Fight me!
I will be merciful.
“You think I can realign a decade of spiritual enlightenment by this afternoon?!”
“Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“We’re a most promising species, Mr. Spock, as predators go. Did you know that? I frequently have my doubts. I don’t. Not any more. And maybe in a thousand years or so, we’ll be able to prove it.”
I should say the Organians are as far above us on the evolutionary scale as we are above the amoeba.
She’s finding little ways to inject joy into otherwise horrible tasks.
Mind your own business, Mr. Spock, I’m sick of your half-breed interference. Do you hear?
You belong in a circus, Spock, not a starship. Right next to the dog-faced boy.
“I’m not sure, but I think we’ve been insulted.”
“I’m sure.”
Incloodelling the kiddilees?
“I’ve got her emptying [deleted] out of the Holodeck’s [deleted] filter!”
“Ugh. People really use it for that?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s mostly that.”
Laddie, don’t you think you should rephrase that?
You’re right, aye schould. I didn’t mean to say that the Enterprise should be hauling garbage.
I meant to say that it should be hauled away as garbage.
“I’m doing exactly what I need to. It’s called being a captain.”
“No, it’s called being a dick.”
*“If we’re going to be damned, let’s be damned for what we really are.”
Your use of language has altered since our arrival. It is currently laced with, …shall I say, …more colourful metaphors.
“I’ve killed better men for less.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Well, I’ve threatened to kill better men for about the same.”
The bullets are unreal. Without body. They are illusions only. Shadows without substance. They will not pass through your body, for they do not exist.
That was the Jailbreakers with their latest recording on Request Time, brought to you by Bang-Bang, the makers of the sweetest little automatic in the wor…
“Make it quick, Admiral. They’re moving him to the Federation funny farm.”
“Yes, poor friend. I hear he’s fruity as a nutcake.”
Capt. Freeman: “Computer, hit it.”
Computer: “Hitting it.”