We Don’t Allow That In Here!

(On the bridge. All appears normal.)

Kirk: C’mon, baby! (click)

Computer: “What kind of girl do you think I am?!” Bloop. Game over.

Kirk: Crap!

Sulu: What is he playing?

Spock: I believe he is participating in a game wherein he attempts to cause a simulated girl to remove her simulated clothing.

Chekov: On the science station?

Kirk: This is research, dammit! (click)

Computer: “Oh, yes!” Bloop.

Kirk: WHOA, MOMMA! Next the brassiere!

Spock: Research of what nature, Captain?

Kirk: Umm . . . we need some standard to compare alien chicks to! Now leave me alone! (click)

Scotty: Captain! Help!

Kirk: (reluctantly tearing eyes away from computer terminal) What is it, Scotty?

Scotty: I dinna ken where they’re comin’ from, but somethin’s beamin’ tribbles into the engine room! Oh, me poor wee bairns!

Kirk: Oh, that again. Can’t you handle it? I’m playing—um, researching!

Sulu: I’ll take over for you, Captain! I thirst for knowledge!

Kirk: Mine!

Scotty: And there are ravening Klingons!

Kirk: So?

Scotty: There’re females . . .

Kirk: I’m there! (removes cartridge from science terminal and dashes for the turbolift)

Sulu: Hey! No fair! (follows)

Spock: This is highly irregular.

Chekov: Vhat do you mean?

Spock: I think there have been approximately two episodes in which there were featured female Klingons.

Scotty: Ye think? Ye dinna ken?

Spock: The writers are not sure.

Chekov: I thought it vas just one. There vere a few in the movies, though.

Scotty: Dinna go there, lad. I still have a waistline.

Spock: By the third movie, it had grown approximately—

Scotty: Me poor wee bairns! (flees)

(Meanwhile, in the engine room . . .)

Kirk: Let’s try to solve this reas—hlfl! Damn these tribbles!

(coo) (coo)

Klingons: AAGH! TRIBBLES! (random disruptor fire) (a redshirt dies in agony)

Kirk: Scotty! You lied! There’s no chicks here!

Scotty: Tha’s funny. I coulda sworn there were—AAA!

(Scotty makes a choked noise and is hauled from view.)

Kirk: Oops, silly me. There they are.

Scotty: HELP!

Sulu: Maybe I can charm them into letting him go! Hey, baby. (picks a female Klingon at random and breathes a few words of Japanese softly into her ear)

Female Klingon: PIG! (slap)

Sulu: Ow! What’d I do?

Spock: I believe that what you just said is equivalent to ‘gutter wench’ in the high Klingon.

Sulu: Why didn’t you say so?

Kirk: Hey, babes . . . over here!

(A tribble falls off of his head. Muffled shrieks.)

Kirk: Yoo-hoo! C’mon!

Scotty: YEEE! Me poor wee bairns!

(One of the female Klingons grabs Scotty in a tender place to shut him up.)

Sulu: Eew! (another random Japanese word)

Female Klingon: Well, that’s more like it . . .

Sulu: Um, Spock . . . what did that mean in Klingon?

Spock: I believe that it translates roughly to ‘sock it to me, baby’, Lieutenant.

Sulu: Ah. I’ll remember that.


Spock: Klingons are very literal, Mr. Sulu.

Sulu: Oww . . . (tries again)

Female Klingon: Well, this really isn’t the time . . .

Spock: That word translates roughly to ‘fu—’

Sulu: I get the point! Aargh!

Kirk: Where’s my chick? Huh? (coo) (coo)

(Kirk begins to, as viewed by his crew, wrestle with his toupeé.)

Kirk: No! Stay put!

Chekov: (arriving) I just vanted to mention that—oh my God!

McCoy: The captain’s hair’s trying to escape!

Sulu: Where’d you come from?

McCoy: Dunno. Must’ve been the writers.

(Kirk’s hairpiece struggles, breaks free, and scuttles off, cooing.)

McCoy: A tribble! I knew there was another life reading at your last checkup!

Kirk: Shut up! You almost bought that story about it being my gut . . .

Chekov: It’s like Hell . . . vith tribbles . . .


McCoy: The gut story was plausible! Oh, just a sec, Scotty. (produces hypo) (female Klingons sag, releasing Scotty) (males roar in outrage and charge)

Kirk: I can’t fight like this!

Sulu: Methinks that was a bad move, Doctor.

McCoy: Naw. They’ll aim for the tribbles, kill the captain, and we can all have a nice long commercial break.

Chekov: But how do ve explain his death to Starfleet Command?

McCoy: Uh . . . his gut overwhelmed him?

(Kirk dashes into another room, followed by a wave of cooing tribble and a host of enraged Klingons with swords.)

Kirk: (from other room) Ow! Watch where you’re waving that! Hey! My new leather belt! AAA! My PANTS! Why you—AAAA!

(A pair of boxers decorated with pink teddy bears fly through the door and land on a redshirt. The redshirt dies in agony.)

Klingon: We’ve got him now!

Klingon 2: Blech . . . (throws up)

Chekov: EEEEEYACK! (runs as fast as his little Russian legs will take him)

(The female Klingon wakes up.)

Female Klingon: (grabbing Sulu) Finally, I can take you up on that offer, cutie . . .

Sulu: EEEK!

Scotty: Run, lad! Ye don’t know that half of it!

Kirk: Stay back or—or I’ll moon you! I swear by God I’ll moon you all!

Klingons: We’ve already see worse!

Kirk: Then I’ll—I’ll dance the Can-Can! I swear by God I’ll moon you and dance the Can-Can!

(Several Klingons throw up. A redshirt dies.)

Scotty: Not in my engine room, please, God!

Sulu: Help! HELP!

Spock: Fascinating.

McCoy: What are you even doing here?

Klingons: The writers needed a plot.

McCoy: We can pretty safely bet they didn’t need this kind of a plot.

Scotty: I dinna ken . . . they’ve done worse . . .

McCoy: Don’t egg them on!

Sulu: He-LO? Dying pilot here?

Spock: You are in no danger of dying, Lieutenant Sulu.

Sulu: Wanna bet? YEEK!

Kirk: (from other room) AAAAA! Get away! (coo) (coo)

Sulu: You—you can’t—WAAA! Put it b-back on!

Female Klingon: But I’m just starting to have fun!

Spock: Fascinating.

Klingons: Die, foul grog-spawn!

Kirk: Eek! I mean, can’t we discuss this logica—yaggh! (coo) (coo)

Spock: Logic is not your department, Captain.

Kirk: Get back or I’ll release all of my tribbles! I swear by God—

Spock: Ah. So you do possess a secret toupeé stash.

Kirk: Shut up, Spock, and do something useful!

Spock: Fascinating . . . it seems the writers are experiencing a temporary mental block . . .

Kirk: You call that useful? WAAH!

Spock: As you wish, Captain. (nerve-pinches female Klingon) (Sulu gasps with relief)

Kirk: I meant useful for ME!

Spock: I believe you are beyond redemption, Captain.

Sulu: The horror . . . the horror . . .

Chekov: (returning) There, there, Hikaru . . .

(Kirk, desperate, breaks into a full song and dance version of the Can-Can. Redshirts die by the thousands.)


(All the Klingons die except for those already unconscious.)

Chekov: AAGH! (faints)

Spock: Extreme mental pain!

(Everyone takes a minute to recover.)

Spock: It appears that the tribbles have been poisoned, Captain. Select one at your liesure.

Kirk: I want all the tribbles and Klingons beamed to wherever they came from! (grabs tribble and sticks it on his head) Now!

(All the tribbles and Klingons are beamed away, including the one on Kirk’s head.)

Kirk: They’re all out to get me . . . I know it!

(They all head back to the bridge, followed by a grumbling Kirk.)

Kirk: All right, Mr. Sulu . . . warp 5!

Everybody: AAIGH! (death)

Spock: Captain, could we trouble you to put on some pants . . .?


Space . . .
The final frontier . . .
These are the horrors of the Starship ENTERPRISE . . .
Its neverending mission . . .
To throw up on old, faithful engines . . .
To kill new tribbles and vamp young Klingons . . .
To boldly be more perverted than anyone has been before!

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