MichaelOrme/Profane · Datasets at Hugging Face

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I like you. That's the thing about my psychic thing. I think that's my greatest psychic power, that I get a sense about people. My problem is I never trust it. But I get it. And with you I get that you're a really good guy.	Thanks.
Thanks.	And, anyway, you sell yourself short. I can tell. There's a lot of stuff going on in your brain. I can tell. My goal... can I tell you my goal?
And, anyway, you sell yourself short. I can tell. There's a lot of stuff going on in your brain. I can tell. My goal... can I tell you my goal?	Yeah.
Yeah.	What's the goal, Joel? My goal, Joel, is to just let it flow through me? Do you know what I mean? It's like, there's all these emotions and ideas and they come quick and they change and they leave and they come back in a different form and I think we're all taught we should be consistent. Y'know? You love someone -- that's it. Forever. You choose to do something with your life -- that's it, that's what you do. It's a sign of maturity to stick with that and see things through. And my feeling is that's how you die, because you stop listening to what is true, and what is true is constantly changing. You know?
What's the goal, Joel? My goal, Joel, is to just let it flow through me? Do you know what I mean? It's like, there's all these emotions and ideas and they come quick and they change and they leave and they come back in a different form and I think we're all taught we should be consistent. Y'know? You love someone -- that's it. Forever. You choose to do something with your life -- that's it, that's what you do. It's a sign of maturity to stick with that and see things through. And my feeling is that's how you die, because you stop listening to what is true, and what is true is constantly changing. You know?	Yeah. I think so. It's hard to --
Yeah. I think so. It's hard to --	Like I wanted to talk to you. I didn't need any more reason to do it. Who knows what bigger cosmic reason might exist?
Like I wanted to talk to you. I didn't need any more reason to do it. Who knows what bigger cosmic reason might exist?	Yeah.
Yeah.	You're very nice. God, I have to stop saying that. You're nervous around me, huh?
You're very nice. God, I have to stop saying that. You're nervous around me, huh?	No.
No.	I'm nervous. You don't need to be nervous around me, though. I like you. Do you think I'm repulsively fat?
I'm nervous. You don't need to be nervous around me, though. I like you. Do you think I'm repulsively fat?	No, not at all.
No, not at all.	I don't either. I used to. But I'm through with that. Y'know, if I don't love my body, then I'm just lost. You know? With all the wrinkles and scars and the general falling apart that's coming 'round the bend. So, I've been seeing this guy...
I can't believe you wrecked my car. You're driving drunk. It's pathetic.	...a little. I was a little tipsy. Don't call me pathetic.
...a little. I was a little tipsy. Don't call me pathetic.	Well it is pathetic. And fucking irresponsible. You could've killed somebody.
I don't know, maybe you did kill somebody.	Oh Christ I didn't kill anybody. It's just a fucking dent. You're like some old lady or something.
A wino? Jesus, Are you from the fifties? A wino! Face it, Joel. You're freaked out because I was out late without you, and in your little wormy brain, you're trying to figure out, did she fuck someone tonight?	No, see, Clem, I assume you fucked someone tonight. Isn't that how you get people to like you?
Oh shit. I remember this. Want to go?	I want to have a baby.
I want to have a baby.	Let's talk about it later.
Let's talk about it later.	No. I want to have a baby. I have to have a baby.
No. I want to have a baby. I have to have a baby.	I don't think we're ready.
I don't think we're ready.	You're not ready.
You're not ready.	Clementine, do you really think you could take care of a kid?
What?!	I don't want to talk about this here.
I don't want to talk about this here.	Joel, We're fucking gonna talk about it!
You don't tell me things, Joel. I'm an open book. I tell you everything. Every damn embarrassing thing. You don't trust me.	No, it isn't that.
No, it isn't that.	I want to know you.
I want to know you.	I just don't have anything very interesting about my life.
I just don't have anything very interesting about my life.	Joel, you're a liar.
Look at you, cutey! What are we doing?	This kid, Joe Early, is going to beat the shit out of me.
Listen, did you want to make love?	Make love?
Make love?	Have sex. Y'know --
Have sex. Y'know --	Oh, um...
Oh, um...	Because I just am not drunk enough or stoned enough to make that happen right now.
Because I just am not drunk enough or stoned enough to make that happen right now.	That's okay. I --
That's okay. I --	I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that. This seems like the perfect romantic exotic place to do it and --
I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that. This seems like the perfect romantic exotic place to do it and --	Hey, Joel --
Hey, Joel --	-- and I'm just too nervous around you right now.
-- and I'm just too nervous around you right now.	I'm nervous, too.
I'm nervous, too.	Yeah? I wouldn't have thought that.
Yeah? I wouldn't have thought that.	Well, you obviously don't know me.
Well, you obviously don't know me.	I'm nervous because I have and enormous crush on you.
Says you were closed off, non communicative, never told me what you were feeling.	Says you were a bully...
Says you were a bully...	A bully? Moi?
A bully? Moi?	That's what it says. You drank too much, you picked on me for being passive and timid.
That's what it says. You drank too much, you picked on me for being passive and timid.	Well, sounds like me. Sorry, man. Says you were jealous and suspicious.
Well, sounds like me. Sorry, man. Says you were jealous and suspicious.	Says you would sometimes disappear all night, then brag to me about your sexual conquests.
Says you would sometimes disappear all night, then brag to me about your sexual conquests.	Did I use the term "sexual conquests" or is that your way of putting it.
Did I use the term "sexual conquests" or is that your way of putting it.	I don't know.
I don't know.	Doesn't sound like me.
Doesn't sound like me.	Says you were a slob, leaving trails of panties and dirty socks in your wake.
Says you were a slob, leaving trails of panties and dirty socks in your wake.	Says you were constantly calling me a slob. It's sexy that we were like a married couple, griping and overly-familiar and bored. Don't you think?
Says you were constantly calling me a slob. It's sexy that we were like a married couple, griping and overly-familiar and bored. Don't you think?	I sort of do. But I only see it as a fantasy version of reality. Cleaned up enough to be erotic.
I sort of do. But I only see it as a fantasy version of reality. Cleaned up enough to be erotic.	We should have sex. It's old hat for us.
Hi, it's Joel.	Hey, lover. Whatcha doing?
Hey, lover. Whatcha doing?	I'm just, y'know, passing the time best I can till I can see you.
I'm just, y'know, passing the time best I can till I can see you.	God, I can't believe I ever hated you.
God, I can't believe I ever hated you.	You must have been crazy.
You must have been crazy.	Guess what I'm wearing.
Guess what I'm wearing.	I don't know. Panties and --
I don't know. Panties and --	Your dried cum.
Your dried cum.	Jesus.
Gotta get home. How could she do this to me? How could she not care about what we meant to each other. What a fuck! What a fucking monster she is!	Oh, God. I miss her. I can't believe she's with that guy now! I'm never going to see her again. I love her so much. What a fucking monster she is!
Naomi.	On the couch. Dark. Quiet. I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. I almost reached for the phone about a thousand times. I thought I could take it back, erase it, explain I had momentarily lost my mind. Then I told myself we weren't happy. That was the truth. That what we were was safe. It was unfair to you and to me to stay in a relationship for that reason. I thought about Clementine and the spark when I was with her, but then I thought what you and I had was real and adult and therefore significant even if it wasn't much fun. But I wanted fun. I saw other people having fun and I wanted it. Then I thought fun is a lie, that no one is really having fun; I'm being suckered by advertising and movie bullshit... then I thought maybe not, maybe not. And then I thought, as I always do at this point in my argument, about dying.
There's another one I like, I read. It's by Pope Alexander.	Alexander Pope?
Alexander Pope?	Yes, shit. Oops, sorry! Sorry. It's just I told myself I wasn't going to say Pope Alexander and sound like a dope and then I go ahead and do it. Like I psyched myself out.
Yes, shit. Oops, sorry! Sorry. It's just I told myself I wasn't going to say Pope Alexander and sound like a dope and then I go ahead and do it. Like I psyched myself out.	It's no big deal.
It's no big deal.	You are such a sweetheart.
Thanks. So... do we talk about this... or what?	I don't know what I'm supposed say, Mary. I want to do the right thing here.
I don't know what I'm supposed say, Mary. I want to do the right thing here.	Do you love me? Did you love me? Something. I listened to my tape. I can't believe I've been sitting right in front of it for a year. It's like listening to someone else's story. I mean, I hear myself talking about having sex with you and I can't even imagine you naked. I can't even say "naked" to you!
Do you love me? Did you love me? Something. I listened to my tape. I can't believe I've been sitting right in front of it for a year. It's like listening to someone else's story. I mean, I hear myself talking about having sex with you and I can't even imagine you naked. I can't even say "naked" to you!	I have a family, Mary.
I have a family, Mary.	You made me have an abortion.
You made me have an abortion.	It was a mutual decision.
It was a mutual decision.	You made me have you erased! I loved you. I love you! How could you --
You made me have you erased! I loved you. I love you! How could you --	I didn't make you. You thought it best. But, look, I take full responsibility.
The Food and Drug Administration said Wednesday female deodorant sprays may cause such harmful reactions as blisters, burns and rashes. Although the FDA judges that the reported reactions are not sufficient to justify removal of these products from the market, they are sufficient to warrant the proposed mandatory label warnings.	Shit O dear, that's enough to make me asthmatic. The nerve of those twits. What do they know about female odor? Don't interrupt. Here's my concept. My ranch out West? It's a beauty ranch. Oh, it's got a few head of cattle for atmosphere and tax purposes. But it's a beauty ranch, a place where unhappy women -- divorcees and widows, mainly -- can go to lose weight, remove wrinkles, change their hair styles and pretty themselves up for the next disappointment. My ranch is named the Rubber Rose, after the Rubber Rose douche bag, my own invention, and bless its little red bladder, the most popular douche bag in the world. So get this. It's on the migratory flight path of the whooping cranes. The last flock of wild whooping cranes left in existence. Well, these cranes stop off at my little pond -- Siwash Lake, it's called -- twice a year, autumn and spring, and spend a few days each time, resting up, eating, doing whatever whooping cranes do. I've never seen them, understand, but I hear they're magnificent. Very big specimens -- I mean, huge mothers -- and white as snow, to coin a phrase, except for black tips on their wings and tail feathers, and bright red heads. Now, whooping cranes, in case you didn't know it, are noted for their mating dance. It's just the wildest show in nature. It's probably the reason why birdwatching used to be so popular with old maids and deacons. Picture these rare, beautiful, gigantic birds in full dance -- leaping six feet off the mud, arching their backs, flapping their wings, strutting low to the ground. Dears, it's overwhelming. And picture the birds doing their sex dance on TV. Right there on the home screen, creation's most elaborate sex ritual -- yet clean and pure enough to suit the Pope. With lovely Sissy Hankshaw in the foreground. In a white gown, red hood attached, and big feathery sleeves trimmed in black. In a very subdued imitation of the female whooping crane, she dance/walks over to a large nest in which there sits a can of Yoni Yum. And a can of Dew. Off-camera, a string quartet is playing Debussy. A sensuous voice is reading a few poetic lines about courtship and love. Are you starting to get it? Doesn't it make the hair on your neck stand up and applaud? My very goodness gracious! Grandiose, lyrical, erotic and Girl Scout- oriented; you can't top it. I've hired a crew of experts from Walt Disney Studios, the best wildlife cinematographers around. You're my eternal favorite. Princess Grace herself couldn't be better, not even if she had your personality which she doesn't; Anyway, dear, I'm out of photography now and into water colors. Ah how circuitous conversation is! We're back at the beginning. The exact man I've wanted you to meet is my artist the watercolorist.
If you don't want me to pose for him, why do you want me to meet him?	Purely personal. I believe you might enjoy one another.
Purely personal. I believe you might enjoy one another.	But Countess...
But Countess...	Now, now. Don't get exasperated. I realize that you've always avoided all but the most rudimentary involvements with men, and I might add, you've been wise. Heterosexual relationships seem to lead only to marriage. For men, marriage is a matter of efficient logistics: The male gets his food, bed, laundry, TV, pussy, offspring and creature comforts all under one roof, where he doesn't have to dissipate his psychic energy thinking about them too much, then he is free to go out and fight the battles of life, which is what existence is all about. But for a woman marriage is surrender.
Holy shit...	Justin?
Justin?	I think I found something...
Okay, listen up. As you all know by now, we have an addition to our crew. Dr. Weir, this is: Starck, navigation; Smith, pilot, Justin, ship's engineer --	You can call him Baby-bear, he loves that...
You can call him Baby-bear, he loves that...	This is Cooper, what the hell do you do on this ship, anyway?
You're not seriously considering sending him?	You don't just dismiss Bill Weir. The man held Oppenheimer's chair at Princeton. If the Event Horizon had worked, he would have gone down in history as the greatest mind in physics since Einstein.
You don't just dismiss Bill Weir. The man held Oppenheimer's chair at Princeton. If the Event Horizon had worked, he would have gone down in history as the greatest mind in physics since Einstein.	The official inquiry blamed Weir's design for the ship's loss.
The official inquiry blamed Weir's design for the ship's loss.	That doesn't mean a damn thing. They were looking for a scapegoat and Weir fit the bill. But he's not responsible for what happened to the ship.
That doesn't mean a damn thing. They were looking for a scapegoat and Weir fit the bill. But he's not responsible for what happened to the ship.	Does he know that?
Does he know that?	What's on your mind?
What's on your mind?	He doesn't belong on this mission. Responsible or not, he blames himself. He's too close to it. And then there's his wife.
He doesn't belong on this mission. Responsible or not, he blames himself. He's too close to it. And then there's his wife.	It's been two years since she died. He's over it.
It's been two years since she died. He's over it.	Some things you don't get over.
I want this room sealed. The Second Containment is off limits.	There's no danger. The black hole is contained behind three magnetic fields, it's under control.
There's no danger. The black hole is contained behind three magnetic fields, it's under control.	Your black hole damn near ripped my ship apart. It may have killed one of my men. No one goes near that thing.
What the hell is that? Dr. Weir?	I don't know.
I told you... She won't let you leave...	Son of a bitch!
Weir is dead.	Then who the fuck are you?
Then who the fuck are you?	Your fear. Do you remember the Goliath, Miller?
You can't have them. Go to hell.	NOOO!
You've got to listen...	To what? What are you saying? This ship is alive?
To what? What are you saying? This ship is alive?	I didn't say that, I said the bio- readings correspond to what happened to you, the ship is reacting to us...
I didn't say that, I said the bio- readings correspond to what happened to you, the ship is reacting to us...	We're hanging on by our fingernails and you're giving me bullshit stories...

I like you. That's the thing about my psychic thing. I think that's my greatest psychic power, that I get a sense about people. My problem is I never trust it. But I get it. And with you I get that you're a really good guy.

Thanks.

And, anyway, you sell yourself short. I can tell. There's a lot of stuff going on in your brain. I can tell. My goal... can I tell you my goal?

Yeah.

What's the goal, Joel? My goal, Joel, is to just let it flow through me? Do you know what I mean? It's like, there's all these emotions and ideas and they come quick and they change and they leave and they come back in a different form and I think we're all taught we should be consistent. Y'know? You love someone -- that's it. Forever. You choose to do something with your life -- that's it, that's what you do. It's a sign of maturity to stick with that and see things through. And my feeling is that's how you die, because you stop listening to what is true, and what is true is constantly changing. You know?

Yeah. I think so. It's hard to --

Like I wanted to talk to you. I didn't need any more reason to do it. Who knows what bigger cosmic reason might exist?

Yeah.

You're very nice. God, I have to stop saying that. You're nervous around me, huh?

No.

I'm nervous. You don't need to be nervous around me, though. I like you. Do you think I'm repulsively fat?

No, not at all.

I don't either. I used to. But I'm through with that. Y'know, if I don't love my body, then I'm just lost. You know? With all the wrinkles and scars and the general falling apart that's coming 'round the bend. So, I've been seeing this guy...

I can't believe you wrecked my car. You're driving drunk. It's pathetic.

...a little. I was a little tipsy. Don't call me pathetic.

Well it is pathetic. And fucking irresponsible. You could've killed somebody.

I don't know, maybe you did kill somebody.

Oh Christ I didn't kill anybody. It's just a fucking dent. You're like some old lady or something.

A wino? Jesus, Are you from the fifties? A wino! Face it, Joel. You're freaked out because I was out late without you, and in your little wormy brain, you're trying to figure out, did she fuck someone tonight?

No, see, Clem, I assume you fucked someone tonight. Isn't that how you get people to like you?

Oh shit. I remember this. Want to go?

I want to have a baby.

Let's talk about it later.

No. I want to have a baby. I have to have a baby.

I don't think we're ready.

You're not ready.

Clementine, do you really think you could take care of a kid?

What?!

I don't want to talk about this here.

Joel, We're fucking gonna talk about it!

You don't tell me things, Joel. I'm an open book. I tell you everything. Every damn embarrassing thing. You don't trust me.

No, it isn't that.

I want to know you.

I just don't have anything very interesting about my life.

Joel, you're a liar.

Look at you, cutey! What are we doing?

This kid, Joe Early, is going to beat the shit out of me.

Listen, did you want to make love?

Make love?

Have sex. Y'know --

Oh, um...

Because I just am not drunk enough or stoned enough to make that happen right now.

That's okay. I --

I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that. This seems like the perfect romantic exotic place to do it and --

Hey, Joel --

-- and I'm just too nervous around you right now.

I'm nervous, too.

Yeah? I wouldn't have thought that.

Well, you obviously don't know me.

I'm nervous because I have and enormous crush on you.

Says you were closed off, non communicative, never told me what you were feeling.

Says you were a bully...

A bully? Moi?

That's what it says. You drank too much, you picked on me for being passive and timid.

Well, sounds like me. Sorry, man. Says you were jealous and suspicious.

Says you would sometimes disappear all night, then brag to me about your sexual conquests.

Did I use the term "sexual conquests" or is that your way of putting it.

I don't know.

Doesn't sound like me.

Says you were a slob, leaving trails of panties and dirty socks in your wake.

Says you were constantly calling me a slob. It's sexy that we were like a married couple, griping and overly-familiar and bored. Don't you think?

I sort of do. But I only see it as a fantasy version of reality. Cleaned up enough to be erotic.

We should have sex. It's old hat for us.

Hi, it's Joel.

Hey, lover. Whatcha doing?

I'm just, y'know, passing the time best I can till I can see you.

God, I can't believe I ever hated you.

You must have been crazy.

Guess what I'm wearing.

I don't know. Panties and --

Your dried cum.

Jesus.

Gotta get home. How could she do this to me? How could she not care about what we meant to each other. What a fuck! What a fucking monster she is!

Oh, God. I miss her. I can't believe she's with that guy now! I'm never going to see her again. I love her so much. What a fucking monster she is!

Naomi.

On the couch. Dark. Quiet. I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. I almost reached for the phone about a thousand times. I thought I could take it back, erase it, explain I had momentarily lost my mind. Then I told myself we weren't happy. That was the truth. That what we were was safe. It was unfair to you and to me to stay in a relationship for that reason. I thought about Clementine and the spark when I was with her, but then I thought what you and I had was real and adult and therefore significant even if it wasn't much fun. But I wanted fun. I saw other people having fun and I wanted it. Then I thought fun is a lie, that no one is really having fun; I'm being suckered by advertising and movie bullshit... then I thought maybe not, maybe not. And then I thought, as I always do at this point in my argument, about dying.

There's another one I like, I read. It's by Pope Alexander.

Alexander Pope?

Yes, shit. Oops, sorry! Sorry. It's just I told myself I wasn't going to say Pope Alexander and sound like a dope and then I go ahead and do it. Like I psyched myself out.

It's no big deal.

You are such a sweetheart.

Thanks. So... do we talk about this... or what?

I don't know what I'm supposed say, Mary. I want to do the right thing here.

Do you love me? Did you love me? Something. I listened to my tape. I can't believe I've been sitting right in front of it for a year. It's like listening to someone else's story. I mean, I hear myself talking about having sex with you and I can't even imagine you naked. I can't even say "naked" to you!

I have a family, Mary.

You made me have an abortion.

It was a mutual decision.

You made me have you erased! I loved you. I love you! How could you --

I didn't make you. You thought it best. But, look, I take full responsibility.

The Food and Drug Administration said Wednesday female deodorant sprays may cause such harmful reactions as blisters, burns and rashes. Although the FDA judges that the reported reactions are not sufficient to justify removal of these products from the market, they are sufficient to warrant the proposed mandatory label warnings.

Shit O dear, that's enough to make me asthmatic. The nerve of those twits. What do they know about female odor? Don't interrupt. Here's my concept. My ranch out West? It's a beauty ranch. Oh, it's got a few head of cattle for atmosphere and tax purposes. But it's a beauty ranch, a place where unhappy women -- divorcees and widows, mainly -- can go to lose weight, remove wrinkles, change their hair styles and pretty themselves up for the next disappointment. My ranch is named the Rubber Rose, after the Rubber Rose douche bag, my own invention, and bless its little red bladder, the most popular douche bag in the world. So get this. It's on the migratory flight path of the whooping cranes. The last flock of wild whooping cranes left in existence. Well, these cranes stop off at my little pond -- Siwash Lake, it's called -- twice a year, autumn and spring, and spend a few days each time, resting up, eating, doing whatever whooping cranes do. I've never seen them, understand, but I hear they're magnificent. Very big specimens -- I mean, huge mothers -- and white as snow, to coin a phrase, except for black tips on their wings and tail feathers, and bright red heads. Now, whooping cranes, in case you didn't know it, are noted for their mating dance. It's just the wildest show in nature. It's probably the reason why birdwatching used to be so popular with old maids and deacons. Picture these rare, beautiful, gigantic birds in full dance -- leaping six feet off the mud, arching their backs, flapping their wings, strutting low to the ground. Dears, it's overwhelming. And picture the birds doing their sex dance on TV. Right there on the home screen, creation's most elaborate sex ritual -- yet clean and pure enough to suit the Pope. With lovely Sissy Hankshaw in the foreground. In a white gown, red hood attached, and big feathery sleeves trimmed in black. In a very subdued imitation of the female whooping crane, she dance/walks over to a large nest in which there sits a can of Yoni Yum. And a can of Dew. Off-camera, a string quartet is playing Debussy. A sensuous voice is reading a few poetic lines about courtship and love. Are you starting to get it? Doesn't it make the hair on your neck stand up and applaud? My very goodness gracious! Grandiose, lyrical, erotic and Girl Scout- oriented; you can't top it. I've hired a crew of experts from Walt Disney Studios, the best wildlife cinematographers around. You're my eternal favorite. Princess Grace herself couldn't be better, not even if she had your personality which she doesn't; Anyway, dear, I'm out of photography now and into water colors. Ah how circuitous conversation is! We're back at the beginning. The exact man I've wanted you to meet is my artist the watercolorist.

If you don't want me to pose for him, why do you want me to meet him?

Purely personal. I believe you might enjoy one another.

But Countess...

Now, now. Don't get exasperated. I realize that you've always avoided all but the most rudimentary involvements with men, and I might add, you've been wise. Heterosexual relationships seem to lead only to marriage. For men, marriage is a matter of efficient logistics: The male gets his food, bed, laundry, TV, pussy, offspring and creature comforts all under one roof, where he doesn't have to dissipate his psychic energy thinking about them too much, then he is free to go out and fight the battles of life, which is what existence is all about. But for a woman marriage is surrender.

Holy shit...

Justin?

I think I found something...

Okay, listen up. As you all know by now, we have an addition to our crew. Dr. Weir, this is: Starck, navigation; Smith, pilot, Justin, ship's engineer --

You can call him Baby-bear, he loves that...

This is Cooper, what the hell do you do on this ship, anyway?

You're not seriously considering sending him?

You don't just dismiss Bill Weir. The man held Oppenheimer's chair at Princeton. If the Event Horizon had worked, he would have gone down in history as the greatest mind in physics since Einstein.

The official inquiry blamed Weir's design for the ship's loss.

That doesn't mean a damn thing. They were looking for a scapegoat and Weir fit the bill. But he's not responsible for what happened to the ship.

Does he know that?

What's on your mind?

He doesn't belong on this mission. Responsible or not, he blames himself. He's too close to it. And then there's his wife.

It's been two years since she died. He's over it.

Some things you don't get over.

I want this room sealed. The Second Containment is off limits.

There's no danger. The black hole is contained behind three magnetic fields, it's under control.

Your black hole damn near ripped my ship apart. It may have killed one of my men. No one goes near that thing.

What the hell is that? Dr. Weir?

I don't know.

I told you... She won't let you leave...

Son of a bitch!

Weir is dead.

Then who the fuck are you?

Your fear. Do you remember the Goliath, Miller?

You can't have them. Go to hell.

NOOO!

You've got to listen...

To what? What are you saying? This ship is alive?

I didn't say that, I said the bio- readings correspond to what happened to you, the ship is reacting to us...

We're hanging on by our fingernails and you're giving me bullshit stories...