Tucker: Mmmmmm, pie. Want some?|
Tucker: Get your own! Nobody shares my pie.
T'Pol: Oh, shut your pie hole.
Phlox: You two should be more civil.
Tucker: That does it, I'm taking another shot at killing you....
Archer: (over the comm) Everybody stop what you're doing and check out the comet!
Tucker: Drat, no time now.
Archer: The comet -- henceforth referred to as "like, the biggest comet ever" -- is, like, the biggest comet ever.
Reed: Definitely not big enough to have Earth-like gravity, though.
Archer: Good idea! We'll send someone to walk on it.
Reed: But I just said it's not big enough to--
Archer: Thank you for volunteering to lead the mission.
Mayweather: Come on, sir, he was just--
Archer: Oh, good! Now we have our away team.
Vanik: Greetings from the Vulcan starship God, We Hate Humans. We'll be looking over your shoulder for no particular reason.
Archer: Doesn't sound very logical.
Vanik: This from a guy who brought his dog into space.
Archer: We've got to ditch those Vulcans somehow....
T'Pol: We could try telling them Eminem is on board. They'd be off like a shot.
Archer: No no, we'd risk panicking the crew. What about spray-painting "LOGIC SUCKS" on the hull?
T'Pol: That could work. Let's make it some illogical colour like chartreuse....
Mayweather: AAAAAAA! What's all that white stuff?
Reed: That would be snow.
Mayweather: But what if it's not? What if it's baking soda, and one of us accidentally spills vinegar onto it? What then? Huh?
Reed: Why would we bring vinegar out there?
Mayweather: Um...well, there might be an emergency where we needed to eat fish and chips right away.
Tucker: According to Hoshi, T'Pol just got a secret transmission of treachery and evil.
Archer: Are those her words or yours?
Tucker: Hers. Frankly, I think she's jealous.
Archer: Well, read the transmission anyway in case it's something we can use for embarrassment.
Archer: Hi, kids! Today we'll be answering a few questions from our young fans. Hoshi?
Sato: First question's from Laura Wrae: "Where's Porthos? Did you eat him?"
Archer: Er...heheheh. Kids today. Next.
Sato: This one's from Julianna Glief: "How could you do such a thing to a poor, innocent puppy? Barbarians!"
Archer: Okay, that does it. Right now, once and for all, I will end these gripes and prove to the whole world that Porthos is alive. Tucker, start barking!
Archer: Just do it. We'll doctor the recording so you look like a dog.
Phlox: That won't take much doctoring.
Tucker: Oh, that's it, you're going down!
Mayweather: How do you like my baking soda man?
Reed: Snow, you idiot. But the guy does look pretty cool.
Mayweather: Thanks. All he needs is a hat...I know! I'll give him my helmet!
Reed: That's a better idea than you realize.
Sato: Here, I translated the message.
Tucker: Did you read it?
Sato: Nope. And despite what you'll probably suspect while reading it, I didn't do any editing either.
Tucker: Don't worry, I believe you.
Archer: So what did it say? Anything evil?
Tucker: No...it was incredibly personal stuff not meant for human eyes.
Archer: Then I hope you feel like the slimeball I am.
Tucker: I do, I do.
Tucker: Look, Polly...I owe you an apology.
T'Pol: For trying to kill me back on that planet?
T'Pol: For putting the dog at my duty station and calling him T'Porthos?
T'Pol: For calling me Polly a minute ago?
Tucker: No, and that's three guesses. It's because I read the letter you got.
T'Pol: Which one?
Tucker: Oh, you know...the one that went "T'Pol, you must return to Vulcan immediately. Your fiancé is developing a crush on Hoshi."
Archer: We're switching to plan B: inviting Vanik to dinner.
T'Pol: What happened to the spray-paint plan?
Archer: Didn't work. They stole our paint and added an "IL" at the start.
Reed: Okay, time to blow up the comet!
Mayweather: We're not blowing up the entire comet...just part of the surface.
Reed: Er...no, of course not. Right. Hang on, I need to go adjust the settings on that bomb.
Vanik: You know, being on your ship has reminded me just how very, very much you people suck.
Archer: Enough to make you, say, go away?
Vanik: Of course not -- we like to be near things that suck. Makes us look good.
Phlox: What you need is advice from someone you despise.
T'Pol: T'Pol to Trip: come to my quarters. Phlox just recommended you for a special assignment.
Tucker: (over the comm) That can be interpreted in many ways...some of which may actually be enough to make me spare his life.
Phlox: It's not one of those.
Tucker: Then you still die.
Archer: Time to get off the comet, guys. Try not to cause a dramatic crisis in doing so.
Reed: (over the comm) I can't promise that, sir.
T'Pol: So what do you think I should do?
Tucker: The solution is obvious: stay here on the ship until your fiancé dies of pon farr.
T'Pol: But what happens when I get pon farr?
Tucker: Does that happen to female Vulcans?
T'Pol: I have no idea. That's why I'm worried.
Mayweather: Woohoo! Thanks to my expert piloting, we're stuck in a big hole.
Reed: If we'd blown up the comet like I suggested, this never would have happened....
Archer: We need to save our shuttle. Recommendations?
Tucker: Numerous failed attempts to use the grappler?
Archer: I dunno...anybody else got a plan?
Archer: Now that I like. Thanks, dog-lady.
Vanik: (over the comm) You're welcome for our help.
Archer: I don't recall thanking you. It's my science officer who deserves the credit.
Archer: Not you. Where's the dog?
Tucker: I thought you ate the dog. Wasn't that the running joke?
Archer: But it was here just a minute ago! Why is everything suddenly ambiguous again?
Sato: Dunno, but look on the bright side -- it'll drive those kids up the wall.
T'Pol: Well, I took your advice. I'll be staying on the ship and eating pie.
Tucker: That's a good start. Now how about helping me in my next attempt to kill Phlox?
T'Pol: Vulcans don't approve of violence.
Tucker: Well, we can use some sort of gas....
(Enterprise heads off at Ludicrous Speed)