Data: And now for my forty-seventh poem. There was a Lieutenant named Yar, who was killed by a big ball of tar; she once lost her head, and took Data to bed -- which was more than a little bizarre.
Riker: I'm always, tired, Doctor. Can you do something about it?
Computer: Cargo bay four just went boom.
La Forge: Hey! There's nothing here. Computer!
La Forge: ...so I think we should fluxise the sensor googletrons.
Riker: Man, I'm beat. Time for bed.
Mott: What will it be today, Lieutenant? Shampoo? Shave? Highlights?
Data: Your trip to Sickbay did not take long.
Riker: You're driving all wrong, Ensign. Here, let me do it.
Troi: Computer, show me the table that the others are remembering.
Worf: Say, this table looks familiar.
Picard: Computer, is there anyone missing?
La Forge: Hey, it's a hole in subspace. Don't see that every day.
Lieutenant Hagler: GAK!
Riker: Next time the aliens take me, I'll wear a homing beacon so you can find me.
La Forge: (over the comm) Commander Riker and Ensign Rager are back safely, Captain.
Captain's Log: Will all absent crewmembers please speak up?
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DISCLAIMER: A lot of stuff in here is copyrighted by Paramount Pictures. My intent isn't to infringe on that; I and those like me are just having a little fun in the universe Gene Roddenberry created. I don't think he'd mind.
All material © 2002, Carolyn Paterson.