"You know, Niles," Frasier mused, "it’s a comforting thought. No matter where you are in the world, someone is making sure our story is told... properly."

Frasier Crane sat in his favorite Eames lounge chair, the rainy Seattle skyline blurring behind the glass of his Elliott Bay Towers apartment. On his lap sat a sleek MacBook, its screen glowing with the interface of a popular subtitle database.

"That’s exactly the point, Dad!" Frasier exclaimed. "The community at Podnapisi strives for sync . For timing . They are the unsung heroes of the digital age, ensuring that a joke about an opera cloak doesn't get lost in the transition from NTSC to PAL."

Niles wandered over, peering over his brother's shoulder. "I see. And you’re looking for 'Frasier (1993)' specifically? I wasn't aware our lives had been digitized into a sitcom format for the masses."

Martin shook his head, heading for the kitchen. "I’m gonna go watch the game. I don't need subtitles to know when someone drops the ball."