Randy Newman: Delta Time-Fighter
by Wisdom
The time is many centuries ago, when Spain and England nearly broke out
into war. Delegates between the two countries are just meeting aboard the
English frigate Constantine, off the coast of Spain, to discuss warfare. At
the heat of their argument, suddenly, from some unknowable source, music
begins to play. "What on Earth is that!" shouts one of the Englishmen. All
sit attentively, listening to the words of the song...
"Short people got
no reason to live."
Each side turns to one another, touched by these words. "How could we be so
foolish?" they ask one another. The message of the song is clear: how could
prejudice, any prejudice, be taken seriously?
"This song has made me realize how foolish we were," said one of the
Spanish delegates. "This man who is singing seems silly to me. What for does
he hate short people? Similarly, what for do we hate the English?"
High up in the clouds, sitting in his hover-car, was Randy Newman, Delta
Time-Fighter. Blaring from his stereo was the song he had recorded many
decades ago, its sound-waves carrying gently to the ship below.
Adjusting the monoplatinomium helmet that fit tightly around his head, and
armored his body, Randy pressed a button on his dashboard, causing the music
to fade away. In its place was the sound of a single voice.
"We read you, Delta Newman."
"Mission complete. War has been averted," said Randy.
"You're clear to return to the present."
"'Present' THIS," said Randy. He began quickly manipulating buttons and
levers from all sides of his hover-car. "Present this to your momma," he
said, rapidly tapping the button that controlled the radio.
"Landing port is clear," said the voice. "All systems go."
There was a flash of light, and from the sky Randy Newman, Delta
Time-Fighter, and his futuristic hover-car disappeared.
* * *
"Mr. Newman?"
"..."
"Mr. Newman, are you okay?"
His mind blurred. His vision reeled. Where was he? Ah yes, the future.
"I'm good," he said sternly. He could never show his emotions ... he was a
hardened warrior - a famed Time-Fighter, part of a secret government
operation dedicated to correcting history and sheltering mankind from
destruction by averting war with a time-machine, opening the hearts and
minds of men on the brink of war with the message contained in his hit
single, "Short People" - and Time-Fighters don't show their emotions.
The aides tried assisting Randy from his smoking hover-car, but he pushed
them aside and let himself out. "I don't need help and I don't need
emotions" he said sternly. He was a man's man, with no time for that girly
touching stuff. "I'm a man's man, with no time for that girly touching
stuff," he said.
Just then the director of the operation stepped forward. "Randy. We've got
another mission planned for you."
"It can wait," said Randy. "I want some pizza and kool-aid."
The aides and everyone else could sense the tension. Would the director
refuse Randy's needs? The silence grew.
Finally the director spoke, in a slow and halting manner. "It is ... as you
wish, Your Highness." He turned crisply away and disappeared into one of the
chamber's many doors.
"Randy! Randy!" a voice yelled. It was Larf!
"Larf," said Randy.
* * *
"...and that's your mission," finished the director. Him and some other
faceless members of the operation along with Randy were all sitting around a
table in the top secret executive room.
"It makes no sense," said Randy. "The Nazis exist on our own timeline."
"The mission of the Backstep program has changed," said the director. "We
aren't just correcting things that have to be corrected. Now we're trying to
clean up history. It might be risky, but we have to try."
"Hmmm," said Randy. Suddenly Larf appeared from underneath the table.
"We can do it! I know we can, Randy!" he said.
"What do you mean by 'we?'"
"I'm coming with you!" said Larf emphatically.
"Oh no!" cried Randy.
"That's right," said the director. "We need Larf to accompany you, just
incase there's trouble."
"I can handle myself," said Randy.
"In any case, Larf is coming with you."
"'Larf is coming with you' THIS," said Randy. "Your momma."
"That's all good and fine," said the director. "But if you'll excuse me,
Your Highness. You must leave now. The hover-car is prepared. Dave packed
you a turkey on rye in the compartment."
"I wanted roast beef," said Randy.
"That's what I meant," said the director.
"I wanted roast beef on wheat."
"Oh," said the director. "Well, it's roast beef on rye. With jalapenos."
"You know I hate those things," said Randy.
"Yeah, well, Dave opened the jar, and they were going to waste."
"' Yeah, well, Dave opened the jar, and they were going to waste' THIS.
Your momma."
"That's getting old," said the director.
"Gimme roast beef on wheat," said Randy. "Or I don't go on the mission."
"I'll meet you half way."
"How?" asked Randy.
"I'll give you roast beef on rye."
"Okay," said Randy. "No jalapenos."
"You can pick them off," said the director.
"Whenever I do that, I can still taste them," said Randy.
"You can't taste what's not there."
"Can't I, Mr. Director? Can't I?" said Randy.
"...I'll have Dave make you another sandwich then. Turkey on rye?"
"ROAST BEEF on WHEAT. And cherry kool-aid."
"Purple kool-aid," said the director.
"Cherry kool-aid and I let you borrow my scooter for the weekend."
"And a date with Cindy."
"She's her own woman," said Randy.
"No date, no cherry kool-aid."
"Grrrrrrrrr!" growled Randy.
"And tickets to the dinner party."
"Hey!"
"Okay, okay," said the director. "Cherry kool-aid for the scooter. Cindy
can rot."
"Okay," said Randy.
And they were off!
* * *
"Und I think the braun ist slimmung, ja," said Goebbles to Hitler, who was
trying on a blue dress. "Try der one on das tafel."
"Nein! Green is das color of puke," he shouted. "Vhat, are you stupid? I
think ve killung lots of people today."
"Ja, that sounds gut," said Goebbles.
"Okay," said Hitler.
"Vait, vhat is das noise!" said Goebbles.
"Das ist musik," said Hitler.
"Suddenly I no longer vant to killung the Jews," said Goebbles.
"Ja, vhat is with these short people tho'?" said Hitler.
"Ja, ja. They have funny little feet."
"Und hands."
"Ja," said Goebbles.
* * *
"You have to go back, Randy," said the director as he escorted Randy out of
his hover car.
"What do you mean?"
"It was a major mistake. We rewrote history. The Holocaust still happened,
except the Nazis ended up killing short people instead."
"That's insane," said Randy. "But how can we fix it? The tape didn't work
the first time, so it isn't going to work this time either. It didn't make
them realize how stupid their prejudices are!"
"I know. The best thing to do is to just put history back the way it was."
"...and how are we going to do that?"
"..."
"...oh... okay, let's cut a tape."
* * *
Two Nazis are measuring a group of people, loading the shortest onto
trucks.
"Hey, you're standung on your toes. Get in das truck. That's cheatung."
"Die shortung ones are crafty!"
"Ja, die short ones are really crafty. Der Fuhrer!"
Suddenly a large open truck pulls up, with Hitler on the passenger side.
Several trucks follow.
"Heil!" say the two Nazis.
"Ja, I like this neue program," said Hitler. "Is everything in das order,
gentlemen?"
"Ja, Hitler!" they say.
"Gut. Vant to see my new dance?"
"Ja, Hitler!"
"I callung it Das Robot."
"You move just like a machine!"
"I know," said Hitler. "I am Das Robot!"
"Und du soundung like one too."
"I do crazy Robot voice," said Hitler.
"Ja!" they say.
"Watch foot here. I do crazy thing with foot," said Hitler.
"Der Fuhrer!"
"Call it Moonvalk. Can't touchung this."
"Such talent, ja!"
"Okay, das ist alle."
"Oh no!"
"Okay, ein more. Das wurm."
"Ooooh!"
* * *
"Damn it!" said Randy. "That was a rough entry. Our radio is busted."
"What does it mean?" said Larf.
"Duh! We can't play the tape."
"Can't you fix it?"
"Noooooo!" said Randy.
"We'll just have to go back and fix the radio, then come back."
All of the sudden there is the sound of gunfire, and the two realize that
the Nazis are firing at them.
* * *
"Das ist no balloon, Fuhrer."
"Oh, I vas hoping it vas."
Plonk! Two bodies drop to the ground in front of the Nazis. It is Randy and
Larf.
"Mein Gott!" said Hitler.
"Ow," said Randy. "We must have fallen out."
"How are we going to get back up there?" said Larf.
"Not so fastung, strange menschen," said Hitler. "Who are du? English
spies?"
"Ummmm," said Larf.
"No!" shouted Randy, drawing attention to himself. "Listen to me! Piano,
accio!"
Suddenly a piano flew out of the sky, and landed at Randy's feet. "We don't
need no radio for this." He began to sing.
'Jewish people got
no reason to live...'
"Ja, I killung the Jews again," said Hitler. "Thank du."
And he rode off on his truck after issuing new commands to the two Nazi
workers.
"Now what, Randy?" asked Larf. "We still can't get back to the hover-car."
"Oh no?" said Randy slyly.
"Nope," said Larf.
"Damn," said Randy. "Guess we're stuck here then."
"Not unless..."
"Huh?" said Randy.
"Nah, it would never work."
"What would never work?"
"Well," began Larf. "If we flew up to the hover-car..."
"Wait," said Randy. "What you're saying is..."
"Yeah," said Larf. "Drink this magic potion."
And thus ends the heroic story of Randy Newman, Delta Time-Fighter.
The time is many centuries ago, when Spain and England nearly broke out
into war. Delegates between the two countries are just meeting aboard the
English frigate Constantine, off the coast of Spain, to discuss warfare. At
the heat of their argument, suddenly, from some unknowable source, music
begins to play. "What on Earth is that!" shouts one of the Englishmen. All
sit attentively, listening to the words of the song...
"Short people got
no reason to live."
Each side turns to one another, touched by these words. "How could we be so
foolish?" they ask one another. The message of the song is clear: how could
prejudice, any prejudice, be taken seriously?
"This song has made me realize how foolish we were," said one of the
Spanish delegates. "This man who is singing seems silly to me. What for does
he hate short people? Similarly, what for do we hate the English?"
High up in the clouds, sitting in his hover-car, was Randy Newman, Delta
Time-Fighter. Blaring from his stereo was the song he had recorded many
decades ago, its sound-waves carrying gently to the ship below.
Adjusting the monoplatinomium helmet that fit tightly around his head, and
armored his body, Randy pressed a button on his dashboard, causing the music
to fade away. In its place was the sound of a single voice.
"We read you, Delta Newman."
"Mission complete. War has been averted," said Randy.
"You're clear to return to the present."
"'Present' THIS," said Randy. He began quickly manipulating buttons and
levers from all sides of his hover-car. "Present this to your momma," he
said, rapidly tapping the button that controlled the radio.
"Landing port is clear," said the voice. "All systems go."
There was a flash of light, and from the sky Randy Newman, Delta
Time-Fighter, and his futuristic hover-car disappeared.
* * *
"Mr. Newman?"
"..."
"Mr. Newman, are you okay?"
His mind blurred. His vision reeled. Where was he? Ah yes, the future.
"I'm good," he said sternly. He could never show his emotions ... he was a
hardened warrior - a famed Time-Fighter, part of a secret government
operation dedicated to correcting history and sheltering mankind from
destruction by averting war with a time-machine, opening the hearts and
minds of men on the brink of war with the message contained in his hit
single, "Short People" - and Time-Fighters don't show their emotions.
The aides tried assisting Randy from his smoking hover-car, but he pushed
them aside and let himself out. "I don't need help and I don't need
emotions" he said sternly. He was a man's man, with no time for that girly
touching stuff. "I'm a man's man, with no time for that girly touching
stuff," he said.
Just then the director of the operation stepped forward. "Randy. We've got
another mission planned for you."
"It can wait," said Randy. "I want some pizza and kool-aid."
The aides and everyone else could sense the tension. Would the director
refuse Randy's needs? The silence grew.
Finally the director spoke, in a slow and halting manner. "It is ... as you
wish, Your Highness." He turned crisply away and disappeared into one of the
chamber's many doors.
"Randy! Randy!" a voice yelled. It was Larf!
"Larf," said Randy.
* * *
"...and that's your mission," finished the director. Him and some other
faceless members of the operation along with Randy were all sitting around a
table in the top secret executive room.
"It makes no sense," said Randy. "The Nazis exist on our own timeline."
"The mission of the Backstep program has changed," said the director. "We
aren't just correcting things that have to be corrected. Now we're trying to
clean up history. It might be risky, but we have to try."
"Hmmm," said Randy. Suddenly Larf appeared from underneath the table.
"We can do it! I know we can, Randy!" he said.
"What do you mean by 'we?'"
"I'm coming with you!" said Larf emphatically.
"Oh no!" cried Randy.
"That's right," said the director. "We need Larf to accompany you, just
incase there's trouble."
"I can handle myself," said Randy.
"In any case, Larf is coming with you."
"'Larf is coming with you' THIS," said Randy. "Your momma."
"That's all good and fine," said the director. "But if you'll excuse me,
Your Highness. You must leave now. The hover-car is prepared. Dave packed
you a turkey on rye in the compartment."
"I wanted roast beef," said Randy.
"That's what I meant," said the director.
"I wanted roast beef on wheat."
"Oh," said the director. "Well, it's roast beef on rye. With jalapenos."
"You know I hate those things," said Randy.
"Yeah, well, Dave opened the jar, and they were going to waste."
"' Yeah, well, Dave opened the jar, and they were going to waste' THIS.
Your momma."
"That's getting old," said the director.
"Gimme roast beef on wheat," said Randy. "Or I don't go on the mission."
"I'll meet you half way."
"How?" asked Randy.
"I'll give you roast beef on rye."
"Okay," said Randy. "No jalapenos."
"You can pick them off," said the director.
"Whenever I do that, I can still taste them," said Randy.
"You can't taste what's not there."
"Can't I, Mr. Director? Can't I?" said Randy.
"...I'll have Dave make you another sandwich then. Turkey on rye?"
"ROAST BEEF on WHEAT. And cherry kool-aid."
"Purple kool-aid," said the director.
"Cherry kool-aid and I let you borrow my scooter for the weekend."
"And a date with Cindy."
"She's her own woman," said Randy.
"No date, no cherry kool-aid."
"Grrrrrrrrr!" growled Randy.
"And tickets to the dinner party."
"Hey!"
"Okay, okay," said the director. "Cherry kool-aid for the scooter. Cindy
can rot."
"Okay," said Randy.
And they were off!
* * *
"Und I think the braun ist slimmung, ja," said Goebbles to Hitler, who was
trying on a blue dress. "Try der one on das tafel."
"Nein! Green is das color of puke," he shouted. "Vhat, are you stupid? I
think ve killung lots of people today."
"Ja, that sounds gut," said Goebbles.
"Okay," said Hitler.
"Vait, vhat is das noise!" said Goebbles.
"Das ist musik," said Hitler.
"Suddenly I no longer vant to killung the Jews," said Goebbles.
"Ja, vhat is with these short people tho'?" said Hitler.
"Ja, ja. They have funny little feet."
"Und hands."
"Ja," said Goebbles.
* * *
"You have to go back, Randy," said the director as he escorted Randy out of
his hover car.
"What do you mean?"
"It was a major mistake. We rewrote history. The Holocaust still happened,
except the Nazis ended up killing short people instead."
"That's insane," said Randy. "But how can we fix it? The tape didn't work
the first time, so it isn't going to work this time either. It didn't make
them realize how stupid their prejudices are!"
"I know. The best thing to do is to just put history back the way it was."
"...and how are we going to do that?"
"..."
"...oh... okay, let's cut a tape."
* * *
Two Nazis are measuring a group of people, loading the shortest onto
trucks.
"Hey, you're standung on your toes. Get in das truck. That's cheatung."
"Die shortung ones are crafty!"
"Ja, die short ones are really crafty. Der Fuhrer!"
Suddenly a large open truck pulls up, with Hitler on the passenger side.
Several trucks follow.
"Heil!" say the two Nazis.
"Ja, I like this neue program," said Hitler. "Is everything in das order,
gentlemen?"
"Ja, Hitler!" they say.
"Gut. Vant to see my new dance?"
"Ja, Hitler!"
"I callung it Das Robot."
"You move just like a machine!"
"I know," said Hitler. "I am Das Robot!"
"Und du soundung like one too."
"I do crazy Robot voice," said Hitler.
"Ja!" they say.
"Watch foot here. I do crazy thing with foot," said Hitler.
"Der Fuhrer!"
"Call it Moonvalk. Can't touchung this."
"Such talent, ja!"
"Okay, das ist alle."
"Oh no!"
"Okay, ein more. Das wurm."
"Ooooh!"
* * *
"Damn it!" said Randy. "That was a rough entry. Our radio is busted."
"What does it mean?" said Larf.
"Duh! We can't play the tape."
"Can't you fix it?"
"Noooooo!" said Randy.
"We'll just have to go back and fix the radio, then come back."
All of the sudden there is the sound of gunfire, and the two realize that
the Nazis are firing at them.
* * *
"Das ist no balloon, Fuhrer."
"Oh, I vas hoping it vas."
Plonk! Two bodies drop to the ground in front of the Nazis. It is Randy and
Larf.
"Mein Gott!" said Hitler.
"Ow," said Randy. "We must have fallen out."
"How are we going to get back up there?" said Larf.
"Not so fastung, strange menschen," said Hitler. "Who are du? English
spies?"
"Ummmm," said Larf.
"No!" shouted Randy, drawing attention to himself. "Listen to me! Piano,
accio!"
Suddenly a piano flew out of the sky, and landed at Randy's feet. "We don't
need no radio for this." He began to sing.
'Jewish people got
no reason to live...'
"Ja, I killung the Jews again," said Hitler. "Thank du."
And he rode off on his truck after issuing new commands to the two Nazi
workers.
"Now what, Randy?" asked Larf. "We still can't get back to the hover-car."
"Oh no?" said Randy slyly.
"Nope," said Larf.
"Damn," said Randy. "Guess we're stuck here then."
"Not unless..."
"Huh?" said Randy.
"Nah, it would never work."
"What would never work?"
"Well," began Larf. "If we flew up to the hover-car..."
"Wait," said Randy. "What you're saying is..."
"Yeah," said Larf. "Drink this magic potion."
And thus ends the heroic story of Randy Newman, Delta Time-Fighter.