Yeah, I don't think suing one fan film out of how many over the decades could really be considered hostile towards fan films.
CBS/Paramount sues to stop Axanar
- Thread starter Richard Baker
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Yeah, I don't think suing one fan film out of how many over the decades could really be considered hostile towards fan films.
Yeah, the Shatnerverse novels are less masturbatory.
If I had the time, I'd bang out an alternate version of the story, written in actual prose, about a delusional guy in a knock-off Starfleet uniform who strolls into the same bar every night and gives a nonsensical speech about war and hard choices. A newcomer asks one of the regulars what his deal is, and we learn that the guy calls himself "Fleet Captain Garth" and is the victim of one of those Denebian "male enhancement" hoaxes that actually shrinks your penis and leaves you with the IQ of Brick Tamland.
After his speech "Garth" wanders around, drunkenly admonishing the bar patrons not to be too hard on the Vulcans, who were only following his orders. There are, of course, no Vulcans anywhere on the premises. Eventually he staggers out. A few minutes later, another regular patron comes in and calls to the bartender "Hey Louie! You might wanna call the cops."
" 'Captain Garth' jackin' off in the alley again?" Louie asks.
"Third time this month," the patron confirms.
The bartender rolls his eyes as he picks up the comlink. Maybe this time they'll send the "Fleet Captain" to one of those offplanet penal colonies.
that. is awesome.
Yeah, they need patches given how threadbare the whole thing has gotten...Are there patches for this new production?
We need a Kickstarter, finger flowers for all donors.
Well, by popular demand, here it is. No Kickstarter, Indiegogo campaign, or Patreon donation required:
WHY WE DRINK: An Axanar©™® Short Story set in the Real Star Trek Universe
The door swung open, and a blast of cold air filled the bar. When Phil saw who it was, he rolled his eyes. "Here we go," he said to the man on his left.
Lee squinted at the newcomer. The man wore what looked to be a disheveled Halloween-costume version of a Starfleet uniform, with a bright-yellow tunic with black accents and a arrowhead-shaped insignia that was just different enough from the Starfleet delta to avoid copyright-infringement claims.
"Who is that guy?" Lee asked.
Phil ignored the question. "Look, whatever you do, don't talk to him or make eye contact. It'll just make the floor show last longer."
The man in the knock-off Starfleet tunic shuffled to the center of the room, then raised his arms as if to quiet a noisy crowd. "I know you weren't expecting the great Fleet Captain Garth. But I have some things to say. The Klingons started this war. And why? Because they want our popsicles. But Miami will never surrender! And that's why we all stand together: Andorians, Scientologists, Vegans. Even the Garfields. But the war didn't take our sporks away. We did that to ourselves! Why? Popcorn with ninja pants."
He began to pace around the room. "Some of you blame these Vulcans for what happened to the starship Flashdance," he slurred, swinging his arm in the general direction of a table of Kzinti. "Well, they were following my orders! Because of their sacrifice, the balloon animals went free! This is a war. And that's why we have spatulas."
He stopped and spread his arms out. "Sacrifice. Victory. Honor. Titty sprinkles." He staggered to the door, then turned and looked over his shoulder. "I changed a few lives tonight. Some of you will be Starfleet's next Top Chef. Or maybe a giraffe Admiral." He walked out the door, and it swung shut behind him.
"They say he used to be a volleyball coach," Phil said, responding to Lee's unspoken question. "Then he fell for one of those Denebian 'male enhancement' schemes."
"The one that leaves you with a manhood the size of a cashew and the IQ of a Pakled?" Lee asked.
"That's the one," Phil affirmed as he finished off his drink. "Now he comes in here a couple times a week and gives some variation of that speech we just heard. Yesterday I saw him screaming at an empty bench in the tube station. Called it 'Carlos' for some reason."
"Poor guy," Lee said. "Why doesn't he get some help?"
"Can't help a guy who won't accept it." Phil replied.
The door swung open again to admit a heavyset man in a pilot's jumpsuit. "Hey Louie," he called out to the bartender. "You might wanna call the cops."
From behind the bar, Louie rolled his eyes. "Lemme guess, 'Fleet Captain Garth' is jackin' off in the alley again?"
"Yep."
Louie signed as he reached for the commpic. "Third time this month. Maybe they'll send him to an offplanet loony bin this time."
WHY WE DRINK: An Axanar©™® Short Story set in the Real Star Trek Universe
The door swung open, and a blast of cold air filled the bar. When Phil saw who it was, he rolled his eyes. "Here we go," he said to the man on his left.
Lee squinted at the newcomer. The man wore what looked to be a disheveled Halloween-costume version of a Starfleet uniform, with a bright-yellow tunic with black accents and a arrowhead-shaped insignia that was just different enough from the Starfleet delta to avoid copyright-infringement claims.
"Who is that guy?" Lee asked.
Phil ignored the question. "Look, whatever you do, don't talk to him or make eye contact. It'll just make the floor show last longer."
The man in the knock-off Starfleet tunic shuffled to the center of the room, then raised his arms as if to quiet a noisy crowd. "I know you weren't expecting the great Fleet Captain Garth. But I have some things to say. The Klingons started this war. And why? Because they want our popsicles. But Miami will never surrender! And that's why we all stand together: Andorians, Scientologists, Vegans. Even the Garfields. But the war didn't take our sporks away. We did that to ourselves! Why? Popcorn with ninja pants."
He began to pace around the room. "Some of you blame these Vulcans for what happened to the starship Flashdance," he slurred, swinging his arm in the general direction of a table of Kzinti. "Well, they were following my orders! Because of their sacrifice, the balloon animals went free! This is a war. And that's why we have spatulas."
He stopped and spread his arms out. "Sacrifice. Victory. Honor. Titty sprinkles." He staggered to the door, then turned and looked over his shoulder. "I changed a few lives tonight. Some of you will be Starfleet's next Top Chef. Or maybe a giraffe Admiral." He walked out the door, and it swung shut behind him.
"They say he used to be a volleyball coach," Phil said, responding to Lee's unspoken question. "Then he fell for one of those Denebian 'male enhancement' schemes."
"The one that leaves you with a manhood the size of a cashew and the IQ of a Pakled?" Lee asked.
"That's the one," Phil affirmed as he finished off his drink. "Now he comes in here a couple times a week and gives some variation of that speech we just heard. Yesterday I saw him screaming at an empty bench in the tube station. Called it 'Carlos' for some reason."
"Poor guy," Lee said. "Why doesn't he get some help?"
"Can't help a guy who won't accept it." Phil replied.
The door swung open again to admit a heavyset man in a pilot's jumpsuit. "Hey Louie," he called out to the bartender. "You might wanna call the cops."
From behind the bar, Louie rolled his eyes. "Lemme guess, 'Fleet Captain Garth' is jackin' off in the alley again?"
"Yep."
Louie signed as he reached for the commpic. "Third time this month. Maybe they'll send him to an offplanet loony bin this time."
I just realized where the undelivered patches went!
they're covering up IP infringement sections of the original script.
they're covering up IP infringement sections of the original script.
"Sacrifice. Victory. Honor. Titty Sprinkles." 
You can't HANDLE the SPRINKLES! 
"But the war didn't take our sporks away." LOL
I, for one, believe that if they take the sporks the war is lost and you might as well surrender.
Life isn't worth living without the sporks.
Life isn't worth living without the sporks.
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