A Critical Review of Star Trek: Enterprise

While I tend to fill this blogamabob with random tales from my past - in preparation for my eventual memoir - something has bothered me lately.

In the insufferable, and sometimes hallucinatory, interviews I conducted while filming The Captains, Scott Dracula (a ridiculous stage name, and I've heard some doozies) stated that he wasn't sure why Enterprise didn't quite pass the mustard.

I decided to review the series myself. I felt I owed it to my fans, and to curious Quantum Leap nerds trying to decide if there is anything else worth devoting their time to.

The Vulcan
I consider myself a sommelier of women. And while this one appeared to have all the right parts in the right places, I just couldn't get behind her. She seemed to be in an epic battle with her teeth, her lips, and her tits, and in the process could barely perform.

The Oriental girl was okay. I'd hit it.

The Engineer
This guy had the right attitude. Knock some heads together, get your rocks off, and hunt down some goddamned steak and potatoes. I liked him. However, I wasn't wild about the way he talked to the Captain. But he can be forgiven, as I explain below.

The Captain
Now, generally, I like Scott. Nice guy. A little too nice. Unfortunately, inappropriate for a Captain.

When he got mad, I didn't give a shit.

When he got sentimental, I wanted to slap him.

That's not the way to motivate a crew. You have to grab them by the collar of their stupid red uniform, slam them up against a bulkhead, and remind them this isn't Pussy Academy, or their mother's walk-in closet. When you're deep in the shit, there's no time to argue.

The one exception? There is always time for a long, moral diatribe, aching with gravitas. And it must involve the shaking of fists, graceful leaping, and finger-jabbing. This, I have learned, stirs the loins of the crew like nothing else.

That Goddamned Theme Song
Historically, Star Trek themes have been an orchestral orgy of samba and martial music, evoking a strong desire to seek mystery, explore the unknown, or, failing that, grind one's privates against the nearest piece of furniture. Don't mess with success, people.

I'm not sure what prompted these boneheads to craft this excruciating ballad, but I'm positive there is a set of headphones in Hell playing it right now. I can only liken it to Bruce Springsteen asking a nurse out to dinner while a rectal polyp is being removed. Or possibly Rod Stewart swallowing Linda Rondstadt whole and choking on her hoop earrings.

The song is cloying, overly sentimental, and reeks of stale beer and ammonia. I actually had the entire series edited without the opening sequence or credits, so I could watch them without my bowels letting an Olympic luge team slip out. While I can afford to shit myself every episode, it annoys the staff.

Summary

Live long, and don't suck.
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