Aaaargh, not the Jeffries Tubes again…

Just a quick one…

My S.O. (Significant Other for those of you who haven’t been following this Blog, and if not why not, it’s not as if you have anything better to do. You shiftless buggers), has been watching an inordinate amount of Star Trek lately.

I’ve got nothing against Star Trek, in fact I’ll be the first person to lift a hand to test the younger generation’s coordination with a swift “live long and prosper” gesticulation. Come on try it, spread those fingers, I’ll wait for you.

Heh, more difficult than you remember, I blame it on keyboard fatigue.

They just don’t get it. Star Trek, Star Wars, Battle Star Gallactica and the other Sci Fi stalwarts are what kept us going during the long dark nights of the 80’s.

But during my forced evenings of Star Trek Voyager I’ve noticed a few things.

Those crew members wearing the red vests are absent, so I don’t know who’ll be eaten, killed, assimilated, crushed or seduced by green hued women. Most disturbing. It’s like having a bedrock sci fi certainty removed. My Star Trek compass is spinning wildly.


But I was thinking about something else. Psychology.

These people are lost in quadrant D, 75 light years from quadrant A and home (Google it if you’re not up to date).

And each weekend (I assume they’re on the Holodeck looking for green, scantilly dressed alien women and those red vested missing crewmen from Monday to Friday) they encounter alien civilisations that seem to be intent on killing them in varied and inventive ways.

The deck of the ship is rocked by phaser bursts, the crewmen (and women) are taken over by alien life forms, strange wormholes in the fabric of spacetime threaten to engulf them in chaos and unexplained changes in their crewmembers mental and physical makeup make life a living hell. I saw an episode where a crewmember was turned into a plant, a plant for Gods’ sake! Being a plant would worry me, I wouldn’t have the first clue about how to photosynthesize. These are a weekly occurences for these poor, lost souls.

Now I’m challenged by life on a day to day basis; having my tires replaced places a huge strain on my admittedly frayed mental processes and a trip to the doctor to have a small pebble removed from my daughters’ ear test the limits of my mental agility and psychological strength. These are both not challenges on the galactic scale of things.

So I’m worried about the crew of the Starship Voyager.

I’d be a gibbering idiot by the end of Stardate 20.367.09 (Captains supplemental).

The holographic doctor would be less concerned about changing my genetic makeup back to a generally bipedal lifeform than preventing me from taking a phase rifle to the rest of the crew.


It will hurt when you urinate, but pointing that at me will not help matters

I’m just saying that these guys need all the help they can get, send psychic messages to the Delta Quadrant, care of the Vulcan Security Officer, logic would indicate that he’s got the keys to the firearms locker.


Don’t look they’re behind me. Just send the meds.

He’s going to need assistance when the Doc runs out of drugs and they escape the straightjackets, or when the crew runs out of fertiliser for the alien plants growing out of their skulls.

Or we can find a new series to watch.

Perhaps I can apply my mind to LOST.

I’ve got a time travel headache already (or is that tomorrow?).

Good night, live long and prosper.


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