Ouch! You dropped that box on my feet, you lumbering oaf!

And if you thought the ice was hostile, picture this. With searing temperatures and soaring levels of CO2 would come torrents of acidic rain and howling hyperhurricanes.

We have the feudal state in the gloomy and Gothic grandeur of Northumberland House; we pass along the Strand, where Jack Cade pursued his brief triumph—the prototype of every popular insurrection unbased on any great principle—sudden, cruel, and useless!

“Mac can drink a whole battalion under a mess hall slop shoot.” … “Get off it, you chickenfucker! Show that hairy ass you call a face or I'll open the slop-shoot and drop in that fucking lipstick! …”