Narrator: The mighty mercenary warship 'post-dated check loan' rips uncounted terabillions of holes in the fabric of space, smashes itself into packets of singularic gravity, and shoves itself through the holes like over-cooked spaghetti through a colander.
SFX: TERAPORT
Narrator: The process takes just over six seconds, and would sound like an aluminum baseball bat if there were any atmosphere to carry the sound.
PDCL:
Sign: Coffee only, No bats, KaffeeMeister
Narrator: This now raises an interesting question: "If a coffee machine passes a baseball bat in the forest, and the only one to see it happen is a mime, what does he say to the police?"
Mime:
Narrator: Naturally this has nothing to do with ouur story, as there are no police here.
Tagon: Well, sergeant, we're here. Where do we find more eyes for you?
Schlock: There's a ridge of cliffs east of a space-port. On the other side of that there's a forest where my people grow fresh eyes.
Petey: I believe i've found the area you're looking for. It's in a high valley with a crater lake above it?
Schlock: That's the place. Get me down there, and i'll have a new pair of eyes in ten minutes.
Petey: Except that the area seems to be short exactly one forest.
Petey: I've found a lovely patch of scorched wasteland for you, though... Lots of nice ash in the soil.
Tagon: You grow them? What... on trees?