Ye Olde Scribe Presents: Neo Trek
“A whale of a tale; now with REAL Rush Limbaugh quotes!”
Yet another piece of trash in the Thank God They Were Lost Star Trek Episodes has been dug out of the under the outhouse depository of miserable prose. This week’s edition is part of a proposed movie for IV; before they went to rescue their own Willys in San Fran.
Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to find the real Lush quotes.
Our anti-heros, manning The Incompetentship; Not So Free, Enterprise have been sent to the Ayn Rand Quadrant; protected by the useless Private Fire Department conglomerate; where they find a black hole named Condi Lice. She has opened her legs wide and is devouring all of reality, semi-reality and fictional constructs: including the Teletubbies. (The Tubbies still wander; Lost in Space, in their overweight Billy Mummy brand spaceship.)
The mission… freedom? Justice? Survival? Have their engineer beam aboard more Scottie-brand toilet paper to wipe off the unholy mess Junior made? No, making a typical Neo Con error in logic: they think their mission is to waste all the money in the known and unknown universe, and is theirs, and only theirs, to waste. An error… error…. error in logic, just like that computer in the original series suffered from: now affectionately known to Neos as, “Roni Raygun”
Our movie, not “trailer,” not even “popup,” but short promo “poop-up…” is called…
Star Trek IV: Rice Err Roni
Captain Lush the Dimbulb Kirk: Slow us down to Mark 3, Mr. Sulu.
Mr. Sulu: Is that the Mark from your third vacation south of the border; the young boy who is now giving you a BJ?
Captain Lush the Dimbulb Kirk: I will not have you make fun of my orders or my sick perversions, Mr. Gay Boy. Just accept my status as the only head of, who receives head in, the RepubliCunt Party. (No offense to women, for only the Party qualifies to receive the slur.)
Mr. Sulu: (Mutters under breath, “Your father should have ‘withdrawn.'”) Yes, your Fatheadedness.
Captain Lush the Dimbulb Kirk: Mr. Jindal Scott, are the flatulence torpedoes ready?
M. Night Shamalyan (subbing for Bobby-socks Jindal because; even though they look similar, Bobby is such a meek lightweight he doesn’t even register on the ship’s sensors.): My Sixth Sense says yes, but we shouldn’t be doing this. We’re dead in space anyway. We just don’t know it yet.
Captain LDK: Shut up and play the role you were hired to play or I’ll dress you in white Little Miss Muffet brand Gay “armor” made out of satin and call you Bruce.
Song plays: (K)Nights in White Satin
Night: Yes, your Lardheadedness. Guess where there’s a Bruce Willis there’s a… whey. (Didn’t think Scribe would go there, did ya?)
M. Night flips a switch and; like in Iraq, pallet loads worth of money filled torpedos shoot out at warp 100, and down the black hole that is called Condi. If we could hear in space, it would seem as if she sighed in pleasure. But like the common Neo Con’s head, space is a… vacuum.
M. Night: Sir! Sir! We’ve only wasted six years of money and this terrorist coddling black hole is only getting bigger, more excited and ejaculating more terrorism, economic failure and racist white as sperm pricks like you! Besides, she’s your bitch!
Captain LDK: Night, we all know for a fact that “feminism was established so as to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream of society.”
M. Night: No, but we do “know for a fact” that Condi was so much your house slave that she once called you her “husband.”
Captain LDK: Night, Goddamn it, read the lines right. Besides we have a right to do this. It’s in your Constitution. Don’t you remember, “Life, liberty and the pursuit of freedom?”
M. Night: Um, your Bloatedegoness, isn’t that the Declaration of Independence… and it wasn’t ‘freedom.'” Wait! The confabulator is pulsating. The squimy squat is sinsulating. Even my movies are going nowhere. Why did I stop writing good scripts to follow you? Captain, Captain Captain, we can’t take it any more.
Captain LDK: Night, it’s just Condi the Black Hole, and like a Fox she’s just “exaggerating the effects” of my might male torpedoes.
Sulu: I don’t care how gay I am or how sexy you talk, you’ll never be my (Michael J.) FOX.
Captain LDK: NIIIIGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!
M. Night: SIGH. Where’s that lie… uh, “line?” Oh, yeah, there it is: “Mission accomplished, sir!” Must you torment everyone with such lies? Or support such torture?
Captain LDK: HEY, I’m talking about people having a good time, these people, you ever heard of emotional release? You ever heard of the need to blow some steam off?” (on the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal) Or the need to get some blow-like Oxy? Or just getting blown? (Mark is still busy servicing him and has been getting louder. The sounds are quite disgusting.)
Besides, I’m having fun destroying the Klingolesbi-crats and the Romugays. I know them as pure evil.
Mr. Sulu: You don’t know us, I mean “them,” at all. All you know is your own ego must be fed.
Captain LDK: Mr. Sulu. You will not speak to your Captain in that manner or I will discipline you. And I’d love to discipline with my big fat hairy hand and your bare bottom. Besides, I know these people like I know every square inch of my glorious naked body.
Mr. Sulu: BARF.
Captain LDK: OK Mr. Sulu, wipe that bile off navigation and take us warp factor 0 to the, Do Nothing but Obstruct the Obama, nebula. Prepare the failed nation phasers. Someone other than us thinks they’re allowed to use money, but as a stimulus. Only I’m allowed “stimulus” (The sucking sound cuming… from the Captain’s chair is getting louder and juicier.)
We got ourselves an uppity nigger to kill.
Stay tuned for the next episode: Captain LDK has Gay Sex with a Alien Object. (Starring Ann Coulter’s Adam’s apple.)