You're saying I escape the lifetime of pencil pushing to spend the next 50 million light years in a meteor storm?

Oh, I don't think my poor stomach can take it.

There must be another way.

There is another way.

For the love of peanuts, what is it?

The nebula five wormhole. Okay, we're dead.

Nuke, I want you to...

Voice?

Yes, Nuke, my elephant friend.

My name is Bongo Bananas.

Now, I want you to...

Bongo Bananas?

Yes, Nuke, such is my name.

Now, I want you to...

Look, Bongo, whatever your name is, I'm traveling at break-tusk speed through a meteor storm with a robot named after a 90's new wave band who's suggesting we enter the nebula five wormhole.

For all the floppy ears in the galaxy, what could you possibly want from me now? Glad you asked, Nuke.

I want you to take command of the ship and steer it through the nebula five wormhole.

What?

It's your only hope.

A meteor will collide with your ship in nine, eight, seven...

Give me that.

Now what? Six...

Which way, voice?

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

Repeat after me.

Bayshamel!

Bayshamel?

Bongo!

Are we...

Are we dead?

I'll check coordinates.

Stand by.

Negative.

We're in the sauce dimension.

The sauce dimension?

The sauce flows through the entire universe.

We have just entered the sauce dimension, where all is sauce.