 I've been DRAFTED! I even burnt my draft card years ago, to no avail! I seem to remember working up a sweat outside what was to be my new domicle back in Sunny Vale, when I felt myself being slowly shredded into different layers of existense and at least momentarily losing contact with my corporeal being. My first impression was of one immensely surreal flashback, only to soon discover myself standing on the deck of a starship's engineering department. "So that's what a transporter feels like. An old flowerchild could really get to liking that ride!" Upon closer examination of the results of my recent re-layering, I find that this ol' Grote is now a somewhat modified new Grote. The apparently malfunctioning transporter has not only transmuted my trusty chain to gold, it has partially imbedded it into my skin stretching up one arm, across my shoulders behind my neck, and down the opposite arm. The intensity of the beam has also given my skin a rather dark sunburnt appearance. "Hey, I'm a Red Shirt without the shirt. Neat, I can show off me new chain that-a-way!" |
O' course the crew eventually found itself orbitin' the Planet of B Movies where after a rescue mission ah met me SPACE ANGEL 'n a ratha specially modified G'nral Lee! Ya'd be surprised what he can do now that ah tinkered some with him... |
 Me SPACE ANGEL's gonna take me on as crew 'n get the G'nral commissioned as the F.T. General Lee... 
...that is soon as we beat this fella named Han Solo 'n his ol' rust bucket ship wi' the fancy name o' the Millennium Falcon.
'N if'n that ain't a'nuff, we's gotta do it right fair 'n hon'rable!
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