And now for another episode of vivaTrek; I have resurrected Porthos for entertainment purposes:
INT. Captain’s Mess–buffet table
Everyone is there, gathered around the table, except Malcolm. They chit-chat and nibble. Suddenly, their noses crinkle in unison and they look around with pained expressions.
HOSHI: Is that what I think it is?
T’POL: Specify.
HOSHI: I think somebody…you know…
TRAVIS: Let one?
EVERYONE BUT TRAVIS: Shut up, Mayweather. No one cares what you have to say.
ARCHER (furrowing his brow to the point that his eyes can no longer be seen): Something smells funny. Something doesn’t smell right.
TRIP: Cap’n, haven’t ya already said that several tahms this season?
ARCHER: Yes. What’s your point?
Trip shrugs and continues to gobble his pecan-encrusted catfish.
PHLOX: Well, I can’t take the responsibility. Denobulons never do that–at least, not out of their nether regions.
CHEF: Then how do they do it?
PHLOX: Out of their ears. Would you like me to demonstrate?
EVERYONE: NO!!!
PORTHOS: GRRR! ARF ARF ARF!
T’POL: Perhaps it was Porthos. Terran canines are notorious for making the air unbreathable.
ARCHER: Don’t you blame my dog!
TRIP (sotto voce): Don’t make no sense…Every time he poots, the Cap’n blames the poor pooch, but he won’t let anyone else do that.
ARCHER: What was that, Trip?
TRIP: Nuthin’, sir.
HOSHI: Is anyone going to 'fess up? It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Phlox, so who’s guilty?
TRAVIS (jumping up and down, with his hand raised): Me! Me!
EVERYONE: Shut up, Mayweather! We mean it!
ARCHER: It wasn’t me either, and I know it wasn’t Porthos, because I would have recognized it.
CHEF: I’m innocent.
Malcolm Reed walks into the middle of all this, looking shame-faced.
MALCOLM: Sorry I’m late. I willingly accept any punishment that is due me.
TRIP: What are you, some kinda masochistic freak?
MALCOLM: Whatever it is that you’re all talking about, I take full blame for it. Captain, I submit myself for discipli–
ARCHER (interrupting): Yeah, you’d probably like that. But I’m not in the mood. Besides, it happened before you even walked in here, you moron.
TRIP: That’s tellin’ 'em, Cap’n!
PORTHOS: BARK! BARK! WOOF!
TRAVIS: Listen, I really did do it…
EVERYONE: For the last time, Mayweather, SHUT UP!!
TRAVIS (pouting in the corner): They were nicer to me back on the cargo ship…
Everyone looks at each other with a sudden epiphany. Then all eyes turn to T’Pol.
ARCHER: You…Subcommander? It was you?
T’POL: I never denied it.
PHLOX: Interesting how I didn’t deduce that from the beginning. But then, Vulcan physiology is so very different from all other physiologies with which I’m famililar…
TRIP: Can we just get back to the buffet? Ah’m still hungry.
HOSHI: Yes, but let’s open a window or something and get some air in here.
Travis jumps up.
TRAVIS: I’ll do it!
EVERYONE: No, Travis, don’t break through that…it’s the only thing separating us from the void of space…NOOOOOOOOOO!!!
As always, this is dedicated to Kn*ckers, who actually finds this stuff funny; to Aesiron, for joining me in the virtual sandbox every night; and to NoClueBoy, who thinks I’m cute, even though all he has to go by are two crappy digital photos that make me look pale and puffy.

–vivathehamsterkiller

