There Are Four Lights

“I just don’t understand how they got in there,” said Troi, pulling her pants back up as she got off the examination table.

“Well,” began Crusher, “it could be your sick fetish with insects in general, or maybe it stems with the look that giant centipede gave you when we toured Bugland, the giant bug planet.”

“That look? You mean ‘that cunnilingus’,” replied Troi, giving Crusher a sly look. “You haven’t had dirty sex till you’ve had pincers in your shit.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Crusher, looking back as Picard strolled in.

Picard threw his hands in the air and smiled. “Guess what everybody? We have a new Lieutenant to replace Tasha Yar on the show!”

Troi raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Tasha Yar?”

Crusher rolled her eyes. “Remember? Armus, Skin of Evil? Killed Tasha in the first season? She was our caterer or some shit.”

“No, no!” cried Picard, hands on hips. He swiveled as he talked. “She was our security officer! And she was smokin’ hot! I think she had relations with Data too. Anyway, after like six seasons, we’ve finally found a similarly sexy officer to replace her. I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Eduardo Ricardo Santiago!”

From the turbolift strolled a tall, suave Hispanic man with flowing chocolate-brown hair and piercing mocha eyes. His uniform accentuated every curve, from his muscular pecs to his “holy shit what did you get me for Christmas” package.

“Hello, all. I am honored to serve amongst such beautiful people,” said Eduardo, gesturing among the crowd. “…except for that one,” he added, pointing at Worf. “You are all sexy strangers to me, but it is my deepest hope that soon, you will be my sexy comrades.” With that, he strode over to Tactical and placed both of his strong, sensual hands on the panel.

“Your — your accent, it’s beautiful,” said Riker, smiling weakly.

“Thank you,” replied Eduardo, winking.

“Ahem,” said Picard, clearing his throat. “Worf, you are being demoted to Cargo Bay 4 Watchman. Sorry.”

“Cargo Bay 4! But that’s where all the crazy shit happens!”

“What, like plasma fires, subspace anomalies, leaks, explosions, firefights, anal rapings, and unpleasant fisticuffs?” said Riker?

“Yeah, like those,” said Worf in a small voice.

“Attention everyone!” cried Picard, going all jazz-hands on everybody. “We have just been informed — by Starfleet, no less — that a visitor from the twenty-FIFTH century is here to study us!”

“Are you sure it isn’t another imposter, like in season four?” asked Wesley.

“I think that was season five,” added Troi.

“Of course it isn’t. Do you really think we’d fall for that old trick more than once?” asked Picard, a smug look on his face.

“Yes,” said Riker.

“Of course,” said Wesley.

“Undoubtedly,” said Data.

“Yes,” said Worf.

“Without a doubt,” said Crusher.

“I don’t know what we’re talking about, but yes,” said Geordi.

“I am all fucked up on this weed we picked up, but yes,” said Troi.

Picard looked sad. Then, the turbolift opened and a man wandered out, complete with an old crazy man lab coat, oversized pilot’s goggles, and crazy wacky hair. “Wow, it’s like you guys live in pig shit compared to what we have now, in the twenty-FIFTH century,” he said.

“We like our pig shit very much, Mister…?” said Troi, stumbling.

“It’s Doctor, Doctor Bavarius Crème.” Dr. Crème looked around the bridge, muttering to himself and shaking his head.

“How do we know you’re from the twenty-fifth century?” said Eduardo, turning around. “My sexy comrades had already mentioned a similar imposter from an earlier season. For all we know, you could be yet another one in a relatively long line of fakes.” He gestured very sensually.

“Yes, well I saw that episode already.” Dr. Crème pulled at his coat collar very aristocratically.

“Yeah, well I bet you saw it on reruns,” accused Wesley, pointing, um, accusingly, so as to go with his statement. Like a matching shirt and tie.

“Reruns…” Dr Crème said, removing his goggles and dusting them off. He paused for more dramatic effect, then looked back at the group sharply. “…Schmeruns.”

“Holy god, he’s brilliant!” said Picard, flailing his arms wildly. “How can we hope to stand up to that kind of wit?!”

“Fuck off,” said Worf. “How about that?”

Dr. Crème laughed. “That’s all you got? You’re a douche.”

The group was silent, jaws open wide. Eduardo raised an eyebrow from the back of the crowd, suspicious.

Picard flung his hands up, staring at the ceiling. “We’re finished! This effulgent charlatan from the far reaches of time will send us to our doom, surely!” With that, he fell to the ground and began walking in circles on his side, like in the Simpsons (or in my computer room, if you’re Trixie.)

Eduardo brushed past the group, a determined expression on his face. “Good sir, have you come here for any reason other than reducing our gorgeous captain to insanity and our bridge crew to a state of slack-jawed wonder? You are a troublemaker, and I will not stand for it. This ship’s security is my life, and I will guard her as such. I challenge you to a game of Tiger Woods 2006 for the Xbox 360, system link.”

Dr. Crème stifled a laugh. “Let’s do this.”

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES LATER

“Damn!” cried Dr. Crème. “I’ve been had!”

“You are finished. Return to the time from which you came!”

“I came from Dayton, Ohio.”

“Well, go back there!”

“I am gone!” With that, Dr. Crème was gone.

“How did you beat him?” said a curious young Wesley.

“Well, my curious young Wesley, I used Galoob’s new invention, the Game Genie, now available for all major home consoles!”

“You cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat, young curious Wesley. I used…THE POWER OF THE CODE!!!!!!!!!!1111!!!!!11″

“Well, I guess I’ll go to Cargo Bay 4,” said a dejected Worf, hands not on hips.

“The end,” said Geordi.

“I got dem blues,” wailed Worf. “I got dem Tactical monitoring, Picard bossin’-around blues. I got dem –”

“Shut up, Worf!” shouted Picard. “I swear by everything holy that I’ll hang your sorry Klingon ass on my wall if you don’t shut the fuck up now!”

“Sorry, sir. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your little sissy parade.”

“That’s it.” Picard stood up and ran to the viewscreen. He turned, and performed a Super-Twisty Flying Kick. He sailed through the air, finally impacting into Worf’s face.

“Augh! There’s a rock in your shoe!” Worf began to cry.

Picard put his hand on Worf’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“You didn’t have to kick me so hard.”

“Look, let’s go play Parise Squares in the holodeck.”

“Really?” Worf looked up.

“Yep. We can even knock out Riker and use him for target practice.”

“Hey!” Riker yelled.

“Thanks.”

“Anything for my Number One friend.”

“Hey!” yelled Riker again. “What about me?”

“You’re not crying, so stop being a pussy and shut up! Or I’ll kick you so hard Beverly’ll have to use you for Targ food!”

“Sorry,” said Riker, sniffling.

“‘Tis the season to be jolly, eh, Mister Worf?” asked Captain Picard.

Worf was dressed in a Santa Claus outfit, arms crossed in front of him, and a surly expression on his face. “Shut the fuck up, Captain. I am not a very jolly Klingon.”

“Sing a song for us, Worf,” said Picard.

“You want me to sing a fucking song, baldie? Fine. Jingle bells, Picard smells, he smells like a piece of shit,” crooned Worf.

“That’s it you fucking cocksucking piece of Klingon shit. I’m gonna kick your burly Klingon ass, bitch!” roared Picard. He jumped up and ripped off his uniform, revealing karate uniform underneath.

Before Picard could ream Worf, the turbolift opened, and Riker, dressed in an elf’s uniform, dashed out. He did several cartwheels, all the while belting out timeless Christmas carols. He then jumped up and gave Picard a big wet kiss on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, sir!” cried Riker merrily.

Picard kicked him in the nuts, and Riker promptly passed out onto the floor.

“Merry Christmas, indeed, Number One,” muttered Picard.

Worf pressed the button for the turbolift. As it opened, he saw Picard and Beverly humping against the wall. “Nice legs,” he commented.

Beverly released herself and smiled. “Thanks. You next?”

“I was referring to the captain.”

“Nerfherder!” she said, punting Worf’s nuts across the bridge and kicking Picard out of the lift. She pressed a button and was gone. Worf shrieked like a cheerleader, and all the panels shattered. Data’s head exploded, showering Riker with burning shrapnel.

“My face! My beautiful, marketable face!” cried Riker, flailing his arms as he ran up and down the bridge.

“My testicles,” groaned Worf, clutching his missing balls.

Geordi stood up near the observation lounge (where Worf’s balls had landed), and dropped his visor. He found two large balls and ran to the turbolift, screaming, “Free eyes!”

“Ha ha ha,” said a naked Picard, hands on hips.

Worf croaked.

Worf leaned against Tactical, observing the situation before him. Both the ensigns at the conn wore green armbands, and Data, at the Science station, had green servos exposed. Although he wasn’t completely sure about some of the bizarre rituals of the humans, Worf knew something was definitely different about today.

The turbolift opened and Picard strolled out, wearing a shiny white coat and a white derby, adorned with a green ribbon. A green bowtie, bigger than his head, hung loosely from his neck. Big green shoes clomped along the carpet, accompanied with a green cane jauntily draped over his right arm. “Yo-ho-ho,” he announced.

Riker hesitantly followed, wearing a green leaf over Mr. Winky, and a little green bow in his hair, which was done to mimic Pippi Longstockings. “Do we really have to do this?” asked Riker quietly.

“Of course,” replied Picard, straightening his bowtie. “It’s tradition.”

Riker sighed. “All right.” He sat down, fiddling with his skimpy leaf.

Troi came out of the other turbolift, wearing two halves of a hollow watermelon atop her melons and a pair of skimpy green panties. Her teeth were also green, though not a good green, more of an Erin’s car green.

Worf frowned. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to be molested sometime in the very near future.

Picard began to twirl around stupidly. “Who’s not wearing green today?” he asked, looking from person to person.

Worf’s eyes widened. Now he remembered. Today was St. Patrick’s Day! “Aaiiieeeee!” he screamed, running for the turbolift. Picard bent low and chased after him, pinching Worf’s buttocks as he gave pursuit.

“It’s all in good fun, Mr. Worf,” said Picard in a manly voice as he pinched Worf’s asshole one too many times. Turning, Worf grabbed the edges of Picard’s derby and shoved it down, blinding Picard. He kneed his bald superior, and pressed the button for the turbolift.

Riker reached low and pinched Worf’s thigh, making him scream. Worf collapsed to the floor in a fetal position, his body racked with sobs.

Everyone laughed heartily, save for Worf.

“Worf,” said Riker, “you so crazy!”