Subject:    Re: Star Trek Transporter Toilet?
From:       Captain Infinity
Date:       Thu, 13 Jul 2000
Message-ID: <>

Once Upon A Time,
In article <8kkf5p$hhc$>
Jaime M De Castellvi wrote *some* of these things:

>Nowadays, the regs are fairly strict on the fact that nobody under 18 is

old enough to join me and my wife in a threesome.  Drat!  My ferrets are

>allowed to operate a transporter device.  You can get in a lot of shit if

you don't clean their cages.  You can smell and hear them pooping, but

>you don't watch it.  Minors were not allowed to operate transporters

for the ferrets.  Our cats used to do it, but now they're not allowed to

>either, but things were a lot more lax.
>I remember, when I was in grade five at Starfleet Primary, there was this

giant Tribble that couldn't breed.  He would hide in the closet and scare a

>kid called Dan in my class and he was quite the card.  His father had

bred Tribbles as a hobby.  Once he crossbred one with a dust bunny that had

>been assimilated by the Borg, so he lived alone with his mother.  Because

his mom was 1/2 human & 1/2 Denebeim Slime Devil and could see in the dark,

>she worked the late shift overseeing the dilithium manifold defibrulator,

(or was it the parthenogenic reverse-triambulator?  I forget.  Nevermind)

>he always got home before she did.  He would bring her personal hygiene

products from the drug store but they never cured her stench.  He carried a

>miniature transporter device to school (she never kept a switcher guard on

the closet where she kept her alien pr0n...she also kept her vibrator in

>it and she always forgot to lock it).  It was one of those older models,

the kind that had to be held with three hands.  Nuclear powered.  You know,

>before they came up with the more automated miniature sensors that would

allow you buzz yourself while jogging or taking a shower, and it would

>keep a lock even while you moved around.  He would replace it before she

missed it.  He had to; she'd have a shot of Romulan Ale and a buzz when she

>got home every night, so she never knew he took it.
>But it was a riot.  Dan would pre-program the thingie with the timer and

bring it to dancing class to scare the little girls.  He'd run away, and

>then hide it outside sensor range of the class.  Then, old Mr. Bloggins

(a brain in a jar) would be wheeled into class and propped up so that he

>would be facing that old-fashioned blackboard he used to be so proud

of, back in the days when slide rules were all the rage.  He'd be sloshing 

>about, and a teeny mound of turd would suddenly materialize on top of his

jar.  No one knew where he kept his digestive system.  It wasn't in his

>desk.  Old Bloggins would turn and see the turd and he would get so mad

because the corn kernels were still whole.  The entire class would laugh

>all of a sudden.  But he never caught Dan because in truth, old

Dan's mouth had been sealed in a transporter accident; he couldn't laugh.

>Mr. Bloggins was never very, very bright.
>One of classmates, a female Horta by name of Pauddy, she really had the

best "boulders", IYKWIM.  Woo Hoo!  All 300 of her hatchlings had the

>hots for Dan.  Hortas do not need to carry out waste disposal the way we

Humans would like; they store the do-do in plastic bags.  They love do-

>do, so she used to find the concept hilarious, and she would laugh forever

because their vocal chords create temporal anomalies.  Dan would get upset

>with that chirpy Horta laughter of hers at the thought that it was such a

mocking tone that would never, ever end.  Creating non-entropic sounds is a

>social taboo with us humans.  So of course, she broke up every time old

Danny boy cried his eyes out at her laughter, boo hoo.  Then Mr. "Corny"

>Bloggins got in a rage over one of Dan's (only he didn't know it was

practical joke; a plastic ear of corn.  Also, the idea was *mine*, not 

>Dan's) turds materializing on his desk.
>So they took Dan to the school nurse to get him fixed, and then --with the

OK of his momma--chopped his nuts off.  Then he went--served him right, the

>turd-- to the school principal to carve him a new asshole.  Then he got in

a big plastic bag filled with Horta do-do.  He knew he'd have to swim in

>more shit after his momma got home, although not as bad as he'd expected

because Hortas don't eat corn.  His momma was a little annoyed by that

>but she thought it was cute that he'd got a Horta-hickie.
>Years later, Danny, Pauddy and I went together through the

Spanking Machine, at a fraternity/sorority hazing.  They had these a lot at

>Academy.  Haven't since either of them since graduation, but last I heard

his epididymitis had subsided, and she had hatched 6000 more kids.  Also,

>he got appointed Science Officer at the "Argo", and she had made Captain

Infinity a set of potholders with Kermit Krab's picture on them.  Oh yes,

>and had got the "Exeter".  Old Bloggins, I hear, retired years ago.

I, of course, run the most successful Orion Slavegirl company in history.

Captain Infinity
 ..."There's nothing like an style-like
    wackylace to wake you up in the morning!"
                        --Julian Buczek, giving up coffee

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