Beeping of alert signal.
Ensign: Captain, the transporters ready.
Captain: That's hip. Lieutenant Marvin, what is the condition
of the planets surface?
Marvin: It is difficult to be precise. However, my instruments
indicate a condition of extreme rigor mortis, spreading rapidly
throughout the population. Highly illogical, Captain.
Captain: A bunch of stiffs, huh? Well, set coordinates for, ah,
Chocolate City, and have a landing party of nine men beam down
immiediately, with phasers set on funk-funk!