Craig: Whoever invented this stuff must have had stomach trouble; no compassion for his fellow man or his fellow man's bowels! Well, there may come a moment in time when I'll enjoy this.
Fletcher: There may come a moment in time when you'll lick your own foot, as if it were the drumstick of a Thanksgiving turkey! But until it does come to that, buddy, you'll eat what is prescribed to eat! And if you've got tears to shed, you save them for bedtime and weep them into your pillow; don't spray them all over me! It's a waste of time, and it's a waste of effort; it's also dull, and it's tough to live with! Is that clear, Craig?
Craig: Loud, and...
Fletcher: Then dwell on it! And while you're dwelling on it, you might count a few blessings. We don't have much food or water, that's a fact. But we landed in a place where there's oxygen, and we can survive. Plus, we walked away from that crash with hardly a bone out of place. Now, the standing order is as follows: you got any deep-rooted complaints, you jot them down in the ship's log; don't bother me with them! Now, is THAT clear?
Craig: Still loud and, COMMANDER.

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