Last night, during a television showing of No Good Boyo's favourite roll of celluloid, a "quite bright, at least on paper" friend texted him with the cinematic aperçu "Alien vs. Predator - what more could a man want from a film?"
No Good Boyo thought for a while during the ingestion of several glasses of Batko Voskoboynykov's choicest monkey juice, then texted back "more topless".
I blandly inquired whether this improvement ought to be essayed by a character in the film or a pliant female/ladyboy companion in a domestic/multiplex setting.
He considered this a little longer over continued refreshments, and concluded "during the adverts".
Irony and science fiction do not mix, and there is no need to attend a Star Trek convention to prove it.