XPost: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc, alt.tv.mst3k   
   From: nebusj-@-rpi-.edu   
      
   >     XIX   
      
     TOM: Xixi of Ix.   
      
   >   
   >	FATTY GROWS EVEN FATTER   
      
    CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'I thought we were dumping the fat jokes!'   
      
   >   
   >	When Fatty Raccoon's burned feet were well once more,   
      
    MIKE: Ah, continuity again.  Serial adventures.   
      
   >                                                             the very   
   > first night he left his mother's house he went straight to the   
   > loggers' camp.   
      
    CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'I swear if they're doing Monty Python routines I'm giving   
   them all dysentery.'   
      
   >                He did not wait long after dark, because he was afraid   
   > that some of his neighbors might have found   
      
     TOM: That sweet Moon that Farmer Green's son was leaving out.   
      
   >                                             that there were good   
   > things to eat about the camp. And Fatty wanted them all.   
      
    MIKE: Fatty's a big fan of Queen.   
      
   >   
   >	To his delight, there were goodies almost without end. He   
   > nosed about, picking up potato peelings, and bits of bacon.   
      
    CROW: Pumpkin scraps.   
     TOM: Remaindered butter.   
    MIKE: Irregular porks.   
     TOM: Off-brand onions.   
    CROW: Second-hand hash browns.   
    MIKE: Good-as-new eggs.   
      
   >                                                             And   
   > perhaps the best of all was a piece of cornbread, which Fatty fairly   
   > gobbled.   
      
    MIKE: Fairly.  He gave the cornbread a chance to get away.   
      
   >          And then he found a box half-full of something---scraps that   
   > tasted like apples, only they were not round like apples,   
      
     TOM: Ah yes, 'Fool's Apples'.   
      
   >                                                           and they   
   > were quite dry, instead of being juicy.   
      
    CROW: Then there's the spikes they eject and the wailing of the doomed they   
   emit, but otherwise?  Great stuff.   
      
   >                                         But Fatty liked them; and he   
   > ate them all, down to the smallest bit.   
      
    MIKE: Animals are famous for liking to eat strange and painfully dry foods.   
      
   >   
   >	He was thirsty, then. So he went down to the brook,   
      
    CROW: Raccoons are natural problem-solvers.   
      
   >                                                           which ran   
   > close by the camp. The loggers had cut a hole through the ice,   
      
     TOM: [ As the author ] Uh --- did I mention it's winter?  ... Because it's   
   winter.   
      
   >                                                                so they   
   > could get water.   
      
    MIKE: [ As the author ] Oh and, uh, maybe I didn't say before but the loggers   
   are all French-Canadian but *not* Catholic.  Not sure it's important, just   
   think you should know.   
      
   >                  And Fatty crept close to the edge of the hole and   
   > drank.   
      
    CROW: [ As the author ] Oh yeah, also remember the animals all wear clown   
   hats, that's going to be really important next chapter.   
      
   >        He drank a great deal of water, because he was very thirsty.   
      
     TOM: [ As the author ] Sorry, one last thing, they're all robots who don't   
   know they're in a band.   
      
   > And when he had finished he sat down on the ice for a time. He did not   
   > care to stir about just then.   
      
    CROW: Lucky thing he's at one of those newfangled self-stirring rivers.   
      
   >                               And he did not think he would ever want   
   > anything to eat again.   
      
    MIKE: What's a 'fangle' and what makes a fangle 'new'?   
     TOM: Um ...   
      
   >   
   >	At last Fatty Raccoon rose to his feet. He felt very queer. There   
   > was a strange, tight feeling about his stomach.   
      
    MIKE: [ As Fatty ] 'Am I being strangled by a boa constrictor --- *again*?'   
      
   >                                                 And his sides were no   
   > longer thin. They stuck out just as they had before winter came---only   
   > more so.   
      
    CROW: Raccoon with attached porch.   
      
   >          And what alarmed Fatty was this: his sides seemed to be   
   > sticking out more and more all the time.   
      
     TOM: [ As Fatty ] 'I keep seeing this happen to cartoon characters but never   
   dreamed it could happen to me!'   
      
   >   
   >	He wondered what he had been eating. Those dry things that   
   > tasted like apples---he wondered what they were.   
      
    CROW: Bad luck of Fatty that this was the summer of the apple-flavored   
   self-inflating life-raft fad.   
      
   >   
   >	Now, there was some printing on the outside of the box which   
   > held those queer, spongy, flat things.   
      
    MIKE: Oh yeah, there it is on the label: 'Queer, Spongy, Flat Things to   
   Inflate Your Raccoon', should have expected that.   
      
   >                                        Of course, Fatty Raccoon could not   
   > read,   
      
     TOM: Of course?   
      
   >       so the printing did him no good at all. But if you had seen the   
   > box, and if you are old enough to read,   
      
    CROW: Arthur Scott Bailey pandering to his audience here.   
      
   >                                         you would have known that the   
   > printing said: EVAPORATED APPLES   
      
     TOM: E ... Evaporated apples?   
    CROW: Consolidated grapes!   
    MIKE: Abbreviated radishes!   
    CROW: Imaginary corn!   
     TOM: Dark matter potatoes!   
      
   >   
   >	Now, evaporated apples are nothing more or less than dried   
   > apples.   
      
    MIKE: To the lay audience, anyway.   
      
   >         The cook of the loggers' camp used them to make apple pies.   
      
     TOM: Not to get in good with condensed teachers?   
      
   > And first, before making his pies, he always soaked them in water so   
   > they would swell.   
      
    CROW: [ As Logger ] 'How do the apples look?'   
    MIKE: [ As cook ] 'Swell!'   
    CROW: [ As Logger ] 'So they're ready to go!'   
      
   >   
   >	Now you see what made Fatty Raccoon feel so queer and   
   > uncomfortable.   
      
     TOM: He missed out on apple pie?   
      
   >                He had first eaten his dried apples.   
      
    CROW: Okay, okay wait, let me write this down.   
      
   >                                                     And then he had   
   > soaked them,   
      
    CROW: All right, keep laying out the clues, I'll figure it out.   
      
   >              by drinking out of the brook.   
      
    MIKE: Brook water?  What's wrong with *real* water?   
      
   >                                            It was no wonder that his   
   > sides stuck out, for the apples that he had bolted were swelling and   
   > puffing him out until he felt that he should burst.   
      
     TOM: So evaporated apples take revenge.  Got it.   
      
   >                                                     In fact, the   
   > wonder of it was that he was able to get through his mother's doorway,   
   > when he reached home.   
      
    MIKE: Not because of the fatness, because he was out after curfew.   
      
   >   
   >	But he did it, though it cost him a few groans. And he   
   > frightened his mother, too.   
      
    CROW: Mrs Raccoon is a long-suffering character this book.   
      
   >   
   >	"I only hope you're not poisoned," she said, when Fatty told   
   > her what he had been doing.   
      
     TOM: Oh, c'mon, where would humans even *get* poison from?  Be realistic!   
      
   >   
   >	And that remark frightened Fatty more than ever.   
      
    CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'Poissoned?  I didn't even *see* any fish!'   
    MIKE: [ As Mom ] 'No, I ... you know, I'll let this one go.'   
      
   as sure   
   > he was never going to feel any better.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)