I want to understand. I need to understand. But dammit, I just do not understand what the hell is going on here.
You’re spacemen. Four spacemen. Or, by some complicated and/or hilarious twists and turns, you’re four strangers who each have somehow had fishbowls dropped on your heads. Or, you know, is that a thing? A kink? Like armpit sniffing or back-hair collecting?
No, there’s a spaceship. You’re all spacemen. Is that the Enterprise? Is it coming to rescue you? No; you don’t look happy. So, you’re being cast out on some godforsaken planet? Was it the armpit sniffing? Kirk might go for that, but not Picard. He’d cast you out faster than it takes a Shakespearean actor to make a fortune playing relatively wise older guys in Hollywood movies.
And what’s that the Enterprise is saying? “Thrilled Cheese”?
It’s worse than I thought. It’s some kind of dairy product perversion that’s led Captain Jean-Luc Picard to discard you, a quartet of Camembert Pervs, on some lonely oxygen-free world, with nothing for company but your regrets, each other, and the fish in your helmets.
Which, however you slice it, has got to be uncomfortable.
Well, shame on you, space dudes. And that shame is forever immortalized on the side of a van driving around Austin. There is no escape from what you’ve done. And that’s how it should be.