deathstalker's pledge to protect her, but only after he has rubbed his groin on her a lot. Then of course, Deathstalker blows even this simple task and the princess is hacked to death. Leaving him to find the Princess's sister, try to bag her, and help her to become the richest chick in all the land.
Then there are the Warriors from Hell, ugly snot-eating day players, whose souls are kept in a grappa bottle in the castle bar. They are bound by threat of eternal damnation to kill Deathstalker, but decide instead that he's a stand-up guy and help him vanquish the evil Troxartis. Eventually all the characters are crushed by the weight of Thom Christopher's overacting, and he must die so the film can end. And he dies a classic villain's death: A magic lozenge causes his head to explode. It's the perfect MST film, one that fails on every conceivable level, fails so miserably it transcends failure and becomes a thing of sheer delight.
Segment One: Pearl is sick, and when Pearl is sick, Clayton suffers. On the SOL, our pals do what they do best in situations like this, and dress up in funny fast food worker costumes and ask pointless food service questions with no object, such as "Do you want to super-size that?" and "Is that together?" Segment Two: The Bots, hoping to fleece poor dumb Mike, come up with the perfect ploy: a Ren Fest! Lots of fun to be had as long as you have the money! Several lame gags and Elizabethan insults later, Mike is tapped out, and runs for the cash machine.
Segment Four: Crow looks in on sick old Pearl and humors her by reading her filthy cheap airport-bookstore-style erotica. She relishes it as if it was a new translation of Proust. Segment Five: In Deep Thirteen, Pearl moans and groans at a fever pitch, and Clayton, borrowing from the classic scene in "Suspicion," brings her a glass of poisoned milk, but then he pulls the old switcheroo and drinks it himself! Ha ha! He's dead! Stinger: Filthy peasant woman says, "Potatoes are what we eat!" in a way that just sells the line.
But I suppose it's less funny in print, isn't it? As you might guess if you've watched more than one episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000, many of us involved in the writing of the show hate Renaissance festivals to the point that we have wished dire harm on their participants and patrons, written letters to wit, received court orders enjoining us from stalking around them, been incarcerated for lighting fires in the bazaar and hurling flaming dream-catchers at horrified festers. Well, that describes me to the letter. "Creative anachronism" my sorry Irish ass. A Ren-fest is nothing more than an excuse to be lame, smelly and fat, just like XFL fans, only worse. I'm betting most of these clowns couldn't spell "Renaissance" if you threatened their tender vittles with hot iron. I hope some day they live out their wish to know what it was like back then by contracting plague. Too harsh? You go to a Renaissance festival and get back to me. Kevin Murphy
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