I actually have an opening for that one now... enough to warrant moving it over here. There's not likely ever to be any more of it though.
(For one thing, I see Doug as intervening to defuse the Eddie/Frank conflict, which while morally admirable and so forth does toss much of the rest of the script right out the window. For another, let's face it, most of Doug's lines would be obscene. Hilarious, but obscene.)
(Perhaps this one could be opened to all interested parties? Then again, that might provoke a flamewar over the "proper" AP responses.)
This, thought Douglas Q. Sangnoir, is not how it's supposed to go.
It was a simple sequence of events, repeated so many times by now he knew exactly what to expect: Open a gate to some other world, enter it, fall asleep, wake up already on said other world. He never experienced the interdimensional transit as anything but the occasional odd and vivid dream.
Not this time. This time, as far as he could tell, he was fully conscious astride his gravbike... and drifting in the midst of a dead-black void. He might have assumed that he'd jumped into a dead or failed universe, if it weren't for two things:
1) his inexplicable failure to suffocate and die in hard vacuum; and
2) the oddest sensation of movement, in a direction he couldn't quite place.
No, Doug was going somewhere, of that he was certain. But the getting there was getting... boring.
Nothing but darkness, like a sensory deprivation tank, or a blank movie screen...
Movie screen?
I'm getting punchy in here. But what the hell... Doug waved a hand at nothing and declaimed:
"And God said... Let there be LIPS!"
And--
much to his amazement and amusement--
--there WERE Lips.
And they were good.
The collossal disembodied mouth opened and began to sing...
Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still
But he showed us where we stand...
"On our FEET!" Doug caroled joyously. It was weird, it was bizarre, but for once on this long strange trip he was certain he knew exactly where he'd be landing next.
And he already had a good idea what he'd be doing when he got there.
This was going to be fun...
--Sam
"Whip me, beat me, mistreat me... make me write bad checks!"
(For one thing, I see Doug as intervening to defuse the Eddie/Frank conflict, which while morally admirable and so forth does toss much of the rest of the script right out the window. For another, let's face it, most of Doug's lines would be obscene. Hilarious, but obscene.)
(Perhaps this one could be opened to all interested parties? Then again, that might provoke a flamewar over the "proper" AP responses.)
This, thought Douglas Q. Sangnoir, is not how it's supposed to go.
It was a simple sequence of events, repeated so many times by now he knew exactly what to expect: Open a gate to some other world, enter it, fall asleep, wake up already on said other world. He never experienced the interdimensional transit as anything but the occasional odd and vivid dream.
Not this time. This time, as far as he could tell, he was fully conscious astride his gravbike... and drifting in the midst of a dead-black void. He might have assumed that he'd jumped into a dead or failed universe, if it weren't for two things:
1) his inexplicable failure to suffocate and die in hard vacuum; and
2) the oddest sensation of movement, in a direction he couldn't quite place.
No, Doug was going somewhere, of that he was certain. But the getting there was getting... boring.
Nothing but darkness, like a sensory deprivation tank, or a blank movie screen...
Movie screen?
I'm getting punchy in here. But what the hell... Doug waved a hand at nothing and declaimed:
"And God said... Let there be LIPS!"
And--
much to his amazement and amusement--
--there WERE Lips.
And they were good.
The collossal disembodied mouth opened and began to sing...
Michael Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still
But he showed us where we stand...
"On our FEET!" Doug caroled joyously. It was weird, it was bizarre, but for once on this long strange trip he was certain he knew exactly where he'd be landing next.
And he already had a good idea what he'd be doing when he got there.
This was going to be fun...
--Sam
"Whip me, beat me, mistreat me... make me write bad checks!"