In a [not-too-]distant, dark
future...
The German group Rammstein
disappeared mysteriously. Although the press says they all died in a tragic
airplane crash, the fans prefer to think they had too much sex and died of
exhaustion. Both sides are very far from the truth...
Well, perhaps not *that* far.
Actually they were abducted by an
evil and totally lunatic madman...
Dr. Yuko: *cough*
...madwoman. The six musicians are
now held captive in a satellite, orbiting around the Earth, where their job is
to review some of the most disturbing tales invented by obviously corrupted
human minds. Dealing with terrible grammar, spelling, plot and with out of
character behavior is just a small part of the challenge.
Today, you are invited to enjoy
with us...
The Rammstein Science Theater
3000!
(waiting for the RST3k Love
Theme...)
�
In the not-too-distant future--
Next Sunday in Berlin--
There was a guy named Till
Quite different from you and me
He had a really confusing mind
(the worst Dr. Yuko could find)
One day she took him to her base
But he turned into a basket case,
So she shot him into space!
She'll send him crappy fanfics,
The worst ever made (la-la-la),
He'll have to sit and read them
all,
And there's no escape! (la-la-la).
Now keep in mind Till can't control
Where the fanfics begin or end
(la-la-la),
As he tries to keep his sanity
And the sanity of his friends!
Rammstein Roll Call
Richard:
I Richard. You Jane. Ooga booga!
Paul:
Here we go! W00t!
Christoph:
IT'S SCHNEIDER!
Flake:
...*sneers*
Olli:
*silent*
If you're wondering how he eats
and breathes
And other science facts,
Just repeat to yourself it's just
a fanfic,
You should really just relax
For Rammstein Science Theater
3000.
*-*-*-*-*
Door 6: It's a curtain made of
beads. They explode when you approach.
Door 5: It splits in six ways.
Door 4: It falls towards you,
almost hitting your feet.
Door 3: It's a dungeon gate with
upside down arrowhead bars. It rises into the ceiling.
Door 2: It's made of metal, and
melts away when you touch it.
Door 1: It's a vault door. The
center ring swirls and the door opens.
Door 7: It's the swinging door of
a theater.
*-*-*-*-*
AN: This story is a one-shot
adaptation of the Rammstein song �Heirate mich.�
Flake: In short, it's a copy of
the song in disguise.
They are a German rock band, and
the title of the song means �Marry me.� I have included the German lyrics and
their English translation.
Till: NO MORE TRANSLATIONS,
PLEASE!!!!
Olli: Who's AN?
The characters in my version are
the lead singer, Till Lindemann, and an original character (she was supposed to
be Till�s ex-wife, but I couldn't find her name).
Flake: Your version of *what*,
exactly?
Olli: Who are you, by the way?
They are not mine,
Schneider: Thank goodness.
and neither is the song. Enjoy the
story!
Heirate Mich
It had been a year now. A year
that she had been dead. Till slept in the graveyard every night since
Kristine�s death.
Till: Oh, great. Basically, the
fic is my lyrics in prose format.
Richard: <as the author>
Origilanity...no no, wait, ogirinali...all right, I can't pronounce it!
When his beautiful new wife
suddenly died the previous winter,
Paul: *points* How could you die
the winter! Bitch!
Christoph: Prepositions, anyone?
Till left all their belongings in
the apartment
Olli: As opposed to leaving all
their belongings on the street.
and headed to the cemetery where
Kristine was buried.
Flake: Do you recall any Kristine,
Till?
Till: Erm...let me see...no.
Flake: Thought so.
He had never gone back to their
Berlin home. Instead, he somehow survived, sitting day after day by his wife�s
tombstone,
Flake: And of course, no one
noticed him there.
only moving to occasionally beg
for money
Richard: Till? Begging for money?
Did his brain die with his wife?
Paul: Oh, let's all forget his
RICH past as a rock star, shall we?
or steal food.
Olli: Till,
da Gangsta.
Till: All right pimpz, now we's
sing Rap. Rock wacks. An dat boil on mah ass.�
His clothes were soiled with a year�s worth of filth, but he scarcely
noticed. He didn�t notice anything anymore.
Paul: He was blind.
Flake: And deaf.
Christoph: And completely
OUT-OF-CHARACTER!
There was no good explanation for
his behavior.
Flake: Except that his
oh-so-beloved wife died.
Till: Hey ya motherfuckin' unknown
author, don' forget yo' fucking plot and shih!
Till had always been somewhat shy,
but still jovial and active. But with his wife�s death, Till retreated into
himself and became an empty shell of the man he once was.
All: *yawn*
Flake: And it's supposed to be a
*short* fic...
Or at least, that was how he
appeared to others.
Christoph: Others who? We?
Paul: *hysterically* Lookie
Schiny!!!11 They mention us! They mention us! *points points*
Within his mind was a constant
stream of grief-filled thoughts. Disjointed images of he and his wife together
flooded to the forefront of his memory. He had lived in sorrow and pain,
displaying a numb exterior, for three hundred and sixty-five days.
Richard: Wow, he was so numb he counted the days.
But he had done nothing.
Flake: Oh, I suppose that begging
and stealing fall under the category of "nothing"?
Till: No proofs nahh crime,
crackaz!
Nothing, that is, until tonight.
Tonight Till moves around with an odd sense of purpose.
Paul: <as Kristine> All I have do to is stay *one*
year dead and he already cheats on me with an odd sense of purpose!
He has found the gravedigger�s
shovel and is beginning to dig at Kristine�s plot.
Richard: <as the
gravedigger> Hey, this shovel is MINE!
Till: Shut da fuq up an' shih ya
mutha fucka!
He works with diligence for an
hour, barely breaking a sweat despite the dwindling of his once strong muscles
due to his lack of exercise over the last year.
He has formulated a plan in his
deranged mind,
Olli: He was numb enough to formulate a plan.
and he is beginning to carry it
out. Finally, Till has dug deep enough to free the coffin. With unearthly
strength
Richard: Unearthly strength?
Paul: Till comes from Krypton.
Flake: He's the second survivor
from an explosion in which there were no survivors.
Richard: Ahhhh...sure, how could I
forget that.
for one who has been malnourished
for a year, Till hefts the coffin out of the freshly dug dirt. He pries the lid
open with the shovel and opens the coffin.
There is Kristine. He thinks that
she is as beautiful as she was the day that they married. But really, her skin
is a pale green, and maggots
All: Ewwww! *puke*
have somehow found their way into
her coffin and invaded her body.
Till: Out o' ma fuckin ho'sbody ya muthafuckin maggots!
Till is overjoyed to see his wife
again, and he lifts her gently out of the casket.
Flake: And he realizes she doesn't smell like the day they
married.
He kisses her on her cold mouth,
not noticing the stench of death and rot. Instead, he smells the vanilla
perfume that she always wore.
Till can feel her lips and tongue
responding to his, and deepens the kiss.
All: *throw up*
Paul: You there's something wrong
when a corpse smells like vanilla and returns your kiss...
Richard: Yes. It�s called LSD.
He does not even notice when one
of her arms falls off and lands back in the coffin with a sickening plop.
All: *disgorge*
Till: *picks up the arm* Hey ho,
ya let yo' arm fall off.
Richard: <as Kristine> Oh,
thank you. Can you stitch it back, please?
Till now carries his wife�s body
toward the church.
Flake: And when he arrives there, he wonder why have all
her other limbs disappeared.
He knows what he will do next.
They will get ied ied again,
Olli: They'll get what?
Till: They'll git ied ied ya
fuckin poser gangsta beeatch!
and he and Kristine will be happy.
He drags her limp body into the church and sets up an impromptu wedding
ceremony. He repeats his vows, and listens to his memory
Paul: And it tells him to quit making a
pathetic-attempt-at-martyr of himself and GO BACK TO RAMMSTEIN!
of Kristine speaking hers.
Till: I, da Niggaz Till, take ya
Kristine, ta be muh ma fuckin ho, ta gots an' ta hold an' shih from dis here
day on, fo' pimp-tight an' bad, fo' rich shih, fo' poor, in krump an' in
health, ta mad love an' ta cherish an' shih from deez day on till death kills
us. Ya' dig?
Richard: <as Kristine> *head
falls off*�
Later that night, he consummates
his marriage to her on the cold stone floor of the church.
Paul: <as Till> Yeah, who
cares if her body is full of maggots!? *thrusts in*
All: *vomit*
FIN
Christoph: No more regurgitating
scenes, I hope.
AN: So, how was it?
Paul: Terrible. I think I'm going
to barf again!
Olli: Who the hell is AN?
I could have made it more
descriptive, but this was actually for an English class.
Flake: Understand this as:
"Yeah, I could have created my own stuff but instead I ripped off Till's
lyrics and turned them into a nasty prose."
Till: Ya motherfuckin' crackz
ganked mah sheeit an' shih!
The teacher liked it, believe it
or not!
Christoph: It's sad to watch the deterioration of the
educational system...
Please review!
Olli: We *are* reviewing. Sorta.
REAL FIN
All: *get up and leave the
theater*
Flake: So...we read the story, but
I still don't have a clue about who is the author.
Paul: Phew...If I were the author
of this fic, I would like to hide myself as well...
Dr. Yuko: You should be happy! No
Richard fic, this time!
Till: That's an improvement.
Richard: I just hope we don't have
to read more five martyr-Till fics in a row now!
Dr.� Yuko: I hadn't thought about that...thanks for the idea.
Others: *groan* Richard...
Richard: Erm...
[THIS SCENE IS TOO EXPLICIT EVEN
FOR THIS FIC]
Dr. Yuko: I love when my boys play *smirks*.
-- WHOOOSH! --
The Rammstein guys were created
by...their respective mothers.
They do not belong to me, I'm just
borrowing them for fun.
This is not a personal attack
against the author of the fic,
no matter how much he or she may
deserve it. Don't take too
seriously.
And remember: cries and complaints
about how this MST has hurt
your feelings will just make me
eviscerate you with a rusty butter
knife, then sell your mortal
remains in the black market.
Ditto!