Mork & Mindy Read online

  CULTURAL EXCHANGE…

  Mindy blushed. “I’m sorry, you didn’t understand. I drink with my mouth, smell with my nose, uh, see with my eyes, and hear with my ears.”

  Mork shook his head in dismay. “You primitive beings lead exhausting lives.”

  “Primitive.” Mindy felt angry for all human beings. “What makes us primitive, because we don’t drink with our fingers?”

  “You don’t understand living forms,” Mork said. “Look, how you cage the plants and you eat animals and you kill each other—”

  Mindy quickly interrupted. She was made sad by this list. “Your planet doesn’t do any of those things?”

  “Not since two bill-krells.”

  “How do you eat?”

  “We eat plant leavings.”

  Mindy was confused. “You eat dead leaves?”

  “Nap, nap. We eat the colored extrusions.”

  “You mean, flowers? You eat flowers?”

  “And coffee, of course.”

  “But coffee and flowers don’t have any nourishment.” Mindy said.

  Mork shook his head in disapproval. “And you say you’re not a primitive life-form?”

  Henderson Production Company, Inc.

  and

  Miller-Milkis Productions, Inc.

  in association with Paramount Television

  Present

  ________________________

  MORK & MINDY

  ________________________

  Created by

  Garry K. Marshall

  Dale McRaven

  and

  Joe Glauberg

  “MORK: HOUR SPECIAL”

  written by Dale McRaven

  “MORK MOVES IN”

  written by Lloyd Turner and Gordon Mitchell

  “MORK RUNS AWAY”

  written by April Kelly

  ***

  1

  It had started like any other day on the planet Ork, only today Mork had been sent a special request to appear before the White Desk. On Ork you never knew what this could mean. For Mork it usually meant punishment.

  Mork would have been nervous about being called before the White Desk except that Orkans don’t feel nervous the way Earthlings do. But Mork was worried in the way that Orkans do feel scared. He couldn’t keep his finger, or what he would call his bloink, from twitching. A twitching finger was a sure sign he was scared—if Orkans could be scared. He had already sent all the objects in the room flying because of his nervous bloink. Orkans can do just about everything with their right index finger, from drinking with them, to ironing shirts.

  Soon, an enormous figure appeared on the wall behind the White Desk. But Mork hadn’t noticed his large leader at all. He was too busy arguing with himself. “Boy, I must be really in trouble. Called before the White Desk again. But what did I do?” Mork’s face glowered and his voice became deep and scary: “The solar lander! You painted a mustache on it.” Mork looked innocent. “But Orson doesn’t know I did that.”

  As the fat shadow seemed to shimmer and enlarge, it spoke. “Mork!”

  “Oh, boy, now he does.” Mork turned with exaggerated casualness. “Good morning, Orson,” he said cheerfully. He was carefully standing at attention as he had been taught at school when dealing with authority.

  “Orson!” The fat shadow spoke with Orkian sarcasm, which sounded just like Orkian anger. This was a leader to respect. And he was no fool.

  “Sure, you call me Orson to my face, but no sooner do I turn my back and you call me ‘Fatso,’ ‘Rocketship Thighs,’ ‘Laser Breath,’ and ‘Star Tush’!” There was hurt in the voice and it was enough to make Mork solemn.

  Mork lowered his brows so much, in an attempt to look solemn, that he had to use his hand to move them up again. Always trying to look on the cheery side, he said, “I was hoping you’d put all that behind you.” Mork laughed, but it was an imitation of the laughter he heard when monitoring other planets where human beings still told jokes. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” He sounded like he was a duck in pain.

  Orson raised his finger, a very serious gesture on Ork. He had a very little sense of humor, like most Orkans.

  “Oops.” Mork covered his mouth. “Sorry.” He realized he had done wrong again.

  “Do you see what I mean?” Orson said. “These constant displays of humor are illegal on Ork. And we don’t like them. All emotion is unacceptable.” Orson sighed. He liked Mork, but he just wasn’t the same as other Orkans.

  “Yes,” Mork agreed. ‘We are a dull lot.” He tried to keep all emotion from his voice.

  “Emotions have been discarded for the good of the race. And you constantly make jokes. I’m afraid that won’t do.” Orson was rubbing his hands together, except for his right index finger, which stuck up in the air like a carpenter’s sore thumb.

  “Well, I have a little assignment that just might straighten you up.” Orson felt it was worth a try. One last chance for Mork to prove he was a good Orkan.

  “Uh-oh!” Mork covered his face with his arms, a traditional gesture of Orkian fear. Showing fear is considered a misdemeanor. This was a serious business. He was sure of that.

  Orson ignored him. It was the only sensible thing to do. “There’s an insignificant planet on the far side of the galaxy. From the fragmented reports we have on the people there, they are…well…”

  “Real nimnuls?” Mork suggested, using an archaic Orkian insult for which there is no penalty, although the desire to insult is against the law.

  “Exactly,” Orson said. “That’s why I think you’ll fit in there, Mork.” Orson felt better for being so honest.

  “Thank you, you’re too kind,” Mork said. Orson hadn’t, in Orkian terms, insulted Mork; he had merely noticed his character. “What’s the name of the hell-hole you’re sending me to?”

  “Earth.”

  “Earth?” Mork was about to show how happy he was but stopped himself just in time. Instead, he said, “I was on Earth once, not more than three krells ago. I went to get a specimen for biology class, but he was too small and I had to throw him back. I loved that place.”

  Orson would have been furious, he might even have raised his bloink in anger, but he was law-abiding. “Well, don’t enjoy it too much. It’s not a vacation. We want to learn all we can about primitive societies. Your mission is to report back to me—mentally, please, not in person. You report back to me about the things you learn there. And remember this is a serious mission.”

  Mork stood up straight, feeling illegal pride. “You can count on me, Orson. DEE, DEE and EEE—Dedicated, Diligent, and Efficient. Farewell, Chief.” Mork grabbed his ears with his hands and did something that would have hurt an Earthling. He twisted his ears like they were dials, and at the same time said, “Na-No, Na-No.” These were special words that every Orkan learned at a very early age. In fact, an Orkian baby said them before any other words—even Mama and Dadda.

  Orson also twisted his ears with exaggerated politeness, and also said, “Na-No, Na-No.” It was pretty funny coming from such a serious shadow, if you saw it as an Earthling. But for these two, it was no more painful than a handshake and most acceptable as a friendly farewell.

  ***

  2

  On Earth, in Boulder, Colorado, U.S.A., it was spring and a beautiful night. The sky was clear and there was a full moon lighting the trees. The crickets and nightbirds were keeping up a pleasant musical song for Mindy and her date, Bill. They were out on their third date. They had had a nice dinner and had driven to a beautiful rise where they could look at the lights of the city. It was romantic and isolated.

  “I love this spot,” Bill said. “So distant, so removed from humanity.” He was a good-looking blond, twenty-two years old, with light blue eyes and full lips. Some
girls thought he was “real cute.” But Mindy wasn’t sure of his chin. It was a little weak and her grandmother always said you couldn’t trust weak-chinned men. But that was the foolishness of the older generation, Mindy told herself. Her generation knew enough to judge people on more than just their looks.

  As for Mindy, she was above criticism by grandmothers. She had long, straight, shining brown hair, clear, honest eyes, and a lean figure that Orkans used to call a real binzel. But using that word nowadays might get you exiled to Earth. You weren’t supposed to notice, let alone like such things on Ork.

  But at that moment, Mindy knew nothing about Ork and was concentrating on Bill and the beautiful scenery.

  “It is beautiful,” Mindy agreed, forgetting about Bill’s weak chin.

  “Especially now”—Bill’s voice was whispery, gentle—“when the bird of night has covered the sky with her wings of darkness and solitude.”

  “Bill,” Mindy said ‘with surprise, “that’s very poetic.” They were in an old Jeep that had no top and both had their heads back to look at the stars, which were twinkling in the sky with special brightness. They could see the Big Dipper, the North Star, Orion, and the Little Dipper.

  But Bill wasn’t interested in the stars. He pressed his advantage. “The reason I enjoy taking you out, Mindy, is that you don’t force me into playing that virile, stud macho role, you know?”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. Men shouldn’t feel inhibited about expressing their poetic side.” She was glad that she had gotten this chance to praise Bill’s sensitivity. He was a big change from her usual dates and she wanted to be sure to encourage him to continue being lyrical and serious.

  “You know what I see when I look at the sky?” Bill said. “Individual points of desolate, unloved light, so lonely because they can never touch.”

  Mindy was touched. “How sad.”

  “And sometimes”—Bill leaned forward—“I see the night sky as a woman tastefully adorned with brilliant sequins. Oh, the Milky Way is a little garish, but it’s necessary because”—Bill turned in Mindy’s direction and his voice became husky—“it covers her thighs.” And with that Bill reached for Mindy’s leg, shoved his face at her, and tried to kiss her passionately. So much for poetry!

  Mindy was very surprised, but she reacted quickly. “Get away from me!” she said as she tried to push him away. But Bill went wild, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He grabbed for Mindy as she tried to fight him off with all her strength.

  Bill was not a fellow who could take a hint. “You love it!” he yelled, “I read you like a book!” he cried. And the struggle continued.

  In desperation, Mindy grabbed a bunch of his hair and pulled him away.

  Bill, wincing with pain, but unwilling to give up, said, “But you put up a great front.”

  “Don’t ever do that again!” Mindy yelled. “Even if my dress is on fire. I’d rather burn to death.”

  “Hey!” Bill was red-faced from embarrassment, anger, and the pain of his hair-lift. “What’s the matter With you? Three whole dates of my shy and poetic bit. Now let’s get it on!”

  Mindy was out of breath and angry. Very angry.

  “So it was just an act, huh? Well, I don’t find it so easy to jump from poetry to the bump!“ she yelled.

  While all this was going on, Mork was traveling from Ork to Earth. If anyone at all had been watching the sky that night, they would certainly have spotted a giant, brilliantly white four-foot-long egg that had drifted from the very stars that had been so romantic.

  If Bill and Mindy hadn’t been so busy fighting, they would have noticed it land twenty feet behind them. Even the whirring of its motors—a sound like a toy ambulance siren—was drowned out by their argument.

  As the egg settled on land, the top of it cracked and fell away. Then quickly the whole structure fell open and Mork came out stretching like a newborn chick. But Mindy and Bill were still going at it.

  “Three dates,” Mindy was yelling, “and you think you have a right to attack me like a—a—a Thanksgiving turkey!” she finished.

  “Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Bill said, refusing to listen to her rejection.

  Even if Mindy and Bill were too busy to hear the Flying Egg, Mork could hardly miss them. But after looking at the couple briefly, he turned away and looked up. at the sky. A smaller Flying Egg was descending to Earth and immediately landed. He opened it and took out a small steel box with a handle.

  “Only one suitcase?” he mumbled. And then he complained, “That’s only half my luggage.”

  He shook his hand heavenward. “You nimnuls!”

  He then put his hand over his mouth. “They might be listening. I must behave.”

  While Mork was claiming his luggage, Mindy was still having her troubles. Just when she thought the situation was under control, Bill lunged again. But she grabbed his hair again and pulled, saying, “Look, I’m no prude, but you’re out of line.”

  Bill clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t scream from the pain. “I love a girl with spunk,” he said slowly through his teeth.

  She held onto his hair, not wanting to take unnecessary chances. “I liked you better when you were ineffectual. After tonight, I don’t like you at all.”

  Bill held still, peering up at Mindy, and answered, “Good point! I think I should take you home. Because I respect you.”

  “I think I’d better drive just to make sure we get to our respective homes, still respecting each other.” She let go of his hair and got out of the Jeep to move to his side. Bill immediately turned on the ignition.

  “If that’s the way you feel, why don’t you walk home!” And he quickly drove the car out, leaving Mindy stranded and yelling after a disappearing car.

  While all this was going on, Mork was busy changing from his spacesuit into Earth clothing. He had come prepared. As he struggled with a suit, shirt, and tie, Mork thought it was amazing that humans were still so primitive that they couldn’t make a single unit of material to cover the whole body. Instead, they were in pieces, like a broken egg.

  He had no trouble getting his five-foot-five frame (all Orkans are five-feet, five-inches tall, except for government Orkans, who are lengthened to six feet when elected) into the pants, shirt, tie, and jacket. That was easy. But what he didn’t know was how to wear them. So he made the mistake of putting his jacket, shirt, and tie on backward. And since the jacket was black, and since he was covered completely in front except for the white of his collar, he emerged from behind the trees and looked just like a priest. So when he appeared in front of Mindy, who was furiously yelling after Bill, and said, “Syfnid, Earthling,” she could only assume that Mork was actually a priest.

  “Father, what are you doing here?” Mindy was surprised but was too angry to give it much thought.

  “This is where I was dropped off,” Mork said with a vague gesture in the direction of the broken Flying Egg, which had disappeared.

  “Well, I got dropped off, too,” Mindy said, looking in the direction of Bill’s escape. “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me! He took my car. I’m glad to have someone to walk into town with who I can trust. This isn’t a confession or anything, but I had only three crummy dates with the guy and he takes my car and makes me walk.”

  Mork’s eyebrows lowered. “Very interesting,” he said in the normal Orkian voice that sounds like a tape recorder speeded up. He took out a pad. “May I take notes?”

  “I don’t know where he gets off,” Mindy went on angrily, not noticing that Mork. was writing with his finger. “I mean, the first two dates he wanted pizza, with everything. Third date, no pizza—he just wants everything.”

  Mork found all this very strange. Apparently, on Earth, it was rude to want pizza, a substance that must be like grebbles, Orkian money. Or perhaps it was a fuel. That must be it, since he took her vehicle.

  Mork was kept so busy taking notes of Mindy’s angry speech that he didn’t pay attention to his surroundin
gs as they walked to town. Nor did Mindy notice that other pedestrians were pointing and giggling at the sight of Mork with his jacket on backward, and his finger scribbling furiously on the pad. Mork was glad when they arrived at Mindy’s because he had almost worn his nail all the way down.

  ***

  3

  Mindy led Mork up to a large, rambling, old Victorian house, with lots of odd angles and charming windows. It was newly painted white, with a gingerbread trim, and had been divided into apartmants. They climbed up the wide staircase to Mindy’s floor.

  “Well, here we are,” Mindy said, opening the door. “Thanks for walking me home, Father. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to talk, but I was so furious.”

  “Nap, nap,” Mork said, which is the pleasant way of saying no in Orkian. There are seventeen different no’s in their language, six of them illegal. “My pleasure. I was sent here to learn, you know.” Mindy really looked at Mork for the first time. There was something about him that was strange. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t just that Mork’s voice was unusually high-pitched and that he spoke very fast, or even that his suit fit funny. She still hadn’t seen the back of it!

  “Is there anything I can offer you?” she asked, trying to be polite.

  “I’ll have a glass of water if it’s not too precious.” When Mindy looked puzzled, Mork quickly added, “If it is, I’ll have a quart of oil instead.”

  Mindy laughed, surprised that a priest was so hip, but she answered, “No, I can spring for a glass of water.”

  Mark’s finger pointed up in the air, the traditional Orkian gesture of thought. “Spring—water. Ah! You are being humorous. Ha! Ha! Ha!” he quacked, throwing his head back with his mouth open.

  Mindy had already turned toward the kitchen and didn’t notice this strange behavior. “Hey! I’ve got a better idea. How about some iced tea?” she asked.

  Mork nodded yes, but was more interested in the plants resting on Mindy’s bookcase. He whispered gently while holding one leaf against his index finger. “Are they treating you well here?” he queried sincerely.