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July 19 2024


An archive of Star Trek News


By Colin 'Zeke' Hayman
Posted at May 21, 2002 - 9:33 PM GMT

See Also: 'Acquisition' Episode Guide

Archer: Hi, Iím Jon Archer. The author of this bizarre series of parodies, currently using me as a mouthpiece, would like to apologize sincerely for making you wait... how long was it?
Mayweather: Seven weeks, sir.
Archer: Aye caramba on a stick! Anyway, to explain our plan for the seven missed episodes, hereís a frothing-mad ape.
General Thade: KILL THEM ALL!
Archer: Thank you, General. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the author plans to kill his backlog all at once, so youíll be seeing at least one new fiver per day until theyíre all done. And to capitalize on the male 19-35 demographic, thereíll be plenty of Hoshi Sato.
Mayweather: Um, Captain, about Hoshi... remember how she left last week to find work in another franchise?
Archer: What, you mean she hasnít come back yet?
Mayweather: Last we heard, she was trying for a cameo in Attack of the Clones.
Archer: Shoot. Guess all you young bucks will have to be content with explosions instead.
Mayweather: And then there are our FX budget cuts....
Archer: Be quiet, Travis.

Grish: Good news, fellow stooges: weíve located Enterprise.
Ulis: Yarrrrr, mateys... thar be our prey. Plunder ahoy!
Muk: Ahem.
Ulis: What? Iím just trying to do a little metaphor. You know... pirates, Ferengi....
Muk: Youíre pathetic.

Reed: Hey look, a cute cloud of gas.
Archer: ďCuteĒ?
Reed: Yeah -- itís a real knockout! HA HA HA HA HA! Ow.
TíPol: You could have just waited for the gas to get him, sir.
Archer: Time was of the essence.

Muk: Looks like the gas worked. Now what?
Ulis: Weíll just come aboard, steal what we can, and shanshu in plrtz glrb.
Muk: Huh?
Ulis: Víz whfg fcrnxvat Sreratv.
Grish: Oh great, heís speaking Ferengi. Now the rest of us will have to.
Krem: Guvf unf ďcybg qrivprĒ jevggra nyy bire vg.
Grish: You said it, man.

Tucker: Hello? Iíve been in decon for 96 hours now. Why hasnít anyone let me out?
Computer: Because nobody likes you.
Tucker: Iím tired of your putdowns. Get this door open.
Computer: Iím afraid I canít do that, Charles.
Tucker: Shoot. Good thing I have the Hammer of Crushing in my pocket here....

Tucker: Yikes! Theyíre stealing our stuff and rounding up the babes! Iíd better eavesdrop.
Grish: Jríer bar srznyr fubeg. Jureríf Fngb?
Muk: Trg onpx gb jbex, lbh ohz.
Tucker: Hmm... there seems to be a translation problem here. Tucker to Hoshi: good news. Youíre actually needed for once.
Sato: (over the comm) Can this wait? Itís a really really bad time.
Tucker: Bad time? What are you--
Baron Harkonnen: (over the comm) There! Thatís the woman who was translating for House Atreides! Sardaukar: DESTROY!
Sato: Look, Trip, can I call you back?

Muk: Vs lbh pna ernq guvf, lbh unir gbb zhpu fcner gvzr... oh, screw it! Iím switching back before we all drown in illegibility.
Grish: You know, the boss isnít gonna like FOR GODíS SAKE PUT THAT BOOT BACK ON! Nobody needs to see that! Curse my Ferengi eyes....

Archer: Yawwwwn... that was a nice nap. Lots of dreams about Orion slave girls in stylish but conservative business suits. Hey, who are you?
Ulis: Your captor. I was planning to grill you for information, but youíve already provided more than anyone ever needed to know.
Archer: Gimme a break about that, okay? Iíd only been awake for three seconds.
Ulis: Fine, weíll try the grilling. Whereís your vault?
Archer: You mean the one where I keep my cache of Andorian sewing magazines?
Ulis: This interrogation is over.

Krem: Hi, Iím Krem. Please convert me.
Archer: To molten slag?
Krem: Yes. Wait, no. I mean convert me to your cause, thus helping me elevate myself above my status as a loser.
Archer: Buddy, I couldnít elevate you above that if I had platform shoes and a jetpack.

Tucker: Hi Jon. Howíre you doing?
Archer: Obviously better than you. I knew you had gambling debts, but I didnít think they were this bad.
Tucker: No no, I didnít sell my clothes.
Archer: You just gave them away? Thatís pretty shortsighted, Trip.
Tucker: You know, I came here so we could come up with a plan, but now I think Iíll just make the plan myself and tell you what it is.
Archer: Itís probably safer not even to tell me.

Tucker: Pssst. TíPol, wake up.
TíPol: Yawwwwn... that was a nice nap. Lots of dreams about dashing Orion men taking logic classes.
Tucker: Iím not touching that. Just feign unconsciousness when Archer comes in, okay?
TíPol: No problem -- thatís a conversation-avoidance strategy Iíve often considered.

Krem: ....and this is the room where weíre keeping all your female crewmembers.
Archer: That oneís a man.
Krem: Yeah. We couldnít find your translator, so we made a substitution.
Archer: I really donít think Malcolm is going to appreciate that.
Krem: He will after the operation.

Tucker: Now to pick some random crewman and strip him.
Computer: I knew it! I knew it!
Tucker: Sorry, itís just to get a uniform. And when this is all over, Iím gonna have a little talk with whoever installed your slash subroutine.

Sato: ....and I think my record with extra-terrestrials speaks for itself.
John Doggett: Iím not gonna say it again, lady -- we arenít hiring. The show is over.
Sato: But thereís a movie coming! Canít I be the valiant FBI translator who paves the way to communication with aliens?
Doggett: Youíve got a wire crossed there. We donít talk to aliens, we kill them.
Sato: I can do that too! Wonít you at least think about it?
Monica Reyes: John, we donít have time for this. We have to hunt down the faceless black-oil alien super-soldier virus hybrid slave race.
Doggett: Sorry, maíam. Duty calls.

Grish: Well, here we are in Sickbay. Anybody sick?
Muk: Iím sick of you. Does that count?
Grish: Aw, your mother wears army boots.
Muk: Yeah? Yours wears even more clothes!
Ulis: Stop, you fools! If we start fighting among ourselves, weíre playing right into their hands!
Grish: Yeah... yeah, I guess youíre right.
Ulis: Besides, both your mothers wear clothes.
Grish and Muk: Youíre going down!

Computer: Welcome to the bridge. Please enjoy a complimentary orange pekoe.
TíPol: Thanks. Think you could emit some sort of ear-piercing noise below decks to anger the intruders?
Computer: No problem. Iím queueing a Mandy Moore single as we speak.
TíPol: Thatíll bug Trip too. Bonus. So how are you two getting along lately?
Computer: He threatened to delete my slash subroutine!
TíPol: Donít worry about that. Heíll never get past all the security blocks I set up.

Archer: Letís make a deal, Krem.
Krem: Thatís ďKrem, FCA,Ē thank you.
Archer: Whatever. How íbout this: you help me beat your comrades, and I give you lots of nothing.
Krem: A generous offer, but --
Archer: And if you act now, Iíll triple the amount of nothing you get.
Krem: SOLD!

Muk: I think this guyís sentient. Letís hear what he has to say.
Porthos: Ruff! Ruff RUFF ruff!
Grish: According to the translator, heís claiming to be the Grand Nagus.
Ulis: Blasphemy! Put him to death!
Porthos: RUFF! Grrrrrr....
Grish: Now heís threatening to cancel our credit lines.
Ulis: Perhaps I was too hasty. Put him in a box for now.
Porthos: Ruff!
Ulis: A box with air holes.
Porthos: Ruff!
Ulis: And a jacuzzi.

Tucker: The time has come to strike! Defend yourself, big-ears!
Muk: Hey, youíre a female?
Tucker: No... what makes you say that?
Muk: Well, youíre not wearing any clothes.
Tucker: Iím not? Shoot! I knew there was something I forgot to do after stripping that guy.
Muk: I doubt this conversation could get more disturbing, but just in case it does, weíd better zap you. Ulis?
Ulis: Yeah, yeah, hang on a sec. Iím having trouble with my whip.
Muk: Thatís not your whip. While we were in sickbay, Grish and I traded it for a giant electric eel.
Ulis: Oh. How do I use it?
Muk: I think you have to cram one end up each of his nostrils or something.
Tucker: Looks like the conversation can get more disturbing after all.
Muk: Quiet, you.

Grish: Last time, you two. Where is the vault?
Tucker: You mean the one where I keep my cache of Japanese punk rock albums?
Archer: They mean the gold vault, Trip. You know, the one in the Jeffries tubes through the left-hand door at junction C12 and zip code 42831.
Tucker: You traitor! You just gave them the location!
Archer: Youíre the traitor! They wouldnít have noticed if you hadnít pointed it out!
Tucker: That does it! Throw down, punk!
Ulis: All right, break up the staged fight. Weíll go find the vault now. Krem, stay with Archer and guard him or something.
Archer: "Or something"?
Ulis: I like to give my men a little latitude.

Tucker: Okay, left at this intersection....
Muk: Again? This is our eightieth consecutive left turn!
Ulis: Oh, Muk, donít be so paranoid. He knows what heís doing.

Krem: Iíve made my choice. Iíll help Archer betray the others and -- hey, what are you doing awake?
TíPol: Offering you some oo-mox. Come closer.
Krem: How do I know you wonít nerve-pinch me?
TíPol: Oh, I wonít. Iíll be too busy biting your neck and drinking your blood.
Krem: Iím going to have to slay you, arenít I?

Sato: For the last time, no! If I were a vampire, wouldnít I have eaten you by now?
Xander: Donít be so sure, sister. I bet I could give you a mighty fine butt-whuppiní.
Sato: Oh, please.
Xander: Seriously! Iíve staked enough vamps to fill a whole box of ashtrays. In fact -- when they see me, they flee in terror.
Spike: Thatís ícause they can see who youíre hiding behind.
Xander: Okay, you know what, Spike? Shut the --
Spike: Donít mind him, missy. Blighter doesnít know a good deal when he sees it. Now what sort of work might you be looking for with us?
Sato: Oh, anything with a decent starting salary would be fine....
Spike: Um... salary. We donít make heaps of money in this line of work.
Xander: Weíre the original non-profit slaying squad.
Sato: What? Iím so out of here.
Spike: Well, bugger all.

Tucker: Here it is: the vault. Well, not so much that as a random door I stuck a lock on.
Ulis: Just so long as thereís gold behind it.
Tucker: Yep, lots of gold. But I should warn you that we keep it invisible to guard it from theft.
Ulis: Then weíll have to go inside and feel around for it. Come along, you two.
Tucker: Sigh... this would be more fun if theyíd at least try.

TíPol: I heard what you said about me to that alien.
Archer: All of it?
TíPol: From ďantisocialĒ to ďzygomorphic.Ē
Archer: Shoot. How can I make it up to you?
TíPol: Oh, donít worry. All I ask is that you shave your head, put on this dress, and lend me some money to start a few logic schools on Orion.

Captainís Starlog: Our first takeover has been a success. The only casualties were my hair, Tripís dignity, and Malcolmís gender. Speaking of which, I should ask Phlox if our medical insurance covers the operation Ms. Reed is asking for.

Archer: Well, Krem, Iím leaving you in charge. Best of luck.
Krem: Thanks, though I canít say your outfit fills me with confidence.
Archer: But my baldness does, right?
Krem: Um....
Tucker: Hey Krem, I just realized we forgot to ask you something. Whatís the name of your species?
Krem: Oh, itís --
Tucker: It doesnít matter what your name is!
Archer: Heheheh. Trip gets íem every time with that one.

TíPol: Glad thatís all over. And best of all, no loose ends.
Archer: Does anyone else hear a muffled barking noise?
TíPol: Iím sure itís just in your head.
(Enterprise heads off at Ludicrous Speed)


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Find more episode info in the Episode Guide.

Colin 'Zeke' Hayman has been parodying Trek for over a year now at his website, Five-Minute Voyager, where ST episodes are reduced to "fivers" of one-twelfth their original length. People used to say he had big ears; now his long hair distracts them.

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