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