Jim Jerk bends forward, beads of sweat flowing copiously from the furrows in his brow as, concentrating furiously, he endeavors to complete what - to millions of fans (Fukkies) and ordinary viewers (Fuckers) all over the world - is affectionately known as the Captain's slog. Mister Spunk vents his muppetry, 'Pardon me sir, but do you think the bridge is the appropriate place for such a gratuitous display of human emotion?' Jerk is his usual iracible self, 'When I want your opinion Mister, I'll ask for it!' Despite the vehemence of his tin pot god, Spunk has the persistence of his full can intellect: 'It's most illogical Captain.' Jerk, however, doesn't seem to have any respect for the cans of his fellow orifices, 'Damn you Mister Spunk! Coming from a pointy-eared green-blooded alien with a three-inch penis -' Spunk cuts him short, 'A regrettable display of animosity Captain - and also grossly inaccurate. Current status is approximately 3.19231456 -'

Nailed to the floor several times as a pre-pubescent, and pubescent young adult, 'Lice Sin Nudieland just came, a bit like having your eyes drilled out by the oil industry; gush.