Mystery Science Theater 30001988

Doomsday Satellite:
Welcome! You have passed through the first three thresholds of the Isaac Asimov Literary Satellite! Enter the disarm code or enjoy the consequences. Remember, this and all literary works of the last century are the sole property of Isaac Asimov and his many affiliates. Thank you for intruding, you have five seconds.

Crow T. Robot:
Quick Joel, cut EVERY wire!

Joel:
It's not gonna work, it needs an access code.

Tom Servo:
Try ego!

Crow T. Robot:
Sideburns!

Joel:
I'll try "I, Robot."

Doomsday Satellite:
[buzz] I'm sorry, the correct entry would have been "copyright" you now have six nanoseconds to realize the consequences.

Joel, Tom Servo, Crow T. Robot:
[there is a cloud of smoke, when it clears Joel and the bots are babbling and have sideburns - they stop] Huh?

Joel:
This cockamamie satellite's turned us all into duplicate Isaac Asimovs!

Crow T. Robot:
Hey, do you think it's a conspiracy?

Tom Servo:
Oh, no, I covered the conspiracy topic in my ten-volume history of assassinations and coups!

Joel:
This is TERRIBLE guys.

Crow T. Robot:
Oh, I don't know, at least now I'll have something to write about. You know, I've been thinking about annotating the Manhattan phone directory.

Tom Servo:
Oh, look, it's Commercial Sign. That'll fit nicely into my volume on the effects of advertising on the human psyche.