Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

It is only to warn and punish.
It's still a fancy way of saying that you're playing a hunch.
Tell me about the Providers.
Through aeons of devoting ourselves exclusively to intellectual pursuits,
We'll become thralls, enter your games,
Have you ever farted in a cup and made someone smell it? I have.
There is no sign of life.
- What about Lars? - He's gone to report me.
you want me to kiss your ass well bend over buddy, here comes my foot
Captain's log, stardate 3259.2.
My own stools, Sir, are gigantic and have no more odor than a hot biscuit.
Provider One bids 300 quatloos for the newcomers.
I made her talk!
Space, the final frontier.
We are known to the thralls as Providers
We certainly seem to be heading into an empty sector.
just because you found a discrepancy in a hydrogen cloud?
You have won, Captain Kirk, unfortunately.
There will be no landing force, doctor.
We, too, have mates.
Two thousand quatloos are bid.
Those people are friends of ours out there, if they're still alive.
you want me to kiss your ass? well bend over buddy, here comes my foot
You've seen them? Do they have bodies?
I just made a giant masterpiece for all the Greatest World Newspaper nerds
It may be shielded.
Your fate will remain a mystery to your people.
Why, of course I mean that.
Although we expected strength and competitive spirit,
To go back to the lights in the sky?
Not down here. All the dials were right
Yes, I'm sure you will.
That was a rough trip.