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!