The explosion at the Palace Hotel distracts Sheriff Cunningham from Wyatt’s large collection of sarsaparilla and also from Max Montreal.
He notices Kid Czarcasm down the street being presented with the key to the city by the mayor of San Francisco. Maybe the Kid can help me with what I need to do, thinks Sheriff Cunningham. I can’t let Black Bart slip away this time.
“Hey, Kid! Do you have a moment?” asks the sheriff.
Wyatt Grabs another cold sarsaparilla out of the top case in the stack and pops the top …
“Well, my good man, there Has to be another hotel here in town, somewhere! There, up that little Hill, I believe that looks like hotel right there! Come along!”
*Porter pant pant huff puff pant pant “Yes, sir.” [thought] This fellow better TIP well![/thought]
*Porter pant pant huff puff pant pant …
Wyatt “Naaaaa, that place doesn’t look too good, either … There HAS to be a hotel in this town with internet access in the rooms! They keep looking at me like I’m Crazy!”
grabbing another sarsaparilla out of the ice in the top case
"Come along, Porter! We might as well go see all the excitement down at the fire!
Porter “groan…” pant pant huff puff pant pant …
Thanks to the many, many bottles of sarsaparilla that Wyatt has consumed since the day he realized it to be his favorite soft drink, it allows him to retain his memories of his real world, even though he has been pulled into this different one in the 1800’s.
Porter asks, “Sir, groan, pant pant huff, what’s this ‘internet’ you keep, huff huff pant pant, asking about?”
Meanwhile Siang says to the hooded stranger, “Our sources tell us that someone here from the other world still retains his memory.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“We don’t know. Depends if that someone interferes in the big card game between McLeod and Big Deke.”
*Wyatt pauses, and looks blankly at the porter … “In Ter Net? InterNet? INternet … hum … hummmm … I vaguely recall it being important, every day, like … like … like, breakfast! Yes, that’s it! Its an everyday kind of thing. Say, porter, I beg your pardon, my name is Wyatt, what’s yours?”
Porter “Sidney, sir.”
"Sidney?
Porter "Yes, sir. I’m from Canada, sir. Sidney, Porter, eh?
Wyatt ponders for a moment, “Sidney Porter, eh?” that rings a bell from somewhen … Anyway, would you like a nice Cold Sarsaparilla, Sidney?
“Oh, yes, sir, thank you, sir.” thinking only of lightening the load
“Very good, then, Sidney, lets roll right on down and see what’s happening down there by the fire. By the way, you don’t happen to have any marshmallows on you, do you?”
“Marshmallows, sir? What is Marshmallows?”
“Never mind …”
Sidney Porter thinks, “Strange words this odd fellow uses. Marshmallows? Internet? Hmm. He’d darn well better give me a generous tip for helping him with these cases of soda! Oh, why oh why didn’t I follow my dream of becoming an actor?”
*Porter pant pant huff puff pant pant …
“Sidney?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I believe I’ve killed the thread.”
“Killed who, sir?”
“Not who, It! I believe I’ve killed the thread!”
“Yes, sir.”
Wyatt notices the Sherryton Hotel. He decides to check in there so he can stash his sarsaparilla before heading over to see the fire.
Siang tells the hooded stranger, “Just received word from our sources. The one who still retains his memory of the real world is the one down there who got off the train with sixteen cases of sarsaparilla. His name is Wyatt. Marshal Wyatt. He and the porter he hired are looking for a hotel. They’re headed toward the Sherryton.”
The hooded stranger replies, “Let’s go.”
Siang smiles wickedly, “We may as well have some fun with this. Just follow my lead.”
Siang and the hooded stranger use their powers to instantly transport themselves into the lobby of the Sherryton Hotel. They pose as employees there and stand behind the desk.
Wyatt and Sidney the porter enter the lobby with the 16 cases of sarsaparilla.
“May we help you?” asks Siang.
“Yep. I’m in need of a room, preferably one with Internet access.”
Sidney the porter gives Wyatt a puzzled look.
Siang chuckles. “Sir, you have a delightful sense of humor. ‘Internet access,’ indeed. Look around you, sir. It’s the late 1800’s. Al Gore hasn’t been born yet.”
“Al Gore?” replies Wyatt. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re one of those misguided folks who believes that – wait a sec! You know about Al Gore?! Hey, you’re not from around here, are you?”
“And neither are you,” says Siang.
“Marshal Wyatt, we need you to come with us,” says the hooded stranger.
Wyatt senses something is not right. But he is torn between bolting from the hotel lobby, thus leaving behind his sarsaparilla, or staying while not knowing for sure what these two men want with him.
“Sir, do you need anything else from me?” asks Sidney the porter. “I really should be returning to the train station.” He holds out his hand for a tip.
Siang smiles at Sidney the porter. “You may go now, porter. Marshal Wyatt will receive the finest service here as a guest of the Sherryton Hotel.” He hands Sidney the porter a generous monetary tip. Sidney grins and leaves.
“Thank you, sir!” says Sidney the porter as he exits the lobby.
“Wait!” cries Wyatt. But it is too late. Siang and the hooded stranger take hold of Wyatt and use their powers to instantly transport him out of the lobby.
Sidney turns to see what Wyatt wants, but sees nobody there. “Huh?” The 16 cases of sarsaparilla are still in the lobby.
Then Sidney shrugs and heads back toward the train station.
*Wyatt pauses for a moment, for his eyes to focus, looks at his surroundings, then at the bottle of sarsparilla in his hand …
“Wow! What a Rush!”
preview is my friend … preview is my friend … preview is my friend … :smack:
Wow, that was Kewl!
“You guys want a …” looking around “bummer”
“Saaaaaay … neither of you are supposed to be a highly satyrical portrayal of William Shatner, are you?”
ROTFLMAO … dang’d spell check … it IS even funnier … but should have been “satirical”:smack:
Siang asks the hooded stranger, “What do you mean, he got away?”
“Just that. He got away. Grabbed my transporter, clicked it and now he’s back in that Sherryton Hotel lobby.”
Wyatt materializes in the lobby. “Whoa! What a rush!” he thinks. “Where’s my sarsaparilla? Oh, no!”
His fellow Dopers (Jeff Olsen, Baker, and the rest) are mingling in the lobby. Each is sipping from an open bottle of sarsaparilla. Wyatt sees that his stash of soft drinks is already half gone. Discarded empty sarsaparilla bottles fill the lobby trash basket.
What Wyatt does not know is that during his absence his fellow Dopers who had gotten off the Pacific Flyer had planned to stay at the Palace Hotel. But due to the gas explosion they were advised to seek rooms elsewhere. The Sherryton Hotel was recommended, so off they went.
“Wyatt!” says Baker smiling as she greets him with hug. “You made it to the Dopefest! Wasn’t it nice of the hotel to provide us with these complimentary drinks?”
“You mean the sarsaparilla? Actually, I paid for those. Bought sixteen cases from the train steward aboard the Pacific Flyer.”
“Why, that was mighty decent of you,” says Baker. She turns to the others. “Hey, everyone! Be sure to thank Wyatt for buying us these delicious sarsaparillas!”
The other Dopers raise their bottles, smile and say, “Thank you, Wyatt!”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” says Wyatt.
Wyatt’s fellow Dopers had each consumed about two or three bottles of the sarsaparilla. The effects of it caused them to almost recall who they really are, but not quite. They remember their real names, but believe they live in the 1800’s and are currently at a Dopefest.
Wyatt VERY casually saunters over to the front desk to inquire of the clerk …
“While we’re here, do you happen to know where I can scor … er … uh … purchase say, about 30 cases of … uh … this fine Sarsaparilla?”
“At the big Town Meeting Hall? Where they’re holding the World’s Championship of Poker? They have the soft drink distributorship for Sarsaparilla there?”
“Yes, sir.” responded the nervious desk clerk, who was still wondering what a “dope fest” was, but was thinking in terms of opium dens and other sordid stories, having NO idea just How sordid a dope fest could be.
“So, could y’all give me directions to this Town Meeting Hall? Oh, and while we’re at it, do ya know who a fella should talk to, if he were interested in buying himself a U.S. Senator or two?”
“Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, I mean … The meeting hall is just out the front door and turn to your left, down by the water front. You can’t miss it.” said the clerk, hoping he could ignore the second question.
And down near the water front, at the Big Town Meeting Hall, the Special Delux Meeting Beautification committee was frantically putting up all the various decorations they’d prepared for the World 's Championship of Poker.
There was crepe paper bunting strung everywhere, and colorful “Welcome” signs adorned the entry.
They had flower arrangements and table cloths for the refreshments tables and a lovely “sign-in” table all ready to greet the players, famous, infamous, and just plain, well, (scum is Such a harsh word, the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce had agreed (in a vote of 36 to 33) to ban the use of the word applying to anyone who could come up with the entry fees and “gaming taxes.”) just plain “folks.”
The Women’s auxiliary was going through the final rehearsals of their grand opening extravaganza, which they felt would be SO much more elegant and appropriate than the one the ‘saloon girls local 256’ had performed in the previous event!
All was hither and dither, with motion and flurry anywhere you rested your eyes! The decorators that Big Deke had hired were there as well, carefully seeing to the feng shui of the gaming room. They were placing the traditional red banners, wind chimes, and other symbols, and very very carefully placing the all important tiny feng shui mirrors. Placing them in ExacTly the locations Big Deke had told them would bring, for the decorators, the most auspicious returns in the wealth corner of their personal bagua.
Czarcasm is still looking for his son. He’s asked everyone in the building if they’ve seen Kid Czarcasm, but no one can help him.
The mod is beginning to worry as he heads back to his office. Suddenly he collides with two persons who emerge from a doorway: a strange looking pirate and a beautiful woman. The following conversation takes place.
Pirate: Arrrr! Watch where you be going!
Woman: Terribly sorry, sir. Are you all right?
Czarcasm: Yes. Who are you? I don’t remember seeing either of you here before.
Pirate: I be Captain Barbossa. And this here be Elizabeth Turner, so she says.
(turns to Elizabeth) As I was saying, that sticky FAQ about posting is more what you’d call “guidelines” than actual rules. Welcome aboard the SDMB, Miss Turner."
Czarcasm shakes his head in confusion. What on earth is going on here? A pirate captain here at SDMB? Something is very, very wrong. He turns to a control panel on the wall of the hallway.
Czarcasm says, “Computer, locate Kid Czarcasm.”
Computer replies, “Kid Czarcasm is not in the SDMB headquarters.”
He was told not to leave the building, thinks Czarcasm. Where did that kid go? He’d better not have slipped out to get out of doing his chores.
Suddenly another figure emerges from a doorway: a swaying younger pirate with dark dreadlocks. 'Tis none other than Captain Jack Sparrow.
Captain Jack Sparrow smiles at Czarcasm and asks, “Would ye happen to have any rum in this place?”
“Rum? Er, no. But there’s plenty of sarsaparilla downstairs in a vending machine,” replies Czarcasm. “Please excuse me. I have to go find my missing young son.”
Czarcasm rushes off leaving the three of them there.
Captain Jack Sparrow turns to Captain Barbossa and Elizabeth and asks, “What’s a vending machine?”
They shrug their shoulders in reply.
Hey, Wyatt! You may be Cool and Everything, But® has a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he forgot to do something back at SDMB headquarters: What was it? Oh, yeah. Did I or did I not log out of the Cafe Society Holodeck? I might have left the Pirates of the Caribbean program running, in which case some of the characters might be wandering around the building. Oh, well. Not my problem.
Captain Jack Sparrow: He wasn’t kidding. There’s nothing but sarsaparilla in this ‘vending machine’. How can there be no rum anywhere in this huge place? Not one solitary bottle of rum anywhere to be found?
Elizabeth: How do you get a bottle out of that ‘machine’?
Captain Barbossa: Arrrrr! Let’s hit it with something hard! Jack, how’s about we use you for a battering ram?
Captain Jack Sparrow: Never you mind. I’m going to search for some rum. wanders out of the room, down the hall and out the double doors that lead to the street outside
Captain Jack Sparrow is at a bar.
“A bottle of rum, please,” he says to the barmaid.
“Yes, sir.”
She returns momentarily with a bottle of rum.
Captain Jack Sparrow eagerly reaches for it, but alas! He rapidly fades into nothingness.
“Bollocks!” are the last words he mutters.
At the same time Captain Jack Sparrow fades away into nothingness, so do Captain Barbossa and Elizabeth ‘Turner’, for holodeck creations do not last very long outside the SDMB offices.
The bartender suddenly looks Verrrry distant and quietly mumbles “bollocks!” then shakes her head, like an etch-a-sketch, to clear her mind and goes back to work … but her thoughts drift to other worlds, times and places … and something about watching a watch, some stoopid pocket watch. Who the Hell would ever want to Watch a Watch? Some “swinging good time” That would be!