If you've been holding your breath in excited anticipation since last week's conclusion of WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER, Part I . . . well, you're probably dead, but I admire your dedication and appreciate your single-minded pursuit of a reckless and unattainable goal. Hell, if you can keep up that sort of attitude, there is certainly a position available to you in the Bush administration.
Before you drink your Grover Norquist-flavored Kool-Aid and pack your bags for Washington, though, you may want to exhale (er, after you come back from the dead, that is) and read WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER, Part II:
I walked into the stage, and took my seat at the conn, next to Brent Spiner.In all seriousness, I know I'm not the best holophoner player in the world, and my Robot Devil hands are currently working on another project; if you were waiting to find out how the whole thing ends, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait.
"I heard about Shatner," Brent said.
Jesus, was this on the news or something?
"Yeah," I said.
"You know he wears a toupee, right?"
I giggled. "No, I didn't know that."
"Yep. He's balder than old baldy up there." He tossed a gold thumb over his shoulder at Patrick.
I giggled some more, as the stored up adrenaline coursed through my veins. "Boy, that's pretty bald."
"Yep." Brent put his hands up on his console.
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