“Dross and baubles!”
Perhaps. Not that there’s much in the way of baubles, except for a compact and bijou planet made entirely from sweetie wrappers.
But there are some monkish mentalists who need a decent kip, a dangerously incontinent tin budgie and a heaving metropolis of eight souls (or eleven if you include the cosmos’s crappiest granddad, his doe-eyed granddaughter and her trigger-happy intended).
Does some semblance of an intellect lie behind the Pirate Captain’s relentless ranting? What’s his kinky nurse-patient role-play all about? And could his garrison of gimp guards even hit a cow’s arse with a banjo?
Listen in as Jim and Martin ponder these questions while also wondering if walking the plank might be preferable to sitting through this again.