The curtain is drawn. The stage is dark. A spot light… A familiar face…
To be, or not to be in the movie--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fanwank
Or to take arms against a sea of fan rage
And by opposing end them. To die as Kirk, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural posts on the BBS
That Shatner-bashing is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to cameo: ay, there's the rub,
For in that alternate universe what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil in a far lesser film,
Must give us pause. There's the respect (and paycheck)
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' Berman's wrong, the Abram's contumely
The pangs of despised fan love, the contract’s delay,
The insolence of Trekkie conventions, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy take after take after take
(who does this director think he is?),
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare phaser? Who would fardels bear,
Nimoy? Not likely,
To grunt and sweat under an actor’s life,
But that the dread of something after character death,
The undiscovered country, (a great title for a trek film by the way) from whose bourn
No trekker (get it?) returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make Trekkies of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise (real line) of great pitch and moment (seatbelts!)
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action (not a good business decision). -- Soft you now,
The fair Rand! -- Nympho, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
To be, or not to be in the movie--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fanwank
Or to take arms against a sea of fan rage
And by opposing end them. To die as Kirk, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural posts on the BBS
That Shatner-bashing is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to cameo: ay, there's the rub,
For in that alternate universe what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil in a far lesser film,
Must give us pause. There's the respect (and paycheck)
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' Berman's wrong, the Abram's contumely
The pangs of despised fan love, the contract’s delay,
The insolence of Trekkie conventions, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy take after take after take
(who does this director think he is?),
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare phaser? Who would fardels bear,
Nimoy? Not likely,
To grunt and sweat under an actor’s life,
But that the dread of something after character death,
The undiscovered country, (a great title for a trek film by the way) from whose bourn
No trekker (get it?) returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make Trekkies of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise (real line) of great pitch and moment (seatbelts!)
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action (not a good business decision). -- Soft you now,
The fair Rand! -- Nympho, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
