Chief Medical Officer's Log
Stardate 98002540
Well, the talent contest is next week. I have no idea what Deanna is planning but the thunder cunt has had Holo Deck 2 booked out every afternoon from 12 until 5 for three weeks straight now. And sometimes she even goes back there in the evening for more practice. There's a lot of buzz around the ship; everyone is talking about what Deanna's going to do and blah blah blah. Fucking bitch. I wouldn't be surprised if she was just spending her afternoon getting herself seen to by Orgasm Program 5-Theta. Though if that is the case then its my fault seeing as how I replaced Riker's latest prescription for his erection meds with Oestrogen boosters. But I only did that because the anonymous complaint I made about all the time she was spending in the damn Holo Deck was completely ignored. Its all circular and it all goes back to her!
Its so damn unfair. Other people need to practice too. Like I'd be in Holo Deck 2 all the damn time if I knew what I was going to do. My plan to construct a set of pan-pipes from my empty Chateau Picard bottles went awry when the fucking robot stopped by OUT OF HOURS and AT MY PERSONAL QUARTERS to ask me to take a look at his bloody cat. He knows I hate that thing. I freaked out when it bolted out of his arms and flung a PADD at it. I was slightly tipsy though and ended up hitting my bottles of Picard, which were somewhat unwisely arranged into a precarious pyramid formation following my last 3am caffeine and sugar high. And crash went my dream of impressing Jean-Luc by playng that little flute ditty of his wine bottle style. I turfed the robot out. Fucker only stopped by to unnerve me, I'm convinced of it. He knows I'm not a freakin' vet. Maybe his emotion chip is crapping out again. Hopefully he'll go psycho and strangle Deanna.
I seriously need to come up with something good for this contest though. Arseface Worf's son Alexander is the compere for the evening, albeit in his drag queen persona, Commandant Cocktajino, and he'll probably be as merciless as he was last year. Poor Worf, so deluded. If you get him talking about Alex's alter ego he gets all insistent and shouty; "HE'S JUST AN ENTERTAINER". I'm a pretty caring person, and I'm always looking out for others and trying to do them a favour, so I'd like to sit Arseface down and have a talk with him about coming to terms with being the parent of a homo, but I'd be scared he might take it the wrong way and... well, we don't want to go down that road again. By which I mean we don't want to end up in that bed again. Embarrassed and shame faced and quietly scurrying around the floor drunkenly looking for one's underwear and hoping you don't wake the loudly snoring Klingon mess who ate your bra in the throes of passion and cried after he came.
God, everyone on this ship is so emotionally retarded.
-Bev Crusher, logging off.
