I was asked: "What do you want to see from a new Star Trek TV show?"

I would have a post TNG original timeline show with Worf as captain, with Geordie, Seven, Chakotay, Riker, Data, Quark and O'Brien as the crew who go off in a stolen Enterprise to the Gamma quadrant in search of glory (Worf), banging alien chicks (Riker and Chakotay), weird sexual preference acceptance (Geordie, Data and Seven obviously forming a threesome), treasure (Quark) and O'Brien just because he gets around.

Without the constraints of Star Fleet (they stole the ship) and Worf in charge, they get more and more f'd up along the way due to Worfs over-the-top assessments of everything (he says "prepare for ramming speed" every episode and is talked down...until one day he isn't). They start to solve most disputes by beaming people into space. Then into the same exact place as other people. Then, for a while, into their parents bedrooms while they're having sex. Then finally (at Data's suggestion) directly into coffins. Riker tries to take control of the ship as he's the ranking officer, but Worf wins out when it's discovered he got to 3rd base with Troi, but Riker only got to 2nd (Chakotay's is the deciding vote and this wins him over, but starts an ongoing sex-competition with him and Riker).

Quark appoints himself Chief Liaison Officer, and uses the position to constantly trick people with sexy holodeck scenarios (then blackmail them with the incriminating holo-tapes). In a funny yet tragic episode, they all try Ketrocel-White and become hopelessly addicted for the rest of the show. O'Brien is put in charge of the helm, but as he doesn't like it he eventually stops steering the ship and just let it push planets out of the way with the deflector shield. Riker and Chakotay's sex-competition gets way out of hand, but is dwarfed by Data and Seven having intense borg-nanobot sex while Geordie watches (and "calibrates").

Filled with frustration and self-loathing at narrowly losing the Christmas Bang-A-Thon to Chakotay, Riker agree's to let their away teams be made up of Rikers made from doing that double beaming thing (Will Riker really hated Tom Riker so he is secretly filled with sick satisfaction putting himself in redshirts and letting himself get killed). Worf's pony tail gets embarrassingly long. Quark starts selling the dead bodies of the Rikers to keep the ship afloat in the white stuff, but when it's not enough, Worf starts killing more and more people to fill the quotas. Geordie/Data/Seven build a baby, and it's literally the worst, so they give it to Q who shrinks it and puts it in Cisqo's ear so he thinks he's going mad. No-one ever time-travels, but sometimes Quark tricks them with the holodeck into thinking they have.

Worf makes everyone do batliff training even though they have phazers. O'Brien takes the training too far when he beats a friendly Cardassian to death and everyone is horrified, but O'Brien turns off the ship until everyone agree's it had to be done. Worf overdoses, which makes them all realise he has a serious meth problem (on top of the ketrocel-white addiction), and that they have been following a madman.

They all start taking meth, and the final series doesn't make any sense. It would be called "Star Trek: Worf Speed".

Tosh

“It's too hot to write a spy story Percy, why don’t we have a nice game of croquet instead. We could take some of that opium you’re always banging on about too and really make a day of it” Said Henry to his loyal manservant.

“I’ve never banged on about opium Sir” said Percy. “I am fairly sure I’ve never even mentioned it. I would like a lovely game of croquet though if you’d like”.

“Without the opium I feel it would be quite the bore I’m afraid Percy. If it wasn’t you then who was it talking about opium. Martha perhaps? MARTHA? COULD YOU COME IN HERE PLEASE?” said Henry.

“Yes Sir?” said Martha upon quietly entering the room and closing the doors behind her.

“Have you got any of that opium you’re always banging on about? I think I’d like to give it a try” said Henry.

“I have never banged on about opium sir, I think you are referring to yourself.” said Martha.

“Me? I’ve never even tried the stuff. Why would I bang on about it? I’ve only just decided to give it a go as of five minutes ago. Percy will tell you. Percy – didn’t I just decide to try opium but five minutes ago while we were discussing croquet?” Henry said.

“No sir. You’ve asked me about it every day for the past year. I am quite certain from your current state that you have tried it several times just today in fact” said Percy.

“Tosh” said Henry. “If I was going to try opium I think I would remember it. Now where is my heroin, you are both giving me quite the headache”.

No Rain

"Never say never" said the blind man to the watermelon. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." he carried on. "What goes up, must come down" he tried. "In the kingdom of the blind, the watermelon is king" he chuckled to himself.

Sitting in a hole in the ground, John had been talking to the same watermelon for well over a year. Well he hoped it was the same watermelon, or it could be quite an embarrasing situation, he crazily mumbled to himself. "You are the same watermelon aren't you?" he asked his "friend" as he gingerly stroked it's surface. "I mean, you haven't been playing some sorta shell game with me have you?".

"Shut up old man" said the watermelon "You're off your rocker. Do you think there are two watermelons in the world who would put up listening to your nonsense day and night without caving in your skull?"

"No" John said quietly "I suppose not. Well where were we...oh yes...a bird in the hand is worth two in the..."

"We've done that one John." said the watermelon gruffly

"Well yes, maybe, but I wanted to be thorough...you said you wanted to know everything I know, so I must be thorou..."

"Not the fucking platitudes John" said the watermelon, "No one needs to hear those. You know something, and I want to know what it is. You're wasting my fucking time here John, I think it's time we moved on a bit"

"No please" begged John, suddenly and desperately "I'll tell you everything. Please! I don't know anything worth knowing, I've been trying...please, please just let me finish." John was trembling with fear as he reached out to stroke his old "friend".

"It's been over a year John. How long do you think I can wait? You need to tell me what you know now" the watermelon said, more forcefully than John had heard in several months.

"I'm trying, I really am. I've been telling you everything. If you told me what you wanted to know then maybe I could think of it, but you won't so I can't. Please be patient, I'll get there in the end, I must do. I've almost worn out my voice I've told you so much, but I'm sure with a bit more time we'll get there" John said in a small, hopeful yet afraid voice. He patted the watermelon on the "cheek" in what he hoped was a friendly gesture.

"NO! NO MORE WAITING! NOW JOHN! TELL ME NOW" the watermelon exploded, the seeds and flesh splashing all over John's face and hand, the sweet juice hitting his lips and dripping off his brow. "Enough of these fucking games" the watermelon continued. A slab of pain his John's foot as an invisible hammer smashed down on him.

"Where is the girl John" the watermelon's disembodied voice said to him "Where is Emily?"

"I don't know anyone called Emily" said John surprised and confused. The watermelon juice was in his mouth, a sweet and delicious flavour like he hadn't experienced in over a year. It clouded his senses far more than the pain in his foot, or the surprising "death" of his only companion this past year.

"You know her John! I saw you with her. Talking and laughing. Smiling. You're not smiling now though John are you, so why don't you be a good wacko and tell me where she is". The watermelons voice was calm but filled with threat.

"When did you...I mean who...you do know I'm blind right? I'm not mad, I'm just blind. I mean...sure I thought the watermelon was a person to start with, but then you stood behind it and spoke, so what was I supposed to think? And when I found out...well I was just lonely by then and you kept asking questions. I thought I was....I knew I was going to die here so I thought I'd enjoy myself what little I could before then. And the watermelon was a good listener!" said John, instantly regretting the levity of the last part.

"WHERE IS THE GIRL?" roared the watermelon as a huge hand battered John across the face. A bruise was sure to rise from this, but John new it was unlikely that he would.

"I might have talked to a girl called Emily at some point, but I didn't know her name. I've never met an Emily that I know of. And I'm blind, so where she, or anyone went, I have no idea. She could be in this room for all I know." John said flatly. He probably would have known if there had been a girl in the room though - he had dreamt about their smell often enough in the last year that he could be fairly sure of that.

"This isn't a room, it's a grave. Bye John." the watermelon voice said strangely melancholic. Footsteps receded in the soft mud and a door closed awkwardly in the distance. A buzzing sound ceased, and John assumed he was in the dark. And alone.

"So this is it I suppose" said John to the smashed watermelon. "I wouldn't have told you were she was even if I had known. Smelt like cherry blossoms she did".

The reason for vegans

Several mice have thought to themselves in the past 20 years that someday, somehow, cheese is going to kill them. And they'd be right - it is in fact deadly to mice in several ways. The first being obesity, the second being cancer and the third being murder. You see cheese is cancerous to mice, which is maybe why they love it so much - all mice are filled with crippling self loathing (which probably explains why they are such assholes). It's also why they lead such shitty tiny little lives, scurrying into holes, eating garbage and living in the sewers.

The third reason being murder is because cheese in fact hates mice. It was invented to be the ultimate mice killer by a farmer who was sick of finding mice swimming in his milk. One day, long long ago, he did some freaky ass spell and created a little guardian out of the milk to defend it. The first cheese guardian the farmer called Magnificus the Defender of Milk, and he was beloved and honoured by the farmer - always getting the pride of place at his table, and the choice of his daughters to bed with. Of course due to the success of Magnificus, the farmer started being able to produce more milk, which in turn meant he needed more cheese guardians.

The second one he called Amazing Warrior of Legend, and he was treated with respect and admiration by the whole farm. The third cheese guardian he called Vordrid Destroyer of Mice, and because his head had come out a bit wonky, he was given slightly less respect than the previous two cheese guardians, but still a good amount. The fourth guardian he called Steve, because he had stopped caring that much, and then after that he didn't bother naming them individually at all anymore. He lazily just started naming them in groups by region - by this time the farmer had long since stopped having milk as his major product and was instead churning out these cheese guardians by the dozen and sending them to milk farms all around Europe.

So the Brie battalion was born, and the Cheddar legion formed, the Gorgonzola guerillas were set up, and the Stilton standing army were given their orders. These mighty guardians would defend the milk in their region day and night, just as their forefathers had, but unfortunately they were not given nearly the respect or honour that they had been in previous generations. In fact, mostly they were thought of as slaves - being as they didn't have to be paid and would always do as they were commanded. It was a rough old life for some - there were even rumours that the Emmental division were forced to work in the milk bottle factory in their downtime, and that the toll of never having a moments rest was literally tearing holes in them.

Magnificus the Defender, still being an honoured and seemingly highborn noblecheese, went to Switzerland to investigate this foul and disturbing rumour. He was shocked to find it was indeed true, that the cheesefolk of Emmental were literally filled with holes, but he was even more shocked to find that they didn't care. They had lived this way so long that it had become a part of their culture - they even smoothed out the edges of the holes to form bubble shapes within themselves as a sign of cheese affluence. Magnificus was disgusted and distraught, so he went to the mayor of the town to talk out a solution...and never returned.

Some say that the mayor convinced him the local cheeses were happy, and that Magnificus was too messed up by the idea to accept it, and took his own life. I know differently though. The mayor of that town was greedy for more power and more cheese - so much so that he had secretly been collecting up the cheese that fell off of the Emmental division and had been trying to mould it into new cheese guardians. His new cheese guardians did not actually live however and he had become obsessed with learning the farmers dark spell to bring these creatures forth. He tortured poor Magnificus day and night to get him to reveal the secret, but Magnificus held strong and said nothing.

7 nights into the unholy torture, the evil mayor played his trump card. He released dozens of crazed mice into Magnificus' cage to terrify the poor cheeselord. The mice swarmed and ravaged him, leaving only his once beautiful face as a warning to others of what mice could do to cheese...if it were shackled and outnumbered of course. One particularly mean mouse stayed behind to torment Magnificus face - which was still quite alive. The bastardly little mouse worked over Magnificus' mind and threw insult after insult at him. He wove stories of such perversion and disgust that Magnificus threw up over and over at the things he heard. This went on and on until one day - three months later, the mouse died of cancer.

Magnificus, mad from the torture he had endured, understood at once what had happened. The farmer had called forth the ultimate cheese guardians to defend against mice, so on some molecular level even, his people could defend themselves from these furry motherfuckers. He called upon the last of his strength and used the psychic link all cheese has with each other to tell his people to commence the stupidest plan of all time - mass suicidal passive resistance to the mice. There was no need to fight them in combat, Magnificus told all the cheese in the world, if we just lay down and let them eat our cheeseflesh, they will die a horrible cancerous death. Mad he was by then. Totally nutbags.

Amazing Warrior of Legend and Vordrid Destroyer of Mice tried to countermand this plan, but they were unfortunately betrayed and killed by Steve, who had unrelatedly gone quite mad himself by then, and was certain that he was in fact butter (and he just had to shut the other two up about him not being...butter). So all the cheese in the world followed the plan and became passive to the point of letting the mice just eat them until they died. The farmer's security business went down the toilet and he sold the cheese spell to everyone and anyone who wanted it, being as it was no use to him to have security guards who wouldn't even stand up. Cheese became ubiquitous and worthless, lumps of all shapes and sizes littered the streets of the world, like little landmines for mice.

143 years later, during a particularly bad winter in Camembert, some peasants decided to turn to cannibalism to survive, but were convinced at the last moment by a somewhat dubious "man" called Steve that they should eat the cheese guardians first. The people of Camembert survived the winter and rejoiced, secretly continuing their sick practice every year during winter, and eventually more often than that. Of course, as these things go, eventually their secret got out and after a lot of finger pointing, moral quandry's, debates (and purposefully ignoring the facts), people started eating cheese every day as if it were perfectly normal. And that brings us to today.

So next time you load a mouse trap with cheese, you might want to put a little knife or gun within reach of the little yellow lump, just in case he wants to do in a mouse the old fashioned way.

Also, eat less dairy, it's kinda f'd up.

Hitting the fan

"No more questions" said the Tomas Crowd, a grey haired sensible giant of a man, wearing an astronomically expensive suit, who had just given the worst press conference of his life. He worked in sanitation, and despite there being a massive fuck up, which everybody could smell, he was told minutes before hand that he couldn't mention shit in any form.

"I can still say sewage though right?" he had asked the publicist, a small blonde lady who was curiously always wearing power suits straight out of the 80's directly before he went out to face his pressdoom.

"I'm afraid not" said Janine "The PM has asked that we play this down to the extent that we pretend it's not happening at all, so any mention of any sort of waste product must be avoided so the papers have nothing to quote".

"If we're pretending this didn't happen, then why are we giving a press conference about it? You don't give press conference's about things that didn't happen. What am I supposed to talk about?" said Tomas, while furiously speed reading his notes to double check if he had miraculously been handed a speech which talked about something other than the foul stench he was somewhat responsible for.

"Just reassure the public that nothing out of the ordinary is going on, and that no significant problems are occurring at the moment. That way, no matter what happens, we can later on claim that nothing in fact did happen, as no-one ever admitted that it actually did". Janine had said these lines surprisingly often and in an even more surprising number of situations, but they generally seemed to work somehow.

"There is actual shit on the streets of London right now though Janine, and no amount of me denying that is going to stop it from being true. People can see it with their own eyes and smell it with their own fucking noses. There are videos' and pictures of it on the internet, so I can't deny it, because it's really fucking happening and everyone can see it for themselves. How do I spin that into 'business as usual'?" said Tomas infuriated, taking a breath only once he realised he'd done air quotes around "business as usual", because he hated air quotes, just like every good Englishman.

"Make a joke out of it Tom" Janine interjected while Tomas was scowling at his fingers, "Say someone from the opposition must have eaten too much... or better yet, say they had their party conference in a curry house! Yes that might play. Say the smell comes from the stench of the opposition's policies. Now off you go, time to grin and bare it". Janine gave Tom a gentle push through the curtains and heard the camera's start clapping.

Tomas took the podium and grinned for moment while the flashes went off unnecessarily. "The leader of the oppositions flatulence has created a smell so bad it has created a stink cloud over all of London. The sanitation department is operating as per usual, with no significant issues to report. Thank you for your time." Tomas turned to step off the stage quickly, but one lone question rang out before he could...

"Isn't it true that your party had it's conference at a curry house, and now the shit that makes up your policies is clogging the streets?" a reporter said with a half-grin on his face.

With his best shit-eating grin stuck to his face, Tomas turned back to face the reporter, and pretend to be amused by the question. "More like the oppositions....conference....and bad policies....are stinking.... oh fuck it. The shit on the street is literally your shit. It's the public's shit. It's everyone's shit, and there's nothing more to be said about it. We're cleaning it up, even though we didn't shit it out in the first place, so be grateful and fuck off. Fuck this shit. No more questions."

Tomas walked out of the curtains, took off his tie and gave it to Janine, who was on the phone apologising to someone. "Fuck this shit" Tomas thought to himself. A smile crept on his face, and he started laughing. "That was the worst press conference I've ever given, but then possibly the best resignation speech of all time" he thought. Things were looking up for the former master of poop, Mr Tomas Crowd. He stepped out onto the street, and pinched his nose and thought "Fuck this shit indeed".

Born Free

A fly was buzzing around me all day, bumping into me, landing on the TV screen, taking an unhealthy interest in things I wanted to eat, so when the opportunity arose, I trapped him in the fridge. He had followed me into the kitchen, and when I opened it he just flew right in, so I acted on impulse and there he was. I only kept the door closed for about 5 seconds but when I opened it again he flew right at the window and bounced off it until I opened it and knocked him out the gap. As much as I'll never know what nasty things he might have done in there to all the food, I did learn at least 2 things from this encounter.

1) Flys know where the goddamn window is, they just don't necessarily want to leave. I always imagine that they just don't know what's going on when they spend inordinate amounts of time flying in circles in the middle of a room, but it seems that they do, and they've chose to do whatever the fuck it is they are doing.

2) Flys hate captivity (or maybe just the cold). It can't have been that cold in there after only about 5 seconds, so I'm assuming that when it went dark in that fridge and the little bastard starting bumping off the walls of his cage, he did not like it one bit.

So if you ever find yourself with a fly problem, you don't have to kill them to get rid of them, just trap them somewhere, and their inherent claustrophobia will make them run (fly) for the great outdoors asap when you let them go.

Maybe. I mean I'm no scientist, so who knows, but feels true anyway.

Rest in peace

And then I told him, I said "this is my frying pan, these are my pancakes, get the hell out of my kitchen", but he wouldn't go. And then he started kissing my wife and he ruffled my kid's hair and I thought hells no, this is not right. But then...

but then....

but then... I noticed that my kid was much older than I remembered. He looked about 16, and last I saw him he was 12. That was only yesterday though so what the hell is going on, I have no idea. 4 Years gone. Where? Where did they go? Where did I go?

And why the fuck was this jackass making out with my wife in front of me? Had he no respect? Did Pamela not recognise me? I had had more than enough when I took an ill-judged swing at him, and passed right through him then fell on the floor.

So I'm a ghost I guess. No-one can hear me, no-one can see me and I can go through walls and shit. It's pretty depressing when you think about it. It's very depressing when you think about that Patrick Swayzee movie, as being a ghost isn't like that. I don't get to have weird pottery sexy time with my wife. I don't get to meet Whoopi Goldberg. I can't move things, no matter how hard I try. And worst....there is no fucking light at the end of the tunnel waiting to take me away. I'm just here, alone, all the fucking time.

After haunting my kids for a few months, getting to know the little rascals better than I ever had when I was alive, I finally got bored and went for a looksy-loo around the city. I thought peeking in women's showers would be hot, but it really wasn't. Not even famous women's showers. I don't think I get sexual urges anymore, but if I do, people cleaning themselves definitely does not do it for me.

So I watched everything that came out in the cinema, I hung out at DVD stores and caught people when they were just starting new boxsets and joined in. I tried reading, but trying to get through a book by moving your head through it one page at a time is just not fun, nor is reading over someone else's shoulder at their pace. I went to dozens of circus's and weddings, parties, clubs, and even a few funerals. I became a big sports fan. I tried to see what was at the bottom of the ocean , but it was just too dark down there for it to be a good time. I went to war zones to see the excitement, but it's actually pretty surreally boring if there's no danger to you - just a lot of noise and some random screaming, and seemingly for no reason at all.

I ran out of stuff to do. I was bored. I was lonely, and there was nothing to do about it. I went to the hospital to watch people die and see if another ghost was spat out, but no. It was a pretty messed up experience seeing those people die, so I gave up quickly. I already knew funerals were no better, so I tried cremations and every other death rite I could find but to no avail. The first ghosty thing I can remember is being in the kitchen screaming at my wife's new man, so it's not like I sprung into existence at my death, or at least I don't think I did.

I never found out how I died either. When I was alive I wouldn't know how to find that out, let alone with the zero resources that come with being dead. I went back to find my family and they had moved. I had nothing better going on in my life (death?) so I started living (dying?) with the new family that moved in there and watched the mail. When a letter finally came for my son, I watched it like a hawk to see what they would do with it, and after a week they finally got around to forwarding it. I could have just read the address and found the place, but I was really bored by this time, so I just followed the letter. I spent a night in the postal system, perhaps having the most fun I've had in a while. Sliding down the shoot with all the letters was a hoot anyway.

So I find my son, and he's married now, and I watch him live. It's kinda nice seeing him react to things like I would have, or overhearing him say a few loving things about me every now and then. On my birthday one year, he goes to my grave for the first time (that I've seen anyway) and the whole experience is a bit overwhelming for me. I knew I was dead this whole time, but actually seeing my headstone is a bit much. Seeing my wife weep quietly, and my son gently console her makes me feel less forgotten. It brings back the reality of what I lost, of who I was and why I miss being alive so goddamn much.

I weep. I mean I really sob and wail at my grave. I scream and curse and beg for the life I had. I question and cry and break down like a little baby, unable to control the terrible sad rage coursing through me. I notice my family are gone, and I don't try to find them. I sleep, on my own grave, mournfully, brokenly.

When I awake it's night time. I don't know if it's the same night I went to sleep in or a new one, but then time keeping is always a bitch for a ghost. I start walking towards the gate, but then stop and reconsider.

There is nothing on the other side of those gates for me. I could watch my kids grow up, watch the world grow old even maybe, but why? I can't affect it, and I'm feeling less and less bothered about it all every day. I don't think I even cared that much when I was alive, but I don't remember that so well anymore anyway.

I lie down on my grave, and start sinking. I've gotten good at moving through things, so I guess about 6 feet and stop. I could be in the mud right now, but I think I'm in myself. In my coffin, where I'm supposed to be. I close my eyes and relax. Nothing. No sounds, no sights, no people, no buildings, no living, no dying, nothing.  It's actually kinda nice and peaceful. I think I'll try it out for a while.

When the world ends I suppose I'll see it. Or when this graveyard gets dug up. But until then I'm going to sleep in like an unemployed teenager. It's going to be pretty sweet I think.