...Section really *is* in a terrible budgetary bind and has only one way to secure the funding necessary to maintain structural integrity?

Yes, gentle readers. Section is holding a TELETHON. We join this unique broadcast event in progress...

[In from Public Service Announcement. Music sting to wideshot of Section Command and Control. Someone has tried to brighten up the place by posting smiley faces here and there. Various data terminals are covered with signs reading: "Don't look! Extremely classified stuff!" Several dozen black-clad OPERATIVES are sitting around, staring morosely at non-ringing phones]

[Take medium wideshot of OPERATIONS. He's smiling. It's...scary.]

OPS: Welcome back to the final hour of the Section One Telethon! The number to call is 1-800-732-8466. That's 1-800-SEC-TION. I'd like to begin by apologizing to those who misunderstood the comment I made just before our last break. My saying "Call us or we'll call you" was *not* intended as a threat. This, on the other hand...

[Cut to medium close-up of MADELINE, tending her bonsai.]

MAD: (serenely snipping) The bad news is, we know where you live. The good news is -- (smiles directly into the camera and takes a really bi-i-i-i-g snip)

[Quick cut back to OPERATIONS. Phones immediately start ringing.]

OPS: That's more like it! All right. I realize there are many of you out there wondering what you're going to get for these donations you're making. As I explained earlier, we could show you exactly what we do and who we do it to, but then we'd have to kill you. (pause) Heh-heh-heh-heh. Just a little covert humor. (grows nostalgic) You know, back when I was a P.O.W. --

(Groans of dismay from the phone-answering OPERATIVES.]

OPS: (irritated) Okay. Fine. I *won't* tell my VC knock-knock jokes. (pause) Now, where was I? Oh. Yes. What you get for your donation dollars. Well, assuming that the knowledge that you're helping underwrite our effort to rid the world of terrorists with bad teeth, ugly hair and loathsome personal habits isn't sufficient, let's review some of our contributions premiums. First, at our 50-dollar Recruit level: You get this fabulous Section tote bag. (holds up the bag) It's black. Canvas, of course. You don't get Kevlar for a lousy 50 bucks. This tote is designed to hold an entire complement of basic mission equipment yet still fit comfortably beneath a van seat. The Section logo is emblazoned in invisible ink. Likewise, Section's new motto: "We put the FUN into dysfunctional!"

[An alarm siren sounds]

OPS: (grinning) Ah! We've just taken another pledge from Red Cell! That puts them just about even with the Freedom League in the Scum of the World contribution challenge. Glass Curtain is still running way behind, but since we pretty much obliterated them last season, we're going to cut them a little slack. Which reminds me. Section One isn't picky about who's making these donations. And we're perfectly prepared to accept forged checks, charges made on other people's plastic or illicit electronic transfers from numbered Swiss accounts. We're also ready to launder cash, if that's your preference.

[Another alarm siren.]

OPS: Thank you, whoever that is. (frowns) Which isn't to imply we don't *know* who it is. Section knows everything! And one reason we do is because of Frick and Frack, affectionately known as The Torture Twins. As you'll remember, they've been hard at work during this Telethon, conducting an interrogation session. Earlier today, we received preliminary intel to the effect that Who's on first, What's on second and I Don't Know's on third. A code, obviously. Let's see how the Twins are coming in their efforts to persuade a flunky working for the Slime of the Week to give us the key...

[Cut to Interrogation Room. An obvious SOTW FLUNKY -- possibly this Garrett Maggott guy from "The Sentinel" who's beating out RD in the PEOPLE poll -- is magnetically spiked to the torture throne. FRICK and FRACK are confronting him with various and sundry tools of their trade. Some of these tools look like implements seen in recent editions of MARTHA STEWART LIVING.]

[One small problem. No, it's not that getting blood out of white tile grouting is a bitch. The problem is the FLUNKY is gagged.]

{{{APOLOGIES TO ABBOTT & COSTELLO}}}

FRICK: Okay. (zaps FLUNKY with cattle prod) Who's on first?

FLUNKY: (unintelligible scream)

FRACK: We mean the fellow's name. (another zap)

FLUNKY: (unintelligible scream)

FRICK: The guy on first! (more zapping)

FLUNKY: (passes out after a really loud but still unintelligible scream)

FRACK: (peeved) Oh, RATS!

FRICK: (suddenly realizing) WHO!

FRACK: (turning) Huh?

FRICK: Who is on first.

FRACK: What are you asking me for?

FRICK: I'm telling you Who is on first.

FRACK: Well, that's just jim-dandy fine, but we're supposed to be interrogating *him* as to who's on first only now he's passed out cold because of you! (check the cattle prod) Darn it! Another short! I really hate using this sub-standard equipment. But what can you expect when you buy during the clearance sale at Despots 'R' Us? You can just bet your booties the *Agency* doesn't have to--

FRICK: (grabs FRACK's arm) It's WHO!

FRACK: (jerks free, glaring) What?

FRICK: NO! Not *what.* What's on second. WHO! That's the name.

FRACK: Who's the name.

FRICK: Yes.

FRACK: Of what?

FRICK: No. WHO! The guy on first.

FRACK: Who.

FRICK: Exactly!

FRACK: (clueless) I don't know...

FLUNKY: (coming around) Hmph'n thrrmmd...

FRICK: What did he say?

FRACK: I don't know.

FLUNKY: (writhing) Umdmmnoo...humph's THRMMD!

FRICK: (frowning) Something about third, maybe?

FRACK: I don't know...

FLUNKY: (shrieks unintelligibly)

FRICK: Man, this is one tough flunky.

FRACK: Yeah. You don't suppose we could get Nikita down here, do you?

FRICK: You mean to do a little -- (mimes finger-breaking)

FRACK: Yeah...

[Cut back to OPERATIONS. The phones are silent once again.]

OPS: (musing to himself) Ah, Nikita. If only I could get Michael to stop playing with his buttons and start seriously messing with your head, I'd be a very happy --

OFF CAM VOICE #1: CUE OPS!

OFF CAM VOICE #2: YOU'RE THE MISSION LEADER, YOU CUE HIM!!

OPS: (realizing he's on camera) Oh. OH! We're back. (smiles) Instructive, wasn't it? The interrogation, I mean. Just a small example of why some people say Section's means are ruthless. It also illustrates why we desperately need your financial support. Please. Dial 1-800-SEC-TION and pledge. For another motivational push, let's go back to Madeline.

[Cut to MADELINE. She has pruned her bonsai down to the roots. She is now shaving a long line of Chia pets.]

MAD: (looks directly into the camera) Let me make this very simple. This is a Telethon. Give. Now. More than you can afford. If you don't we'll bring Jerry Lewis out of Abeyance and turn him loose on the airwaves.

[Back to OPERATIONS. Phones are ringing like mad once again.]

OPS: Thank you, Madeline! Now, on with our premium review. At the 100-dollar Probationary Candidate level, we have a choice. This will, I hope, put to rest all those ridiculous rumors about there being no free will in Section. In Section, you *always* have a choice. It's either /or. Either you play by our rules, or you die. In any case, the first premium option at the 100-dollar level is the Section book collection. (displays the books) This includes "Stop Externalizing" by Madeline. "Building Bombs and Getting Babes: A Memoir" by Walter. "Confessions of a Snack Food Hacker" by Seymour Birkoff. "Breaking Down the Walls" by Nikita, with a special forward by Home Improvement's Tim Allen. And the "Get Over It Guide to Survival" by Michael. These books are *not* available in any store. Also unavailable on the open market is our second premium. It's a double CD or tape set. The title is "Sing a Song of Section" and here's a sample:

[Roll music video of "You're in Section!" sung by NIKITA]

NIKITA: (to the tune of "Like a Virgin") You're in Section -- oooo!! Gonna kill, or do hard time. You're in Seh-eh-eh-eck-shun. Put your body count, next to mine.

[Roll music video of "A Group Called Section One" sung by WALTER.]

WALTER: (to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun") There is...a co-vert action group. They call it Section One. And it's been the ruin...of many a young stud. Thank God -- (big wink) -- that I'm not one!

[Roll music video of "Feelings" sung by MICHAEL]

MICHAEL: (alone, wearing powder blue tux) Feelings. Nothing more than feelings...

[Quick cut back to OPERATIONS. He's slack-jawed.]

OPS: (recovering) Uh...yeah. Well. Uh-huh. Those are, uh, just a few of the selections from "Sing a Song of Section." If we had more time, we'd show you the breakout single by RapMaster Birky. But -- uh, well, since you just saw our top op, let me apologize once again for the difficulties we've had with our 1-800-SPY-DUDE line. As you know, the person placing the highest pledge on this line will get our special Just One Night With Michael surprise package. Unfortunately, due to the unanticipated volume of calls...most of the phone systems in the United States have been shut down. I guess this means the Canadians are in luck -- again! By the way. We'd really appreciate it if those of you who *do* get through would refrain from detailing your personal J1NWM fantasies. The stuff with the cheesy poofs and bunny slippers...well, it's upsetting some of our operatives. Likewise, the constant underwear speculation. You might also want to soft pedal the performance pressure. I don't know *where* this intel about six times in one night got started, but please -- we're talking about a man, not a machine! And now, before we take a look at our 250-dollar Cold Op premium, we'd like to present a dramatic reading by another one of Section's very special people. I'm talking about a woman who was falsely accused of a hideous crime. A woman we regard as our very own beacon of decency in an insane world. It's the one, the only -- ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for-- NIKITA!!

[Cut to NIKITA, clad in white, sitting on the briefing table with a story book.]

{{{APOLOGIES AGAIN. THIS TIME TO THE LATE, GREAT DR. SEUSS AND HIS IMMORTAL CAT IN THE HAT.}}}

NIKITA: (reading) The bad guys were dead. We had defused the bomb. That meant mission closure And the whole world seemed calm.

So I sat there with Michael. We sat there, just us. And I sighed, "How I wish For a new global fuss."

No fuel rods to find. No assassins to slay. So we sat there in Section, On that very long day.

Yes, all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! It was worse than reconditioning, And reconditioning's s**t.

And then Something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump!

We stared! Our guest stared right back, smiling a tad. We stared! And we knew her -- Miss Mad, wearing plaid. And she said to us, "Why don't we do something -- "

{Abrupt cut back to OPERATIONS. All hell has broken loose in Command and Control. Alarms are blaring and it's not because of a pledge call.]

************

OPS: (into com link, amid chaos) What do you mean you didn't have sufficient resource allocation to do preemptive surveillance this fiscal quarter, George? Well, maybe if you'd get your procurement procedures together and stop spending a thousand dollars for a toilet seat you'd--what? No! If I had that kind of funding, I wouldn't be reduced to emceeing this damned telethon. I--no! Absolutely not. There's no way we can reduce transport budget unless we turn into PACIFIC BLUE. I don't think you--excuse me? (grimaces, massages temples) Yes. I realize our hair-related expenses are up but you've got to understand our situation. First, we had to get rid of Nikita's butt-ugly hat. Then Birkoff lost his virginity and decided to start growing out his buzz cut. Then--what?! No more Hong Kong--are you CRAZY?? What's your next bright idea? One-size fits all mission pants? Have you taken a good look at Michael? No? Well, ask your wife. I'm sure *she* has. And I guarantee she'll tell you that while one size may fit most, it's *not* going to fit him. I need his blood circulating to his brain in the field, George! He's pissed enough that he's been in Section more than fourteen years and doesn't have a permanent place to live. What? NO! A room at the Y isn't going to cut it with this guy! He's FRENCH! He's also starting to angst over the fact that a significant number of the people he knows have been blown up. God, if his memory restructuring fails and he starts to -- well, never mind about that. I don't -- huh? Oh, bite me, big guy! Don't you think we've tried that? We've been recycling people since the start of the season. It's become a running joking on the World Wide Web, for God's sake! *You* may be comfortable with your Agency being an international laughing stock, but I've got an operative roster full of self-esteem problems and all of them are heavily armed! Doees the phrase 'Go Postal' ring a bell? All I'm asking --

[BIRKOFF sidles into view, diverting OPERATIONS' attention.]

OPS: (irate) What is it now, Birkoff?

BIRKOFF: (out of the side of his mouth, trying to be discreet) You're still on camera.

OPS: Dammit, of course I'm on camera! This is Section One! We're *always* on camera. Although, Madeline and I *did* find a blind spot in the surveillance grid on Level Four. You and that little what's-her-name -- the one whose taste in clothes is even worse than Nikita's -- ought to consider scoping it --

BIRKOFF: (abandoning discretion) SIR! I mean, you're REALLY on camera! The TELETHON!!

OPS: (blinks) Oh. OH! (glares at camera, then remembers his manners and bares his tee--er, smiles) I forgot you were out there. Heh-heh-heh. So. What can I tell you that won't require us tracking you all down and killing you? Uh, well, we've sustained a minor security breach, so we're going to have to sign off a little sooner than expected. Before we do -- (holds up a pair of video tapes) -- I just want to remind you about the premium at the 250-dollar Cold Op level. Uncut. Uncensored. With no commercial interruptions. Yes, it's "Michael and Nikita Rock the Boat" and "Michael and Nikita Practice Their Field Mechanics." The supply is limited, some of the tapes are, er, previously viewed. Uh...before we go, let's ask our Mr. Birkoff for the preliminary intel on our pledge total. Birkoff?

BIRKOFF: (hands him a PDA) I think you'll be pleased, sir. It's running significantly ahead of our most optimistic sim.

OPS: WOW! We raked in this much? (frowns) Whoa. What's this? Five-hundred million dollars from the Federal Reserve?

BIRKOFF: Five-hundred million...

OPS: It says here someone named 'Gail' took the pledge.

BIRKOFF: (alarmed) GAIL? Uh--

OPS: (looking around) Yoo-hoo! Gail! Where are you??

GAIL: (waving from a corner terminal) OVER HERE, OPS! HI, SEYMOUR!!

OPS: A half-a-billion smackeroos from Uncle Sam. Well, we *all* know what Gail deserves for THAT, don't we??

BIRKOFF: (so desperate he's even cuter than usual) Please, sir. Gail's one of the my--no, she's *the* best analyst I've ever had. Actually, she's the *only* analyst I've even had...but never mind that. She can put the money back where she found it. With interest. No one will ever know --

OPS: (clapping him on the back) Birky, I admire a man who's willing to bend the rules for a woman with whom he's having intimate relations. It's the ones who get emotionally hung up *before* doing the horizontal mambo that really tick me off. Maybe once this security situation is squared away, you'll take Michael out for coffee and explain that to him...man to man. But in Gail's case, policy is clear. She gets the C-word.

BIRKOFF: OH....NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

OPS: This is one case where there *is* no free will, Seymour. Everybody ready?? Give us the C-word!!

[Take wideshot.]

OPERATIVES: CONGRATULATIONS!!

[Cut to NIKITA, playing with matches--er, candles.]

NIKITA: Congratulations, Gail. Has Birky showed you his trick with the Twizzler yet?

[Cut to FRICK and FRACK; FLUNKY is slumped in torture thrown, whimpering.]

F&F: Congratulations, Gail! We forgive you for the Oreo crumbs!!

[Cut to WALTER, fondling his toys.]

WALTER: Congrats, Sweet Cheeks. Anytime you want to stop by and play The President and The Intern...

[Cut to MADELINE, who's sticking pins in a doll.]

MAD: Congratulations, dear. Never mind that your boyfriend betrayed you to Section. Just remember that once you overcome your denial about your complete inability to pick our clothes, I'll be here to help you coordinate a wardrobe.

[Cut to MICHAEL, who's--uh--'manning' the 1-800-SPY-DUDE line.]

MICHAEL: Mais, non, madame! I'm not that kind of operative!! (slams down receiver, then shifts gears and stares smolderingly into the camera) But for you, m'petite Gail...

[Back to OPERATIONS. BIRKOFF is collapsed in a heap on the cracked floor.]

OPS: Congratulations, Gail. And if you ever get tired of playing with Mr. Birkoff's joystick, I have an unmarried son I'd really like you to --

[ABRUPT TERMINATION OF SIGNAL]

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