If I had my own space shuttle, I'd crash it, real soon, near the entrance to Jurassic Park. I'd climb out, grab a caffe mocha, and sip my way into the maw of a great velociraptor, provided he utilize the breath mints I've prepared.

We'll walk among the stars, stare into each other's eyes, dare to twist our tongues in an intriguing mix of cappucino expresso flair with a hint of mint chocolate chip.

Sure, we know the fashion and the directions to Ishmael's hut, but we don't follow that road. Nay, we livin' it up in the hizzouse with our homies and g fellas, grippin' the sledlike follicles of mudpuppy lore.

Please, the Kirk in all of us must be unleashed. Slide sideways to the rightside strongside where the backside side side resides. Master Chief commands it in a style unknown to ordinary human beings, but quite familiar to those named Wang or Hsieh (or Shea).

If the SS read this, they will be thoroughly content. With me.