As the tonsilscape came into clearer view, Agent B saw they were approaching a pocket comparatively as large as a football field.  Agent B took over manual control and steered toward a less formaidable tonsilar site.  At Mission Control monitors noted his heart beat had increased from a normal 100 to 220.  While Agent B manipulated the control, Agent C called out altitude reading: 750 parsecs, coming down at 23 degrees…700 parsecs, 21 down…400 parsecs, down at nine…Got the shadow out there…75 parsecs, things looking good…lights on…picking up some mucous…30 parsecs, 2 1/2 down…faint shadow…four forward…drifting to the right a little…contact light…O.K.  Engine stop.  As the probes beneath three of the four footpads touched the tonsilar surface, a light flashed on the instrument pane.  The no one heard Agent B’s quiet message, but would soon know his presence: “Mission Control.  Disruptive Base here.  Crud has landed.”

With apologies to Armstrong.  I am on four meds right now and doing my best to not talk.

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