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What Are Bad Lasagnas Made Of?

Kirk: Scotty, the recipe says to butter the soufflé dish first and then sprinkle it with bread crumbs. Can you do it?

Scotty: I dinna ken if I can make it work, Captain. The butter’s been outta the fridge too long as it is… it’s startin’ to break down. I don’t think it’ll hold together long enough to stick to the sides o’ the pan.

Kirk: Scotty, we can’t bake the soufflé in an unbuttered pan. I’m not even going to ask who took the butter out too soon – I just want it fixed. I’m counting on you, Mr. Scott.

Scotty [sighs and scratches his head]: Well, maybe if I substitute margarine for the time bein’ until the butter starts to set again. I dinna ken if the bread crumbs will stick to it as well, and even if they do, we might have to set the heat a little lower to compensate for the difference in ingredients. But it just might work.

Kirk: How much time will it take?

Scotty: For a full-scale margarine substitution? And the addition of bread crumbs? You’re lookin’ at six hours at the minimum, Captain – and that’s if Mr. Spock helps me.

Kirk: I’ll give you thirty seconds, Scotty, and I can’t spare Mr. Spock – he’s the only one who knows how to break the eggs without getting shells mixed into the ingredients.

Scotty [reluctantly]: Aye, Captain. [He takes out a crescent wrench and reefs on the edge of the soufflé pan, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow.]

McCoy: Jim! I’m not getting a pulse on the cream of tartar! I’ve got to get it to sickbay right away!

Kirk: Bones, relax. I don’t think cream of tartar is supposed to have a pulse.

Spock: Your assumption, though not logically based, is essentially correct, Captain. Cream of tartar never has a pulse, and the good doctor is an idiot for thinking that it does.

McCoy: Listen, you pointy-eared cold-blooded, heartless computer. You may not have one drop of human compassion in your skanky green blood, but I’m not going to just stand by and do nothing while that cream of tartar takes the bus to Beulah Land. Now stand back and let me examine it. [He takes out his tricorder, studies it for a moment, and then looks at Kirk.] Jim! It’s dead!

Kirk [sighs]: Oh, for Christ sake, Bones. It was dead to start with.

McCoy [sorrowfully]: I guess it really never had a chance. If only I’d understood more about its anatomy, I might have been able to do more. As it is…

Spock: Captain, we only have 5.3 minutes to assemble the soufflé and insert it into the bridge oven before we cross over into the neutral zone. I would suggest that Dr. McCoy curtail his inane babblings so that we can continue with our cookery unimpeded.

Kirk [briskly]: Logical as always, Mr. Spock. Proceed.

Spock [reads recipe card]: Your Aunt Bertha writes that the next step is to cook 2 ½ tablespoons of butter and 2 tablespoons of flour together slowly to make a roux.

Kirk: A who?

Spock: A roux, Captain. A thickening agent used in soups or sauces.

McCoy: Showoff.

Spock: Cease making fun of my superior vocabulary, Dr. McCoy, or I shall most certainly break your neck.

Scotty [looks up frantically from the soufflé pan, which is now severely bent from the ministrations of the crescent wrench]: Captain, if we try to use the unset butter for roux, she’ll blow for sure. And ta make it worse, the butter we’ve got is unsalted. Tryin’ ta make roux wi’ unsalted butter is like tryin’ ta make haggis without sheeps’ lungs… it just doesna come oot right!

Kirk [grabs Scotty’s shoulders melodramatically]: Scotty! I’ve got to have that roux! There must be something you can do! …My God! Our situation’s worse than I thought… I’m speaking in couplets. [He hesitates for a minute, thinking hard, then snaps his fingers.] Scotty! You say the butter’s unsalted. What… if… you… salted it?

Scotty [starts to smile]. Salted it? Aye, Captain… that just might work. It’ll take some time, o’ course, an’ it won’t be the same as if we’d bought it salted to begin with, but… [He fondles the crescent wrench thoughtfully.]

Kirk: How long will it take before butter salting has been optimized, Scotty?

Scotty: Captain, you’ve got ta understand… I just got done wi’ the bread crumbs, and I’m not even sure that they’ll stick to the pan until we’re ready to bake. If I have ta’ salt the butter too… Well, we’re lookin’ at a matter of two days, at the outside.

Spock: We now have a total of 3.8 minutes to complete the soufflé before crossing into the neutral zone and risking attack, or worse, soufflé collapse. I would suggest, Mr. Scott, that if you utilize a large wooden mixing spoon instead of the tiny darning needle which you were apparently planning to employ, salting time can be reduced from a total of two days to a relatively short 1.2 minutes.

Scotty: Why, you obnoxious excuse fer a…

Kirk: Gentlemen! We’ve got work to do! Let’s get on it! Spock?

Spock: Aunt Bertha goes on to suggest that a dash of salt, pepper and nutmeg be added to the roux, followed by three egg yolks. [Studies the recipe card with growing concern.] Jim! That means that we need to separate the yolks from the egg whites!

Kirk: Is that a problem? Spock, you’ve cooked and baked before, haven’t you? You must have separated eggs!

[Spock shuffles his feet and looks at the deck.]

Kirk: Spooocccckkkk! Answer me, man! The soufflé is depending upon you. Damn it, I’m depending on you!

Spock [in a strained voice]: It is something of which we Vulcans do not speak, not to outsiders.

Kirk: Oh, for the love of God. Don’t tell me.

Spock [nods slowly, apparently ashamed]: Vulcans do separate eggs, Captain, but only once every seven years, and then only in the throes of “Pon S’Alad Barr.” It is a time when all logic is stripped from us, when we are driven to return to Vulcan to crack egg shells, to leave the cholesterol-free white behind and extract the golden orb of the yolk… or to die.

Kirk [clutching his head]: Why does everything have to be such a big damn deal with these Vulcans? All I want is three egg yolks!

McCoy: I can do it for you, Jimmy boy.

Kirk [looks up, hope dawning on his face]: You, Bones?

McCoy: Sure, no sweat. I’ve been drinking raw egg yolks for years to cure my daily hangover. It’s easier’n spackling a Horta. [He starts to examine one of the eggs.]

Spock: The ingesting of the raw protoplasmic formative portion of an egg in the hopes of curing a hangover is most illogical, Doctor. Not only is the entire idea completely repulsive to anyone with an IQ of more than 12, but there is a decided risk of salmonella.

Kirk: Spock, McCoy’s a big boy. If he wants to sip an occasional egg yolk, that’s his business. You just concentrate on the recipe. What’s the next step?

Spock: Aunt Bertha instructs us to beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar until stiff peaks form, then to add the whites to the roux, along with a dash of nutmeg. Fascinating.

Kirk: What’s fascinating?

Spock: Nothing, really, Captain. I just hadn’t said it for 1.4 hours, and I thought it was time.

Scotty: Captain, it’ll take at least a week for stiff peaks to form. And that’s if we divert everything but life support to the KitchenAid mixer. I don’t know if it’ll work, even then.

Kirk: Mr. Scott, I’m getting damned sick of your outrageously exaggerated time estimates. We all know it’ll take a minute at the most to beat the egg whites, so give it up. Have you completed the butter salting?

Scotty [in a dour voice]: Aye, Captain, it’s salted up good, fer whatever that’s worth. We’ll be lucky if we get out of this soufflé cookoff alive. If you ask me, it’s verra likely to turn out even worse than that lasagna.

Kirk [grabs Scotty by the collar]: I didn’t ask you, Mr. Scott. And I told you, don’t ever mention that lasagna again. I’m still trying to get the red stains out of my best gold velour shirt and to get over the guilt of losing three nameless security guards to smoke inhalation. [He wheels around decisively.] Mr. Spock, what do we do after we get stiff peaks? …Mr. Spock? Where’d he go? Why isn’t he manning the recipe card as ordered?

Spock [from the communications station]: I must say, Lieutenant Uhura, that a not entirely disagreeable aroma is emanating from the vicinity of your pulse points. I am somewhat surprised that I have not noticed it before, as my olfactory capacities are decidedly superior, just as are all of my capacities, for that matter. I must also compliment you on the cut and drape of your Starfleet issued outer garment: its exposure of your patellae is most aesthetically pleasing.

Uhura [leans back from Spock]: Er, beg your pardon, Sir?

McCoy [slowly]: He likes your perfume, Uhura. And also your red miniskirt.

Kirk: Bones, what’s wrong with him?

McCoy [runs his medical tricorder over the Vulcan]: He’s dead, Jim!

Kirk [stamps his foot in exasperation]: He is not!

McCoy: Shit. Sorry, Jim – I must have set the darn thing on “Romulan.” I never could tell the difference. [He twists a couple of dials.] There, that’s better. Yep, you’re right – he is alive. Who would have thought it? If only the cream of tartar could have been so lucky.

Kirk: Bones, get off of the cream of tartar, already. What’s wrong with Spock?

McCoy [studies medical tricorder]: I’m not sure. Jim. His pulse rate is faster than normal, his blood pressure is elevated, and he’s humming “The Lady in Red” under his breath. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s formed a stiff peak of his own.

Kirk: What?

Uhura: Mr. Spock, would you please stop pointing your phaser at me? And if you would get off my lap, I’d appreciate that, too – you’re much heavier than you look.

Spock [steepling his fingers thoughtfully and cocking an eyebrow lasciviously]: I am not presently carrying a phaser, Lieutenant.

Kirk: Bones! What…is…wrong…with…Spock?!

Scotty: Captain!

Kirk: Not now, Scotty.

Scotty: But Captain! Would this have somethin’ to do wi’ Mr. Spock’s, ah, unusual condition? [He holds up a small red and white metal container.]

Kirk [grabs the container and reads]: “Ace’s Superstrength Cinnamon. Makes soufflés tasty and Vulcans happy.” My God! Spock must’ve mistaken this cinnamon for nutmeg! And we all know what cinnamon does to Vulcans! [Ominous strains of music fill the bridge as Kirk staggers melodramatically.]

Uhura: Oh, that’s just great. [She shoves ineffectively at Spock, who fondles her earpiece admiringly.]

McCoy: Jim! We’ve got to snap him out of this! Why don’t you slap him around a few times, like you always do when he’s gone off his rocker?

Kirk: Do you think it would work?

McCoy: Not really, but it always cheers me up to watch.

Kirk I’ve got a better idea. [He turns to Spock.] I didn’t want to have to do this, my friend, but you leave me no choice. Feast your Vulcan eyes on this! [He whips a photograph out of his back pocket and holds it in front of Spock’s face.]

Spock: Yecchhh. [He removes himself from Uhura’s lap, shudders, and returns to his station at the soufflé.]

McCoy: What did you do?

Kirk: A closeup of T’Pau. Works every time - it’s just like a two dimensional cold shower.

Scotty: Captain!

Kirk: What is it now, Scotty?

Scotty: All hell’s breakin’ loose, that’s what! The egg whites have hit the roux and they’re formin’ somethin’ that looks like Sargon after eatin’ too many beans! They’re gonna blow, I just know it!

Spock: Mr. Scott, I believe if you fold the egg whites into the roux as Aunt Bertha suggests on her 3 by 5 index card, the unpleasant white orb of which you speak will dissipate.

Scotty: An’ just how am I supposed to fold up somethin’ like that?

Spock: An excellent question, Mr. Scott. Although decidedly pliable, it is unlikely that the egg whites’ molecular makeup is such that they will hold a crease for more than point 8 seconds. [They both stare at the bowl morosely.]

McCoy: Oh, for cripes sake! “Folding” means to work it into the mixture gently. Don’t you two know anything? So much for your superior vocabulary, Spock! [He grabs a wooden spoon and starts to work on the roux/egg white combination.]

Spock: May I point out, Doctor, that if it had not been for my superior roux knowledge, you would have nothing to fold the egg whites into right now?

Kirk: That’s enough, both of you. Just keep folding – we must be almost done with the soufflé by now.

Spock: Your postulation is correct, Captain. Aunt Bertha’s instructions are nearly complete. [He reads from the card.] We are now to add one cup of grated Swiss cheese to the mixture and then bake. [He looks up from the card.] I do not like Swiss cheese. I recommend that we use sharp cheddar.

Scotty: Mr. Spock! You can’t be askin’ for another substitution, not this late in the game! It’ll set us back by at least…

Kirk: [In a threatening tone] Scottyyyy!

Scotty: … er, at least twenty seconds.

Kirk: That’s better, Mr. Scott.

McCoy: Swiss is my favorite. I say we stick with what Aunt Bertha says.

Spock: But Swiss tastes like fungus. It is just not good cheese. Cheddar is preferred by three out of five humanoids recently surveyed.

Uhura: Cheddar would be O.K., but not sharp. It’ll overwhelm the taste of the soufflé.

Scotty [muttering] Aye, lassie, an’ where were you when the butter was breakin’ up an’ the eggs had to be folded? And now all of a sudden you’re a soufflé expert! [He scratches his head] I must say, though, I’m not so keen on Swiss myself.

Kirk: All right, all right. What about Colby?

Spock: Hmmm. An inspired choice, Captain. [He turns to the others.] Colby is a "washed curd" cheese, which indicates that during the cooking process the whey is replaced by water to reduce the curd's acidity. Its somewhat softer texture when compared to cheddar might make it a good candidate to be absorbed adequately into the roux. Moreover, it is not gross like Swiss.

McCoy: Swiss is not gross!

Spock: Yes, it is.

McCoy: Is not!

Spock: Ye…

Kirk: Enough, already! Bones! The egg whites are getting flat. I need you to go along this. Will you eat the soufflé if we use Colby instead of Swiss?

McCoy: [Reluctantly] Oh, all right, I guess so. But I don’t see why that stupid Vulcan should get his way, just because he whined.

Scotty: *Snicker*

Kirk: What is it, Scotty?

Scotty: Well, Captain, I was just thinkin’ that if we were cookin’ this soufflé at night, we could call the whole mess the Colby Night Maneuver. You know, seein’ as we’re usin’ the Colby an’ all.

Kirk [Smacks his forehead in disgust.]

McCoy: Yeah, Scotty! That was a good one. Or maybe “The Changeling.”

Spock: I fear that it is more likely, given our past culinary debacles, that it will be closer to “A Taste of Armageddon,” Aunt Bertha’s excellent instructions notwithstanding.

Uhura: Captain! We’re being hailed by a Klingon Bird-of-Prey!

Kirk: What a relief! Put it through, Lieutenant.

Klingon: Starship Enterprise! You have encroached on the neutral zone! Prepare to be destroyed!

Scotty: Captain! If he fires on us now, the soufflé will collapse fer sure. And there’ll be no bringin’ it back fer love er money. You’ve got ta do somethin’!

Spock: Mr. Scott’s hypothesis is correct, Captain. Even if our shields hold up under the Klingon attack, the soufflé will not. I estimate that it would survive in its present fluffy condition for only point 4 seconds under a full-scale phaser bombardment. After that, what will happen to our soufflé will make the implosion of a white dwarf look like what you humans so fondly refer to as a “walk in the park.”

Kirk: Uhura, please turn on the melodramatic music so that I can make a short speech.

Uhura: Oh, God. Uh, I mean, aye, aye sir. [“Melodramatic Speech” music crescendos].

Kirk: [Grips Spock’s arm.] Spock! We’ve worked too hard for this soufflé to allow it to collapse. As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!

Spock: Um, Captain, I think you are quoting from the wrong movie.

Kirk: Frankly, Spock, I don’t give a damn! [He wheels around.] I want everyone at their stations looking serious and pushing small flashing buttons. I am going to negotiate with that Klingon!

Spock: Inadvisable, sir.

Uhura: Is it too late to transfer?

Scotty: We’ve had it now fer sure.

McCoy: Yep. We’re gonna join the cream of tartar in that big mixing bowl in the sky. Good thing I prepared. [He pulls a small flask out of his back pocket and takes a big swallow.]

Kirk: Cut it out, all of you. I’m good at this – you’ll see. [The others all roll their eyes. Kirk addresses the Klingon]. Er, it’s like this, Mr. Klingon… by the way, what is your name?

Klingon: K’k’K’K’k’ohng’rrilash’Ob’tuse.

Kirk: Wow. That’s quite a tongue twister. Is that a family name?

K’k’K’K’k’ohng’rrilash’Ob’tuse: In a way. My mother stutters, if you must know.

Kirk: Well, it’s quite a mouthful. Do you mind if I just call you Obtuse? If you’ll let me, you can call me Jim instead of Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

Obtuse [considers briefly]: All right, I suppose that’s a fair trade. I don’t mind the K’k’K’K’k’irk part, but the T’t’T’T’t’iberius part is a real drag.

Spock: It would appear that it is not only Commander Obtuse’s mother who has been burdened with a stuttering problem.

Obtuse [angily]: Never mind that! As I said before, you have violated the neutral zone! P’p’prepAre to be destroyed.

Kirk: Listen, Commander Obtuse. The thing is, we’ve been working for some time now on putting together a soufflé – my Aunt Bertha’s specialty. It’s sort of a tricky kind of thing: you’ve got to get the egg whites just right, and fold them into this roux sort of sauce, and then we had a little problem with confusing cinnamon with nutmeg… well, the long and the short of it is, we kind of got distracted and blundered into the neutral zone by mistake. And we really can’t engage in battle right now, you see, because it will make our soufflé collapse. So could we take a rain check on the phasers and photon torpedoes at least until we get the soufflé out of the bridge oven?

Obtuse: A soufflé? You’re making a soufflé?

Kirk [proudly]: Yes. Yes we are.

Obtuse: What kind of cheese are you using?

Spock: Colby, Commander. It’s a "washed curd" cheese, which indicates that during the cooking process…

Obtuse: I know all about Colby! It’s a lily-livered, mealy mouthed, milky toast, weak little cheese just like you humans. Washed curd indeed! What you want for a good soufflé is sharp cheddar.

Spock: That is what I tried to tell them, Commander Obtuse, but they took a vote and went for the Colby instead.

Obtuse: Bah! You should have disrupted them on the spot! I once tortured and killed one of my junior officers because he substituted margarine for butter in an applesauce cake I was making. The fool deserved no less!

Scotty [with sudden interest]: Do ye mean the margarine didna work as well as the butter, then?

Kirk: Never mind that now, Scotty. Commander Obtuse, the decision about the cheese has already been made. What we need from you is a delay of… Spock?

Spock: 60.8 minutes, in a 350 degree oven.

Kirk: 60.8 minutes, Commander Obtuse. That’s all we’re asking for.

Obtuse: I believe you humans have an expression… how does it go? Ah, yes, now I remember: “No way, J’j’J’J’oSe.” You have encroached on the neutral zone! Prepare to be destroyed!

Uhura: Didn’t he already say that last part, word for word?

McCoy: Yeah. Those Klingons are pretty much a one-note song, when you think about it.

Obtuse: That’s not true! We Klingons are proud of our rich heritage of maiming and k’K’k’k’K’K’ilLiNg. We are a much more complex species than you humans give us credit for. But I digress. You have encroached on the neutral zone! Prepare to be…er… obliterated, wiped out, annihilated and demolished.

Uhura: Wow. You’re like a walking thesaurus. Pretty impressive. Sorry about what I said earlier.

Obtuse [beaming]: That’s O.K. I read when I can, do crossword puzzles… it all helps. [Suddenly realizing he’s off the subject again]. Captain Jim! You have three minutes to surrender or die! Obtuse out! [The screen goes black.]

McCoy: Acckkkk! We’re all gonna die, and it’s that Vulcan’s fault, I just know it! If you hadn’t pitched such a fit over the Swiss cheese, Spock, we wouldn’t have crossed over into the neutral zone in the first place!

Spock: Illogical, Doctor. The Swiss cheese discussion lasted a total of only 1.2 minutes. Your hesitation about acceptance of the Colby, on the other hand…

Kirk: We don’t have time to worry about whom to blame, gentlemen! I want answers! [Spock, McCoy, and Scotty all shuffle around and stare at their feet.] Answers!!! Scotty! Can you reinforce the soufflé in some way, so that it can withstand the Klingon attack?

Scotty: Meanin’ no disrespect, Captain, but are ye daft? What would I use fer reinforcement… Sakrete? Ye know that’d completely compromise the light, fluffy texture we’ve been aimin’ fer!

Kirk: Spock!

Spock: Even if I did have a solution, I would be prone not to offer it until Dr. McCoy apologizes for his hurtful and capricious remarks about my behavior in regard to the Swiss cheese.

McCoy: Aaarghhh! Why you – accck… accck….[He slaps a nitroglycerin patch on his arm to stave off the attack.]

Spock: However, I do not have a solution, so the point is moot. [McCoy’s left eye starts to twitch.]

Kirk [starts to pace and then wheels around]: There is one thing we could try, but it’s risky.

McCoy: Well, we’d better not do it, then.

Spock: Agreed.

Scotty: Aye.

Uhura: Absolutely.

Kirk: Good. It’s settled then – we’ll try it. [The entire bridge crew groans.] Scotty! Do we have any of that lasagna left?

Scotty: That bad lasagna of Sirius VI, sir? Of course we’ve got some left, the whole freakin’ pan o’ it, in fact. We tried to pay that dimwitted ensign down in maintenance to try a helpin’ of it, but even he was too smart fer that. It’s sat in the rec room fridge ever since, and although I’m not brave enough ta check on it, I’m sure as can be it hasna gotten any better wi’ time.

Spock: Mr. Scott is correct. I melded with that refrigerator only last week, and it was a most distressing experience. The sausage alone was… [He closes his eyes in an effort to maintain control.]

Kirk: Good! Scotty, I want you and Spock to get into environmental suits and head to the rec room.

Spock: Yes, sir – but may I ask why?

Kirk: Because you are going to take that lasagna out of the fridge, run it to the transporter room, and beam it onto the bridge of that Klingon ship!

Scotty [smiling in sudden understanding]: Aye, Captain! Those Klingons don’t know what they’re in for, that’s for surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr [McCoy smacks Scotty upside the head.] Thank ye, Doctor. That pesky brogue gets outta control once in a while. [Scotty and Spock run from the bridge, pausing once to bang into the turbolift doors, which are a bit sluggish.]

Kirk: Uhura, I need that special bridge music – you know the kind.

Uhura: The one for “We Have Only Twelve Seconds to Repair the Warp Drive Engines Or Suffer Total Destruction?”

Kirk: No, that one is too loud, and I don’t like the brass section. The other one – you know.

Uhura: The one for “We Have Only Ten Seconds Until Self-Destruct Unless the Pushy Alien Backs Down from His Demands?”

Kirk: No, I like that one, but I don’t really want to go through that self-destruct sequence again. It makes everyone too sweaty. It’s the other one – we used it a lot in the first season… or was it the second?

Uhura: Oh, now I know the one! It’s the “Captain Kirk Uses His Superior Intuition and Uncanny Flashes of Inspiration to Trick the Klingon/Romulan/Other Commander into an Act of Credulous Stupidity That Will Allow the Enterprise to Prevail Against All Odds!”

Kirk [claps his hands in delight]: Yes! That’s the one! My all-time favorite. Put it on, Uhura, and crank it! Then contact Commander Obtuse for me.

Uhura: Aye, aye, sir. [The Credulity Music swells.]

Kirk: Commander Obtuse!

Obtuse: Captain Jim! You have encroached on the neutral zone. Prepare to be devastated, torn down and razed! [Obtuse winks at Uhura, who grins back.]

Kirk: Uhura! Stop smiling at the enemy!

Uhura: Sorry, Captain. But he really does have a large vocabulary, and he is kind of cute, except for the extra stuff on his head.

Kirk: Obtuse, I, er… when you said three minutes, did you mean three Earth minutes, three Klingon minutes, or three Onomatopoeia minutes?

Obtuse [frowns in confusion]: Ah, I think I meant Earth minutes, since I was threatening people who are either from Earth directly, or descended from Earthers. I guess I could have meant Klingon minutes, though it wouldn’t really make much of a difference, because they are only .99 times shorter than Earth minutes, I think. Isn’t that right, Spock?

Kirk: Mr. Spock isn’t here right now. He…ah…had to go to the bathroom really bad. Imminent destruction always does that to him. Dairy products also.

Obtuse: Be that as it may, I’m next to certain that I meant either Klingon or Earth minutes, in which case your time is up. I don’t think I meant the third option.

Kirk [brightly]: You mean the Onomatopoeia minutes?

Obtuse: Yes, that one. What kind of minutes are those, anyway?

Kirk [quietly]: Mr. Sulu, check on Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott’s status.

Sulu: Well, how very kind of you to give me some dialogue and a job to do… I didn’t know you cared, Captain. [He jabs a button and snarls into the intercom.]

Kirk: Oh, ah, Onomatopoeia minutes? Well, they’re minutes used by the, er, Onomatopoeians, a little known race of, um, cave dwelling tubular root eating telekinetic androids. They, ah, live a really, really long time due to their healthy diet and the fact that they’re made of well-lubricated titanium, so their minutes are, like, oh, about twenty years long. I was just kind of hoping that you meant their minutes, not ours, that’s all. I can certainly understand if you want to go with Earth minutes, or even Klingon, for that matter.

Sulu: Captain, Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott report that they are ready to transport the bad lasagna.

Kirk: Good. Uhura, turn the Credulity Music up another notch or two – we’re going to need it.

Uhura: Yes, sir. Oops. [A different strain of music comes on, one that is much more ominous.]

Kirk: What do you mean, “oops?”

Uhura: My well-manicured nail slipped, Captain, and I’m afraid I pushed the button for the “The Transporter Inexplicably Malfunctions Just When Something Really, Really Important Has to be Beamed to or from the Ship” music.

Kirk: You what?

Sulu: Captain, Mr. Scott reports that the transporter has inexplicably malfunctioned just when they were ready to beam the bad lasagna from the ship. He says that he can fix it, but it will take three months and two days, plus an extra half hour if you want to be able to beam back the empty pan.

Kirk: Jesus. Tell Mr. Scott he has thirty seconds, and make sure that Spock gets close to his ear and initiates his really annoying countdown while Scotty’s frantically trying to make repairs. That usually does the trick. I’ll try to stall Obtuse.

Obtuse: Stop stalling, Captain Jim. You have encroached on the neutral zone. Prepare to be eliminated, eradicated, wrecked, and messed up. [He looks at Uhura out of the corner of his eye.]

Uhura [dreamily]: Ooohhhhh. Eradicate me, you fine hunk of bony-browed, senselessly hostile, erudite Klingon man!

Kirk: “Messed up?!” You call that a synonym for “destroy?” [Quietly, into Sulu’s intercom] Scccottttyyyy!

Spock: Mr. Scott, you now have twelve seconds until the Enterprise and its entire crew is blown into miniscule bits of metallic confetti due to Klingon attack… eleven seconds…ten seconds…

Scotty: Och and ablaft! Yon boughin’ mingish Vulcan’s makin’ me lose me marlies fer gud an’ surrrrrrrrrrre. I’m up to me arse an’ auxters in whins and tatties wi’ oot two gutties tae spare.

Kirk: He must be getting nearly finished. He’s totally incomprehensible.

Obtuse [in a hurt tone]: “Messed up” is, too, a synonym for “destroy,” k’K’K’irk. At least in a sheerly colloquial sense. Look it up if you don’t believe me.

Kirk: Oh, ah. Good idea. Just let me find my Roget’s Thesaurus, and I’ll get right back to you. [Into the intercom] Sccccottttyyy! I need that transporter now!

Spock: You now have 1.897 seconds, Mr. Scott, until the Klingons mess us up. 1.896 seconds… 1.895 seconds…

Scotty: Argh an’ cabbling! I’ve done wha’ I could, what wi’ the fistle o’ that bampot Vulcan yammerin’ like a houghin’ kelpie in my ear. It may werrrk er it may not, I dinna ken which. Whins. Skite. Scran n’ radge.

Sulu: I think he means it might be fixed, Captain.

Obtuse: Page 32, Captain Jim, in the sixth edition. Read it and weep your weak, puny, scrawny, inferior human tears. It clearly says “messed up” is an acceptable synonym for “destroy.”

Kirk: Transport the lasagna, Mr. Scott! [To Obtuse] Oh, yes, I have it here in my copy, too, Commander Obtuse. You’re completely right – “messed up” is a listed synonym. Sorry for the error - I’ll note it in my captain’s log, rest assured.

Obtuse: You won’t have the chance, Captain Jim! You have encroached on the neutral zone. Prepare to be, ah… [The hum of a transporter sounds behind him. Obtuse turns around and staggers backwards in revulsion.] What is that?!

Chekov: Heh, heh, heh. Cool. I’ll bet that lasagna stinks like my grandma’s borscht.

Kirk [absent mindedly]: Oh, hi, Chekov. Didn’t know you were here. Obtuse is kind of distracted right now – would you like to slip in some kind of charming, poorly enunciated lie at this juncture? It may be your only chance.

Chekov: Yes, Keptin, thank you – I vould. Ricotta cheese is a Russian inwention, sir. It vas inwented in Leningrad.

Kirk: All rightie, then. Thanks, Chekov. Mr. Obtuse! Do you surrender?

Obtuse: Gaaaaakkkkkkkk!

Kirk: Uhura! Check your Klingon Quick-Reference. Does “Gaaaaakkkkkkkk” mean yes or no in Klingonese?

Uhura: I’m not sure, Captain. “Gaaaaakkkkkkkk” with two less “a’s” and three more “k’s” means “Your mother sleeps with the rotted entrails of yellow gnats,” but I can’t find any reference for the exact version of gaaaaakkkkkkkk as just uttered by Commander Obtuse. The universal translator seems to think it might be indicative of some kind of stomach or bowel disorder.

McCoy: Yeeesh. Just look at that Klingon hurl. Haven’t seen anything like that since high tide on Alpha Bisgeti.

Kirk: Bones! I need your professional opinion! Is Obtuse suffering from a stomach or bowel disorder, or is he refusing to surrender?

McCoy: I’m a doctor, not a linguist! How the hell am I supposed to know what gaaaaakkkkkkkk means?

Obtuse: Glaaaaaaarggghhhh. Bleccccccchhhhhh.

McCoy: Oh, well – that’s different. Glaaaaaaarggghhhh and bleccccccchhhhhh are textbook examples of a Klingon who’s in some kind of gastrointestinal distress. Why didn’t you say that to begin with, Commander Obtuse?

[Scotty and Spock return to the bridge and regard the upchucking Klingon with interest.]

Spock: Fascinating, in a nauseating sort of way.

Scotty: Aye. Reminds me o’ a big steamin’ batch o’ haggis at my favorite pub back home. [He wipes a tear from his eye.]

Kirk: Obtuse! Out of human decency, I’m prepared to beam back the bad lasagna upon your surrender. Give it up, Commander! You don’t have a chance. That lasagna never was good to start with, and it’s at least a month and a half old by now. You can’t withstand it.

Obtuse [clutches his stomach]: Yeeesh. What did you put in that thing, anyway?

Kirk: Just what the recipe called for: sauce, ricotta cheese, sausage, lasagna noodles, eggs, and spices. But we fell under Romulan attack while it was baking, so it got kind of overcooked. The noodles turned out too hard, too – I don’t think they’re supposed to be that way. And I don’t know if the eggs were any good to start with – they smelled funny, or so Spock claimed, but they were the only ones we had, so we used them anyway. [Spock leans over and whispers in Kirk’s ear.] What’s that? Oh, all right, Spock, go ahead. But I still think it was the right thing to do.

Spock: Commander Obtuse, you should know that the lasagna also contains mushrooms, despite my remonstrance against such an addition.

Obtuse: Mushrooms? Oh, K’k’k’k’K’K’rAp! I hate mushrooms! [He gags more.]

Spock: As do I. They are rubbery, and their taste is disgusting.

McCoy: Are not. Why, I remember eatin’ ‘em by the bushel when I was a boy back in Georgia...

Kirk: Bones, you told me years ago you can’t stand mushrooms. You’re just disagreeing with Spock to be mean. [To Obtuse] Obtuse! Surrender, before it’s too late!

Obtuse: It’s already too late, K’k’k’K’K’k’k’irk! K’k’k’K’lingons never surrender! [He reaches a trembling hand toward a large red button that says, “Do Not Push Unless Everything is Hopeless.”]

Uhura: Captain! I’m frightened!

McCoy: I’m a doctor, dammit, not a quaking pile of fear. No, wait! I’m both! [He assumes a fetal position on the bridge deck.]

Chekov: Self-destruction is a Russian inwention.

Sulu: Shut up, Chekov!

Scotty: Captain, you’ve got ta do somethin’! That Klingon pile o’ junk is gonna blow fer surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…[Spock slaps him upside the head] …re!

Spock: Klingon detonation is anticipated in approximately 2.8523987261288130900778 seconds, Captain… 2.8523987261288130900777 seconds…2.8523987261288130900776 seconds…

Kirk: Mr. Sulu! Get us out of here! Warp factor seven million.

Sulu [rolls his eyes at Chekov]: Okey-dokey, Captain. Warp factor seven million it is.

The Enterprise zips away at Warp 7,000,000, with “Getting the Hell Out of Here Before the Enemy Ship and Everything Around It Blows Up” music blaring in its wake.

The Klingon ship… er… blows up.

Kirk [picking at his teeth with a flashing and beeping toothpick]: Well, gentlemen, that soufflé was absolutely delicious, if I do say so. Spock, make a note on Aunt Bertha’s index card that Colby should always be substituted for Swiss – it was just right.

Spock: Gladly, Captain. [He jots on the card.]

McCoy: Hey, let me see that card, Spock.

Spock [holding the card far above his head so McCoy has to jump for it]: The captain left me in charge of the recipe card, Doctor. There is no reason for you to get near it.

McCoy [jumping as high as he can and failing miserably]: C’mon, Spock! I just want to see it for a minute. Pleeeaase!

Spock: No.

Kirk: Spock, stop teasing Bones and let him hold the card for a minute.

Spock [reluctantly]: Yes, sir.

McCoy: Hey, you pointy-eared, Gorn-breathed, Tholian-web-toed walking computer! Take it back right now! Take it back! Acckk! Acck! [He takes out a nitroglycerin patch, slaps it on over the first one and swigs from his flask.]

Kirk: Take what back? Let me see that, Bones. [Reads from card] “Leonard McCoy is a poopy-head.” Spock! You didn’t make a note about the Colby at all, did you?

Spock: No, Captain.

Kirk: You disobeyed orders in favor of making fun of Doctor McCoy. Is that logical?

Spock: Yes, Captain.

Kirk: Explain.

[“This is Going to Be Cute” music starts to play in the background.]

Spock: In my judgment, which is flawless, the Colby cheese was not appreciably superior to Swiss. Sharp cheddar is preferable. Therefore, it would have been inaccurate to urge substitution of Colby in the recipe.

Kirk: And the comment about Bones?

Spock: Highly accurate and therefore logical, Captain. Doctor McCoy has been and always will be a poopy-head.

The Enterprise swooshes away into the starry void of space, accompanied by general laughter from the bridge and the harsh sounds of Dr. McCoy fighting off a near fatal fit of apoplexy.