Try reversing the cabin pressure. That’s right – send it all out into the void of space. Oh, wait… we probably need the oxygen, don’t we. Scratch that. I said SCRATCH IT! NOOOOOO….!!
Oh, hi. Wow, THIS is embarrassing. Didn’t know anyone was listening/reading. I was just having a heated word with our navigator, the man-sized tuber. (Yes, that’s right – we have a plant for a navigator.) Got a little technical issue that needs some attention, that’s all. Wouldn’t want you to think that Big Green is hard on the help – no, sir… we treat them like KINGS. Emperors, really… especially the cruciferous ones like Tubey. He needs a little extra consideration, given his mobility problems. (Though the cart has helped these past few years, I must admit.) Don’t want to sound like I’m hyper-critical, but occasionally tempers wear a little thin in the vacuum of space, especially when you have some kind of deadly space virus loose in your vehicle, and the only thing your navigator can think of doing is EVACUATING THE CREW CABIN OF ALL ARTIFICIAL ATMOSPHERE. And while that may sound like a pretty good idea, there are a few problems with it. I won’t elaborate.
Well, anyway… how did we get here? Last you heard we were on Neptune. That didn’t work out so well, actually. Funny story. Our perennial sit-in guitarist sFshzenKlyrn went through the considerable trouble of entertaining the Neptunians while we were caught up in the time vortex (kind of a long, not-so-funny story), and by the time we arrived, they had had about enough of us. We ran through a few numbers – Why Not Call It George?, Quality Lincoln, Volcano Man, Ask For Leave, and a couple of others, but it was no good. Now, 
I’ve always said the Neptunian principal landmass audience is the greatest audience on the planet. (Actually, I’ve never said that, but I may start saying it from now on.) And I don’t want to start calling them out now. But those fuckers hold a grudge, to be sure. Their ears still ringing from sFshzenKlyrn’s extended shred-fest, they decided to take it out on us. And now mine are ringing too… ’cause they’re saying nasty shit about us.
Not only that, they appear to have loosed a rare virus on us as we were leaving their planet in something of a hurry. I call it “deadly”, but it’s really a bit more benign than that – 
which is to say, it only makes you wish you’d drop dead. I won’t elaborate, but man… I will say those Neptunians are damned vindictive. I mean, they could have tossed a celluloid stink bomb in the cabin as we were lifting off, or perhaps some kind of annoying noisemaker… maybe burdened us with one of their least favorite prison detainees (or stand-up comics, which would be worse). They might have hired a clown, for chrissake – anything but biological warfare. Cheese and crackers – that sFshzenKlyrn solo must have been lame as well as long. In any case, the somewhat reckless tactic of evacuating all of our breathable air seems to have worked like a charm. Now, as we head for our next destination, all of us are holding our breath. Not in anticipation, you understand. Simply because THERE’S NO AIR.
Never leave to a plant what should be done by a human. Or a Zenite. What the hell – back to rehearsal with us!
