Chief Medical Officer's Log
Stardate 9814872
If I wasn't still slightly tipsy from the previous evening's drinkies, and could actually walk in a straight line without one leg deciding to go in the opposite direction to the other, I think I'd simply saunter down to Engineering and piss into the warp core, my liqour-infused urine leading to a catastrophic systems failure that incinerates everyone on board.
So Arseface and I go through the cleansing ritual to absolve him of his shameful conduct with my hot naked ass a few years back. It takes 3 hours, its all in Klingon and its done in this dreary little sparsely lit room those hemorrhoid-headed pseudo-sentients are so damn fond of. Afterwards, Worf and I go our seperate ways and naturally enough, I'm pretty keen on letting my hair down, especially as I'd spent the previous few days trying to learn the Klingon chants I needed to say for my part and wearing a PVC red corset that cut off the blood supply to my tits.
So I hit a nearby human bar and start enjoying myself. I loosen the corset to let the girls breathe a bit and this cute guy from Betazed suddenly notices me. My breasts ARE pretty magnificent. We start talking and I ask him if he knows a bitch called Deanna, but he doesn't. We had a nice little chat, mostly about how Deanna is a bitch, and I suggest he tries the Klingon Raddish Vodka, so I order five. Unfortunately, he mustn't have been very thirsty, so I ended up finishing my three drinks before he's even halfway through his first. I'm a little unsure of things after that, but I do remember possibly loosening the corset more than I should've and possibly placing his hand somewhere I shouldn't. I vaguely remember him saying "I'm sensing extreme lustfulness" not long before he making a hasty exit. Y'think, smarty? God, the Betazed are fucking useless as a race.
Things get pretty crazy after that. Its a mash of memories of falling over several times, pissing in a fountain to some war dead, running down a street shouting "I am the Flame-Haired Witch-Queen of Africa!" and eventually managing to contact Arseface. And waking up next to him the following morning.
It was a horrible retread of the past that made my blood run cold. He had that doe-eyed look on his face again. I was hoarse and hungover and didn't want to break his little kitten heart at that point, so I slinked off to catch my scheduled trip back to the Enterprise, thankful that he already had plans to visit and stay with Alexander and his "good friend" at their apartment for a few days.
Not long before reaching the Enterprise, I get a subspace transmission from Arseface and decide to completely ignore it because at that point I'm vomiting up my lungs on account of the Raddish Vodka not having mixed very well with the Blood Wine, Blue Mist Malt Hot Whiskies or Ferengi Ales I'd also had the night before.
So I arrive back, and go to see my No.1 girlfriend and BFFL Guinan to find out if Picard missed me and let her know the hip-grinding horrors of my trip. Her face kinda falls halfway through our conversation and I know she knows something I don't. And then she explains. Apparently, for obscure stupid fucking hemorrhoid-head cultural reasons stretching back centuries, the Klingon ritual of absolution is identical to the Klingon marriage ritual, the only difference being the behaviour of the parties in the hours immediately afterwards. Going their seperate ways absolves them their shame. Wild inter-species Tribble-fucking counts as sealing the marriage contract.
Worf and I are married.
