FIRST OFFICER'S LOG

        Stardate, sometime in the future. We have encountered the
Izza-Bodda-Wadda-Wadda-Boink-Boink-Freebians of the planet Izza-Botta-
Watta-Watta-Boink-Boink-Freak. They have told me that due to my extreme
good looks, constant charm, and entirely unbeleivabe personality, I am to
become God of all Star Trek. I will be given the sight of LaForge, the
command abilities of Picard, the logic of Spock, the innocence of Data,
and the blood lust of Kirk. All of this together will make me smoother
than all hell. But, all that's beside the point. The point is, something
that is totally beyond me, but has its roots in Star Trek, has infested my
poor innocent little mind, forcing me week after week, month after month,
to sit and watch DS9 and Voyager. I've tried to stop, but I just can't
help myself. Every time I think about Kes's uniform I get all hot and
bothered. Every time I think about Sisko's head I'm blinded by the light.
Every time I think of the Dabo girls, I almost tumble over in pain, leading
me to one conclusion. I am totally, absolutely, entirely, and a whole
bunch of other adjectives, devoted to Star Trek. It has so taken over my
consciousness that I spend more money on Star Trek paraphernalia than I do
on food.
        My weekly sojourn to the comic book store used to be a time of
restful retreat from the evil warm goodness that is Star Trek. But no
longer. Even on the shelves of the comic book store I am bombarded by a
potpourri of Trek comics, attempting to wipe out what little life I have
left. It is evil, and it must be stopped. But still I am devoted, so I must
worship Picard's uniform like a deified sports hero is worshipped by the
illiterate masses.
        Recently, I didn't watch Star Trek, or any TV, for that matter, for
an entire week. On the first day, I was in pain. On the second day, it
became excruciating. On the third day, my eyes began to bleed. On the
fourth day, so did my ears. The fifth and sixth days are a bit of a blur,
but I do remember spending most of that time on the toilet. On the seventh
day, I thought I was through with the withdrawal, but then it happened. I
saw the TV Guide with Q on the cover. I didn't want it to happen, but I
watched Death Wish and broke my fast from the constant deluge of
electromagnetic radiation that pours from my TV and directly into my mind.
I felt a numbing sense of euphoria and almost blew far more than a gasket.
The power of Rick Berman is equal only to that of the mother deity himself,
Roddenberry. It is obvious that to receive this power, they have sold
their souls to some guy named Bill. (Or Bob, as the case may be.)
        I know what you're probably saying: "that's one crazy mother
f#(&*%." But it can all be traced back to a single solitary source: Star
Trek. I beg you. if you're not addicted, stop watching. If you are, you can
call the Star Trek Helpline at my house. The number is [1].
(This is my real number in case any of you wish to share in my delusional
schizophrenic paranoid behaviors.) And for those who have not been with the
Cochrane since the beginning, I hereby declare you all slugs, worms, and
bacteria. But I mean that in a very nice way. All righty then, I will
leave you with my usual Rule of Acquisition. 

Ferengi Rule of Acquisition #285: No good deed ever goes unpunished.
Captain (Don't you just love the way that sounds) Cronan Thompson


[1] Removed by editor [2].
[2] Editor, what a joke.