Captain’s Log -- Stardate 0704.8
Here in the projection vessel I await my darkest hour of judgement. I am alone. I am hungry. I am under siege. Who would have thought my mission would end like this, under attack by the very natives I attempted to civilize? But alas, the day is doomed. Only Admiral Alvin can save me now from this band of blundering rogues storming the breach.
My intentions were pure, albeit unorthodox. Admiral Alvin tells me that my “great experiment” failed; my efforts to bring pure, high-brow fantasy entertainment to the hoards of mouth-drooling zombo-pods who frequent his cinema palace were met with scoffs and mocks. They laughed at Master Harry Hamlin’s deft portrayal of Perseus in “Clash of the Titans”. During a showing of “Dragonslayer” two Fridays past, they grew so infuriated at the happenings in the medieval land of Urland that the few natives who did stay only did so to surround the projection vessel, pivot their persons, and give one big synchronized “moon” to me -- ME!!! Their purveyor of truth. Admiral Alvin was so shaken by these anecdotes by that witch at the gates, Deena, that he issued me an urgent decree to go back to the usual preferred fare of the philistine masses: a summer camp slasher film with no embarrassment of imagination riches. I believed Admiral Alvin so wrong on this measure that I decided to do the unthinkable: stage a full-on mutiny and ask for forgiveness at a later time. I was not ready to give up on this population of mouthbreathers quite yet.
At 2130 hours (who would ever believe this was just twenty minutes past), the parking lot was full of my mission. Hundreds of craft -- riled up, honking horns, throwing popcorn -- gathered for the busiest night of the year to see a pyro show in honor of their planet’s independance...or shall I say “indoctrination” as a society of uncivilized miscreants. Then, shortly following tonight’s display was to be that most philistine artifact of these simpering fools: a celluloid starring Kermit the Frog and Misses Piggy. No, I tell you, I could not take it! This was the stroove that broke the xenomorph’s cartoosh. At the stroke of the half hour, as Deputy Fire Chief Haygood and his band of insipid civil servants prepared the pyro fuses, I swooped in and grabbed the evening’s thunder. While my palms were sweaty and my cheeks beaded with fear, I did not revoke. I threw the switch.
And there he was -- Master Peter McNichol himself, forty feet high! A big, giant head of enlightenment. For I had kept the one film print of “Dragonslayer” hidden on my person. Oh! What a braveau performance as the hero Galen, fighting the feared dragon of Urland -- and, in a way, slaying this population’s prejudice of the fantastic.
For a minute, what rapture! What ecstasy! Silence fell on the crowd. They were in my control.
But then, a change in mood. There was one honk from a Chevrolet Astro-craft near the back, then a Mustang somewhere near my projection vessel -- and soon they were all over, and inconsolable! That is when they began storming my stronghold -- demanding what they had been promised instead of what would set them free.
I could then see them coming for me. I heard one native lunge onto the roof of my vessel, beating his hands against the tin like a savage ape-monster of the deep jungle.
It was then that I could think of no other option to stay the hoard. Quickly, I reached for a reserve cupboard of pyro-works I had purchased earlier this week from the Gentlemen Crazy Bill and had conveniently neglected to transfer to Admiral Alvin. I used all brute force within to kick open the hatch of the vessel, and set ablaze in all directions. The best in my arsenal was many rounds of Roman Candles -- perhaps the best product of that once great civilization. I fired them off like rounds from a mega-charged Zorinthian Pulse Rifle. That stayed the mob for a short wage. Then came the bottle rockets. I lit the fuses and tossed with haphazard confidence into the fray. This stayed the many as they took cover behind their crafts, now acting as war-zone battleguards for my great mutiny.
With vigor and (dare I say) poise, I tossed off the remaining pyro reserves, staying more of the mob with each blast and whistle. It was not long before I heard Haygood’s fire sirens, extinguishing the brood of my mayhem throughout the lot. And, yes, I saw the inevitable: the brilliant blue and red halogen bulbs of the native police, breaking through the smoke. I believe it was the Gentlemen Mayor McKenzine who first shouted over the intercom to give myself up so that others may be free. “HA!” was my retort. “How you misunderstand my mission to civilize your people!”
And as my reserves dwindled to a mere Black Cat brand Flashlight Cracker, I withdrew to my stronghold...and it is now in my stronghold that I wait. The savior requires a savior himself.
Oh! What is this land? I believe there is good in these people, through the thick and the mud and the tits...