we were stunned to receive a visit from seven of nine today. well, when i say visit, i mean a veritable entourage of borg-infested technology as she brought with her a wave of biological and technological integrities to help us combat the overwhelming space-fleets of the choc-licorice armada.
after a short, but hearty, photon exchange, we claimed victory over the omega quadrant, and helped ourselves to the booty.
we ridiculed the natives, took away their puny firearms, and revoked their driving permits. we executed those responsible for american sit-coms, and giggled as a damaged borg tried desperately to assimilate a keg of alcoholic produce (which we’d confiscated, showing maximum force and reasonable mercy - that is, to say, none), and we nailed armless men to the walls and called them art. i stubbed my toe. hatboy couldn’t stop imitating the borg, who were getting very annoyed with him some fourteen hours later. seven of nine got paralytic-drunk, but still wouldn’t let us see what was under her body-armour.
we sang pirate songs, ate pizza, threw bottles into the air and disintegrated them with our phasers as they fell from a great height. we threw up in a nice porcelain bathtub, our vomit soaking together in some odd other-culture version of blood-mingling. we feasted on the remains of our enemy, conversed in stunted sentences, and declared everything irrelevant.
and it is. irrelevant.
we caught a lift on a borg sphere and headed home. hatboy is now known as hatboy of nine, and myself, i have been given the dubious title of creepy of nine. personally, i wanted to be called creepy of borg, but seven told me that the queen already had a buddy.
next week, we’re doing manhattan.
after a short, but hearty, photon exchange, we claimed victory over the omega quadrant, and helped ourselves to the booty.
we ridiculed the natives, took away their puny firearms, and revoked their driving permits. we executed those responsible for american sit-coms, and giggled as a damaged borg tried desperately to assimilate a keg of alcoholic produce (which we’d confiscated, showing maximum force and reasonable mercy - that is, to say, none), and we nailed armless men to the walls and called them art. i stubbed my toe. hatboy couldn’t stop imitating the borg, who were getting very annoyed with him some fourteen hours later. seven of nine got paralytic-drunk, but still wouldn’t let us see what was under her body-armour.
we sang pirate songs, ate pizza, threw bottles into the air and disintegrated them with our phasers as they fell from a great height. we threw up in a nice porcelain bathtub, our vomit soaking together in some odd other-culture version of blood-mingling. we feasted on the remains of our enemy, conversed in stunted sentences, and declared everything irrelevant.
and it is. irrelevant.
we caught a lift on a borg sphere and headed home. hatboy is now known as hatboy of nine, and myself, i have been given the dubious title of creepy of nine. personally, i wanted to be called creepy of borg, but seven told me that the queen already had a buddy.
next week, we’re doing manhattan.
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