While on vacation last week I stumbled in to a bookstore. Found this fantastic book sharing the 1976 Topps issue.
Seeing "The Gorn Strikes" card reminds me of this bit of internet fun which I've edited...
Gorn Captain's Log: Gorn Stardate 410380510260192.1093.
Well, yesterday wasn't exactly what you'd call a red-letter day, no sir. Me and the Gorns was just out on a Gorn reconnaissance mission -- one of them standard "lay waste to random planets" missions -- and some of us was doing some heavy-duty alien-ravishing and eating the enemy and blowing the crud out of all their buildings, and then we beamed back to the Gorn ship and was having a big Gorn party with Gorns jumping out of cakes, and skits with Gorns pretending to kick the crap out of Gorns dressed as aliens, and then next thing you know, my Gorns down on one of them planets signals the ship and hollers something about the freakin' aliens and their neutro-vomp megamortars and holy-crud-they're-blowin'-away-a-crudload-of-us-Gorns, etc.
And then the freaks is chasing our Gornship all the heck over the place and firing crud at us Gorns, and we was all ticked off and ready to kick their pink little alien hineys, and all of a sudden I'm zapped the heck off my Gornship and stuck on a planet Gorn-god knows where the heck it is, right? And this little pink goofball nearly cleans my Gorn clocks. But I'm okay now. Here's what happened:
We was just minding our own business. Least that's what I was telling that weenie-butt pink boy with the headband, and he was not seeing it my way, so I was forced to try to stick a boulder in his nose so maybe he would see it my way, okay? Only he grabs the boulder and clonks me right in my Gorn chest, excepting it bounces off, like it always does, because these pink boys doesn't know that the Gorns is tough guys. But it gave me these bodacious Gorn hiccups, and I freakin' don't see what the freak is goin' on, and the next thing I know, I'm tryin' to get my Gorn butt out the way of this freakin' avalanche some other pink-butt is tryin' to dump on me after I fall over this freakin' rope, because, let's be honest, we Gorns isn't the most coordinated creatures that ever was, so anyway I'm like lying on my Gorn butt tryin' like heck to move all these freakkin' rocks offa my freakin' chest and, like, this pink-butt is hopping up and down and going "yippee!" 'n' crud.
Anyway, I figure, why not scare the crud out of this pink-butt wimp son of a glutenfnorpzschflarthffreemblegleemptystoob, so I start hissin' and gurglin' and I thought he was gonna drop a load right there, so I figure I'm gonna skin the freak with my Gorn knife, only he nearly slices me in two with this thing that fires diamonds. How do you figure? Anyway he comes over to chop off my Gorn head, only I guess he had this massive seizure or forgot what he was doing or something, and the next thing I know I'm back on the Gorn ship.
So I figure, hey, it's great I'm alive, right, but the Gorn commander of the Gorn Space Army busts my Gorn chops on account of I don't totally freakn' demolish the planet and bring him Captain Pink-Butt's head stuffed with schternfdoo cheese and his body sliced to ribbons and braised in top-quality mgloosh crud.
So after 120 Gorn years as a Gorn captain of a Gorn starship, my green Gorn butt is pushing Gorn paper at the Gorn Space Army Gorn Sewage Gorn Plant, and I have to wear one of them stupid short-sleeved shirts and a necktie. Sometimes the life of a Gorn really is lousy.
I've cleaned this up. The original was published by Gregg Pearlman here.