Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie Page #2

How about your conference with

the committee on atomic power?

Not my conference. Twenty engineers

and scientists were there.

Twenty? Hardly a routine meeting,

would you say?

Yeah, and look, Cal:

we won't buy the committee's

getting you VIPs together

for a cocktail party.

All right, boys,

I'll tell you this much.

You boys like to call this

"the push-button age."

It isn't. Not yet.

Not until we can team up

atomic energy with electronics.

Then we'll have the horses

as well as the cart.

How long has the army

been handing out jets, doctor?

Yeah!

One of the boys at Lockheed

handed me this one.

I hope you taxpayers don't mind.

We do!

Cal, when do we get

to this "push-button age"?

When fellows like me stop talking

about it and get back to our labs.

See you gentlemen later.

- Goodbye!

- So long!

Kiss me goodbye?

Cal, are you working on anything

along the lines you mentioned?

- Roughly.

- Well, remember me, will you?

I'm the wormy guy.

I'm concentrating on the

reconversion of certain

common elements into nuclear

energy sources.

- Huh? How's that again?

- What counts is how I make it work.

I see.

Good flight, Cal.

- Thank you.

- So long.

- Dickweed.

- Jack-off.

Other people need to

use this ladder, you know?

My wife has the seat so close,

how can she drive like this?

Those decals are really hard

to put on without ripping.

John Sununu goes

for a haircut.

Fortunately, he has

his theme music on eight-track.

Hey! You can see

the Cubs losing!

Geez, there's soccer teams

lying all over the place!

Oh, for crying out...

when are they gonna fill that in?

Hey, his legs are sticking out!

Ricola!

I'm so lost!

Keanu Reeves in

My Own Private Airfield.

Hello, can I see your pass,

sir... ah... whatever.

Putting the men's room in the tower,

what was I thinking?

2XD341, calling

Ryberg Control tower. Come in.

2XD341, this is Ryberg

Control tower. Go ahead.

O.K. to come in, Webb?

Are you decent?

All clear, Cal. Drift south

about 20 miles per hour.

Hi, Webb.

what's Cal's ETA?

- 1410, but he's late

- Half an hour late.

That's my boss.

The only guy in the world

who can travel by jet and still be late.

Duh, I made a funny,

heh heh.

- Where are you?

- Look out the window.

Look out,

President Clinton!

Maverick!

Could I love him more?

Ah damn, I spilled my

Big Gulp.

Should we be seeing this?

Nothing! Nothing!

Cal, what's wrong?

I have no control.

I keep eating and eating!

Cut loose, Cal! Bail out!

I can't. I'm too low.

I've got the blues so bad,

uh huh.

Jerking around must have caused a flameout.

No power.

No nothing!

No Tickee!

No Shirtee!

Green Acres!

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