Money tree.
I don't know, man. My pressure suit is a little frayed around the elbows. I don't even know where I left my magnetic boots. We're probably not ready for that, but ... if you insist. Jesus. Ah, hello. Band meeting. Joe's here, that's all I can confirm. No one else wants to go on the record, including Marvin (my personal robot assistant), though he has appeared on at least one of our records, truth be told. (Forgive the double-entendre.) We've been tossing around ideas for generating a little cash, as the Big Green collective has been struggling a bit of late. The obvious remedy would be another tour, probably of the interstellar variety, but as I was saying earlier, our gear is threadbare as hell and we don't even have a line on a spaceship rental. God knows what we would cross that trackless void in this time around. Well, to be sure, the lure of money drives humankind to desperate means. We could probably wrangle a string of marginal gigs between Nept...