(a montage of historical footage plays.)
Jimmy Bond (vo): Heroes. Once in a great while, they come along when we need them the most. Like...President Churchill, who won World War II. And Ghandi, peaceful leader of the Indians. Or, as we know them, native Americans. The thing about heroes is, you can never quite tell where the next crop will come from, and you don't always recognize them at first site.
(We enter a junior high classroom, with the caption "Sterling, Virginia. 1974." the kids are giving speeches before the class.)
Little girl: When I grow up, I wanna be a singer, just like Dolly Parton. I wanna be rich and famous (makes universal gesture for breasts) and have big....
(Cut to next kid)
Little boy: When I grow up, I wanna be a star quarterback for the Redskins, and be rich and famous.
(Cut to next kid)
Little girl 2: Rich and famous.
(Cut to next kid)
Little boy 2: Famous and, uh....
(Cut to a clean cut boy in a suit)
Young Byers: When I grow up, I wanna be a career bureaucrat with the federal government. I wanna help as many people as I can, and work hard to spread democracy throughout the world.
(We freeze on this boy. The caption appears)
John Fitzgerald Byers: Idealist
(cut to farm, a barn full of cows. There's a junior high aged boy in the back working on a computer. The caption reads "Saltville, Nebraska. 1982.")
Farmer: Ringo! You were supposed to be milking. I told you, typing is for secretaries. That damn fool toy is going on the junkpile.
Young Langly: Let me tell you something about this "damn fool toy," Dad. This damn fool toy is going to change everything...from the way people do business...to the way we communicate. This damn fool toy is the future. And you know what else? By the year 2000, when I've made millions of dollars off this "damn fool toy," we'll all eat food pills, like on Star Trek. And we won't need cows anymore.
(Cows moo, pass gas, the boy is repulsed. We freeze on this boy. The caption appears.)
Richard "Ringo" Langly: Computer God
(cut to a high school. The graphic reads "Pontiac, Michigan. 1967." Captain of the football team is walking across the school parking lot with three team mates. The captain is tackled and pinned to the ground by a shrimpy nerd.)
Young Frohike: SAY IT!! Say it!!
Football captain: The Cutlass 442 is faster than the Belvedere GTX, alright?
Young Frohike: Damn straight! Some captain of the football team you are.
(shrimpy nerd allows the football captain to stand up. Football captain composes himself.)
Football captain: You're a shrimp. You'll always be a shrimp. Shrimp. What do you have to say about that?
Young Frohike: I think big, see? Bigger than you. I'm going to do big things, and then I'm gonna write about them. People will hang on my every word. Yeah. I'll be a crusading publisher, and make the world a better place, like...like...like Hugh Hefner! Yeah.
(shrimpy nerd glances over at two hot schoolgirls, makes classic "Oh, I know you want me" face. Schoolgirls ignore him. We freeze on the shrimpy nerd. the caption appears.)
Melvin Frohike: Man of Action
(The three boys appear together. We cut to their grown-up selves, and who they are now: The Lone Gunmen.)
Jimmy Bond (vo): Three heroes. Three seperate paths leading to one shared destiny. To change the world. To make history. Today's the day it happens.
And thus begins my favourite episode of The Lone Gunmen!
I'm so glad the DVD came in the mail today. Guess what I'm doing this weekend?
I've already watched some of the bonus material on the discs, and I must say, I'm heartbroken. Britsh-born Zuleikha Robinson, who played Yves Adele Harlow (the Lone Gunmen's occasional nemesis/occassional ally) had one of the sexiest British accents in the history of British accents. But, she's obviously been in Hollywood too long, cuz in the recently-recorded interviews, her accent has almost faded away completely.
"Nothing makes a girl sexier than a foreign accent." That was told to me by one of my few buddies in high school. He told me that as justification for his tendency to fall in love with every exchange student.
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