In which Spock looks better with a beard, Kirk orders a genocide, and while being the captain isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, it does have its perks.
In which I open a new scotch (Amrut Fusion), we get some preliminary numbers of the arms and armament of the Enterprise, and I try unsuccessfully to convince you that the Borg are involved.
In which a god-like being isn’t bothering with pretense and that’s refreshing, Chekov begins the glorious tradition of pretending everything was invented in Russia, and Greek gods are not as entertaining when they go nuts as blue lamp-bound djinni.
In which McCoy has ceased to be a butt monkey, Spock needs cut cut back on the Adderol, and Kirk should really read the instructions before committing to things.
In which I relive a traumatic moviegoing experience, a perfect opportunity to glass a planet is missed, and GOD DAMN IT, MCCOY.
In which McCoy’s break from reality at least has an excuse this time, the part of Spock is played by Richard Dean Anderson, and Kirk is emotionally mature.
In which some weird stuff happens, the evil one doesn’t always have a goatee, and Star Trek fundamentally misrepresents how antimatter works.
In which we meet the gold lamé-wearing Klingons, tensions mount and threaten to turn a cold war hot, and energy beings are always incomperably terrible at maximizing their own utility function.
In which McCoy is an X and not a Y, the true source of 24th century post-scarcity is revealed, and I valiantly resist making AC/DC jokes.
In which Spock loves, McCoy drinks a mint julep, and good old human anger is once again the cure to all mental control effects.