Enter Kirk,
Spock, McCoy and Uhura.
KIRK
Odd's
blood! 'Twas villainy most treacherous
That seized
our hapless ship in its cruel grasp,
Transporting
us to this forsaken spot
Where now
our evil captors will appear.
SPOCK
From yonder
valley comes the savage cry
Of wild
beasts in search of tasty prey;
'Tis
logical that we shall all be eaten.
UHURA
A fate most
fell! O Captain, I am vex'd!
Enter a
Buxom Harlot.
HARLOT
Know this,
strangers, that you have been here brought
To be
devoured as a sacrifice
Required by
the god whom all must serve.
KIRK
Indeed, and
if thou art th' devouring beast,
No man
could count himself more fortunate.
I shall
bravely essay to tame thee, wench!
SPOCK
A most
unwise attempt, I must protest.
HARLOT
Behold!
This is the heav'nly lord and king
To whom we
owe our lives and loyalty.
Bow down
before the fearsome pow'r so great!
KIRK
Madam, 'tis
nothing but a vegetable!
HARLOT
Let not
such vile blasphemy be heard;
This holy
vine doth bear a fruit so pure
That any
man who eats of it is healed
Of all his
ailments and shall never die.
What better
subject for our worshipping?
Yet if it
be not fed with blood and bones
From
strangers such as you, the vine will die.
McCOY
Indeed, the
vine appears to suffer from
A lack of
fertilizer in the soil.
Its leaves
are turning brown, and no fruit grows.
SPOCK (to
Kirk)
O, slay the
foul wench, I do beseech.
She is a
strumpet whose affections hold
Deception
and a cruel, gory death.
KIRK
(kissing Harlot)
What man would
show such lack of chivalry?
All we must
do is feed the vine, forsooth.
Any organic
matter will suffice.
McCOY
This
perilous adventure hath loos'ned my bowels;
I shall
provide the needed excrement.
(McCoy
drops his pants and squats over the holy vine)
UHURA
How now?
What stench from yonder garden drifts?
My delicate
lungs cannot bear th' affront!
O, I die!
(Uhura
swoons)
SPOCK
Doctor, I
knew thou wert full of manure,
But this
exceeds the bounds of all logic.
McCOY
What sayest
thou? Dost thine own shit not stink?
Be off,
thou villainous pointy-eared knave!
KIRK
Perhaps a
farmer is thy proper calling?
McCOY
Nay, Jim, I
am a doctor in all sooth,
And call me
not a farmer, I implore.
KIRK
(kissing Harlot again)
Do look,
Madam, the vine hath now recover'd.
No
sacrifice or tending doth it need,
And you may
tend to me, my dear, instead.
Exit Kirk
and Harlot.
SPOCK
Doctor, one
favor must I ask of you;
When you go
where no man has gone before,
I pray you,
give me time to get upwind.
Exeunt.
