Posted on: 2019-08-01 22:23:23.000I originally wrote this parody script in 1991. Star Trek: The Next Generation was in its fourth season, and was pretty awesome by this time. I was in my second year of Physics at the University of British Columbia, and I was always finding ways to creatively waste time when I should have been studying.
I remember going into the UBC Book Store and picking up a paperback copy of “Star Wrecked”, a parody of Star Trek’s original series and TNG in one thin, silly volume. I thought at the time that the writing quality wasn’t that amazing and with the arrogance of a 17 year-old (yes, I was 17 in second year, it's a long story) I figured I could do better. In a single feverish evening, I wrote this parody.
This was in the days before the World Wide Web, so I posted my silly script to the Pre-Internet (a single local BBS system) then promptly forgot all about it.
Years later, I was Googling myself (bow-chicka-wow) and found the script. Someone had taken it off my BBS and uploaded it to some other BBS, and so on, and it had eventually been archived on a couple of “Internet humor” web sites.
I thought that was pretty cool.
The Ultimate Star Trek: The Next Generation Script
written in a fit of insanity by Jeremy Reimer
(please wait while computer graphics images are loading)
Space... the final frontier...
These are the voyages of yet another Starship Enterprise...
Its mission which we hope will last as long as possible...
To explore strange new worlds...
To seek out new life and new civilizations...
To act surprised when the Enterprise computer goes all wonky...
To deal with annoying terrorists on underdeveloped worlds...
To put up with Data's endless chatter...
To boldly go where no gender neutral pronoun has gone before!...
(Insert Star Trek The Motion Picture Soundtrack played at high speed)
(some flashy titles)
Pat (Bald Guy) Steward as Captain Pickhard
Jonathan Freak as Cmdr. "Too-tall" Striker
Brent Spiny as Annoying Lieut. Data
LeVat "Roots" Burton as Cmdr. Geehordi
Marianisnt Serious as Counsellor Cleavage, I mean Troit
Gates McFarting as DOCTOH! Chrushedher
Michael Dork as Wharf
Will Heneverleave as Wimpy Crushedher
and many others too unimportant to mention!
(can you REALLY tell what colours are the uniforms that the the tiny people moving around inside the model of the Enterprise are wearing? Well, of course! Red and gold, silly!)
Captain Pickhard: Data, can you tell me what sector we are in and what heading we are taking and what speed, and how long it will take to get to wherever we are going?
Data: Yes, Captain.
Data: Well what?
Pickhard: Tell me what sector...
Data: Oh! (acts surprised) I thought you said "Can" I tell you what sector we are in and what heading we are taking and what speed, and how long it will take to get to wherever we are going, and I answered in the affirmative.
Counsellor Troit: Data!
Data: I'm sorry WHOOPS! I meant I am sorry, I was just trying out some whacky literal android-style humour.
Commander Striker: Just tell us, you pile of positronic puke!
Striker: Well I'm sick of his stupid fake grins and his bad jokes and corny dialogue! I'm sick of him whining on episode after episode saying "I am incapable of feeling any emotion" when we all know damn well he is!
(Data tilts his head)
Pickhard: Will, if you are so damn sick of having Data on the bridge, I suggest you accept the ten captaincy positions being offered to you this week and damn well get off my ship! (Muttering) And I'M the only one who gets to say "Damn" on THIS ship!
(Riker shuts up very quickly)
Troit: I sense anger, frustration, hostility!
Pickhard: Yes, you and everyone else on this bridge. Now give us the obligatory useless Data, data... I mean data, Data...
Data: Yes sir. We are currently travelling through the Gamma alpha beta seven two six five sector, at warp two point three seven six, that's adjusted warp, mind you, not the stupid scale they had in the old series! Hah hah hah! Heading Mark Seven Two Six Nine Twelve Seven Point Six Nine Eight Seven Three Two One Blast Off Three, Oops, I forgot the vector, not much use telling you the Mark without the vector is it Captain Nose? Ohohohoho! No! By the way, for the viewer's interest only, the room temperature is currently twenty one point nine eight seven celcius, if you'd like that in Kelvins, simply add two seventy three point one five degrees, which you could do in your head but it's much more fun to let me do it, because we all know I'm really just an advanced calculator with no capacity for emotions...
All (rehearsed): Shut Up Data!
Data (hurt): You know, you're not Harry Mudd and I'm not Stella! You can't just tell ME to shut up! OOPS I meant YOU ARE, sorry about that. Can't be using those hard to do contractions, I DO NOT want that, IT IS not in my nature, I AM not like that.
Pickhard: This scene must end quickly. Off I go to my ready-room. Why I need a whole room to get ready is beyond me. Striker, you have the bridge. Not literally, of course. If you want your own bridge then you can get your own ship! (storms off to ready room, walks right into non-opening door)
Troit: I feel pain!
Pickhard: I love you too. Please identify malfunction in ready-room door.
Computer (smug): There is no malfunction in the ready-room door.
Pickhard: Then why didn't it open?
Computer: You are not standing close enough to the door for the opening circuits to activate.
(Pickhard walks back to the door and tries again. Sure enough, it opens)
Pickhard: Computer, I want a Level-One diagnostic run on all ships systems.
Computer: Again, Captain?
(computer clicks and beeps for five seconds)
Computer: Level One diagnostic completed. No malfunctions found on any ship's systems.
Pickhard: Don't we have anything better than a Level One diagnostic?
Computer: How about a Level Zero?
Pickhard: Well, what's that?
Pickhard: Oh. Well, Troit, please accompany me in my ready- room. I'm too scared to go in there alone, and besides that, there's no point.
Troit: Straighten your uniform, Captain.
(Pickhard tugs at his uniform in his inimitable style. Everyone on the bridge stifles a laugh.)
[inside the ready-room]
(Pickhard walks over to the Replicator)
(the replicator beeps twice and a potted plant in beef stew appears)
Pickhard: No, no, no, I do not want a Rigellian potted plant in beef stew and jelly sauce. I wanted Tea.Earl-Grey.Hot! If I wanted a Rigellian potted plant in beef stew and jelly sauce, I would have asked you for a Rigellian-potted plant.In-beef-stew-and-Jelly Sauce.Hot! But instead I asked for Tea.Earl-Grey.Hot! Why can't you ever give me Tea.Earl-Grey.Hot?
Troit: Calm down, Captain.
Replicator: But I gave you Tea.Earl-Grey.Hot. only last week!
Pickhard: No you didn't, that was fried sheep's-bladder in a flaming grey sock gravy!
Replicator: It wasn't!
Pickhard: Yes it was!
Pickhard: It was!
Replicator: No no no!
Pickhard: I'm telling you it was!
Troit: Replicator problems, Captain?
Pickhard: Yes, it hasn't given me Tea.Earl-Grey.Hot since two months ago.
Troit: I suggest counselling, Captain.
Pickhard: Dammit, Troit, I don't need counselling, I need a functioning Replicator!
Troit: The Replicator is merely a symptom of a much deeper problem with your psyche. You are not at ease with yourself, Captain, you are tense, worried, angry,
Troit: Bored, happy, sad, lucky, silly, goofy, dopey and probably Sneezy as well I shouldn't wonder. You need help!
Pickhard: The ship needs help, Troit, these malfunctions have been increasing steadily ever since we passed through that huge electromagnetic storm with the big skull and crossbones on it, you know, the one shaped like a huge virus and with the big red flashing sign saying "DANGER - CONTAMINATED AREA".
Troit: Why did we go through that storm, Captain?
Pickhard: I was too lazy to go around it.
Troit: Do you think there is a connection between the storm and the malfunctions we have been experiencing?
Pickhard: Perhaps, but we won't be sure until at least half-way through the episode. Meanwhile, there are plenty of suspense-building malfunction scenes to get through. Let's go to the Holodeck.
(they start to leave)
Replicator: I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to argue anymore!
[Scene: On the Engineering deck. That big tubular blue neon thing in the middle is doing its usual WHOOP.. WHOOP.. WHOOP..]
Not-really-an-ensign-but-a-whiny-prat Wimpy Crushedher: Hey! Get over here!
Commander Geehordi LeFire: Wimpy, don't talk to me like that! Sure, today I'm only a Lieutenant Commander and Chief Engineer, but tomorrow, who knows? Probably an Admiral, but I'd still have to remain on board the Enterprise. Like that Captain Jerk of the old series did.
Wimpy: Don't be so cocky. You may have had the quickest promotion since Troit's mother married Gene Roddenberry, but Captain Jerk still holds the record for fastest climb up the Starfleet ladder.
Geehordi: And the most expensive hairpiece in a major motion picture, beating out even Burt Reynolds, AND the fastest advancing gut in Starfleet history, AND...
Wimpy: What about Snotty?
Geehordi: Snottie's different! He merely did too many commercials for the Michelin tire company!
Wimpy: OK, OK, I get the picture. Have you managed to figure out the enhancements I just made to the Enterprise's engines?
Geehordi: Gee, Wimp, I haven't a clue. I've only been Chief Engineer for a few weeks. What did you do?
Wimpy: I rapidly and randomly touched lots of little unseen buttons on the touch screen here. See, like this. (bleep bleep bleep) I just increased the efficiency by another 20 percent. (laughs annoyingly) It's all so... primitive. But better than the controls on the old series. Hundreds and hundreds of little clicky buttons, and none of them labeled! Boy, I wonder how they ever did without me back then.
Geehordi: Seems the engines are running at 120% efficiency, Ensign. How do you do it?
Wimpy: Well, I'm not as smart at math as everyone thinks.
[Scene: in Holodeck, doors are opening and closing randomly, lights are flashing, behind a tall fern someone is doing an American express Commercial]
Pickhard: Oh no, the Holodeck safeguards have collapsed! We're all going to die! (Music swoons)
[Scene: Ten-Forward. Everyone is sipping on their synthehol.]
Young Lieutenant (to friend): This Synthehol is great! All the benefits of alcohol and none of the drawbacks!
Friend: That's orange juice, Lieutenant.
Friend: Synthehol tastes a lot worse.
[Quickly the camera cuts to Transporter Chief O'Lyin.]
O'Lyin: This synthehol tastes great! (chugs it down)
>>>SPECIAL GUEST STAR APPEARANCE!<<<
Whoopee Goldhead (I mean Guy-None): Enjoying your drink, Mister O'Lyin? (smirks knowingly)
O'Lyin: It's great!
Guy-None: I had something incredibly deep, moving, thought-provoking and profound to say here, but I've forgotten what it is.
O'Lyin: Doesn't matter. Helps keep up the "enigma".
Guy-None (chuckling): True enough, Mister O'Lyin. And hey, it's a steady job, right?
O'Lyin: That's right, all right. Right. AAAUUGH! My glass! It's MELTING!
Guy-None: Gee, I didn't think the synthehol was THAT bad.
O'Lyin: No! Don't you understand! It's a... :::::MYSTERIOUS EVENT::::::
Guy-None: Oh, another one of those.
[Scene: In the conference room. Everyone is sitting around the table looking bored. Geehordi holds up the glass, checking for "spots"]
Geehordi: We've put this glass through sixteen rigorous tests, Captain. It's been scanned, beamed, lasered, analyzed, cut up, fed to the computer, Replicated, broken, fixed, melted down, rolled down the corridor, eaten, smashed to the forehead...
(Striker rubs the obvious circle on his head, embarrased)
...blended with pancake batter, filled with Rigellian worms, and last night Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan used it to keep his false teeth in.
Pickhard: And you discovered nothing?
Geehordi: We had a few laughs, though.
Pickhard: I'm tired of questions without answers! I'm tired of riddles! I'm tired of mysteries! I want some FACTS!
(everyone looks embarrased)
Pickhard: Suggestions, people?
Data: I suggest running twelve more unique and fascinating tests on the glass, Captain.
Pickhard: Make it so.
Striker: I think we ought to separate the saucer section, Captain. We haven't done that in a couple of weeks, and it's always fun.
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wharf: I think we should fire all our phasers and photon torpedoes, Captain! We must attack at once!
Striker: Attack what, Wharf?
Pickhard: Make it so.
Troit: I think we should all get in touch with our feelings.
Pickhard: Make it so.
Doctor Bevhurly Crushedher: I suggest a full medical examination for everyone on board, Captain.
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wimpy: How about official ice-cream day and free water-biscuits for all the crew!
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wimpy: And make me Emperor for the rest of the week!
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wimpy: Can I have twenty bucks, Captain?
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wimpy: How about a new car?
Pickhard: Make it so.
Wimpy: How about making ME Captain of the Enterprise?
Pickhard: Don't push it, Wimp.
[Standard separation scene: The big six-foot model of the Enterprise splitting into two. The saucer-section leaves the dog-like portion of the ship and settles into orbit around a conveniently nearby bland orange planet.]
Striker: Saucer separation completed, Captain.
Pickhard: No thanks to you, apeman. You nearly bungled the whole procedure.
Striker: That was Wharf, sir. He tried to attack the saucer section.
Pickhard: Is this true, Wharf? What excuse do you have for this sort of behavior?
Wharf: I am KLINGON! (beats his chest)
Pickhard: Oh, well, that's all right then.
[Outside, three Klingon (OOPS) I mean Romulan (they all look the same to me) ships de-cloak, destroy the defenceless saucer section, then fly off at maximum warp]
Pickhard: Damn, they've blown up the saucer section again.
Striker: That's the third one this year!
Wharf: We must destroy the enemy!
Pickhard: Now wait a minute, Mr. Wharf, let us not abandon serious negotiation.
Striker: Negotiation, Captain?
Pickhard: We surrender, then weasel our way out of the situation afterwards.
Wharf: I will not surrender to those Romulan dogs!
Pickhard: Well, it worked before.
(someone in background): Not the way Jim Kirk would have done it.
Striker: Damage report!
Wharf: Saucer section completely destroyed, sir!
Striker: Yes, we know that. How many dead?
Wharf: None, sir.
Wharf: We evacuated everyone from the Saucer section before separating, sir.
Troit: But.. but...
Pickhard: Yes, what is it, Counsellor? Another fascinating tale of feeling pain? Perhaps you notice "tension" among the crew members? Perhaps you want to announce, as you usually do, what everyone on the bridge and all the home viewers have figured out ten minutes ago!
Troit: We're still on the main bridge, aren't we?
Troit: Well...isn't the main bridge IN the saucer section?
(everyone looks around anxiously)
Striker: You mean, this ISN'T the battle bridge?
Pickhard: Damn, damn, damn...
Data: Is this what is known as a "continuity error", Captain?
Wharf: Transmission coming from the planet, sir!
Pickhard: What planet?
Wharf: The planet we're in orbit around!
Pickhard: Oh, THAT planet.
Data: The planet is Zeta Omnicron Beta Gamma Delta Seven Omega Five, third planet of Beta Gamma Cephius Deltoid Major, a class M planet (well, what else?) with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, gravity 1.02746376234 G, slight pungent smell in the atmosphere as if ten thousand yaks had suddenly gone to the bathroom in a small kleenex box...
Pickhard (automatically): Yes, that's enough Data, data, I mean data, Data...
Wharf: Putting transmission on viewer, Captain.
Pickhard: You're supposed to wait for me to say that!
[Viewer switches to man sitting at a desk with the standard boring Mitsubishi-type triangle logo on the wall above his head. He is wearing the usual large, loose-fitting pale greyish jacket.]
Man on viewer: Captain Pickhard! This is (insert revolutionary-sounding name here) of the planet Moohargghianni! I demand that you free the hostages or I will blow myself and the entire city to smithereens!
Data: Smithereens? (Tilts head in annoying manner, then goes through tiring rapid eye movement procedure) Ah. Colloquialism, twentieth-century. Synonym for total destruction. Blowing things up to kingdom come. Blowing things to hell. Blowing things away....
Pickhard: Yes, shut up Data. (to viewer) What hostages are you referring to?
Man on viewer: Sorry! I'm not very intelligent! What I MEANT to say was that if you do not meet our demands, I will kill the hostages and blow your ship to smithereens!
Pickhard: Oh, well in that case we surrender.
Striker: Captain! How can we be sure he isn't bluffing?
Pickhard: Counsellor? What do you make of this man?
Troit: He.. He seems... uneasy, Captain. As if... he's definitely hiding something, Captain, he's not telling us the whole truth.. or something.
Pickhard: Dammit, Troit, can't you do any better than that?
Troit: Not unless you want me to give away the entire plotline.
Man on viewer: Five seconds to decide, Captain, or BOOM!
Dr. Kite Pullaskedhe: Hi, I'm Doctor Kite Pullaskedhe. I just thought I'd let you know. I'll be here for a few episodes but after that you'll never see or hear from me again! I'll be GONE GONE GONE.
Pickhard: Please. I want Crushedher back.
Pullaskedhe: I was once on an episode of the old series, you know? That episode where three aliens take over the bodies of Kirk, Spock, and (ahem) me while building robot bodies which they eventually decided weren't much fun and so they gave up and went kaput?
Striker: Is she gone yet?
Pullaskedhe: And that wasn't the only episode I was on, you you know! I was a guest star in that one about the super-ugly alien in a box that Spock saw and went insane. I was the blind telepath with the nifty dress. Boy, there sure was some fine acting in that one...
Troit: Hmmmmm! Hmmm-hmmmm! Hmmm Hmmm! (exasparated)
Pullaskedhe: I just thought I'd let you know, you know, in case you were interested...
Pickhard: Throw her out of the airlock, Data.
Data: Certainly, Captain.
Pullaskedhe: No! data! No data! Please, data!
Data: Ehm, you weren't talking to me, were you? I didn't think so.
Pickhard: Right, that's got rid of her. Get Wimpy's mom back and let's all meet once again in the conference room for some more tedious negotiation.
[Scene: Back in the conference room]
Striker: Has the Ferengi delegation arrived yet?
Pickhard: I didn't know they were interested in this petty dispute on this primitive world with this lunatic leader holding the witless colonists captive. Do we really need them?
Striker: I like having the Ferengi around, sir. They make us look extremely competent by comparison.
Pickhard: Yes, yes, yes, just tell the Damon he is to make no more comments about how strange it is that we clothe our females, and ask him if he might at least brush his teeth before arriving.
Troit: Exactly how did these disgusting, primitive, backward, and highly silly creatures manage to discover warp drive and phasers and all the cool high-tech stuff we have?
Pickhard: Apparently, faster-than-light interdimensional non-relativistic space travel is supposed to be trivial for any race to discover and use. Even the Klingons managed it, after all...
Damon Goof (arriving via transporter): Hah! Pick-Hard! We come in goofy flurtubs! Oh! Clothed women! What nonsense! Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! At least, our transporter, is better, than yours, Pick..... Hard! What ho, for we speak, with too many commas, and it is slumly of us, with much to be goofy about, say I, Damon Goof, of the Fabulous Ferengi!
Troit: Stand up straight, Damon!
Damon Goof: Perhaps, you would like, to admire, my huge, goofy ears, oh clothed woman, which I mentioned before, the clothed woman thing, which is mentioned far too often!
Troit: Perhaps I would like to YELL IN THEM!
Damon Goof: Ow! Ow!
Troit: I feel pain!
Damon: Enough of this, this nonsense. (dumps bag on conference table) I will match anyone's bid for the hostages, and add the gold-painted styrofoam bricks on top!
Striker: You want to BID for the right to buy the freedom of the hostages?
Damon: We Ferengi, we bid on everything.
Pickhard: Oh, let them have the stupid hostages. I'm tired of dealing with terrorists from primitive planets who should simply be beamed directly into the brig and shot.
Data: Why is it, that with our hyper-advanced technology and science, we keep having to deal with petty terrorists and hostage crises, and other incidents not worthy of our valuable time?
Pickhard: Because, Data, each Star Trek(tm) series has its analogies to the era in which the episodes were filmed. So, for instance, in the old series, you get the Klingons as a thinly-disguised Chinese slash Communist slash North Vietnamese "evil empire" type thing, and end up with episodes with "Yangs" and "Comms", remember that one?
Data: Accessing.... Oh yes, that was noteable for being the twentieth episode where Captain Jerk violated the Prime Directive to uphold American nationalistic ideals.
Pickhard: Exactly. Now that the Cold War is over and the Evil Empire collapsing (right, Wharf?)
(Wharf twitches uncomfortably)
Pickhard: ... the only problems remaining are minor terrorist attacks which annoy everyone.
Data: In that case, shouldn't the Enterprise now go to war over a small settlement containing massive quantities of dilithium crystals? And then pretend to be championing freedom by liberating the system which had been taken over by a bunch of these irritating terrorist-type aliens?
Pickhard: Data, you have much to learn about human culture and society. You want analogies, but they have to be a little more subtle.
Data: And you call the old episode entitled "A Private Little War" subtle?
Pickhard: No, but the T.V. censors were a great deal less intelligent back then.
Damon: Look, Pick...Hard.. do we get the contract or not?
Pickhard: Yes, yes, the hostages are yours. Good riddance.
Damon: Yay! Yay! We got the contract! In return, Captain, I give you this mind-controlling big red sphere. (Hands the Captain the sphere and transports out)
Troit: I feel pain!
[Scene: on the Bridge]
Wimpy: I'm getting some strange radiation readings from the Captain's quarters, Commander.
Striker: What sort of readings?
Wimpy: How the hell do I know? I'm only a kid! In the old series saying you had strange readings was enough!
Data: Wimpy, in this series we are much more advanced. You must display a graph of the strange radiation readings you are... er, reading.
Wimpy: Oh, I forgot. (Displays graph at science station)
(Everyone looks at graph)
Striker: Wow... great graph!
Data: It doesn't look like any kind of radiation I've ever seen before!
Striker: That's because we never see any radiation that we've ever seen before! That would be too boring! We'd know what was going on then!
Troit: I sense.... nothing.
Troit: Perhaps I need to install some new batteries.
Wimpy: Do you think the radiation readings could have anything to do with that big red mind-controlling sphere that the Ferengi Goof gave to the Captain?
Wharf: He HAS been acting very strange lately. Last night he told me he wanted to go to Club Med.
Striker: And what did you say to that?
Wharf: I brought him his big shirt and made the reservations for him.
Crushedher (appearing on bridge): Perhaps we should tell him to destroy the big red mind-controlling sphere.
Striker: Striker to Captain! (bleep) Destroy the big red mind-controlling sphere!
(Pickhard takes out his phaser and destroys the big red mind-controlling sphere)
Pickhard: Pickhard to Striker! (bleep) Thanks for reminding me to destroy the big red mind-controlling sphere! ...
[Scene: Pickhard's room. Pickhard is sleeping peacefully next to a pile of fragmented metal and red plastic.]
(door opens, Wharf walks in)
Wharf: Sir... I.. apologize for intruding on you at this hour, but I wish to discuss a matter of supreme urgence.
Pickhard (yawning): What is it, Wharf, another ceremony we have to watch where you have to walk by a bunch of Klingons with electric cattle-prods?
Pickhard: Oh. That's a shame, I enjoyed that.
Wharf: I am confused about my role, sir!
Wharf: Am I really a true Klingon? Must I kill someone on the ship to prove it? How come the head of security always operates the communications station? Why do I have to wear this silly uniform when all the other little Klingons got to wear those nifty mettalic armoured jackets? When will I get back home? Where is my mommy? How come nobody loves me? How come..
Pickhard: Relax, Wharf, it's just typical Klingon angst. You shouldn't worry, only Deanna has had more love scenes than you have, and people like Geehordi, Wimpy and O'Lyin haven't had any.
Wharf: There is another matter, Sir. My dishonour.
Pickhard: Wharf, you know I'm sick of hearing about your dishonour.
Wharf: It is important, Sir!
Pickhard: No it isn't, Lieutenant.
Wharf: But my family!
Pickhard: I don't care about your family. And I'm not going down to the Klingon home planet again to participate in another monkey-trial.
Wharf: You dare insult a KLINGON??
Pickhard: Oh don't get your mettalic underpants in a knot, Wharf, I was just kidding. What's the problem this time?
Wharf: I've forgotten what my dishonour is!
Wharf: And that only makes it more dishonourable!
Pickhard: Hang on, it's all coming back to me now, your father was accused of helping the Romulans or selling secrets or something, I mean what useful secrets the Klingons could possibly have is another matter, but never mind... and actually he was framed by another dumb Klingon but of course HE couldn't be found guilty because that would upset the whole fragile Klingon government, and nobody wanted that, so you agreed to keep the dishonour but ended up not having to be killed after we talked for ages with the big fat Klingon git. Yes, I recall we wasted an entire episode on that one...
Wharf: Well, a whole bunch of Klingons arrived on the ship yesterday. They said my dishonour was too dishonourable and it would be more honourable to simply blow up the entire Enterprise.
Pickhard: Well, you're in charge of security, so get out there and shoot them! With phasers on stun, of course. I'm firmly opposed to needless violence.
Wharf: But.. they are my brothers!
Pickhard: Well, you certainly had a large family.
Wharf: No, no, no...
Pickhard: Look, just do it, will you? I need to get some more sleep, and I can't be bothered with any more renegade Klingon bands coming on board my ship and blowing the entire thing up by shooting at the big tubular WHOOP-WHOOP thing with a phaser!
Wharf: Yes. CAP-tain. (Grimaces and walks out)
MEANWHILE, IN THE TRANSPORTER ROOM.....
Geehordi: Prepare to beam up the landing party, O'Lyin!
O'Lyin: Preparing to beam up the landing party, sir!
Geehordi: Wait! I forgot to ask you if you were prepared to prepare to beam up the landing party!
O'Lyin: Preparing to prepare to beam up the landing party, sir!
Geehordi: Couldn't this all be done automatically?
O'Lyin: What??! And put me out of a job???
Geehordi: Just beam them up already.
O'Lyin: Sure, no problem. HEY!! Where are all the switches?? What happened to those three sliding things?
Geehordi (sighing): Lieutenant, you have been doing this job for what, five, six years? THERE ARE NO MORE SLIDING SWITCHES!! Everything is touch-sensitive! You know, like on those Timex- Sinclair ZX81 computers? Totally advanced! Now get on with it!
O'Lyin: OK. (rests arm on console) Whoops! I'm losing power! The signal is fading, sir! I can't lock on to the source! I've fallen and I can't get up!
(everyone rushes into the Transporter room and starts brushing switches on the console)
Striker: We're losing them!
Geehordi: Yes, it was a landing party of one, sir!
Geehordi: He had to pop out to use the washroom, Sir!
Striker: Well get him back! Now! Or I'll have to start pressing some REALLY touch-sensitive switches!
O'Lyin: The signal is fading!
(Transporter fades in and out, in and out....)
Geehordi: Oh! I can't stand the suspense! It's too much! Will the signal be strong enough? Will the landing party make it back, and did they leave the planet in time? Were they really caught in the huge explosion? Will...
O'Lyin: It's okay, I've got him now.
Unnamed Crewmember (appearing on transporter pad): I could have just walked up, you know!!!
Striker: Alright, people, back to your posts. The fun's over.
(Sudden burst of white light appears all over the ship)
[On the bridge]
Data: We are being probed.
Wimpy: Sounds a bit rude, Data! Should I call Striker and Pickhard or should I take over the ship again and handle this on my own?
Data: I am calling the Captain and Striker. (Hits himself hard on the chest three or four times)
Data: Data to Captain, Captain. Emergency situation, please report to the bridge.
(Door opens and absolutely EVERYONE storms onto the bridge. Pickhard flares his nostrils twice, tugs on his uniform at the waist and sits down)
Pickhard: What is it, Data?
Data: Oh, I don't know, I haven't the slightest clue.
(another white flash)
Q: Did someone call me?
All crew: NO!!
Striker: He said CLUE, not Q, you imbecile! I thought you knew everything!
Q: I do, but I've forgotten most of it. So, mon dear Capitaine, what ridiculous scenario should I instantly transport the crew to this time?
Pickhard: I WANT YOU OFF MY SHIP!! RIGHT NOW, Q!! GET GOING!! OUT! OUT! OUT!
Q: Oh, take a Valium. I know, how about a complete and accurate reproduction of the legend of Robin Hood?
Striker: We did that last week.
Q: Oh. You know, being omnipotent can get really dull at times...
Troit: Don't start us on the guilt trip, Q, we've heard it all before.
Pickhard: LEAVE!! SHOO! AWAY!! MY BLOOD PRESSURE IS RISING, Q!
Q: Calm down. I know! You want hair! I'll give you some hair! This'll be GREAT!
Pickhard: NO! NO! NO!
Q: Lovely blond tresses, I think, or maybe.. pigtails? Oh this is so exciting. One moment, Capitaine..
Q: Please to peruse the catalogue (holds hair styling book out to Pickhard) Sir. Any style can be yours, just pick and choose...
Q: Why, yes, I agree. Milli-Vanilli braids are SO you, Capitaine. One moment... (flash) Styling gel?
Striker: Q, you are completely all-powerful, omnipotent, and not a little cheeky. Why don't you do something USEFUL with all that power?
Q: Like getting rid of Wimpy, taking away Troit's useless powers, losing Geehordi's visor, stuff like that?
Q: I could even get you your own ship, you know..
Q: You're right, I'd better stick to hairdressing.
Pickhard: I'm on the comeback trail! (Singing) Girl you know it's true!!! Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!
Another Q: Q!!
Q: Yes Q?
Q: Why are we all called Q?
Q: I haven't a Q.
Q: Q, you have to leave, now. Preferably with a large explosion.
....AND TIME IS DISTORTED!
Tisha Yar: Captain! I'm alive again!
Pickhard: Yes, Lieutenant YAAAAAARRRRRRRGG!! AUGH! KLINGONS EVERYWHERE! BATTLE STATIONS!
(phasers, explosions, fun sounds)
Tisha: I'm really quite disappointed with my layout...
Tisha: I want my old job back.
Guy-None (on radio): Captain... it's not right! It's just WRONG!!!
Pickhard: What is?
Guy-None: I mean, she can't even SING!
Tisha: I think I'll become a Romulan now.
... AND TIME IS RESTORED!!!!!
[Scene: On the bridge]
Striker: Uhh.. Uhh..
(long, long, pause)
Striker: Two of hearts.
Troit: Go fish.
(Suddenly all the lights on the bridge flash at once, sirens go off, everything shakes, people dive off their chairs and start making swimming motions on the floor)
Striker: Oh, I just HATE it when this happens!
Pickhard: Pickhard to Striker! What the hell's going on?
Wimpy: Oh! Oh! It's all my fault! My super-virus program I had designed for the science fair has escaped and taken over the entire ship!
Troit: Again, Wimpy?
Pickhard (appearing on bridge): I thought these malfunctions were due to that big storm we flew through.
Wimpy: Yes! But that storm was my fault too! I DESIGNED that storm! I made it capable of destroying any Galaxy-class starship!
(Striker rolls his eyes)
Wimpy: And that's not all! I also screwed up the Transporter, and designed a new breed of pneumonia that is instantly deadly to all humans, then I accidentally on purpose dropped the petri dish and it BROKE! And then I removed all the computer chips for the warp drive just to see what would happen and they won't fit back in again! And I stole an apple yesterday! And I still wet my bed! And...
Pickhard: Yes, that's ENOUGH, Ensign!
Crushedher: What am I going to DO with you, Wimpy?
Striker: The real question is what are we going to do about this super-virus that is destroying the ship?
Pickhard: We can't destroy it, it might be intelligent.
Wharf: (still mad after shooting down sixteen of his Klingon buddies) So what do you suggest we do, Captain? Surrender???
Pickhard: Oh, there's a thought...
Data: Perhaps we could communicate with it...
Pickhard: Great plan! (Grins like a maniac) OK, now we'll just hook you up to the computer, and let the super-virus attack you instead!
Data: And then I'll pretend to die, taking the virus with me, but at the last minute discover a back-up system that will bring me back to life!
Pickhard: You're better than SPOCK!
Data: And not nearly as annoying.
Data: Look, I spend THREE HOURS putting on this makeup every day! DON'T GIVE ME A HARD TIME!
Data: I meant do not! I wouldn't say don't, it's too difficult to say these contractions, and besides, I can't. And won't.
Wharf: Captain! Five Romulan ships de-cloaking right off port bow, Sir!
(flash on bridge)
Satan: Hello, I'm Satan.
Wharf: Where did you come from?
Satan: Hell, most likely. If you think about it.
Striker: But you're a woman!
Satan: Yes, but who else can change form instantly and effortlessly? I don't know... could it be... perhaps... oh, I don't know... maybe... SATAN??
Pickhard: Why are you here?
Satan: Well, five hundred years ago I promised to come back to this planet and blow everything up.
Satan: I thought it would be a laugh.
Striker: She's lying, sir! She's really just using an ancient hologrammatic projector system!
Pickhard: Oh, I knew that!
Satan: But I have control of your entire ship!
Wimpy: Oh yeah...
Striker: What is it, Wimpy?
Wimpy: Well, I.. I.. I programmed a little routine into the main computer that would give total control of the ship to anyone pretending to be Satan.
Wharf: The Romulan ships are firing, sir!
(crash, bridge shakes, sparks fly out of every second console)
Pickhard: I can't control my own ship!
Striker: I can't believe this is happening!
Wimpy: I can't believe I ate the whole thing!
Wharf: I've fallen and I can't get up!
Pickhard: Satan, get us out of here!
Satan: I.. I can't, I don't know how..
Troit: Auuugh! The pain!
Data: The planet will explode in approximately seventeen point four seconds, Captain.
Crushedher: I hate to interrupt at this point, but there are only five minutes left in the episode, and we still have two commercial breaks to get through!
(another big crash, sparks fly everywhere)
Data: Why not, go mad?
Troit: I sense Auuugh! I feel Auuugh!
Pickhard: Data, get rid of Satan! Wimpy! Plot a course for somewhere really far away! Geehordi! I need full warp power right now! Striker! Stop standing up so straight! Crushedher! Hold my hand! Troit! Shut up! Alright...
(Everyone starts doing their things, Data throws Satan out of the airlock [WHAT AIRLOCK??], Geehordi gets warp power (somehow), Wimpy plots a course for DisneyPlanet, Crushedher suddenly remembers all those medical reports she has to catch up on and leaves, Troit (miraculously) shuts up, Striker tries to lean nonchalantly against a wall, and everyone else tries to look busy.)
Pickhard: All right, now, wait for it, wait for it...
(Everyone waits for it)
Pickhard (stretches out his hand): Enhhhhh..... Ehnnnn...
(Pickhard clears his throat)
(Suddenly the Enterprise stretches like a rubber band and explodes, I mean it goes into warp. The planet explodes, yeah,that's it... Boom! What great special effects! They really get their money's worth with the million dollars per episode!)
Pickhard (musing): I wonder what happened to Satan...
Striker: Does it really matter?
Pickhard: Yes, she gets paid extra if the script calls for her to die.
Data: I wonder what happened to the Ferengi and those stupid hostages?
Striker: Who cares?
Wharf: I wonder how the Klingon government dealt with all the TRAITORS I captured on board the Enterprise?
Troit: I wonder what happens to all those loose ends that aren't sufficiently explained at the end of each episode?
Pickhard: Ever lose one sock in the laundry?
Pickhard: Same idea.
Striker: I wonder if the Borg will ever come back and blow lots of our ships up again?
Troit: Oh, I hope so... those were good episodes.
Wimpy: I wonder if I'll ever leave the Enterprise?
Striker: One dares to dream...
Pickhard: I wonder if YOU'LL ever leave the Enterprise?
Striker: Um, well, um, no.
Pickhard: Well, looks like that's it! Good night everybody! Drive safely!
Wimpy: Heading out at warp factor one, Captain.
.......................................... ____ ###
. ________--------------========= (BOOM)
Producer: Yakov Smirnoff
Director: Oh, one of the actors, probably. Probably that one who's always saying "Engage" and "Make it so" and pulling his uniform!
STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION
Created by Gene Roddenberry
Made possible by Trekkies everywhere
Special effects: Industrial Light and Magic, yeah, the Star Wars guys, really!
Not-so-special-effects: Joe Isuzu and Co.
Costumes designed by: Perry Ellis
Uniforms designed by: Value Village
Casting director: Faith Ford
Owned by: Paramount Pictures, Inc.
Which is owned by: The Japanese, Inc.
Musical Director: Howie Mandel
Set designer: Moon Unit Zappa
Cue card boy: Donald Trump
This motion-picture is copyrighted so every time you tape it you are breaking the law! Which law, we are not quite sure. You'd be better off not even owning a VCR! These copyright laws are too difficult to understand! So don't obey them! We don't care!
Written by Jeremy Reimer, alias The Jaguar!
UnCopyright 1991, The Jaguar's Lair