Language, Timotei!

Mr Spock teleported down from the Enterprise. "Glas?" he queried. "That is illogical, Craptain." This format has been was with God and manglewurzle bits of cement drip drip drip he went. None could

{A few words in a non-existent writing system}
    (language, Timotei!)

The plot stood up, stood down, won the Election and then strode off in an entirely new dissection. "Sarajevo!" came the cry. "Apple crumble," came the
pie
п

                   nibal!"
                   Misplaced quotreəг-
                   г^~/

{dribbles away into the non-existent writing system}