Unfortunately, Jesus had purchased the wrong ammunition when he made his last visit to his neighborhood hunting supplies store, a fact he found out when his first shot jammed in the chamber, and his second blew a hole in the barrel, making it utterly useless.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered to himself.
Just then Ruth Buzzi and Al Gore emerged from the shadows and serreptitiously approached Elvis from behind, alerting Sam and causing him to mutter under his breath, “I wish I had a hand grenade right about now.”
The Gray Leader repeated, somewhat more loudly, “Gort! Klatu birada nicto! Gort, yoo-hoo, Gort!” and whispered to one of his minions, “Where big silver robot?”
“Still in the shop,” the minion whispered back.
Timmy, being the huge Star Trek fan that he is, replied; “I know what he’s saying, he’s speaking in reverse Klingon with a Vulcan slang and what he said was; “Doing sit-ups under parked cars will make you talk like this.” I think.”
“What we try now, Your Unutterableness?” asked the nervous minion, to which the Leader replied, “Scarum with Star Trek,” slapped his chest and exclaimed, “OW! Beam me up!”
In orbit far overhead, Scotty muttered to Mr. Kyle in the Enterprise’s transporter room, “Ye’ll nae believe some o’ the readings I’m gettin’, lad.”
Mr. Kyle checked Scotty very carefully for facial hair before he replied, “I believe we are only a literary reference in this thread, Mr. Scott.”
“Buh whit eef weer not?” replied the Scott.
Dr. McCoy burst into the room, shouting, “Dammit, Scotty, the lawyers will never allow it!”
The giant squid squirted morosely about the terminal, wondering just what the hell he was doing there and when the hell he’d be getting back to the briny deeps where he belonged, when suddenly a strange feeling took hold of him, his atoms dissolved in a humming haze, and…
“Oh, whale shit, now what?” he thought as he found himself materializing on a large platform facing some sort of podium with some shocked-looking humans behind it, staring at him.
Meanwhile, back at the Atlantian airport, Timmy, not realizing that Sam had disguised himself as a pool table…no, strike that, one must have some principles…Sam was beginning to wonder if the gray aliens were all bark and no bite.
“I could really go for a Fudge pop right about now, and a commode of some sort…”
Sam said, as he bagan to feel the effects of the negative atmospheres coupled with his mild case of low blood sugar, “and where the hell did Bert and Ernie go?”
“Kirk, my old friend!” Hissed the Gray Leader, "He screwed my sister! I am so going to anal probe him!
“Promises, promises,” Kirk said, rolling his eyes.
Having enough of this underwater affair, Mrs Buzzi taking out her frustrations on the nearest person, wound up her swinngin’ arm and clobbered the shit out of ‘Elvis’, nailing him square on the back of the head causing his mask to fall off, revealing the real person under the mask as…
Vice President (and unindicted Libby coconspirator) Dick Cheney, much to the surprise of all.
“So how did your round of Iraqi-orphan-skull-knawing golf go Mr. Vice President?”
Al Gore hesitantly pondered.
“Oh Hell!” wailed the Gray Leader, “Get the Extra Large, Super Dooper, Economy Sized probe. This one is going to be a bitch!”