Drop anchor.
Here in the situation room, no one speaks in muted tones. Everything is shouting, all the time, shouting. Oh, the noise! Can't we all just get along? Oh, hi, you-all. Hope everything is well back on Earth. We will see you there soon, I trust, as we appear to be heading in that general direction, assuming Mitch Macaphee's navigational skills have not gone seriously downhill in the last month or so. (We walk by faith, not sight.) Rolling to the end of another outer-limits tour - this one a bit more ad hoc than previous outings, apropos of the severe economic recession back home. Couldn't even afford to brand this tour, and that typically doesn't cost much more than a couple of beers at the local pub. (We quaff them until somebody emits a decent idea... or something a bit less savory.) As you know, Big Green always operates on the cheap, but this time was the worst yet. As someone who's used to dry Soy Slice sandwiches, it took some time getting used to sandwiches mad...