Mystery Fanfic Email 3000

In the not too far flung hist'ry
Last Sunday A.M.
Doctor Nicci V. and TV's Wes
Planned to shatter your peaceful dreams

They joined the mad scientist exchange programme
And got a space station from this crazy dame
Their experiment needed a good test case
So they grabbed a guy named Tom and they shot him into space

(LET ME GOOOOOOO!)

We'll send him cheesy email
The worst we can find
(la la la)
We'll make him sit and read them all and we'll monitor his mind
(la la la)

Now keep in mind Tom can't control
Where the emails begin or end
He'll try to keep his sanity
With his newfound robot friends.

ROBOT ROLL CALL!
Cambot!
(Look over here)
Gypsy!
(Hello!)
Tom Servo!
(Another new guy?)
Crooooooow!
(Bat Guano!)

If you're wondering how he eats and breathes
And other science facts
(la la la)
Just repeat to yourself "It's just a show
"I should really just relax."

For Mystery Fanfic Email 3000!

[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8]

[Interior, Satellite of Love, TOMR stands at the bridge while SERVO and CROW cower to one side, heads peeping up over the console from time to time.]

TOMR:  Oh!  Uh...hi everyone.  I'm Tom Russell and this is the Satellite of Love.  Dr. Vega kidnapped me and shot me up here as part of her warped experiments.  I was told I'd be trapped alone on the station but it looks like the previous occupant created these robot companions.  Right now, I'm trying to win their trust and affection.  [to 'bots]  Come on, guys, don't be frightened of me. I won't hurt you.

SERVO AND CROW:  AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

CROW:  Hold me, Servo!

SERVO:  My God, he's HUGE!  Look at his wingspan!

CROW:  Maybe he'll keep growing, just like in The Amazing Colossus, if we're lucky, he'll get so big, his heart won't be able to keep him alive!

SERVO:  We can't afford to wait that long!  We need bigger guns!

TOMR:  I can see this is going to take awhile.

[Commercial Sign begins to flash]

TOMR:  What's that?

SERVO:  Just hit that blinking button over there.

TOMR:  Oh, thanks!

SERVO AND CROW: AHHHHH!

TOMR:  We'll be right back. [hits button]

[A solid string of commericals featuring "raw edgy" commedians selling out  to hawk 10-10-20 phone numbers.  You flip over to MTV to catch a video, only to be reminded that "Music Television" no longer plays music of any kind.  Hoping to regain a shred of nostalgia before returning to the show, you flip down to WGBH 2 and catch the 4085th showing of the 18th Episode of "Are You Being Served?".   Nostalgia satiated, you flip back to the show just in time...]

TOMR:  ...and that's how I was nearly killed by cheese.

SERVO:  Wow!  You are really suited for this job!

CROW:  Yeah, I think you'll do pretty well around here once you realize that I get to decide who lives and who dies.

TOMR:  Oh I don't think so. [Mad light flashes]  What's that one?

SERVO:  Just hit that button over there.

TOMR:  Right.  Oh look, it's Vega and The Brain.

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  Very funny Great Grape Ape.  I see you're settling in well up there with the bots.

[SOL]

SERVO:  Who the hey are you?

CROW:  Yeah and where's Mike?

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  I am Doctor Nicci Vega and this is TV's Wes.  [gestures to empty space]  Uh...Wes?  WES!

WES:  [Dashing in]  Here, Dr. V.  Did you know this place has an organ vending machine?

VEGA:  That's nice, Wes.  Why don't you just stand right there and be very quiet for Mommy.

WES:  OK

VEGA:  That's better.  Anyway, I'm Doctor Vega, that is TV's Wes, and you are my pet project.  I'm part of the Mad Scientists exchange program.  We swap evil experiments to broaden our horizons and provide new insight.  Pearl and I met on EvilChat and decided it'd be fun.  So right now, Pearl is at my top-secret Long Island Headquarters forcing Mike to fill out web forms.

[SOL]

CROW:  That's an evil experiment!?

TOMR:  It is when they're forms for sixdegrees.com.

CROW AND SERVO:  Gah!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  Anyway, I'm told that as part of the experiment, it's traditional to have an Invention Exchange of some kind.  Since I know mine is better, I'll go first.  Get the invention, Wes.

WES:  Sure thing, O Blossom-Hatted One.

VEGA:  WES!

[Wes streaks off camera and returns with a large backpack device strapped to his person.]

VEGA:  Recently the Army developed a powerful, yet portable loudspeaker system so commanders can make themselves heard over the din of battle.  I've taken this concept to the next level and developed the Noisy Thinker.  This infernal machine will broadcast the wearer's thoughts at a lobe-burning 450 "thought-Decibels" driving all other thoughts out of people's heads.  No matter how much they may want to ignore it, they can't help but fixate on your thoughts.  By way of example, 450 thought-Decibels are louder than, say, imagining President Dan Quayle.

[SOL]

TOMR:  Gluck!

CROW:  Total brain lock!  That's evil!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  Why, thank you.  Right now, Wes is just modeling the Noisy Thinker, but I intend to send him down to DC and have him switch on in Congress.  When 450 thought-Decibels of pure static hit those fools, no one will be able to stop me!  So, what have you got to show me, Piper's Son?

[SOL]

TOMR:  Well, ma'am, considering that I just heard about the Invention Exchange 30 seconds ago, I was a bit rushed, but I do think I came up with something you'll really like.  Cambot, if you could give me Rocket #9, I'll explain.

[Exterior shot of SOL, there appears to be yellow strands surrounding the SOL]

TOMR:  [Voice-over]  What will the flurry of activity up here in space constructing the new International Space Station, I realized that we really need to exercise more caution.  There's already debris from the station, lost tools and other assorted junk orbriting the Earth at high speed.  Someone could get hurt.  That's why I developed the "Safety Strands".  Much like that "Police Line, Do Not Cross" tape found at Fox TV crime scenes everywhere, these Safety Strands encircle the construction zone and warn off pedestrians and curious alien children.  A simple idea with live-saving potential.  What do you think ma'am?

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  I think you've been playing with your Tonka trucks too much.  Anyway, this week's email bomb is a little something I got from somewhere (possibly from Amber, but you'll never know) which I am forwarding on to you.  It's a pleasnt story involving sex...

[SOL]

CROW:  Yes!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  ...robots...

[SOL]

CROW:  Yes!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  ...and tribbles!

[SOL]

CROW:  NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  It's a bit of NC-17 on the NCC-1701E called "Data, Tribble and Spot -- Oh My!" and you're my little red shirt.  Beam it up, Wes!

WES:  Making it so, sir.

[SOL -- Panic reigns]

TOMR:  WE'VE GOT NEW MAIL SIGN!

[8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1]
 
 

From dryad@WPI.EDU Sun Dec 13 07:49:44 1998

Return-Path: <dryad@WPI.EDU>
Delivered-To: tick@sidehack.sat.gweep.net

TOMR:  Yeah, we named it after this great movie called "Sidehackers".

CROW:  You disgust me!

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Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1998 02:49:41 -0500 (EST)

From: Nicci Vega <dryad@WPI.EDU>

To: Theresa Rigsby <trigsby@WPI.EDU>, Rebecca Lovett <relovett@WPI.EDU>,
        Nicholas Paquette <paqnic@WPI.EDU>,
        "F. Wesley Blackstone" <wez@WPI.EDU>,

SERVO:  I wonder what the "F" stands for?

CROW:  I bet it stands for--

TOMR:  Too easy, Crow.  Way, way too easy.

        Christopher Lansdown <lansdoct@screech.cs.alfred.edu>,
        Gene Ananiev <voland@WPI.EDU>, Joseph Waltz Gee <gee@WPI.EDU>,
        Patric Schneider <pschneiderpatrick@netscape.net>,
        Cameron Joseph Matthews <nevin@WPI.EDU>,
        Kristen Roebuck <krisrobe@netscape.net>,
        Tom Russell <tick@sidehack.sat.gweep.net>

TOMR:  I think they're gonna go blind if they read this thing.

Subject: REV:  Data, Tribble, and Spot--Oh My!  1/1 [NC17] TNG (fwd)

TOMR:  Shhh, Shhh, it's gonna be ok...

Message-ID: <Pine.OSF.4.05.9812130246240.14411-100000@reno.WPI.EDU>
MIME-Version: 1.0

Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII
Status: ROr

I decided you all needed to see this.

Wes, if you want to take Amber's warning about this one, just delete it now....something about ignorance
being bliss...?

CROW:  Is she another Evil Mad Scientist?

TOMR:  Not really, but she is evil.  She controls more groups than the Bavarian Illuminati.

Proceed with caution...

***************************************************************************

"To know that eternity is neither drunk nor sober, to know it young and be a poet"--Jack Kerouac, "Skid Row Wine"

TOMR:  When.

SERVO:  When.

CROW:  No good, we gotta read the whole thing.

i'm Cleopatra recycled
i'm temporary immortality
like everyone else in this room i'm dancing my piece of eternity
--"intro"

SERVO:  I'm a floating gumball machine.

CROW:  I'm hoping I live to see tomorrow.

Title:  Data, Tribble, and Spot--Oh My!

Author:  Michael Roy Hollihan (hollihan@bellsouth.net)

Series:  TNG
Part:  REV 1/1
Rating:  [NC17]
Codes:  Interspecies tribble sex--YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Summary:  Read the title and use your diseased imagination.

TOMR:  Is he OK?

SERVO:  Yeah, just stick his head back on.  Funny, that usually happens to me.

Archivist:  ASC, ASCEM, please do!  @}-------- A rose for your hard
work.

Disclaimer:  Star Trek, Next Generation, and its characters are the
property of Paramount.  This story is mine and is not intended for
profit.

All rights not Paramount's are mine.  No archiving, reposting
or distribution without prior consent.

TOMR:  Of course not, she's evil.

Data, Tribble, and Spot--Oh My!
Michael Roy Hollihan
 

Human nature being what it is, it was entirely predictable that once
found, tribbles would be an eternal problem for Starfleet.  Sort of like
rats on old Navy vessels, once they insinuated themselves, tribbles

proved equally difficult to eradicate.  Unlike rats, they were
impossibly pleasant and loveable.

CROW:  Yeah, but everyone you know is a  freak.

And that, the tribble's secret weapon
in the war for survival, was what kept the problem going.

Crewman Bellnor had bought one at a market on Naptha III, delighted at
the little brown and white bundle of love.  She had snuck it on board,
rationalizing that it could be controlled because she loved it too much
to let it be a problem.

SERVO:  Ewww!

CROW:  Love, the perfect alternative to having your tribble spayed.

She had given some of the first babies to her
friends and then, within days,  tribbles began to appear everywhere on
the Enterprise.  The last straw was Captain Picard's replicated cup of
"Tribble, Earl Grey, hot."  He had *not* been amused.

CROW:  Captain Picard is actually a native of France from the---

TOMR:  Simmer down, fanboy.

It had taken Bellnor and two teams of engineers nineteen days to round
them all up.

CROW:  Aren't tribbles naturally round?

TOMR:  Maybe these were fractional tribbles.

She now stood in Commander Data's quarters with the last
tribble--the mother of the whole incident.

TOMR:  Shut your mouth!

CROW:  But, Tom, I'm jus' talkin' 'bout Tribble.

Captain Picard felt sure
that the android would be immune to any desire to rescue this final
survivor.

TOMR:  OK, fanboy, that's enough out of you.  Besides, do you really want to make this story cannon?

CROW:  Good point.

Tears welling in her eyes, Bellnor handed over "Fluffy."  She turned
quickly and rushed from the room, her cries echoing behind her.

Data took Fluffy to his computer console for a final analysis before it
was destroyed.

As he sat in his chair, Spot wandered over and began to
rub himself around his ankles.

TOMR:  Pronoun check, little buddy.  "He" refers to Data.

CROW:  ahhhh...

The tribble began to coo and trill
softly.  Spot began to meow in response.  Data, acting on a positronic
impulse, held the tribble down in front of Spot.

SERVO:  Are you sure you've never done this before?

The result was instantaneous.

Spot sniffed Fluffy and began to rub
her.  The tribble's trills increased dramatically.  Spot tried to wrap
himself around Fluffy and Data's hand, insistent.

SERVO:  Data's hand.

CROW:  No, that's not right.  It's just not diagramming correctly.

TOMR:  Treat it like a dangling sentance fragment and chop it.  It's not important.

He evaluated the possible responses, thirty-nine in all, and chose one.

With both hands, he scooped up the tribble and his cat and placed them

on the console.

Spot, momentarily angry and now oblivious to him,
quickly wrapped all his legs and paws around Fluffy, eyes squeezed
tightly shut and purring loudly.  Fluffy's trill matched Spot's, both in
volume and rhythm.

TOMR:  If only it were true...

Fascinated, Data leaned in close to observe.

He shut down his breathing
subroutine in order to not disturb the pair while he watched.

Spot was now kneading his paws on the tribble,

his tail was twitching
madly.  Small ripples flowed over Fluffy.  They seemed locked together,
almost as one.  Spot rubbed his cheeks, left and right, left and right,

TOMR:  I wish I was on a grassy knoll in Texas right now...

across Fluffy's fur.  Fluffy was pulsing against Spot.

CROW:  Huh?

SERVO:  The ramblings of an old man, pay him no mind.

Data was wondering how long this could continue

when he noticed that Spot had an erection.

A rather prominent one.

And he was starting to
move the tribble around, searching for something.

TOMR:  Whoa!

CROW:  It's ok.  There's a spare head on the floor there.

TOMR:  [attaching new head] He's not as resilient is he?

CROW:  No, but his underwear collection is unsurpassed.

Spot's hips began to twitch, shallow and tentative at first.  Fluffy's
cooing continued unchanged, but the ripples on her fur were becoming
more pronounced.  Then Spot's manly arrow found its target.

TOMR:  Hey, careful there!  You're getting ram chips all over the floor!

CROW:  no more!  no more!

TOMR:  Come back to us little camper.

Fluffy gave a supersonic trill before going into a strange
contract-and-elongate motion.  Spot was thrusting furiously, holding
Fluffy tightly in his tiny paws.  They were rolling side to side, and
even back over head.

TOMR:  What!?

The coupling pair almost went off the computer
console,

SERVO:  Land on your head, cat!

and it was only Data's superhuman speed that saved them from
falling.

They didn't even notice; the strange copulation continued
unabated.

Data used his hands as a fence

CROW:  Well, you know what they say about a robot with big hands.

TOMR:  Crow...

CROW:  He can use them as a fence.

TOMR:  Uh...I guess so...

and kept them in front of his face.

SERVO:  Hey!  No fair!

CROW:  Yeah!  My hands can't cover my face and Servo's arms aren't even functional!

SERVO:  Why don't you just tell the whole world, Crow!

CROW:  I just did!

VEGA:  [voice over]  Tom, if you don't read the letter, I'm cutting off your oxygen supply.

TOMR:  [uncovering]  Yes, Dr. V.

CROW:  Hah!  Suffer in hell with us, little man!

He was inches from Spot's head and his pet didn't seem to notice it.  He
reached a finger out to stroke Spot's fur.  Nose twitching, Spot ran a
rough tongue over the digit.  Then, to Data's further surprise, Spot
closed his mouth over the finger and began to nurse, rubbing his
scratching tongue along the shaft.

TOMR:  All right, Servo.  As long as you're clinical in your query.

SERVO:  The implication here is that the cat is acting out some sort of oral fixation.  But I don't believe fellatio or cunniligus are activties cats engage in.  Am I mistaken or is the author just trying to twist the knife a little harder?

CROW:  Fellow-what?  Cunning-who?  What are you guys talking about?

TOMR:  When you're older, Crow.  [to Servo]  In answer to your question, Servo, I think the author is just messing with your head some more.

Data was at a loss.

He could only sit still and watch the bizarre tableau.

After a few more moments, he began to try to emulate the
purrs, coos, and other noises he was hearing.  The coupling was becoming
vigorous.

TOMR:  Crow!

Spot found his voice again, and let out a weird, stangled yowl

His hip
gave a single, violent thrust.  As he removed his penis, the barbs
scraped Fluffy's vagina and she also made strange, supersonic noises.

CROW:  If you had a vagina.

SERVO:  Who says I don't?

TOMR:  Uh...guys, this is a real weird area and I do NOT want to go here.

Spot instantly untangled himself and pushed Fluffy away, letting go of
Data's finger as well.

The tribble lay there, cooing and trilling, a tiny trail of blood
marring its soft fur.

Her body continued to expand and contract, as
though with heavy breaths.

Spot leapt to the floor and began to wash
himself, still purring.

Data looked at his now-shredded finger.

CROW:  Wow!  Just like a genestealer!

TOMR:  You play Space Hulk too?

Fascinating....

Spot was now standing below the console,

yowling and searching for
Fluffy.  He scrunched up his back legs and bounded back by Fluffy's
side.  She shuffled towards him, and in a moment they were locked into
another athletic embrace.

SERVO:  Crow!

TOMR:  No...no, I'll give him that one -- this time.

Data wondered what he was going to do now.

He also doubted that Captain
Picard would want to read this report.

=== === === ===

CROW:  Break sign.

TOMR:  We get breaks?

SERVO:  Union rules, come on.

[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8]

[SOL]

[SERVO has a goatee on his globe and is dressed in a Starfleet uniform.  He reminds one of Riker.  In his stubby, useless hand is propped some sort of dowel with a ball of fur on the end.  CROW, is dressed up in a security uniform and his Klingon bandolier marks him as Mr. Worf.  He's also holding a fur-tipped dowel.  Enter TOMR, as Capt. Piccard...]

TOMR:  Riker!  What's that you're eating?

SERVO:  It's the new taste sensation that's sweeping the Federation -- Tribble On A Stick!  Here, try some.

TOMR:  [taking Servo's stick and taking a bite]  Mmmm...that's good eating!

CROW:  Tastes just like fuzzy chicken!  Truly a warrior's snack!

ALL:  New Tribble On A Stick!  Try some today!

[Deep 13]

VEGA:  Ha!  My plan is working.  Soon they will crack and I will spam every email account on Earth!

[TV's Wes enters, tufts of fur clinging to the edges of his mouth]

WES:  Hey, Dr. Vega, you've gotta try this new Tribble On A Stick!  It's Tribbl-icious!

VEGA:  Wes....nevermind.

[still more commercials...]

[Theater inside the SOL, TomR and the 'bots return...]

CROW:  That was fun.

TOMR:  Yeah, I've had that idea kicking around for awhile now.

SERVO:  Too bad we gotta go back to this crap.

CROW:  I wonder what you get when you cross a cat and a tribble.

TOMR:  I think we're gonna find out...

No one really noticed that Data disappeared for the rest of the day.

It wasn't unusual for him to get so absorbed in some problem that he would
withdraw into superhuman concentration.

But when he missed the weekly poker game, well, that was a cause for concern.

Late that night, Geordi and Deanna stood outside his quarters.

SERVO:  What a lame gag.

TOMR:  When you go to WPI, you take your fun where you can.

Geordi pushed the door chime.  After a moment, a voice from inside called, "How
may I assist you Geordi, Counselor?"

"Well," Geordi replied, "you could open the door for starters."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," he said.

"Data, what's wrong?" Troi asked.

"I am fine.  I merely require some privacy for a time."  The door
remained closed.

"Data, please; we're all worried." Troi said, confused concern in her
voice.

"We want to help." Geordi added.

The door opened just enough to let Data stick his head out.  He looked
over the both of them.  "I doubt that you can help with this problem."
His head disappeared, and the door closed.

Deanna and Geordi were floored.

After an answering nod to his
non-verbal question, Geordi used his access override to open the door.

CROW:  [as Geordi]  I'm the god!  I'm the god!

Data's quarters were a shambles.  Furniture was shredded, statues
knocked over, his easel was on the floor and paint was everywhere.  His
computer console was dabbed and streaked in a pallette of colors.  More
than a dozen furry forms crawled all over the place.  And the smell....

But most shocking of all was the nude Data who stood in the center of
the room, his back to them.

"Oh my--" was all Troi could manage.  She backed up to the closed door.

"Dataaaa...."  Geordi walked over to one of the furry creatures and
picked it up.  It looked like a tribble at first, but then it mewed and
turned a kitten face to him.  Geordi dropped  it in shock.  "What
happened here?"

TOMR:  It's waiting for him.

Data turned his head to face them, but was curiously unable to look at
the two.  "I did not destroy the last tribble immediately."

TOMR:  The "enlightened" Federation doesn't believe in capital punishment, Crow.

CROW:  They will after they read this email!

"I gathered that,' Geordi said as he looked around.

"And Spot took, I believe the phrase is, "a shine" to it."

TOMR:  Crow -- one more crack like that and I'm making you re-read some Ratliff.

CROW:  I'll be good.

"Data, you're not saying--" Troi began.

"I have not said anything, yet, but your probable surmise is correct.
These are the progeny of Spot and Fluffy."

Deanna bent down and stroke one as it crawled across the floor.  It made
a purring coo at her touch, amd turned its face into her hand.  She
smiled in delight.  "They're lovely."

TOMR:  I wonder if the Borg assimilate tribbles.

CROW:  They would, but all the cybernetic bits fall off.

"How did you get so many?" Geordi asked.  "And where's Spot?"

"That is the problem."  And then Data turned his whole body around.

Wrapped tightly around his erected member, like an oversized fur cock
ring, was the writhing pair, Spot and Fluffy.

TOMR:  Mind...reeling!

SERVO:  Head containment system cracking un-der pressure!!!  [head flies off]

CROW:  I WANT MY MOMMY!!!

Deanna staggered to the sofa, unable to look long before horror made her
turn away, only to find her eyes drawn back to the bizarre sight.

Geordi hesitated only a second before he approached to get a better
look.

SERVO:  I didn't know Geordi was...that way.

TOMR:  Reading Rainbow Power my friend.  Reading Rainbow Power.

CROW:  I wish I could read a good book right now...

Data was now remarkably non-plussed.

"I was curious about--" he began.

Geordi held up his hand as be bent down for a closer look at the fur
collar decorating Data's penis.  "I *really* don't want to know, OK?"

He examined the rigid pole inside the fur donut.

"You've been tinkering with yourself, haven't you?"

"Tasha made some suggestions..." he replied.  Deanna squeaked in horror.

Geordi reached out to touch Spot, who quickly and visciously slashed
him.  Troi sat on the sofa, unconsciously stroking one of the kittens.

TOMR:  [grabbing Crow]  Ratliff, Crow.  Ratliff.

CROW:  I sorry.  I be good.  Promise.

TOMR:  You better.

Maintaining a respectful distance as he continued his study of Data's
unfortunate menage-a-trois, he said, "But how could these two
produce..."

"I studied their respective DNA patterns.  There was a surprisingly high
correlation.  I was amazed to discover it.  It will make for a
ground-breaking paper."  Data looked at his two friends calmly.

TOMR:  Then keep in mind it's Star Trek Fanfic...

CROW:  You should really just relax.

"What's happening?"

"As best as I can determine without autopsy, they are a blend of cat and
tribble genes.  They are born pregnant, like all tribbles, but with the
head and face of a cat, and much of its personality.   However," Data
stroked the bonded pair around his manhood, petting and reassuring them,
"unlike tribbles, they have excretory systems."

TOMR:  Deep breaths, Servo.  Deep breaths....

Geordi looked at his shoes.  "So I see....  But what I meant was, what's
happening between these two?"  He pointed to Data's priapic peg.

TOMR:  It's the uh...name for the special connecting rod that holds Data's upper torso and armature together.

CROW:  You have no idea do you?

TOMR:  None.

"They have been, as you might say, 'at it' since this morning.  They
resist all attempts to remove them.  I am waiting for one of them to
expire from exhaustion."

Deanna began laughing, "It gives the phrase 'fucked to death' a new
meaning."

She shifted her position and sat down on a squeaking,
hissing, brown and tan furball.  With care, she rescued it and began to
carress it.  A tiny pink tongue began to lick her hand, as her laughter
increased.

"Why do you laugh, Counselor?  This situation does not seem to be an
appropriate source for humor."

TOMR:  [minister voice]  And yea, there shalt be a time for laughing and a time for weeping.  And this sure ain't the time to be laughing.

Data's innocent expression, on a naked man caught in an embarrasing
position of legendary proportions, with the Chief Engineer kneeling
before him looking at his elegantly wrapped erection, was too much for
her.

SERVO:  Looks like it's too much for Crow too.

TOMR:  [to Crow] One crack and it's page after page of Marrissa and the Kid's Crew, my friend.

"Have you named them yet?" was all she could manage.

"I have had other, more pressing concerns," he said, in his usual
understatement.  "Do you wish to suggest one?"

SERVO:  Roadkill

CROW:  Skeet Target

She could only get out a single word before she collapsed into
hysterics.

"Kibbles!"

THE END

CROW:  Yeah that was really bad.  Does Dr. V always send you drek like this?

TOMR:  Sometimes it's ASCII art.

CROW:  I weep for you.  Come on, let's go.

[1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8]

[SOL -- TOMR and the 'bots at the bridge]

TOMR:  So there you go.  A typical experiment for me.

SERVO:  There was nothing typical about that!

CROW:  Well...actually...

SERVO:  Shhh...I'm trying to blot it out of my memory.

CROW:  Yeah, but Dr. V's gonna unleash this on the world unless we do something.

SERVO:  I'm disavowing any knowledge of your activitiy.

CROW:  As usual.

TOMR:  What is it guys?

CROW:  *ahem*  Well, Tom, if you enjoyed this fanfic.

TOMR:  I didn't.

CROW:  Yeah, but say you did.  If you enjoyed it, then the library of MST3K recommends this URL.

SERVO:

CROW:  It's got pretty much everything this post had and more.

SERVO:  More evil.

TOMR:  Well, we'll see.  Dr. V's got pretty high standards.  What do you think, ma'am?

[Deep 13 -- VEGA is checking out the URL on her computer.  Her eyes go wide with shock and her mouth gapes wide.  TV's WES wanders in, still wearing the Noisy Thinker.  Making small strangling noises, VEGA reaches out and activates the Noisy Thinker filling Deep 13 with WES's thoughts.]

VEGA:  [smiling slightly] ahhhhhhh....

[Both stare vacantly into space as VEGA's hand slips down and hits the button]

TOM'S DISCLAIMER:  Mystery Science Theater 3000 and all it's elements belong to Best Brains and the Sci-Fi channel.  All of the Star Trek stuff belongs to Paramount and the actual story is Michael Roy Hollihan and he really should've kept it to himself.  Please don't sue me.  It's all Nicci's fault.

Geordi held up his hand as be bent down for a closer look at the fur
collar decorating Data's penis.  "I *really* don't want to know, OK?"