Work Text:
“The Vulcan Finger”
PROLOGUE:
[We open to a funky alien ship that’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen in the “Trek” franchise. It’s crewed by a cool new alien race, unlike any preexisting “Trek” species. They’re bald, with pearly skin that comes in ink-black, bleach-white, and periwinkle. Their intricate armor looks like gold spiky spiderwebs. Their slow, soft language is unlike any we’ve heard in the “Trek” universe. They have swirly, antler-like blades, unique to any weapon shown yet in “Trek.”]
Trekkies: This new alien race looks totally wicked! I can’t wait to find out what they’re called!
Aliens: [Chanting] Gwrrrrf lrrrrrrrff slrrrrdrrrrrrf slrrrrrf!
Subtilties: REMAIN CLINGON!
Trekkies: ……….Wait, wut?
DESERT PLANET:
[Captain Philadelphia Guacamole, and her first officer Commander Micral Burnout, trek through the sand in Stillsuits.]
Captain Guacamole: Admit it Micral Burnout, we’re lost. You don’t even know if we’re on Dune, Jakku or Tattooine!
Micral Burnout: [Looking through high-tech binoculars] Observing the wildlife may offer some clues.
[We see the view through the high-tech binoculars: an unmoving image of a bantha. Micral clicks a button, and the picture slides away in a circular motion, followed up by a photo of a giant Dune sandworm. She clicks through a Mynock, a tribble, a unicorn-dog and a Cluster Lizard, but eventually gives up.]
Micral Burnout: Results inconclusive.
Captain Guacamole: Alright Micral, it’s time for you to trust me. Walk behind me, single file, like Sand People.
[Guacamole leads Micral on a long, tiring trail of curves and sharp turns. Any time Micral is about to ask WTF this is about, the captain silences her. The path gets exponentially ridiculous. Finally, the captain stops, allowing Micral to collapse in a heaving, tongue-dangling wreck of dehydration. After guzzling some water from her Stillsuit’s straw, Micral looks down and sees their previous footprints.]
Micral Burnout: What the frak?! You led us in a circle you smeg-head!
Captain Guacamole: [Smiling] Not a circle.
[The U.S.S. Green Destiny suddenly appears in the sky! The ship is epic and fancy, with jade-colored Chinese patterns circling its shinny dish, and a deflector shaped like a glowing green dragon face.]
Micral Burnout: It’s our oddly-advanced pre-TOS starship! But how did they find us?
Captain Guacamole: We made a star!
[The camera pans out, and we see the giant, intricate, Etch-a-Sketch styled image they have made with their footprints: Patrick Starr in a DISCO uniform, giving the Vulcan salute.]
BRIDGE:
[We are now shown the dizzyingly fancy Bridge, with dizzying camera angles. At the blinky, shiny helm sits a fully human, non-yet-cyborg, Lt. Kreyfish Durrhurr. Next to her sists her copilot: a shiny, intricately-rendered TV-Head woman. At another station is that bald guy from “Empire Strikes Back” with the metal head-thingy, only he’s Black now, just to fuck with the “anti-woke” crowd. The second-officer, Subaru, looks like a 9-ft tall humanoid strip of beef jerky.]
Subaru: Approaching lens-flares, Captain!
Captain Guacamole: Wide-screen!
[Subaru picks up the sleek chrome remote, and turns on the wrap-around View Screen. On the screen are two binary suns in the process of colliding, dangling in a fiery sack of solar energy.]
Lt. Kreyfish Durrhurr: Holy balls!
Subaru: Shall I select the 3D option, Captain?
Captain Guacamole: That won’t be necessary. Just Blu-ray high-deff, please.
[We now get an up-close shot of the crew’s detailed uniforms. The blue suits are intricately patterned with bronze, silver or 47-karat gold. Up close, the patterns are made of tiny emojis. Everyone’s sleek badge sports a funky symbol, designating their department: ! for Command, % for Science, @ for Ops and + for Medical.]
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy: Captain, request that we return some of this fancy crap to Best Buy, so we can instead put our money towards decent lighting.
Captain Guacamole: Denied. And no headphones on the job, Ensign.
[He sadly removes the wrap-around device from his head, which was playing the “Spaceballs” theme song.]
THE GLASS READY ROOM:
Captain Guacamole: Burnout, Subaru, we need someone to study those flaming binary balls.
Micral Burnout: That sounds like a job for a team of science officers.
[There is a moment of silence. Then all three burst out laughing.]
Captain Guacamole: …But seriously. Since our incredible budget doesn’t include indestructible crewmen, we need to send some main characters. And the only people who can be described as “Main Characters” so far are all in this room. So…off you get.
SPACE!
[Micral Burnout and Subaru step out into open space, wearing their shiny, high-tech, intricately detailed, Buz Lightyear space suits. They are facing the binary suns.]
Micral Burnout: I’ll investigate the right ball, you inspect the left!
Subaru: Copy that!
Micral Burnout: To Infinity…and Beyond!
[Micral and Subaru take off, with their suits blasting “Ring of Fire” and “Disco Inferno” respectively. Subaru bobs his alien head to his Disco music, while Micral jams to Johnny Cash. We focus on Michael, not because she’s a Mary Sue at this point in the show—which she is—but because Subaru is duller than a Vulcan marriage 6 years out 7. As she flies through space, Micral starts to giggle, and is soon outright laughing. Back on the Green Destiny, the crew monitors her bio-signs.]
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy: Her heart rate is unusually elevated.
Captain Guacamole: She’s having fun.
Micral Burnout [V.O.]: No, I just realized…our show’s title! “Spoof Trek: Discontinuity”…it spells S.T.D.! Isn’t that hilarious, for a show that takes itself so seriously? “My favorite Trek’s DS9, what’s yours?” “STD!” [Snorting laughter]
[This remark is met with a mixture of amusement and disdain around the Bridge. Kreyfish Durrhurr sighs and rolls her eyes. “Empire Strikes Back” guy snickers into his fist. The TV-Head’s screen displays a neon, pixilated eye-roll, which quickly dissolves into a laughing-face.]
Captain Guacamole: Ingenious. If you ever get kicked out of Star Freak, you can always have a career writing shitty Internet parodies.
[Micral zips through an asteroid field, dodging the Millenium Falcon, Tie-Fighters, and their laser blasts. A giant asteroid-slug snaps its jaws, barely missing her. She is soon in orbit of the flaming right ball.]
Micral Burnout: First Officer’s suit log: this anomaly is an incredible example of two unstoppable forces colliding, in a spectacular catastrophe of death, that hopefully is not any kind of foreshadowing.
[Micral then notices an odd structure floating between the flaming balls. It’s metallic, vaguely oval-shaped, with a large sphere in the middle of its bottom half.]
Micral Burnout: Green Destiny, are you copying this? I’m not sure, but that structure almost looks like a giant door knocker….or…a hooped earring? I’m gonna check it out.
[She cranks Johnny Cash back up to full volume. Back on the Green Destiny, her crew can no longer contact her.]
Captain Guacamole: Commander Burnout? Micral? Turn your damn I-Tunes down and respond, before I fly over there and go “Crouching Tiger” on your ass!
[Micral lands on the strange sculpture. The sphere shape at the bottom of the oval ring is an iridescent blue-green, and has a massive Smiley Face with Clingon ridges and fangs.]
Micral Burnout: I’ve made contact with the structure. It appears to be a giant piercing, between the two giant balls! And the insignia is….OH BALLS!
[Suddenly, another astronaut lands with a thunk in front of her. The creature’s gold space suit has a spikey, intricate design. The face behind the glass is a pearly periwinkle, and not like any species Micral knows—except for the familiar forehead ridges. Micral stares with dramatic, bulging Bambi eyes.]
Micral Burnout: Suit…what species is that supposed to be?
[The computer in her Buzz Lightyear suit responds in Tim Allen’s voice]
Suit Computer: Scanning script…confirming species name…Clingon.
[Micral stares in wide-eyed horror at this abomination of “Trek” continuity, not because it’s actually that big of a deal, but because she knows how the Trekkies will respond to it. The “Clingon” raises his cool-but-not-Clingon swirly blade. Just before he strikes Micral, a THIRD astronaut flies between them. It’s a classic Trekkie, with nerdy glasses, rubber Vulcan ears, and combadges in her pigtails. She’s wearing a home-made “Wrath of Khan” space suit, and holding a traditional Clingon bat’leth made out of cardboard and tinfoil.]
Trekkie: YOU’RE NOT A CLINGON!
[The Trekkie whacks the surprised purple-Clingon with her homemade bat’leth, sending him spiraling into one of the suns]
Micral Burnout: Hey, thanks—
Trekkie: AND YOU’RE A MARY SUE!
[The Trekkie karate-kicks Micral’s space suit, sending her hurling towards the other sun…]
FLASHBACK!
[An 8-year-old Micral Burnout sits inside a giant Vulcan shape-o-ball, answering rapid computer questions.]
Vulcan Computer: Exact number of William Shatner’s toupées:
Minni-Micral Burnout: 5 million, 64 thousand, seventeen and one-third
Vulcan Computer: Correct! …Name of Captain John-Doe Archetype’s beagle:
Mini-Micral: Porkroast
Vulcan Computer: Correct! ….Date of Clingon assault on Uranus:
[Minni-Micral goes silent. Ghost images of her traumatic past play out over her face, along with “Kill Bill” music.]
Vulcan Computer: BZZZ! Incorrect! ….Number of casualties caused by Clingon invasion of Uranus:
Minni-Micral: [Choking back tears] ….F-five…h-h-hundred and…a-and…………..
Vulcan Computer: BZZZ! Incorrect! …Impression: William Shatner, describing Clingon attack on Uranus:
Mini-Micral: [Struggling not to cry] In….the year of our Warp…2236…a…band of…Clingon savages…raided a…colony of…innocent—
Vulcan Computer: Correct!
SICKBAY:
[Micral Burnout bursts awake, with the dramatics and facial contortions of a Looney Tune. She is nude except for a “Fifth Element” bandage bikini. After catching her breath, her face returns to a humanoid shape.]
Micral Burnout: Did I just have a flashback inside a flashback? What is this, “Passage to Marseilles?”
Dr. Strangepork: Easy zere, Micral! You haven’t completed your treatment yet. It should be done by the time we’re past the binary suns.
Micral: We’re still headed towards the balls? OH BALLS!
[She runs out of the glass sickbay. The Muppet-pig doctor chases after her.]
Dr. Strangepork: Commander, vait! Ze genetic re-combination process iz not yet complete—your face and especially eyeballs could be permanently affected by ze Overacting Virus! You may lose ze ability to keep your eyes from bulging out like ze Cookie Monzter at ze most random occasions!
BRIDGE:
[Micral tears onto the bridge. Everyone stares.]
Captain Guacamole: Commander, this is not “Boobyprize!” On this prequel show, senior officers do not prance around the ship in their sexy underwear!
Micral Burnout: Captain, don’t take us near those fireballs! There are Clingons there!
Captain Guacamole: That’s absurd. No one in the Federation has seen a Clingon since Star Freak was still letting its officers run around ships in their sexy underwear!
Micral Burnout: I’ll grant, it didn’t look like a “Boobyprize” Clingon. Or a TOS Clingon, or really any Clingon. It was weirdly colored, and spiky, and enormous!
Subaru: Are you certain you weren’t just having another DeviantArt nightmare?
Micral Burnout: It was not an inflated hedgehog. It was a wonky Clingon, with a high-fantasy redesign! And he was going to kill me, but then another individual attacked, and nearly kicked me into the supernova’s left ball—Captain, the Trekkies are PISSED.
[Alarms suddenly start blaring. On the Wide Screen, a ship decloaks. It’s shaped vaguely like a Clingon Cock of Prey, but it looks more like an elaborate golden bat instead of the usual chicken.]
Captain Guacamole: Battle stations!
[Micral quickly unties her boob-bandages and casts them off; somehow, she is suddenly wearing a full, clean uniform, “underneath.” She takes her battle station, next to Subaru.]
Subaru: Captain wait! I believe we are in great danger! My species has evolved one, unique, superpower…the ability to sense the coming of death! I sense it now!
[Alarms continue to blare, with the Clingon ship still on the Wide Screen. Everyone stares silently.]
Captain Guacamole: I knew I should’ve requested a Babezoid for my ship’s psychic.
Lt. TV-Head: A second ship is decloaking!
[At first, this ship looks like a traditional Clingon Cock of Prey. However, magnification reveals it to be homemade, out of cardboard and duct tape—albeit with otherwise perfect accuracy.]
Subaru: I’m receiving a text message from the new ship. It’s written in traditional Clingonese. Translating…He-em: “To Whom It May Concern, it’s bad enough that ‘Boobyprize’ brought TNG Clingons onto its prequel show, necessitating a convoluted retcon. Your literal purple people-eaters are both unnecessary and detrimental to canon, baring that this is used to develop the Clingon Empire as consisting of multiple different species…”
Micral Burnout: Hey, good point!
Subaru: “…Also, we wish to express our certainty that Commander Spork never had a secret foster sister from Earth. Only a secret Earth-woman mother, a secret ambassador father, and a secret religious fanatic half-brother who rides a unicorn. Your show is making the ‘Trek’ universe start to not make sense. For the sake of continuity, your vessel and crew must be vaporized. Sincerely, Trekkies Who Care.”
Captain Guacamole: Open a broadcast! [He does.] Trekkie ship, this is the Lady from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon!” I urge you to hear me out. There can be many different versions of a timeline! Surely you nerds have seen “Everything, Everywhere, All At—”
BOOM!
TV-Head: Both ships are firing proton tortillas!
Captain Guacamole: Shields! Rotate proton tortillas and chroniton burritos!
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy: Screw protocol, I am NOT gonna die without some tunes. [Puts his head-thingy back on, and turns up Ozzy Ozbourne’s “Crazy Train”]
Micral Burnout: Shields down 17%, however the hell that works!
Subaru: Lens flares off the starboard bow! Camera stability failing!
[The camera spins, plunges and shakes. The proton tortillas and chroniton burritos are rendered in high detail, now adorned with elaborate designs in sour cream and cheese sauce. Lens flares gleam off of the leaves of lettuce and flames of fiery cheese, as the weapons explode in a skirmish of dizzying camerawork.]
Captain Guacamole: Durrhurr, are you drunk? Enough with the wheelies!
Kreyfish Durrhurr: You try driving in a straight line with all these giant lens flares every two seconds! I can’t see frak!
Subaru: They…make sunglasses.
Kreyfish Durrhurr: Yeah, along with lightbulbs and seatbelts! Too bad we blew our budget on intricate gold-trim uniforms and fancy glass ready-rooms!
KWA-SPLAT!!!
Subaru: Direct hit to our port bow. But it’s not a burrito or a tortilla. It’s a…stale twinkie?
Kreyfish Durrhurr: Third ship uncloaking!
Captain Guacamole: Clingon, or Tad-Trekkie?
Kreyfish: Identifying… Neckbeard.
[The third starship to uncloak is raised up on ludicrously oversized warp nacelles, which are textured like monster-car tires. One might think this is a vessel for some rough sport or job, but it’s as shinny as Bender’s ass. MAGA and Confederate flag stickers adorn its spotless hull.]
“Empire Strike’s Back” Guy: I wonder what a vehicle that’s never seen a speck of dust needs those giant monster-nacelles for.
Subaru: I’m receiving an audio transmission from the ship with the small-dick energy.
Incel [V.O.]: Let me just start by saying I’m NOT a racist, so don’t call me one!
Micral Burnout: Oh, this is gonna be fuckin’ magical. [Starts eating popcorn]
Incel [V.O.]: …but this radical Affirmative Action isn’t realistic for a space crew AT ALL! Where would Star Freak even FIND all these foreigners and African Americans, who are actually qualified for, you know, stuff? Also, almost half your cast is females! I’VE never seen that many females up close in one month! “Trek” was never about woke political agendas…!
Captain Guacamole: …How, exactly, did these…individuals…find their way into the “Trek” fandom, to begin with?
Incel [V.O.]: Through REAL “Trek”—“Boobyprize!”
[Variations of a sigh or groan erupt around the Bridge.]
Captain Guacamole: Ah.
Micral Burnout: I’d just like to point out that “Boobyprize” improved vastly in its last two seasons—
Incel [V.O.]: Oh I stopped watching when they made the illegal-immigrant female a captain, and Sub-Commander T-Ball started wearing normal clothes. That was when the liberal agenda ruined good storytel—
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy: A fourth ship is approaching! And tell the parody author to quit calling me “Empire Strikes Back” Guy, I have a name!
Captain Guacamole: [At the new ship on sensors] Are you frakking frelling me?!!
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy: No, I really do have a name! It’s Troy Jacuzzi!
KLA-BOOOOM!
[Micral jumps back just in time. A giant, green-tinted tortilla is now smoking in what used to be her station console.]
Micral Burnout: AAH! That felt personal!
Subaru: It was. This vegan proton tortilla with gluten-free bread was sent by the fourth ship, and they too have a message, stating that you were indeed the target Commander Burnout.
Micral Burnout: No shit. Was it the “dark skin is an agenda!” crowd, or just the “Spork doesn’t have a sister” dweebs?
Subaru: Neither. They are identifying themselves as— [Taken aback] Wait a minute.... confirming…. Commander, it’s your own damn fanbase.
Micral Burnout: What?!
Captain Guacamole: Why?!
Subaru: It seems they are upset with Micral for using the abbreviation “S.T.D.” earlier, and finding it amusing. They cite this as evidence that she is a hater of the show, and a bigot.
Micral Burnout: …..You’re shitting me.
[The final ship decloaks. It looks like the classic TOS ship, but with blue spiky hair on top of its dish, giant hipster glasses on the front of said dish, a rainbow deflector, and rubber activism bracelets covering its nacelles.]
Subaru: They ascertain that Micral’s amusement at the nickname “S.T.D.” is evidence that she, and everyone associated with her, is a “misogynist white-supremacist nazi,” as no one else in the universe could possibly find humor in the fact that a show that takes itself so seriously has a title that can be abbreviated as “S.T.D.”
Captain Guacamole: Did their mothers drop them on their heads?
[Another green tortilla smashes right into the captain’s chair, reducing it to a pillar of smoke! The captain has just barely managed to do a backwards Kung-Fu flip away in time.]
Subaru: Now they hate you as well, Captain. They say that remark was “ableist,” and “promotes harmful stereotypes about TBI,” as well as supporting outdated gender roles—
Micral Burnout: Women on the Ferrari home-world are forbidden to leave the house or wear clothes. Do these “activists” care about that? Or the multiple genocides currently going on in the galaxy?
Subaru: Only when it gets them lots of re-blogs on Tribblr.
“Empire Strikes Back” Guy Troy Jacuzzi: Okay, but that SJW starship unironically slaps. If only their heads were as cool as their style.
[The now five ships all exchange fire. The camera-spins and lens flares continue. Durrhurr squints, trying to see where she’s piloting. TV-Head’s screen is flickering in a salad of distressed neon emojis. Troy Jacuzzi’s headset is now blasting “Tongue Tied” from “Red Dwarf.”]
Subaru: The Clingons are retreating! And Captain, I sense the coming of death!
Captain Guacamole: Open a wide-range broadcast! [He does] All vessels, this is Captain Philadelphia Guacamole! I want to open a dialogue with you all.
[Fire rocks the ship. Subaru reads the messages on his console.]
Subaru: None of their responses are…encouraging.
[Tortillas and twinkies continue to pummel the Green Destiny, as crewmen go flying and alarms blare.]
Micral Burnout: Captain, permission to take five.
Captain Philadelphia Guacamole: Are you high?
Micral Burnout: It’ll get us a TOS cameo.
Captain Guacamole: Five minutes.
[Micral runs to the bathroom (there are four, labeled with each of the Antennean sexes) and makes a holo-call to Ambassador Schmendrick, father of Commander Spork.]
Micral Burnout: Schmendrick, my foster father, I am in need of your counsel.
Ambassador Schmendrick: I presume this relates to your poor reception by the Trekkies.
Micral Burnout: It does. Schmendrick, the “Trek” series that introduced your character had little regard for continuity. From Spork’s ever-expanding family, to the Clingons’ changing foreheads, to Captain Flirt’s middle name... Schmendrick, how did you handle fan reactions to those plot holes? And how did you deal with the bigots freaking out over empowered women and interracial kisses?
Ambassador Schmendrick: Use the information I am about to give you with caution, Micral…
5 MINUTES LATER
Captain Guacamole: Keep hailing all three ships! We have to iron this out peacefully! We’ll educate the bigots; make some compromises with the Orthodox Trekkies; and gently explain the concept of humor to the wannabe-activists.
[The rest of the Bridge crew exchange dubious and nervous glances. Micral then bursts back out of the bathroom.]
Micral Burnout: Captain! I have to speak with you in the Glass Ready Room!
Captain Guacamole: Are you drunk? We’re in the middle of a—
Micral Burnout: It’ll get us a dramatic character interaction!
THE GLASS READY-ROOM:
Captain Guacamole: You have sixty seconds, Burnout.
Micral Burnout: Captain, in “Spoof Trek: The Original Series,” my foster-brother Spork served—well will serve—aboard the U.S.S. Boobyprize, where the canon of the show changed on an almost weekly basis. This caused much strife amongst the nerds. The show’s bold progressiveness was also triggering to many a racist and sexist. And “moral guardians” took offense to Spork’s design, because he looked like Satan, or something.
Captain Guacamole: Forty-seven seconds.
Micral Burnout: Finally, Commander Spork personally beamed down to a “Spoof Trek” convention in San Francisco, where all three of these groups were present, and attempted to reason with them using logic. It backfired gravely. Vulcans don’t make the same mistake twice. My brother then turned his Vulcan salute into a different hand gesture. One that could not be misunderstood. And they all got the message.
Captain Guacamole: I don’t like where this is going, Commander.
Micral Burnout: Captain, neither the bigoted incels, nor the humorless crybabies, nor the continuity-dweebs will respond to diplomacy. Our only option is to send them a firm, clear gesture, signaling that we will do what we’re gonna do with our show, and if they don’t like it they know where they can stuff it. We have to give them…the Vulcan Finger.
[Micral’s dramatic Bambi-eyes fill the screen, with dramatic music pla—]
Captain Guacamole: No.
Micral Burnout: It’s the only way, Captain!
Captain Guacamole: Micral Burnout, I FORBID you to flip off the “Trek” fanbase!
[Micral’s eyes go from Bambi to anime to Sad-Jake from “Adventure Time.”]
Captain Guacamole: Cut that out and get your ass back to the Brrrrrrgggghhhh….!
[The captain goes down cross-eyed, courtesy the Vulcan neck pinch.]
Micral Burnout: Ha ha! Watch the hands, not the eyes! Works every time.
[Micral leaves the Ready Room and starts putting on her shinny Buzz Lightyear suit.]
Subaru: Commander? Did the Captain authorize you to go to Infinity and Beyond in the middle of a battle?
Micral Burnout: I—um—durblumblruuuh…Yes!
Subaru: Commander, my species’ unique, one-of-a-kind sensory skills tell me that something is off about your behavior and appearance—
[Micral finishes donning her suit and jumps out an airlock. The crew watches as she flies through the three enemy ships, with her middle finger in the air. TV-Head makes a 😵 face. Enraged voices echo from the three attacking ships.]
U.S.S. Tumblrina: OMFG do you realize how triggering that is???
I.S.S. Trumpanzee: YOU JUST HATE WHITE MALES!!!
U.S.S. Continuity: Why would Vulcans use the same hand gestures as 21st Century Americans? Even the British don’t flip people off the same way that we do.
I.S.S. Trumpanzee: A BLACK FEMALE WEARING CLOTHES IS AN AGENDA!!!! THIS IS LITERALLY WHITE GENOCIDE!!!!!!!!!!!
U.S.S. Tumblrina: …Sure, make fun of people who have CPTSD linked to the middle finger, and those who live with sexually-transmitted diseases! A good comedian doesn’t punch down…!
U.S.S. Continuity: Hey why are you guys the U.S.S. Tumblrina? I thought we established that Tumblr is “Tribblr” in this continuity…
I.S.S. Trumpanzee: …“Trek” ALREADY HAD a female captain and a Black captain! Why do they need ANOTHER one?!
[Micral continues to soar silently between the ships, stone-faced, with her middle finger high and proud. Behind her, a giant horseshoe magnet slowly extends out on a robotic arm. The magnet and finally sucks her up by the butt of her space suit, and yanks her back to the Green Destiny. Captain Guacamole towers above her, with blue flames in her eyes. Micral’s eyeballs and pupils grow and shrink simultaneously, as she realizes how utterly smegged she now is.]
Captain Guacamole: …WHAT DO YOU WANT ON YOUR TOMBSTONE?!
Micral Burnout: [Tiny, squeaky voice] ………………..Phylosian spinach and feta cheese with black olives?
Subaru: They make that?
Captain Guacamole: You are in DEEP SHIT, Micral Burnout!
Kreyfish Durrhurr: Um, Captain? I think we all are.
[On the Wide Screen, an entire armada of Trekkie ships is coming out of warp…AND an entire armada of neckbeard ships, and another fleet of Tumblrina ships (each with its own funky hairdo), all extending as far as the stars. Everyone on the Bridge stares in dumbfounded silence.]
Subaru: Captain, I sense the coming of d—
THONK!
[Troy Jacuzzi puts his headset back on after cobbering Subaru with it, and cranks up “End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine.”]
TO BE CONTINUED!
EDITHCARDYBRUNO Sun 09 Mar 2025 02:07PM UTC
Comment Actions