Locked Up And Tied Down

Story by Robert Tapert and Josh Becker
Teleplay by Hilary Bader
Directed by Rick Jacobson


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Pursh on Locked Up and Tied Down:


Whooooo-weee. Nice back rub gals. To bad the goon squad arrived before gABrielle had Xena go prone (to better locate that guilt-induced stress knot, of course).


Well apparently hairbrushes are contraband on Gilligan's Island Prison because Xena's 'do is defying gravity in every direction, with no hint of her locating and utilizing the tools of remedial hair taming in sight.


Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass a comb through your hair, do not collect a fair trial, do not kiss your girlfriend.

Xena's trials always tweak my inner law dog. Criminal jurisprudence without the 4th, 5th and 6th amendments makes me nervous, unpleasant, peevish and colicky. Here she's convicted for murder with no corpus delicti (which turns out to be a rather significant oversight), and without one witness being called on her behalf (save a half-assed soliloquy from her lovely assistant). She isn't given the opportunity to cross examine the witnesses against her, who for the most part only offer highly prejudicial testimony on the many wondrous merits of the presumably dearly departed.

Hmmmm. Just goes to show ya, you can't judge a crab gnawed teenager by her cover. I wonder what this august assembly of misguided witnesses would say if they knew that Miss Perfect Puss was thriving as the chief yah-hoo at the most notorious prison on TV. And that her staff, namely Lieutenant Hero, makes Callisto's here piggy piggy jail keeper look like Iolus in a dress.


Well it was truly a relief to not have to look at gABrielle's crucifixion scene in this episode. Not only do her wrap short skirt and her BBBSB (that's BGSB, minus the BG, plus three new Bs for Brown Bloody Burlap) fail to flatter her new haircut, the overall Bard on a board image is disquieting, and it was nice to have a break from it.


While snacking on a bag of organic blue corn chips, Xena lies on her side naked in the bedroll, holding a paperback in one hand while rubbing her lower back with the other. gABrielle approaches carrying her fuzzy bag and wearing her standard BGSB, brown skirt and soft leather buskins.

gABrielle (as she plops her bag down in a huff): Oh my, what shall I wear to my crucifixion today?

Xena sets her paperback down.

XENA: Don't wear your burlap two-piece.

gABrielle: Why not?

XENA: Because my back is hurting so bad that I can't put on my bustier. I have to wear my pretty prison burlap potato sack dress, and I don't want people to think that we planned to dress like twinkies. Plus you've worn that BBBSB and burlap wrap skirt to every crucifixion this season.

gABrielle: Have I? Goodness! I'm so glad I have you around to keep my fashion senses focused.

XENA (as she rummages under the blankets): My pleasure. Now where'd I put that snappy potato sack ensemble?

gABrielle (pointing upward): Oh Xena look!

XENA (slightly annoyed): What?

gABrielle: When you speak you consistently spell potato correctly!

XENA: I'm not as stupid as I look gABrielle.

gABrielle: Oh poo! That's not what I was implying. Your spelling bee skills simply prove what I've been saying all along.

XENA: And what's that dear?

gABrielle: You should run for President instead of Dan Quayle.

XENA: Yea, yea, yea, whatever. Just don't wear your BBBSB to the coronation after I win the election.

gABrielle: Xena, I don't think Warrior Lesbian Princess Presidents have coronations.

Xena pauses as a moment of pensive foresight passes visibly over her prettily handsome face.

XENA: Oh. Well don't wear your BBBSB to the Presidential Potluck then.

gABrielle: Why not?

XENA: I done told ya once baby, my back is racked. I have to wear my loose fitting, pretty prison potato sack until it feels better, and I don't want us lookin' like twinkies in the interim.

gABrielle: Xena, you know that potato sack dress is too short for you.

XENA: gABrielle, everything I wear is too short.

gABrielle: True, but short is passable with black leather, especially with your gams.

XENA: Ah! You just don't want me to wear my burlap potato sack, because you want to wear your bloody burlap two-piece.

gABrielle: Bloody? You noticed? Rats! Does the stain really show that much?

Xena rolls her eyes.

XENA (as she picks up the book to resume her reading): Only when you're far away.

gABrielle: Well, so much for that then. I guess we'll have to cancel the crucifixion scene for this episode. Hmmmm, let's see if there's anything else of note on the social calendar.

gABrielle slowly flips through her daytimer.

gABrielle: Gasp! Xena!

Xena sets her book down again.

XENA: What now?

gABrielle: Your trial!

XENA: Trial? For what?

gABrielle: That little carnivorous crab incident a few years ago.

XENA: Oh that. When's the trial?

gABrielle: Today!

Xena sits up and tosses the book on the bedroll.

XENA: Crud. I was hoping to finish reading Papillion this afternoon. But, come to think of it, I guess a little dose of complicit self-punishment is good for me every now and then.

gABrielle: Xena, that is absolutely the dumbest thing you've ever said.

XENA: No, gABS, just think about it. It makes perfect sense. Going to the joint for about 20 minutes or so should basically cure my guilt induced back pain forever.

gABrielle: Well snook 'ums, I think there's probably a more enjoyable way to handle that back pain, but you're the butch...errrr...boss, so whatever you say dear.

XENA: Humph.

gABrielle: Well don't just sit there, Xena Warrior Back Ache, get dressed! We're already late. What are you going to wear?

XENA (as she slips her unfitted wool-like prison garment over her bare shoulders): Gotta wear my sack babe. Yeow! This damn potato sack is itchy bitchy. How 'bout you. Whaddya gonna wear to this big event?

gABrielle: Uhhh, same old, same old, I guess.

XENA: Ready then?

gABrielle: Yup.

They mount Argo and within moments they arrive to a packed court room, where the proceedings have already begun.

XENA: Hey they started without me!

gABrielle: No wonder these trials give Pursh a rash.

XENA: Really.

As Xena and gABrielle approach the court room gABrielle chastises Xena for her unsanitary practice of riding Argo without the benefit of underwear. Her discursive warnings regarding the potential threat of awkwardly placed saddle sores comes to an end just in time for them to hear the first witness against Xena.

WITNESS ONE: Thelessa was a fine girl with red hair and lots of potential!

WITNESS TWO: Indeed! She was always willing to share generous globs of her Dippity Do with the underprivileged!

WITNESS THREE: Yes, I'm sure she would have been the Moose Lodge's Philanthropic Teenager of the Year, and the first entrant in the village's annual glossy magazine compilation "Hairstyles of Merit," had she lived!

WITNESS FOUR: I heard she made great chocolate chip cookies and had many fetching hair styles!

WITNESS FIVE: She surely would have won lots of prizes at the county fair displaying her wig collection!

WITNESS SIX: She was a kind girl with big hair!

WITNESS SEVEN: She would have undoubtedly inspired great civic pride in our community by fixin' her hair all purty and winning the Miss Known World Contest!

gABrielle: Now hold on right there. Objection, your Honor. This evidence is irrelevant, highly prejudicial and besides, everyone knows that no self respecting lesbian would enter the Miss Known World Contest.

XENA (under her breath to gABrielle): Good one sweetie!

DA JUDGE: Hmmmm. Your point regarding lesbians, self respect and profiteering off of misogynist gender exploitation is well taken. But still, I'm going to invoke my broad discretion on these matters and overrule your objection.

gABrielle: But Judge...

DA JUDGE: Sit down young lady. And don't come into my court room again with your belly button showing or I'll lock you up too.

gABrielle resolutely takes her seat.

DA JUDGE: Are there any other witnesses who would like to add their highly irrelevant and collateral inflammatory gibberish to the record before I sentence Miss Princess to life on Gilligan's Island Prison?

XENA: Well your honor I'd like to speak.

DA JUDGE: And who are you?

XENA: I'm Xena. Ya know, the accused.

DA JUDGE: Oh yes right. Well hurry it up. I want to get you on the first boat outa here.

XENA: I've changed my mind.


XENA: I said I've changed my mind. My back is feeling better and as a result my urge for over the top self flagellation, in the form of going to prison, has subsided.

gABrielle: I must admit Xena, this whole go to prison scheme was just a bit too thin in the logic department, especially for you.

XENA: gABrielle, you know how I get when my back hurts. I can't think right. Extreme reactivity seems like rational thought.

gABrielle: I know dear. But as I was trying to say before you dazzled me with your butchy butchness, next time just lie down and let me take care of you.

XENA: Bully! Corking idea gABrielle!

gABrielle scoots toward Xena and gives her ear a quick lick with a furtive flick of her tongue.

XENA: By the way my darling, I think your belly button looks positively smashing with the blood stainless BGSB and that skirt, and you're brown, not so femme blucher-style buskins.

gABrielle: Uhh, Xena we have to focus here.

Xena leans toward the Bard and tickles her on the ribs.

XENA: Sure hon.

gABrielle: Xena, I'm serious. Now that you've come to your senses let's hurry and get out of here and get over to that I Dream of Jeannie uber. Every moment we delay is another moment of enslavement for her.

The gals simultaneously become aware that the entire court room is staring at them. With minimal effort Xena snatches her chakram from the Sheriff Department maverick who is baby-sitting it, and our girls head out the court room door.

DA JUDGE: Hey! Hold it you two queers!

XENA: Plllllp.

DA JUDGE: You dare! Under my staggering imperium as a small town judge, I command you not to take another step!

gABrielle: Like the big girl said, "Plllllllp."

DA JUDGE: Stop I say! You just can't walk out of my court room like that! Someone stop them!

The once brash witnesses cower together in a mobbed heap in the corner of the room.

THE WITNESSES (collectively): Whimper.

DA JUDGE: I said to stop this instant! No one leaves here without my permission!

XENA (over her shoulder as she opens the door): Oh yea? How'd you like a nice big crab salad sandwich Bub?

gABrielle: Xena! Honestly.

Our girls walk out of the room and head due south, toward the home of their old pal Scotty, who although retired, still operates the U.S.S. Enterprise uber transporter beam from his beach front home's garage, while he indelicately sips brandy from a crystal snifter at hourly intervals. After about two hours of travelling gABrielle notices that her Princess has been noticeably quiet.

gABrielle: Xena what's wrong?

XENA: Nuthin' really.

gABrielle: Xena I promised not to wear the BBBSB when you wear your potato sack, and I mean to stick to my promise, so if that's what's troubling you...

XENA: No pumpkin, that's not it.

gABrielle: Well what is it then?

XENA: Sigh. Well, I'm feeling a little uncentered over this whole trial thing.

gABrielle: That's understandable hon. Mob justice at the hands of Gray Sockian type rubes is always a little unnerving.

XENA: It's more than that gABS. I guess I just need to clear my head a bit. Sigh. Maybe I should go fishing alone for the weekend.

gABrielle: That bad huh?

XENA: Well, yea. I have to work out these wretched truths from my past in small increments, ya know.

The Bard stops walking and takes her Princess by the arm. The women face each other.

gABrielle: Xena, I understand. Look, why don't you beam over to Lake Femmes Fins and Gems for the weekend. I'll beam down to Jeannie's, and do some initial investigating. Meet me there as soon as you can on Monday morning.

XENA: gABrielle, thanks. Thanks for being so wonderful and supportive and understanding and perfect. That sounds like a great plan. I really need to work through this flesh eating crab debacle before we take on the Jeannie problem.

gABrielle: I understand hon.

XENA: I know you do.

gABrielle: Shall we walk to Scotty's together?

XENA: No, now that my back is feeling better I think I'm going to go back to the bedroll to finish my book and change into my Warrior Princess suit. I just feel so naked without my flying female genitalia symbol...errr...uh...chakram.

gABrielle: Okay. Enjoy the Lake my beloved.

The gals embrace and part. gABrielle heads directly to Scotty's retirement home launch pad and beach side brandy bar. Upon arrival there she happily finds an uninebriated Scotty slinking around the transporter room with nothing to do.

gABrielle: Hey Scotty old boy!

SCOTTY (surprised): Aye, greetings my little bikini top wearin' Greek, ya. What brings ya 'ere?

gABrielle: I need to get over to the I Dream of Jeannie uber quick.

SCOTTY: Aye. Emergency, eh?

gABrielle: Big one.

SCOTTY: What is it lass?

gABrielle: 20th century slavery.

SCOTTY: Aye! That's horrible! Slavery in the 20th century. I thought Chimpules took care o' all that slavery rot. Aye, I better go have a drink...

gABrielle: Wait Scotty.


gABrielle: Beam me first.

SCOTTY (startled): Beam ya, lass? Without yer big leather girl to help ya along? Are ya sure? Slavery's a mighty tall order for a gal on her own in a bikini top and mid-thigh skirt.

gABrielle: Xena will be along shortly Scotty. She's going fishing and then she'll join me, don't worry.

SCOTTY: Fishin' at a time like this! Aye, ya lezzies work in mysterious ways, indeed.

gABrielle: Scotty?


gABrielle: Beam me.

SCOTTY: Oh right, right. What 'ere ya say lass. Step right up.

gABrielle steps on the appropriate Twister circle.

SCOTTY: Good luck!

gABrielle (as she fades into a million molecular particles en route to Jeannie's): Thanks Scotty!

Back at the bedroll Xena closes her book, dons fresh undies and trades her Dan Quayle prison sack for her leather skirt and outerwear metal scroll bra. She snaps the round killy thing into place, ties her fly rod onto her saddle bag and alights atop Argo, who obeys her directive to head to Scotty's.

Meanwhile 50 miles away the distraught starship engineer hums a lively dithyram and pours himself another brandy as he tinkers with the uber transporter's control panel while awaiting Xena's arrival.

c. 1999 Pursh
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