Twin Peaks Usenet Archive


Subject: TP - Just when you thought it was safe to return the the net...
From: maus@honest_crocus.morgan.com (Malcolm Austin)
Date: 1990-10-12, 14:18
Newsgroups: alt.tv.twin-peaks

And then, I had another dream!

	" . . . While some of the dishes described may seem outre, 
	even disgusting, Gerard Horne has captured truly unique dining 
	experiences from around the globe.  His recipes are easily 
	followed, but preparation is best left to those who are not 
	easily shocked.  His ingredients list will probably overtax
	your local supermarket, so be prepared to go to considerable 
	trouble and expense to obtain some of the more unusual items.  
	Substitutions are generally ineffective."

				-- The New York Times Book Review
				   COOKING ADVENTURES, by Gerard Horne

    Benjamin Horne sat in his office, smoking a pipe.  The doors burst
open.  Jerry Horne strode in, holding a 5 gallon carton of ice cream.

Benjamin: Hey, Jerry, what's the story?

Jerry: I just got back from Finland.  Ben, you've never tasted anything like 
  it.  They take vanilla ice cream, and heat it til it starts to melt.  After 
  that, they take the ice cream, and stir in pieces of Icelandic leg of lamb, 
  and smashed Rolex watches.  It's incredible!  I think it'll sell better than
  Cherry Garcia!

Benjamin: Wonderful, Jerr.

Jerry: I think I'll call it Dali Lamb-a Chunk.

    The doors burst open.  Leland swaggered in, grinning, and started to sing.
"You'll be swell!  You'll be great!  Gonna have the whole world on a plate!..."

Ben: Leland's still in shock.  Thinks he's Ethel Merman.

Leland: Everything coming up roses!

    The doors burst open.  Catherine stormed angrily into the room.

Ben: Aren't you dead?

Catherine: Death is irrelevant.  Ben, why did you lie to me!

Benjamin: Everything has transpired according to my design. Your friends at the
mill are walking into a trap!  Soon Ghostwood will be complete, and we will 
have the ultimate power in the universe.  Prime real estate!

Catherine: You're mad.  Mad I say!

Benjamin: Ah!  Finally our own turf!  Once you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the 
way!  Me and Riff will rumble the Bookhouse Boys, and then Maria can return 
from that convent in Switzerland.

Leland:[sings] There's a place for us!  A special place for us!

Catherine: But Riff died years ago.

Ben: Just his career.  Don't you get it?  NOBODY'S dead!  They're all in comas,
  pretending.

Leland: Coma, Coma, Coma, Coma, Coma Chameleon!

Catherine: But Jacques Renault is dead.  We saw him flatline.

Ben: Nope.  You know where he is now?  He's with George C. Scott pitching some
sort of undersea car he invented.

    The doors burst open.  A short man wearing a raincoat and holding a cigar
entered.  Ben scowled.  "Now what, Lieutenant?"

    "I'm sorry to keep bothering you like this, Mr. Horne, but you know, 
something been troubling me about this case."

    "And what's that, Lieutenant."

    "Well, Agent Cooper was shot with a silenced automatic.  We know that
because the room service guy--he didn't hear nuthin' that night.  Now you
can't just walk into a store and pick up a silencer, so we figure this guy's
a pro.  But then, instead of making sure Cooper's dead, like with a shot to
the back of the head..."

    Catherine gasped. "Ohh!"

    "I'm sorry, ma'am.  Didn't mean to disturb you.  Where was I?  Oh.  Why
didn't he make sure Agent Cooper was dead?"  The lieutenant spread his arms
wide.  "I just can't figure it."

    Ben puffed on his cigar, and thought for a moment.  "Maybe he never 
intended to kill Agent Cooper.  He could have known that Cooper would be
wearing a bullet-proof vest, and intentionally shot him in the torso."

    The lieutenant slapped his head.  "You know, sir, that never occurred to 
me.  I must be getting old.  That's gotta be it.  Thanks a lot, sir.  You've
been a big help.  Too bad about the Emmys.  My wife just loves that Bakula
fella.  She gave me hell.  Well, goodbye, sir."  He waved and left the room.
--
===============================================================================
Malcolm Austin -- maus@fir.morgan.com 
Disclaimer (v.), to unarm an opponent wielding a Scottish broadsword
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