The "Five World" tale, in full.

[Deranged Nasat]

The Cardassian soul is a complex morass of political impulses - lots and lots of those - little understood and under-appreciated by the misguided who resisted conquest or rather the enlightenment of their backwards, primitive ways. Is there nothing that such poor peons can conceive that Cardassians don’t already know deep in their minds? That's what Cardassians claim, anyway, and we all know what liars they are, some of the finest exaggerators in the known galaxy, past, present, and future (and perhaps even beyond all of time and space). Dukat smiled benevolently. "This is a day that will be long remembered in the annuals of all time."

"Really...?" glowered the confused poster who kept missing the various plot holes and thought this Cardassian arc a brilliant bit of non sequitur yet sadly lacking in incoherency.

"Yes, really," Dukat said smugly. "One again the Cardassians have restored order to our thread".

"We didn't need a Founder and so I propose we blast Odo out the nearest toilet, earning much approval from the potty humor crowd," he said, cheerfully.

Jasad - not amused - and not a potty humor sort of guy, grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Childish!" he shouted "I'LL OPEN FIRE ON ANYONE WHO REFUSES TO SAY 'juvenile voles jump Jem'hadar jubilantly' TEN TIMES REALLY QUICKLY!"

Everyone sighed at the overacting, because this thread's standards of sobriety continued on a steep decline whenever Jasad shouted so unpleasantly. But then, he was one of the worst when it came to derailing threads about DS9. Remember that place? Let's go back there now. Quark's drug-smuggling operation has been undercut by the ruthless criminals who took over our honest business venture. "Some people," Quark muttered, "don't know how to eat and drink and be...Mary!"

"You're not supposed to be Mary. You're supposed to be Mary Sue. So whatcha gonna do? Get rich or babble incoherant sci-fi stories?"

"Get rich, my boy!" advised an old man in a shoe.

"But the Orion Syndicate has it out for us. What's taking Garak so long making our disguises? We'll need them, especially if there are purple spoons on our heads to demonstrate our pride during the Cardassian manhood ceremony".

"Why disguise ourselves? We should revel in both our manliness and the sheer awesomeness in being a race with naturally occurring guile and style!"

Quark sighed because the Syndicate was still out there doing their dastardly thing and generally getting on with ensuring Quark was ruined.

"Wear the disguises," Garak snapped. "I didn't do this work so you could quibble about your profit margins. In fact I did it because I love the work! So wear the disguises or I will have to sell them to the Syndicate and further ruin your profit margin. Am I understood?"

Garak then smiled at his feet, which were skillfully clad in manly boots that complemented his gleaming eyes and carefully coiffed hair. Quark was surprised at this, to say no more. Dukat was not. Dukat assumed that Garak had carefully coordinated his outfit days in advance, for many Cardassians looked to Garak for fashion advice and Garak graciously demonstrated why he was the foremost fashionista of the Cardassian Union.

Relieved that all was well in this story (for once), because he wasn't paying attention, Sisko declared that today would be Opposite Day, and he put Nog in charge of everything (which meant nothing because clearly the real power was the power of opposite.) "You're sure to make a fine leader," Sisko snickered unkindly.

"Hey! Just for that, I'm going to KILL you!" cackled Nog.

Quark thumped his head. "OPPOSITE!"

“This IS opposite, a Ferengi battle cry, unheard of because our current one is this: Money Isn't Everything, So There."

Meanwhile, in the real world, a featherless chicken fell out of the sky, landing smack-dab in Garak's forehead spoon-thingy, which meant WAR!

Whoever used poultry as projectiles would know the wrath of somebody worse than Khan, somebody so bad that he cannot even be named, other than by over-the-top euphemisms.

Opposite Day ended, in undignified and typically "Five World" fashion with a chaotic rendition of all preceding posts, in song! Which took quite a while.

"Let's sing the Hedgehog Song!" - the PG-13-rated parts, anyway - said Quark, grinning disturbingly regardless of the disgusted reactions this invariably evoked in everybody unenlightened in amusing folk music. Yet, he found a talking red shoe with a very tawdry diary.

"How about a verse of 'a Wizards staff has a knob on the end'?" inquired O'Brien.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

A door swooshed open and there, framed magisterially, stood Lord O'Brien of Liffey Valley. "Behold! The descendant of the Great Brian Boru!" cried everyone, baffled and fainting.

"You fool, the Irish Empire is everywhere!" screamed Dukat, as he threw his purple hat at legions of Irish warriors only moving below their waists. Their left feet were all clogging in synchronous stomps while their eyes blazed with Irish Ire!

"Are we going to stand by and let these Irish glorified cloggers hijack our glorious story?"

"Yes, we are. They have excellent rhythm," said Quark.

"No, we're NOT," bellowed Jasad, before spitting more sexy venom. "It is an outrage against our great manliness!"

(Editor's Note: You may recall that Jasad spits hot sexy venom. It's an accepted trait of the character).

The Irish dancers, er, warriors....warrior dancers? -warrior drinkers who dance brilliantly - and their leader, Michael Flatley, flatly refused to be dismissed by a real English pigdog. The Europeans all agreed that they prefer the Irish as overlords of DS9, and so O'Brien was appointed the supreme Commandant of the story.

"His eyes glanced across a crowded chess board, too many pieces were in play and he knew his time was up".

O'Brien paused his most excellent short narrative to suppress uprisings amongst the Ferengi who refused to acknowledge the new order. A pancake was flipped by the most random Ferengi, before Weyoun, who had no speaking role since the orphans affair, (which troubled him greatly) said, "We Vorta are a special breed because we can do THIS."

At which point he killed a character by pointing. Vote now to decide who that character was, such as Weyoun himself, Keiko, Dukat, or even Damar! However, voting for Damar: risky. So consider that when placing your votes, and let's vote now!

Tain.

I vote for...Jasad.

Michael Flately should die...Irishly.

Molly. Cute kids are annoying. Except if they burp backwards. (and that's just weird in the most possibly adorable way).

Thot Mog died unexpectedly, and the whole cast (and posters) mourned.

"I didn't do it!" Weyoun pointed out, most responsibly, but Damar gave him reason to worry: not with words, but a swift kick in the groin. "No sex organs," Weyoun simpered.

Thot Mog returned to life most fashionably, winning over critics on the Tellarite modeling circuit. Vedek Yassim celebrated by hanging tapestries over the promenade balcony depicting snow men and snow women, but no snow children. O'Brien celebrated the Irish way, which basically just entailed getting Thot Mog to try Irish cream in a snifter, stirred.

"We dodged a bullet this way and that, but sadly the Jig-at-Gunpoint failed and covered everyone wth jam," preached Vedek Fala at services in the Vatican.

The Pope, competing with Kai Winn, launched missiles at an orphanage, which annoyed Gul Skrain Dukat.

(Editor's Note: The Pope is unlikely to shoot missiles at orphans in reality. This is a different pope).

Throwing his hat like Oddjob, which slaughtered all his foes due to manliness supreme, Dukat saved the orphans.

"Dukat is the hero?!" Kira and Damar cried.

"He's plotting again" Weyoun said, not quite seeing the irony as without knowing it, he was plotting a wicked scheme to push Sisko's paperwork over.

Horrified, the Prophets sent a brave working for Crazy Horse to tomahawk and slap this Weyoun. Garak began to redecorate immediately.

"Such a waste" Crazy Horse muttered, "I actually think that the previous colour scheme complemented the walls quite nicely."

Thot Mog categorized Garak as "so 2006" and favored a radical departure from prior designs: Open air! Though, in retrospect, even the open air wasn't too fresh.

The president of the entire known universe weighed in on the question of Golgafrincham resettlement and decided to send them in Ark C to wherever the Skrreeans went after their war over diapers.

"Good riddance to space rubbish in the 3000th post!" said Martok, drunk on blood wine, who liked his new nickname.

"Now if only I had 3,000 beans to eat with kidneys, I would be an utter glutton, and just gorge myself to death!"

Rolling his eyes, silently wishing his wife was here (a Klingon needs his better half, goodness knows), Martok maundered over to Quark's bar and punched out a waiter. Unfortunately for Martok, the waiter was a Vulcan. He raised Cain and proceeded to (logically) kick Klingon keister like Cris Cyborg and general unpleasantness resulted. Next to Quark's, however, a new Bistro restaurant had opened: suspicious.... this bistro hadn't been there long enough for dried urine previously.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Sisko ordered an undercover officer to spread misinformation about the final days of festival. His hope was that his appalling sense of fashion and decorum would therefore go unnoticed. However, the authors and narrator noticed there was always loose candy. And that was crucial because MORN was known to like candy. In fact, it was he who was responsible for the great Easter candy heist, and we know his tendency to dominate the conversation could melt hearts like warm fudge on a hot day, so let's give him some Peeps.

Vole-shaped Peeps were distributed to everyone, at Morn's request, and the sheer joy on the faces of little children thus graced was unbearably heartwarming. The feeling of a job well done left Morn satisfied (he talked about it incessantly) and being in the mood for further satisfaction, he kicked his legs high, pirouetted gracefully, and leaned in to kiss Quark's till and steal some wonderful (and kissable), gold-pressed latinum for his own nefarious devices stored in his second stomach.

Just then something wonderful happened. The orphans were deported back to Bajor but they enjoyed knowing that Dukat still loved himself.

(Editor's Note: Evidently Dukat grew bored with them)

However in a nearby quantum singularity - yes, that's right, it's all gone quantum - the mysterious purple ship lurked ominously but so tiny that only an Auditor could see it. Not even Auditors would, however, call the attention of the Great Old Ones who dream during their death-like sleep whom never wake, only to overlook this tiny purple starship and its intrepid crew of tiny, purple, but manly humanoids trying to escape the Mi-Gos.

But wait, for the Most High Shub Niggurath, the Black Goat, a.k.a. the Exalted Supreme Illustrious Glorious Ultimate Horror Lurking in Shadows, Black Goat of the Woods, And Wearing A Spiderskin Cloak, thinks she just saw them. "Them" meaning the tiny purple humanoids cowering in their tiny dimensions in which dark and hungry things waited to eat anything that wouldn't bite back, the souls of the unwary.

Souls don't have that "off" taste?

Yeah.

We're not getting preachy.

Exactly, we have a story to tell, not something to sell.

Not even soulful pizza?

Huh. Well, maybe. Pepperoni soulful pizza with pineapple consciences, jalapeno emotions and gooey crusts of philosophy. Served with neurotic garlic bread.

"Let's eat," Dukat said, rubbing his stomach against Jadzia's corpse. The room-temperature chianti of faith went down well with the fava beans of love and the Trill liver of destiny. And pizza weirdly named "Jadzia."

(Editor's Note: A mini-war was waged here between those posters who (for reasons best known to themselves) wanted Dukat munching on Jadzia's corpse, and those who decided that was a bit, well...icky).

The Klingon Gut of anger caused Dukat's worst case of heartburn and everyone rejoined at this lack of manly digestive strength for pizza topped with Jadzia-shaped pieces of spicy pepperoni on a bed of sauce.

(Editor's Note: Thus, a compromise. Pizza shaped like Jadzia's corpse. Why? Because).

Dukat had boasted too often of his capacity for breaking the AQ's spicy-food record: 50,000 jalapeno-flavoured voles stewed in a habanero broth with Colonel Kira's Secret Recipe and topped with bird peppers grown from Keiko's immaculately trimmed Partridge-Pepper-and-Pear Tree.

"On the second day of heartburn," Bashir said, "the patient gave to me: two turtle-like moans of pain and a strip of latinum for a doctor's fee."

"On the subject of heartburn, Doctor," Dukat said, peeing on the waffles.

"My wonderful waffles...wuined!" wept Weyoun, pissing on Dukat's purple hat.

Dukat screeched in horror at this desecration of his manly purple hat! "My hat was a symbol for all manly hats everywhere!" he keened. "Now how will people know, if their hands are made weak, who to turn to in this time of bizarre singing and urinating?"

"I propose rubbing our stomachs up everywhere, and farting in the general direction of the Andorian nuns".

Aghast at this revelation, the Prophets decided to enforce the Decency Act first initiated circa 2220 where dogs and cats, living together, caused such outrage that nobody dared own a pet goldfish or a rat. "Is it right that we should fear degeneracy?"

"Yep," the Prophets intoned with great and moving solemnity. "You've been bad," they added.

It was at this point that things got, like, weird. (They were normal before.) Then someone began to apply lotion to the story pages and the situation got really sticky. Fortunately, Odo's ability to whistle Irish Rebel songs served him well during the passionate nights he dreamed of the Great Link.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Kira could only sigh as she massaged fresh strawberry jello, scandalously sculpting the shape of Westminster Palace. She laughed at Quark. Bashir frowned, hastily drawing a quarter of the Major's blood, so she fainted.

"Are you sure that was necessary, Doctor?" asked Jake Sisko.

Bashir lunged at him, trying to massage Ezri's very shapely feet, because those boots hurt. Confused, Jake left to go out of Airlock 3, because the wormhole called to him and said "Dammit, Billy, come or Billy go. Where's Billy?"

In reply, Jake sang a traditional Tellarite sea shanty called "The Traditional Tellarite Sea Song".

"Awful!" barked the Wormhole angrily, "just for that I'll destroy you!"

"Hah!" snorted young Jake, turning into a Cardassian, and starting stomach-rubbing yet again.

(Editor's Note: Stomach-rubbing, you may be starting to notice, occurs a lot in this story. Its significance has yet to be determined, though it seems vaguely sinister).

"You're the undercover Cardassian Stomach-rubber coffee drinker who sleeps on nails, and massages snakes too?” screeched Garak, totally dumbfounded at "Jake's" weirdness.

O'Brien walked in, and was about to rub Damar's neck ridges to prove Dorzhat's Third Theorum, but then he was certainly All Man. Witnessing the strange events in his geodesic pod was Ross. Admiral Ross? Ross from "Friends"? Nobody could provide an answer.

Fearing it would be so, Ross declared that his identity would forever remain unknown, unless someone rubbed his neck ridges, which indicated to everyone that he was Cardassian. However, this turned out to be incorrect!

"Not so!"

"Dear me!"

"Shocking!"

He was actually Tosk, which was troubling. Remember Tosk's threat? Waaaay back at the beginning he said he'd return, and he'd be kicking ass and his elderly mother would help.

(Editor's Note: You DO remember that, right?)

"I thought all Tosks were male?"

"Fool!" shrieked Tosk, "You can't tell the difference?! I'm saddened and offended and murderous"

"Sorry," O'Brien shrugged. "It's not like I checked your plumbing - I don't care, you see".

Ross, er, Tosk...Ross? He didn't remember, and he screamed. Deciding to make good on his threat, he called his elderly mother to help him eat the other Friends.

"Simples!"

They took over the story for several years, until...finally...they were caught in a series hiatus. "We need boobies!" exclaimed the Narrator's boss. "Everyone loves boobies. Boobies mean profits, and we need profits desperately. Besides, we're out of coffee."

So Leeta appeared, jiggling her two pet tribbles on her nose, which took much talent considering it was small and clean. Bikini lines were carefully marketed, promoted by this story's rather brilliant bon mots. Alas, the Committee didn't understand them, so they were thrown out.

"Which committee is this, to be or not to be?" questioned Bashir.

"Shakespeare again?!" Garak moaned "I hate that guy because he killed off Juliet. She was cool. I liked her".

"You liked Juliet?" tearfully, Bashir looked at Garak, "you're not joking? Even though a far more likely case is you're not really Garak but...a Founder trying to impersonate him!"

Garak smirked and changed into a really boring character instead of a pillbug. "Try this on size you human fool", he said, "for you will look FABULOUS!" and he pulled out a flattering tuxedo and top hat which made Thot Mog cry with joy.

"Now we're getting fashionable!" Thot Mog yelled whilst dancing with Dukat, whose new hat matched the drapery while his purple hat led an invasion of the Gamma Quadrant (after a trip to the bar to fortify itself).

Initial cleaning attempts from the pee that the Klingons had left behind were less than successful, albeit they tried really, really hard then cried really, really hard, and drunk really, really hard and became harder than diamond!

Then Thot Mog ran away and was never seen by the pilgrams wishing to study the ways of the cool Andorian nunnery practice. The nuns were sorely vexed at this turn of events. They gathered up many small ball bearings in the bathroom and refused to sing for the annual Blue Pride Day, leaving Bolians everywhere generally vexed and unhappy. This led to an rather unfortunate chain of events known as the Alpha Quadrant Blues where bass lines wailed and lyrics about terrible events abounded in overblown Bo Diddly-esque warbles of awesome cacophony. Jazz band players flocked to DS9 to join in the Blues fun and totally prompted Thot Mog's return to glory as a brilliant saxophone player!

The Bolians were sufficiently mollified, and welcomed everyone to their festive celebration. Not to be outdone, the Ferengi held the most swinging chandeliers on one hand, prompting Odo to issue a new Certificate of Chandelier Balancing to Zek, who had bribed him to do so.

"Odo?! Bribed?!"

"With a latinum-plated bucket I'm afraid. He does require something to replace that tacky thing Kira...oh Hi, Kira!"

Never, in the cosmos, had Kira looked so enraged. She spewed venom like Kahless's tears and outspat Gul Jasad. Flinching, Zek cried "Away, female, lest Sisko attempt to note this in his commonplace-book under "Arousing".

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Sisko was aghast that someone would dare rub their stomach in defiance of his desires, for he wanted more. MORE!

"I crave more, people! Satisfy MEEEEEEE!"

So everyone did as he ordered, save Old Scratch, who was too busy scratching records while deejaying a quinceanera on the Habitat Ring. Kira found a loose ball of twine in Jadzia's quarters, hanging under a rather fat Klingon's spare sash, and so she used it to make a hat that would rival Dukat's manly purple hat...she hoped.

Hers would not be manly, but like Ferengi ears. It would be impossible to ignore construction of the Ultimate Hat unless you were living in Enabran Tain's pants. But why anyone would be living there is an Obsidian Order secret.

(Editor's Note: Perhaps this explains why his knickers keep going missing? Something odd is taking place in Tain's pants...)

Then the Replicators started peeing, the dabo wheels spun themselves, and spockroaches crawled around, disturbing everybody. The station was haunted!

"Urinal ghosts again?" feared Sisko.

"Not this time," O'Brien answered, "It's much worse. It's the Spirit Folk from Emerald Isle - they've heard about the way we snubbed the Irish Empire in this story."

"We did?" asked Weyoun. "I liked the Irish. They never hit me".

"I'm not Irish..." snarled Sisko.

"Give me a Romulan ale..." suggested Kira, "straight up."

"Drink!" demanded Martok, blurrily and uncompromising in his imbibing skills. Nog handed him another barrel, and another, and another, and another, and finally he exploded, drenching Quark's bar like Kahless's tears earning applause and encore calls and even a recording contract.

"First Gowron, now Martok. Klingons are incredibly silly" concluded Molly.

(Editor's Note: Why do Klingons keep exploding in this story? And this isn't the start of it, wait and see...)

"Klingons are never silly!" snarled Jadzia, surprisingly still alive despite being dead.

"We thought you wouldn't notice" noted the Narrator, "Worf died and returned without anyone missing him. I figured you didn't-"

"Figure again, BUB".

Garak rolled his eyes, sighing; even his cursed book wouldn't handle silly Klingons completely properly.

The silly Klingons introduced themselves. The introductions were jolly and simultaneously tragic. Gowron, also resurrected, scared away the Spirit Folk and brought down upon his badassery with much glowering vision...a curse! Yea, a curse is a curse, of course, and this one's a doozy. This curse made everyone on DS9 clones of Thot Mog.

The Mogs marched in perfect harmony in line with the Cardassian voles, who waltzed elegantly to the music of Slipknot. The Fairy Godmother smirked. "All your base are belong to Tain!"

Yes, that's right, he's the owner of every base. Not just Cardassian bases, but every. Single. One. Don't like it? Take it up with The Sisko, who has declared Tain king. How is Tain capable of such magnificence? Why, consult the Book of Tain if you really want to know the awful, unthinkable truth. We can't type it here.

"What a disappointment" muttered many disgusted Thot Mog clones in unison.

"So, has anyone given any thought to a real plot?"

“I have an outline here!” said a cloaked shadowy figure.

The Narrator looked at this shadowy man. “Brannon!” he cried. “Welcome!”

“Noooooo!” Sisko cried, and he launched into a polemical attack about Enterprise.

“It’s REEEAL!” Braga and several characters convulsed, in a not very funny meme...

“You’re right” a shamefaced Braga finally admitted, “I will go to and fro, frustratingly searching for an excellent story worthy of admiration, yet the search will never be complete and I shall wander the stars with Rick Berman in tow”.

Everyone paused and considered the latest turn of events. “Has anyone else got any plot?”

“I do” said John Logan.

Garak promptly disintegrated him. “Anyone else want to be a smart guy?”

No one stepped forward. Finally, Fred Freiberger shuffled forward. “I really do think that I can get this story back to thrills about missing brains”.

The Narrator frowned at Fred, knowing that he was responsible for all that was good in prose. The writers gave up drinking for lent and proceeded to write a coherent story. And by “coherent”, we mean it has words and such. Words like “sweat”, “lampshade”, “architecture”, and “jackanapes”. Who can forget “lolcats”, “boobies” and “stomach-rubbing”, or “fashionista” and the ever living “MUMM-RA!” But anyway, Molly, still in charge, decreed that the story should continue in its present form, and Garak farted on Bashir, who squealed in delight and promised the tailor an extra helping of analgesics for his pain.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

“You know, we’re still clones of that bloody Thot Mog”, the Thot Mog clones said in unison. “Can’t we fix that?”

Q snapped his fingers and said puckishly, “Not yet”.

"Why not?!" Sisko demanded.

"Because I said so."

The Prophets turned them all into Cardassians, each having only one eye.

Deep in the Chamber, the Kosst Amojan yearned for freedom and the pursuit of happiness. Just then a convoy of truckers rolled across the galaxy. They brought biscuits soaked in fermented dementia like cream puffs laced with caffeine and coke.

"Mercy sakes alive, Pigpen, we've uprooted the tree of life/knowledge and created a pretty bonfire".

The fire evolved into molten chocolate, which flowed over the Galaxies everywhere except when the wormhole opened and swallowed it up.

Then, from out of nowhere an angry lawyer called for a burger and fries. "Extra tomato ketchup, or else I'll sue your arse!"

The staff gave extra...spit for this insolence, and well deserved too.

Back to the story: the Thot Mog clones became very angry and demanded that braincells of geeks put their efforts into curing them, but frankly the geeks couldn't be arsed. Besides, everyone's Cardassian now, remember? Cardassian geek braincells cannot exist according to Obsidian Order mandates. Quark cried because he missed his lobes.

Bashir ate Garak's isolinear rod, oblivious to the inherent suggestiveness, and Garak laughed so hard he bent his Wookiee. "Oh damn... it was still in mint condition!" yelped some nerd.

Then, from behind the wall Tain appeared, laughing at the superior intellect. "Full impulse power!" shouted the Defiant, as it passed between the sun and a rusty Winnebago with wings.

This week's dangerous space anomaly was declared fake by Vreenak, and Benny Russell cried "It's quite possibly a proven fact, nay, a truth universally acknowledged, that the only way to regain my dignity is by performing in one of the Bard's greatest plays".

He danced into The Globe and played the lead in Julius Caesar. "For Garak is an honourable foe and I have come challenging him for the part".

Garak laughed at this presumption because out-politicizing a Cardassian: impossible. The Cardassian Government issued a decree: "Macbeth" is clearly a warning that all Cardassian women who are secretly Lady Macbeth (which is most) should join together and crush all opposition to Cardassia.

"Such is the very interpretation I was working on!" said Zombie Shakespeare, who had risen due to misuse of narrative and characterization. "I will revamp this intriguing tale using its original Klingon text."

"We're losing the audience, Shakespeare!"

"I suggest adding more muppets," said a Founder, returning from the Henson Convention on Rigel.

Would they wear the pumpkin or use the Klingon marionettes? Section 31 made of capital numbers cannot fathom the death of common sense or reasonable thought. Shakespeare added a love scene between a Vulcan and a vintage Tandy 1000, which Quark threatened a lawsuit over because he held Radio Shack stock.

“Hold on” said Damar, “I have a better solution. Marmite. You either love it or I drub your head repeatedly. Got it?”

Shakespeare did not get it, so drubbing it was to be. “Prithee sir, why doth yonder Cardassian drub braaiiinnnssss?”

“You have none”, Damar responded. “At least, none worth mentioning you English pigdog, so put the marmite on toast or you lose! You get killed, like that Marlowe guy!”

Suddenly, the Prophets intervened and substituted vegemite for Damar's marmite.

“Foiled again” Damar goosed, “by stupid things living in a freakin’ tunnel in space. Can't a Cardassian hero get a moment of glory without it bursting forth some accursed intervention by forces we can't comprehend?"

"Not in this story," replied Jake Sisko, now nearly omnipotent except for one fatal flaw. His head was made of cream cheese and delicious spices.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

"My...son...is...no freak!" said Tain of Garak, apropos, "But he's tasty on bagels - that's classified, though. Classified as highly as we can go, so forget Shakespeare's faux pas regarding Marmite. Indeed, I would hesitate to even think it, lest unfortunate consequences attend me."

He then broke down in tears, remembering all that had gone before.

The entire story, from start to finish, is fraught with oddity, weirdness, innuendo, kanar, voles, running jokes, pop culture references, hats, purpleness, fashion in general, and manliness (not to mention self-referential moments from the contributors). To conclude, this is NOT your typical DS9 story. Not to worry, we’ll throw in some technobabble to keep this farce moving at warp 10 - that’s right, infinite speed. This has been a political broadcast of the Trek BBS. You shall be required to vote or face penalties. The election for best dressed being shall take place --

“Me!” screamed Dukat, interrupting the thread and annoying Quark’s mother, who deserved it due to wearing purple scarves.

“I think that your habitual screaming is very unmanly, Dukat”.

“You wound me, madam. I am the manliest man who ever did man. Why even the Manly Man poll picked me as their man”.

Sighing in womanly exasperation, Moogie thwapped Dukat and declared she was now the only woman who would wear Weyoun’s waffles willingly. Why? Because he’s wascally. Why else?

That settled, the characters decided pancakes were the best choice to go with morning kanar. But the Pancake Baron struck, and battered everyone in sight, leaving weeping characters desperately praying for a hero to come and restore the maple syrup to their breakfast tables. Hearing their pitiful wails, the Baron laughed, and dared someone to make the breaking point here.

In addition, flourishing his whisk, a deep space emerged between him and his opponents. “Now was the time that occurred to me to do that”.

“That thing with the whisk?”

The Baron cackled evilly. “Yes!”

With that, the as-yet-unnamed hero tackled him, crying, “For you, I would eat chipped nails!”

“Not my nemesis, the heroic jock that rocked the locked block!”

“Yes, it is I, Baron, the one, the only, the man of mystery himself. For I’m heroic stripper, mister Leck, the Eliminator! Most feared of Ferengi -”

“The Baron’s escaping” interrupted Dax. “He ran out, trailing waffle batter and toxins, during that lengthy introduction”.

“Damn!” said Chief O’Brien, strangely sober for once. “Did you have any plan beyond talking, Leck?”

“Well, I was going to repeat this entire story verbatim”.

“Still escaping!” Dax noted drily, “Jeez louise!”

The Baron had left a note threatening to destroy DS9 unless he was delivered the secret recipe for Sisko’s famous Peppered Pancakes, (so he could win the contest and PROVE once and for all that the fools - FOOLS! - who had DARED to mock HIM would be unable to match his genius). This was, of course, m-a-a-a-a-d but in a very constructive manner.

Sisko refused to negotiate with the Baron’s Igor because he smelled of rotten coleslaw and refused to buy stocks in Quark’s. Not Igor - the Baron. Igors don’t generally buy stock. Except for when their masters order it to be so. They have few needs and fewer wants, but they have many Swiss bank accounts and CDs inherited from former Masters who didn’t sucessfully dodge the pitchforks.

Just then tachyons or other Trek-tech things were used upon the Baron’s castle, which caused a rift in, naturally, the space-time continuum, which, somehow, changed all the cast to their original species except Morn, who became Bolian. Which worked out really well because it was “Bolians eat for Free” night at Quark’s.

“Just like Morn to switch to get free food”, groused Morn, who then barfed on the shaky premise of the plot. Morn continued, “Morn likes to talk in the third person and Morn also likes you”.

“Who, me?” said someone in an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow-polka-dot bikini.

Morn said, “No, not you. You!”

“What, me? How can that be?”

Weyoun the poet, it was.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

The Breen had a meeting to debate whether Santa existed. Alas, since our universal translators are inferior, the answer remains forever lost to us. But look! Morn in a santa costume sat at Quark’s drinking heavily and roaring “HO HO HO!”

We now leave you with this disturbing mental image for a comic interlude with the three Cardies.

Bearing gifts they travel afar?

Indeed they do, and what gifts they are! Vintage kanar, the finest fish tea and an Oralian recitation mask. Oralius is the wisdom of the universe so contemplate Her ghostly intelligence. Let the Fates guide your journey but avoid Uramtali, she’s evil.

“Hey, enough with the spirit talk”, demanded O’Brien, “I’m watching the football and Ireland’s about to initiate Operation Hostile Takeover: the annexation of all major opposition thanks to the power of Irish whimsy and charm.”

This power couldn’t be denied, for it was the power of poetry and music that distracted everyone while the Irish warriors took all the best parking spaces, movie theater seats and, naturally, the bar stools.

(Editor's Note: The Irish warriors are here to stay! Even though they were ghosts during their last apperance...)

“The Klingon Empire will never sell ice creme cones. Let the Irish eat from cups! And drink from bowls! Anarchy!” howled Kor, somehow not dead.

(Editor's Note: The Irish aren't the only ones defying death, it seems).

Kang and Koloth, also not dead, just sleeping very heavily, shouted in agreement. “We shall rise!”

They sleep talk, so this sort of thing was common, but still quite unnerving.

“What do the Klingons have to do with this story?”

“They have ridges and daggers”.

“But do they have the power of manly purple hats? If not, they’re sadly deficient in any meaningful way and thus not worthy to be included in this epic tale.” It was thus decided by everyone involved to jettison the Klingon Empire out an airlock, and watch the explosive fun.

(Editor's Note: You see my point about this story's odd obsession with exploding Klingons?)

Quark changed two bars of gold pressed latinum into wine, and served the wine to his faithful congregants, thus becoming the High Priest of Cthulhu who sleeps in R’lyeh's depths.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl" Damar spoke in tongues, startling everyone except those who worship Azathoth. Those buggers are insane!

With the "departure" of Klingons there was a sudden urge to re-evaluate the role of the Tribble home world, which until now had been hiding under Treaty, enraging the Klingons.

Now, the Supreme Tribble Overlord, known to favour red wine, had to decide: resume his conquest of the hortas, or drink himself into a stupor.

"Mmmfmfffd," the Tribble said to the cast - Tribbles can't speak, but they can fart. So, they farted out a manifesto and founded the great Tribble Congregation of 2374.

"Well, I don't want any tribble," scoffed a punner, and was shot.

"So much quibble over tribble?"

"MAKE HIM STOP!" wept several cast members. But others insisted the PUNishment continue until nobody remained uninfected by comic wordplay.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

And as a flock of Kira's jilted former lovers gathered - in a surly, querulous huddle - snarled a wordless cry of despair, before the location could be located, locally, that is.

"Well this is a fine mess of prepositional phrases," snapped Kira.

Her former lovers blamed it on the "Five World" contributors, particularly me. I am ashamed.

"There, there," other contributors said. "We're all equally guilty of the atrocity this story has turned into. Mea culpa!"
Then, everyone tearfully hugged everybody else and saccharine sweetness triumphed! No wonder everything was going so smoothly. Until, from the shadows, Palpatine called forth Darth Morn, to cause ruin and chaos in the bar.

Darth Morn was a fearsome foe to all who opposed Palpatine's stag nights, which featured depravity and bingo, alongside excellent entertainment and somewhat mediocre appetizers, but folks I must be clear here, what we need to remember is the evil, and this is not your ordinary evil.

Therefore, many oppose him. Enter if you dare, mere mortals! His foes, Darth Morn destroys through power, guile and appetizers with elegant pose and deadly grace. Only one can stand against his awful majesty and he is Damar's son Sakal. Yes, Sakal has his father's courage despite only being of age for a couple decades, and this is surprising. I thought he died during the War?

"He got better". Bashir retconned the war and now the deaths of 800 million Cardassians!

"It was nothing" said Bashir, with such modesty.

The Cardassian medical establishment disagreed, but Bashir had just restored millions of their citizens, so...Whatcha gonna do? So, Sakal vs Darth Morn. What do you think happens next?

Darth Morn sees the light! He renounces the Dark Side! There are 4 lights, actually. And Palpatine kills him for miscounting said number of lights.

No. Actually, they all just settled their differences peacefully. Except... Morn grew bored with evil and started a summer camp with the Andorian nuns for underprivileged orphaned clones who lack an ability to blow bubbles. Kira's ex-lovers were offered jobs as counselors and basket-weaving instructors - underwater basket-weaving instructors who get a bit tipsy when drinking.

Shakaar smugly declined and then the others started whingeing, too. But then Sisko threatened to force feed them fruitcake from the buffet table until they agreed to take the job. Morn sat back and enjoyed the chaos he had caused, forgetting that he was supposed to be running things.

"Responsibility? I don't know the meaning of the word 'meaning'," he intoned, "nor the word responsibility".

"Where's a dictionary?," he asked, "my vocabulary shrinks direly with Federation fruitcake terrorism."

Sisko chortled, "Soon you shall be wordless!"

Morn wiped the sweat from a 1950's T55 Soviet Tank model which O'Brien had forgotten that he kept just for laughs, as one does in times of chaotic shenanigans.

"Nice model there Irish!" said a disrespectful Englishman, sneering at all the models, pissing off Morn.

Swiping mightily at the Englishman, Morn knocked him flat, causing mild irritation to the back and leaving him in non-tip-top condition what, what! The Scottish observed with glee; their time began to slip between universes. Which was not how British time should work! Big Ben struck 13 times at noon to demonstrate our great rage.

"Let us drink Tea and then smite ruddy 'tards or weep as the union collapses!"

"Have some crumpets, what, what?"

Multiple English voices sounded replies!

"Of course you can and we'll dance a merry dance, but NOT the bloody Morris Dance! What with the arm about ready to give up."

 

[Deranged Nasat]

"Senior staff to the Defiant!"

The call startled Worf, who wanted to beat up limeys but backed off, because when he ran to the Defiant it exploded into a million pieces.

"Not my fault!" cried the narrator and Thot Mog, casting suspicion on themselves immediately.

"Then who is responsible?" questioned Odo, "someone must be arrested!"

Everyone gasped at the demand.

"That's right! Police oppression will continue in full force. I have had enough of both forced plotlines and whimsical twists and so I'm imposing strict Rick Berman formula. No originality! So..Romulans," said Odo accusingly.

"Disguised as Vulcans, no doubt".

"Holy cereal-bowl haircuts, Odo!" said O'Brien, scanning the debris.

"Tachyon phase resonance particles detected under Quark's armpits. We should get those armpits into quarantine".

"What about his arms?" Bashir asked.

"Remove them if possible and then cook them too."

This was Sisko's command, for armed Ferengi are forbidden on any ship with straw hats. As it so happened, they eventually discovered the Defiant imploded because of planned engineering works that O'Brien failed to install properly, improperly, or otherwise. When confronted thus, O'Brien shrugged and merely played the banjo which cemented his position as the most annoying human of the tale so far.

Angry at this persecution of the human species when others are equally lame and corrupt, the Human Antidiscrimination Political Correctness Committee voted to boycott this thread and make a stand. Nervous at the power of human committees behind the scenes, the characters decided to kick out all cast members who offended the ADPCC and only work with children and animals.

"Nothing can be anything and even thoughts that create our reality!" Cthulhu asserted articulately through his tentacles. "Argh! The Great Old One gurgled. "Enough with the metaphysics - you shall all be eaten!"

The silence that followed made sense when you consider it, because being eaten is unpopular and it is not wise to annoy gurgling Great Ones who dream in the depths.

Instead, they offered Him habaneros which when wet wrecked the silty sandy soil so scandalously that they totally tore through the end of the alliterative section.

But it was too late...another crisis erupted on DS9 for the Blind Idiot God, known to some as Io, and to others merely as Azathoth, the terrible sultan (nice chap...well, OK, not that nice), appeared in the minds of all the Ferengi in the cast and cunningly convinced them to give their profits to the Federation's soccer team.

The team's captain, former admiral Sulu, now 300 years old but still pretty darn spry, said, "Oh my!" upon seeing gold-pressed latinum stacked high in front of him. "These bricks of fortune can do wonders! Why, even now I like to lick these bricks. It's simply my personal way".

"I feel used" whimpered Zek, "my latinum has been soiled!"

Sulu grinned. "It's my latinum now, mister wrinkles!"

He pushed a button and summoned several Miniature Giant Space Hamsters.

Sulu instructed them to carry latinum over the hills and far beyond the stars, toward the better future he knew waited on the bonny banks of Loch Thedooratnight. The Ferengi eagerly followed, promising cold Lowenbrau and oo-mox to anyone who would help Sulu's team win the prestigious AQ 'Real' Football Cup, but alas, they had no takers. Oo-mox was, frankly, not popular.

It was as if apathy had :: ominous music :: invaded DS9! The music, spinechilling in effect, did nothing to spineless Odo and so only he failed to notice as apathy emitters halfheartedly projected clouds of general disinterest across the station and beyond. Odo knew he had better things to do, but having become concerned at the general state of affairs on television - X Factor cancelled? - he scratched his head. Didn't television care about his - "That's it!"

Odo realized TV was the greatest invention of all time, reprogramming the station's viewscreens to show a Lawrence Welk marathon, spreading the apathy even farther to a peppy clarinet foxtrot.

"That's not a good sign," said Vic Fontaine, Odo's advisor. "Too much peppiness can cause nausea, insomnia, and dry mouth, and bubbles stain the threads."

"Hmmph!" murmured Odo, frustrated that he wouldn't hear Tennessee Waltz.

Dukat's orphaned children showed up and decided to throw all the galaxy a splendid party. DS9 residents responded with apathy but everyone else was elated.

"Any party's good", said Quark, freed from apathy by kanar and just plain business lobes. For the Ferengi know that kanar and profits go together like Hu-man bread and butter. Quark quickly set his scheme aside, and thought up another scheme-lier scheme, which made his lobes tingle with unbridled avarice, frightening the new Dabo Girl. "If I can convince those Hew-mans how good kanar is, then maybe the fools would gamble the whole station off!

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Odo changed into a table, a pool table in fact. This desperate move would hopefully win him a place on The Price Is Right. Though this was Odo's favorite show, he really wanted to be a Millionaire. This left him frustrated since the Federation is "moneyless" - but Cardassia is not, so lucky. The Jem'Hadar and their stony glares left Odo shaken, but not stirred. So it went, and so it goes, like sands through the hourglass of Eternity.

"Ooooh, deeeeep" quipped Damar contemptuously, "Tell me, my oh-so philosophical friend, why I am addressing the Narrator? Especially when the narrator is as troublesome as this one?"

Leaving that question unanswered, Damar wandered off in search of adventure, preferably including something purple.

He didn't find it, however, and so put out a brilliant stand up routine entitled: "Corat Damar: Live!" Tickets sold poorly at first, but then news spread of Damar's comic impressions of Dukat, including the time when he lost his shirt at the dabo table, when he lost all the latinum he'd accumulated playing Monopoly, and other gems. "If successful I could corner the market!"

"Narrator and narrator, what is... ("The sentient narrator's lost it!") - Narrator" yelled a retarded Jem'Hadar.

"Stop sniffing the white powder!" Bashir yelled, prepping a sedative.

The narrator lunged, but Bashir was too fast for him. The narrator was sedated, leaving the characters free to run riot.

"Finally, the chance to eat some Orion belly cheese," Dukat exclaimed. Unable to find a suitable cheese shoppe, he decided to create one. Cheesemongers ran wild on the Promenade. The chaos caused the whole industry to collapse, rendering Dukat cheeseless.

"So, it's happening," said the Centuri Admiral, who led the Babylon Five invasion forces in leaving this story forever.

"Without a narrator, they are ours!" said the Goa'uld System Lords, beginning their invasion. The Klingons fell without a fight, but the ressurrected Narrator bleu up at the intervention.

"I cannot allow other franchises to steal my thunder!"

Thor the Thunder God thundered. "Edam them!"

Five Chedder Monks appeared then, and sang a chant of such nonsensical gibberish that Dukat dismissed it as nonsensical gibberish.

"I looked out at the morning sky, and used to muse upon the heart breaking lack of cheese. Alas, alas! I need that cheese, narrator".

Quoth the Raven, nevermore. In addition, he quoth, "Cheese isn't the answer, you poor, deluded God. The answer is 42!"

God quietly smote the Raven, but was corrected by Thor who we know likes them.

"Actually that's my Father Odin so let's get 'em off DS9 and go back to Valhalla."

God smirked. "Go, then, and end yet another franchise crossover. I shall stay and rule here until I grow bored."

God stayed for five minutes before leaving to create the perfect pizza.

(Editor's Note: This pizza may or may not be Jadzia-shaped).

"What God was farting on the isolinear rods?"

"Thor, of course - who else?"

"Yes, but who was the other culprit? Always two there are," said Odo, crossing his arms.

"There were no Sith here," Dukat said, irritably. "Were there?"

(Editor's Note: Three so far. Palpatine, Vader and Darth Morn).

The actions of the Gods caused the Spockroach invasion on Earth. That'll teach us to bring the Mythology, when will we stop meththing with myth?

 

[Deranged Nasat]

The running of the Holy Marathon began; Winn was leading on the straightaway, but Quark was gaining fast, holy greed indeed; just then the Pope - the Mirror Pope, we mean - won the race by evil but holy means.

"Whose worship?" asked the irate cast. "We want donuts first. Donuts. And somebody'd better control this plot or else..."

"Or else WHAT?"

"We strike, that's what! We will refuse to take part and we'll picket the Promenade for the whole Thread!"

The Sisko, representing Management, glowered at the Picket Line and threatened anybody who giggled and snickered at the playful alliteration. This was only the beginning: He had planned for this industrial stoppage by secretly hiring scabs. He picked them carefully so they would perform the jobs and not get rashes on their naughty places.

"Hey! Don't touch MY naughty places, damnit!"

"I'm a Doctor, not a molester!" Bashir replied to Keiko O'Brien.

Kicking, she nutted him nonetheless.

"Ouch! That was uncalled for!" said Bashir, collapsing.

Garak smiled, "Take care of those, Doctor!"

"Garak! Hand me that ointment! But don't get any on the WD-40, or it will create some bio-mimetic gel," Bashir whimpered.

"Hmmm, bio-mimetic gel," Garak replied. "I could really use some of that to clone new workers for Sisko."

"Traitor!" cried Damar the Workers' Hero, and Garak smiled sadly.

"My dear Damar, what you fail to understand is that unless I can undertake to create a workforce, the station will certainly be dammed to eternal sex slavery by the Cardassians”.

Gul Dukat smiled sinisterly at Garak, saying "You're not that attractive, Dukat, you fool. Just like you and your overinflated ego to always cause haste. Like I'm talking to myself, here!"

Garak looked around but everyone had backed away fearfully, not willing to be around when he and Dukat finally lost it and went into a Monologue War. This was a dire happenstance. There would be no survivors. For when Cardassians start monologuing, the sheer force of wordliness can make a horse yelp.

"On the subject of horses, doesn't monologing make you hoarse?"

They all agreed except for the Cardassians, who immediately began a lengthy monologue on this issue which continued until the Last Trump Hotel was closed due to overuse of the vocal chords. And then, as if he hadn't talked enough, Dukat addressed the Cardassian Public Broadcasting Network: "My fellow Cardassians, this is the monologue to end all bigotry throughout the universe."

Dukat smiled into the camera, but something seemed suspicious, and Dukat woke up. A dream! Thank goodness!

So, the strike started getting ugly. Gorn ugly. Sisko's hired Gorn goons were fans of the Pointer Sisters. But not of strikes. They threw styrofoam rocks on the disloyal workers, causing great humiliation when the "rocks" bounced off.

"It's true! We're rubber suits!"

"More rubbery than the Gorns?"

"My rubber is realistic" noted Morn, looking at himself appreciatively while Quark indicated his lobes were also realistic. Just then, a band of lunatic Cardassians stumbled into view, waving signs written in ancient languages unknown to a shocked Garak, but Odo knew their meaning.

"There can only be one!" Odo yelled, pointing at Sisko.

Sisko pointed back with his baseball, saying, "What of it?"

"Umm," Odo said. "Good question. I repeat, "You are the one!'"

"You are repetitive," Sisko said.

"I must be!" Odo snorted. "The Prize must be yours, since I didn't win it," he explained.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Sisko was not an Egyptian so he could not interpret hieroglyphs with any accuracy, but for some reason, Odo now was, so he could decode the Rosetta Stone easily... but he chose not to.

"It's so easy!" Odo shouted.

"Well good for you, changeling," Dukat snorted derisively, "but we have a plan and it's nearly time for another monologue!"

Sisko sighed. "Not another monologue."

"Yes, another monologue," proclaimed Damar.

"Well, they're tiresome," Sisko hissed. Suddenly, he reached out his left hand, and smacked Dukat.

Dukat smacked Sisko right handed, causing Sisko's front teeth to sparkle quite strangely.

Sisko responded, "Thanks for the dental work."

Dukat hissed, "Dont mention it!" and then kneed Sisko in the big toe, an unexpected consequence of aiming too low.

Sisko then drop-kicked Dukat, hard. Dukat bounced, rubber pants and plastic armor protecting his manliness and landed on Morn's head.

"You're no purple hat," said Morn, "so what are you doing?"

"I'm still manly," Dukat replied. "Therefore, I'm the next Bajoran Idol!" But Dukat didn't have enough raw talent to justify allowing the show to go on. "So this is it, my final swansong'" mused Skrain Dukat. "I hereby declare my intention to leave the entertainment world as it has left me and enter the realm of organic farming. I have purchased some land on Cardassia IV - it's rugged, but I think that I can make it suitable for growing Pizza plants".

Dukat had clearly seen Wall-E, which inspired his next project. Using his farm produce to gain enough capital to buy out the Buy'n'Large company, he went to the Bank Of Bolius to check out the great savings available to small and meanly individuals such as Brunt FCA, who just walked across the ceiling.

"A heist?!" he shouted down towards the Pakled security guards picking their noses.

"Sure, go ahead, sir," one replied. "We're getting fired right now for...er...what is our flaw?"

"Complete, irredeemable stupidity?" the other Pakled said.

"Of course," Bashir interjected. "That's the flaw."

"Why are you here, Doctor?" the Narrator had to interject to regain control of the replicating chicken feed dispenser room.

"It's affecting the wormhole, Captain!"

"What doesn't?" Sisko replied, unsurprised.

"The problem, Benjamin," Dax said, "is that wormhole is like a storm in a red wagon surrounded by sea turtles. In other words, shell shocked."

"Can't deactivate chicken feed dispensers without Arnold Judas Rimmer and Ma and Pa Kettle" O'Brien added.

"If only a convenient technological babble phrase, Captain," Dax added.

"Arrrgggh! Shut up, shut up!" cried the Narrator, fed up with the story and authors.

"WE CREATED YOU" roared the authors, "so we can destroy you!"

Quark entered, selling precious jems.

"Jems? Truly, truly outrageous!" said Garak, offended by Quark's avarice.

"What of it?" Quark asked. "Selling Jem and the Holograms! Why that would be an evil to excuse all prior crimes committed by the entire cast. Yes, even Morn's robbery and Weyoun's poisoning of the drinking water".

"Weyoun, you didn't!" asked Broca who unfortunately wasn't able to move from the faucet in time not to get splashed.

"It burns! Help!" he cried, but no one could hear over Weyoun's chuckling.

"Thus to all traitors!" Damar declared, "write that down, Garak".

"Yes sir" said Garak, awed at the chance to help end once and for all the five word story line.

For the Book of Damar was a cursed book, and as Garak helped write it, etched every evil entry ending entirely with the letter "e". This dread book was called "The Cursed Book of Damar", where every word was cursed. Not original, perhaps, but descriptive.

Damar entered this tale of trepidation and trembling with titular worry (for second tier Cardassians did not fare well in these sorts of situations alas.) "Might I see the book?" he asked.

Damar ordered his kanar watered down, because he was trying to achieve the perfect buzz. Not too drunk, but not to kurd either.

"You may not," Garak said, “because you're far too irascible for me to have dealings with the likes of you."

"Sod it then" he said.

"British expressions from a Cardassian?"

"As of today, the British rule Cardassia. Their expressions and mannerisms will now be copied perfectly by all Cardassian citizens."

"Tea, no more kanar?"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"You impertinent fools, with Cardassian guile and cool-sounding British accents, we stand prepared to lead the Alpha Quadrant into a glorious new era of Britassian rule. God save the Castellan!"

At that everyone stood for the new national anthem.

Captain Sisko reached for his sole source of comfort: the Completed Works of J Edger, and promptly proceeded to douse the whole world in useless trivia. For example, did you know that the Andorian swallow does not in fact derive its slope through calculus? No. It uses simple arithmetic instead.

"I knew that," lied Bashir. He looked at his fingers, which were attempting to calculate blueberry pi, an eccentric equation using higher-order partial derivatives. The Narrator disliked math and threw it out for grammar.

"Grammar got run over by the Chicago Manual of Style, so the Narrator chose history but then thought, what is history, really? Is it something that happened yesterday, or is it worth investing in the Ferengi Commerce Authority?"

So, Bashir decided to use fuzzy logic and created the idea of asking Brunt to write the code of ethics for the FMA (Federation Medical Association), which proved difficult for some of those who had non-fuzzy ethics. This was due to the need for a non-profit Federation foundation, which in the happy socialistic UHC required absolute right or wrong. Fortunately everyone realized that Dukat wasn't the ideal medical ethicist, even if he was a manly authority on everything, and a good guy (at least according to some misguided folks). However the crisis in the newly renamed Britassian Empire continued, as stiff-upper-lipness clashed with monologuing speeches of great length and unparalleled awesomeness.

"Are we really going to discuss how to correct the wrongs that stiff upper lips cause? There are far more urgent matters for our attention, like the lack of cheese in this story DESPITE Dukat's earlier business venture," Morn said.

He is a dear, that Morn. Morn's loquaciousness is legend. His imbibing, equally so. If Morn had eaten a red apple he would talk about it for months, while drinking barrels of Black Holes, and boasting at length all the while.

Meanwhile, out of nowhere appeared a Canadian with a hat. A manly purple hat that caused Dukat to convert his currently workable ego into a veritable zeppelin of an ego! This huge, bloated sense of terrible self satisfaction made advertising his right to full purpleness easy.

(NONE shall out-purple Dukat. This Canadian is an affront to Dukat's supreme manliness. It cannot stand!)

But sadly Dukat was hit hard, over and over with the end of a large recession that was foretold in the Fourth Age of the Gul of the Second Order.

The Crimson Permanent Assurance, which wasn't known for its evenhandedness but instead its dogged perseverance, took away all rights to the screenplay for this excellent multi-generational saga of the fifth house of Cardassia. Garak snorted, fed up at the bloody insipid excuse for character development that was currently taking place.

"Very well. You want character development? I'll bleeding give you some!"

Sisko and Kira married different people on Risa; Sisko ended up with the lusty, busty blue-eyed blonde Tellarite while Kira moved in with the Andorian monk. Sadly, Q decided to play with fire. The consequences were terrible: people got burned, smoke filled the story so no-one could make nose or mouth of the plot and therefore had to resort to drastic measures; yes, even more extraneous "shipping" stories to delight FanFiction.net and other such repositories of fanfic.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

With heavy hearts, "five-world" contributors accepted the blame for this wretched undertaking, though also with grace, and a certain amount of whining on the part of Thor (but others sniveled as well - with much justification). But Q raised their voices in song to the tune of La Marseillaise, which confused the British, who actually liked it better than "God Save the Queen/King/Whatever". So they adopted it as their new, improved, national anthem. The Star-Spangled Banner was a close second, but was rejected as it wasn't cool enough and it's difficult to sing.

The British offered the Americans weak tea. It was soundly rejected so beer was offered, and two oreo-cookies each. Thus were the British and Americans reconciled. The Romulans, however, could bugger off, that's right bugger off, the oreo-hating, pointy-eared, blue-ale swilling antagonists who wouldn't even try playing darts.

The Britassian Union broke up, citing "irreconcilable differences", and the Federation sighed in relief.

Earth was the home of the whopper. And Earth welcomed the stiff upbringing of the Pah-wraiths. The humans felt it would always be a special night, the kind that would be talked about for centuries. It was the end of an epoch, the beginning of maudlin self-indulgent, over-extended stories that went on and on, without any plot or meaning to our lives (what are those again?), down a long, winding road.

The Narrator jumped in and said "Now it's time for The Sisko's fun-time variety hour!"

However, Quark protested, arguing that as chief entertainer he should be the one wearing the comically cringe-worthy, cosmically caustic canine costume of crumminess. "Let me walk the walk of shame. It is the only way".

"If you insist," Sisko said, and Quark began a routine which rivaled even the great comedians of yore for sheer zaniness; even the Marx Brothers couldn't compare. However, despite rave reviews, The Quark Experience couldn't compete with the epoch breaking stand up of Jasad, who spat such amusing bon mots as; "I'll destroy you all!" and "filthy cowards!"

Jasad's tour of the Alpha Quadrant, entitled "Very Bad Mood", was a best selling hit and soon fans were spitting out verminous threats and insults themselves. It was a veritable orgy of underacting and ranting, and Opaka preached, "for shame! Why do you insult George the Cardassian Vole? Why, he was only trying to get a good seat, and enjoy the show when you little morons - I'm infected!"

Horrified, she left to start a alternative show based on respect and ironic observational monologues. Naturally she carried her umbrella, which signified nothing to those not in the know . If you are in the know then nothing we say is beyond your comprehension and therefore nothing more need be said.

Opaka smiled benignly at this fourth wall just erected. "No irritating audience shall sway me from my speech promoting love, faith and free drugs to all my followers".

"We love you, Opaka!" they cried in creepy unison, but were busted by squads of Kai Winn's evil minions who were trained to crush aluminum cans for recycling. It's a no-brainer, people. Winn's concerned environmentalism warmed the hearts of many, and even Jasad smiled.

But a turnip had appeared and it was was unpalpably unnerving enough to turn her against vegetation.

"Destroy the viciously voracious verdantness at once! Nature must die!"

Spock turned in his undone recycling plant design homework, which was untypically sloppy and poorly excused with "the sehlat ate mother and I am quite distracted as a result". Opaka said, "Peace, my child. You must trust in MOTHER Nature".

Spock primed his sonic grenade so Garak vapourized him: fertilizer for the Cardassian's lovely, pink petunias.

"Water them with kanar".

"Did someone say Kanar?" asked Damar, grinning and waving a glass in both hands "I am already drunk at this point because of my troubles. Ah, my troubles..."

The joke unfolded with a predictable punchline. But the plot was not predictable, as evidenced by Picard's appearance. Visiting Quark's, Guinan smiled enigmatically.

"What brings you here, Captain Picard, Guinan?" Quark queried.

"Only to seek your renowned oo-mox and love of all things latinum-based, my large-lobed lovable gremlin" said Guinan sassily. "Our two threads combined shall save the fabric of reality!"

"What kind of fabric?" asked Quark.

"Polyester," replied Picard gravely.

"Even worse than I feared in my worst nightmares," cringed Sideshow Bob.

"Get out of our way, now," yelled Sisko. "Let's finish what we've started!"

"What exactly did we start?"

"Only the Gods themselves know..."

"Gonna be startin' somethin'," O'Brien chimed in, looking nervously at Bashir who continued, "Got to go" before leaving O'Brien to his own rendering of MJ's classic tune.

"So, what is turnip soup doing here?"

Turnip soup sat, saying nothing. He was silent because he felt embarrassed being among the ugly, two-legged, animal-descended bar patrons.

This pun of fun came undone one evening in Quark's bar, where an atmosphere of dreamy possibilities unfolded as the night went on. "What will happen next?" wondered Jake, as he sat in anticipation. "It could be any number of possible occurences, some...mysterious!" Coincidentally or not, "mysterious" was indeed the apt description of the next occurrence: Worf walked in, and ordered milk instead of prune juice. Quark was naturally taken aback and pressed the emergency button, as his milk was expired.

"This will not stand!" screamed George Francisco, "You cannot have expired milk! I have a right to fresh milk, and expired milk makes me drunk and leacherous!"

We cannot let one ounce of spilt milk touch anything because it's toxic!

"Oh, now you tell me" Quark whined. "I've been keeping track of this story for, like, a gazillion posts, and milk never was a factor! Hats? Sure. But not milk".

"It's a brave new world that has such handprops in it. What a brave new life can be used for extensive hat wearing," Garak intoned.

Sisko placed a red fedora upon the head of Gul Dukat, who eyed it contemptuously because it wasn't as manly as his felt purple one.

"Purple," Sisko raged, "Isn't linear!"

"No, but it IS manly!"

Dukat threw down the red fedora. The Pah-Wraith went and picked up the fedora but Dukat was having none of it and smacked The Kosst Amojan and its unmanly grasping of the red accessory.

The Second Temple Opened and legions of bored Pah-Wraiths poured out.

"All hail the True Prophets of the Red -"

"RED?!"

"-All-Powerful, Stylish, Red Felt Fedora!"

"No, The Purple Ori are truly in the ascendancy! Verily!"

"All hollowed are the Ori -"

"May I suggest green?” O'Brien interjected.

"Green?! Are you seriously suggesting green?" demanded Bashir, who was rather angry at the universe. "I hate it, it's wimpy," he snorted derisively.

"It's good for the Irish!"

"SILENCE, sinners against the Purple," howled the insane, glowing Pah-Wraith.

"I knew you'd come round!” crowed Dukat, pleased at his ability to convince others of the superiority of purple hats.

The Universe is a big place, and the problems of us lowly mortals are too small for complicated Cardassian monologues, at least the best ones.

"So, let's make new problems".

Like Cardassian monologues gone wrong. Then the universe weeps openly, because Cardassian monologues are crucial to preventing the Big Crunch. Which was the nickname given Leeta's large and well formed dabo wheel which she often spun while waving a self-sealing stem-bolt. The question of what these doohickies do notwithstanding, their alliterative naming eluded some as to its purpose. Dax knew, but wasn't telling.

It was a great Trill tacit agreement to seek out new jives and new conversations - and seek out bizarre, unwieldy “five world" stories that go nowhere, but in a brilliant, chaotic, manner. The way proper stories should work.

We are winding our way through a yellow brick road, Sisko mused. "Sweet Home Alabama! Sweet hom...”.

Odo cut him off with a blow to the nether regions. Sisko screamed like a girl in the throes of a particularly exciting shopping trip with her rich boyfriend in the delightful shopping malls of Neiman Prime.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?” Sisko asked.

"You don't see 'nether regions' used very often", opined Kira, amused no end.

“MY nether regions are sacred!” Sisko cried, "They've been blessed by the Prophets! Now kneel!"

Odo refused. "Now, now. One nether region is like the next; I don't see why you won't observe the niceties.”

“Because I'm the Emissary, changeling!"

"You're delusional, 'Emissary'," Odo quipped.

"No, inspired," Sisko shot back.

“Changelings are true gods," Weyoun observed, "and we have much to learn about destroying the false gods, otherwise known as Lord Zedd, Rita Repulso and Charlie the Bin-man. Commence Operation: The Prophets are false gods!"

"NO!" Sisko yelled, "They're rrreeeaaaaallllllll!"

Sisko was sedated at once, for his own good. Goa'uld counsellors were on hand to confront Sisko's delusions of grandeur with their even better ones!

“It's a faaaaaaaaake!", resounded Vreenak, who was shot by me in Sisko's tortuous torturous dreams.

“The Romulan Star Empire condemns Senator Vreenak to death by data rod for his actions in creating false notions of fake data and over the top memes", intoned some random Romulan senator, who was on DS9 for the panache that Romulans provide the rustic denizens of the Outer Hebrides.

The newly appointed envoy, called "T'Rul" although her boss calls her 'troll', decided to grow out her hairdressing franchise, expanding her existing salons to cater to hairless clientele, combining hairdressing with diplomacy. The rise and fall of the Hairdressers' Commission of Unionists was a tale of betrayal, intrigue, lust, greed and lechery. Unfortunately we cannot reveal the entire sick and twisted history as we now turn to...the works of Shakespeare in 3D. Britassian in origin, this bard of bards led the civilized galaxy to new pastures, despite the danger of cows, and resulted in the relative disinterest of Garak becoming insignificant in the grand scheme of scheming. Yeah, riiiiight. The reality will simply blow your mind: Using omega molecules or something equally destructive, Garak will establish his supreme smugness over all of us, and our petty adherence to the truth. Damar could stop him, but there was the inconvenient fact that Garak maintained extensive files on that...unfortunate ...kanar-smuggling business, not to mention certain...irregularities...in the records relating to Damar's mother's cousin's...oatmeal biscuits...and their...troubling...secret ingredient. However Corat Damar was a leader who laughed at danger and had Chaos over for tea. He was very hospitable, but Thot Mog objected to his outfit.

“Really, dahling, that armour simply is not slimming!”

Taken aback, Damar replied, “But...I’m the Hero of Cardassia and this is Cardassian styling!”

At that Thot Mog stood flabbergasted for about 47 seconds, before pulling a weapon on Damar. He fired but to no avail. Fashion critics can’t shoot straight at Cardassian armour, ever. Damar and Garak laughed at the pathetic Breen and his ineffective pop gun.

“You fool”, they chorused, “there is no Breen weapon as can match the manliness of Cardassian armour! Besides, Cardassians are tres chic this year, so watch it. This year and every year.”

The sheer terror that this inspired in the hapless fashionista was a glorious sight to behold. He slunk away in shame. Damar called the upset Breen back just to mock him further by insulting his mamma and his garish, unmanly, yellow hat.

“This hat was made by a one-handed colour-blind Andorian. HA!”

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Garak stood off to one edge of reality where everything was filled with chocolate syrup. Spreading it wide and high over the entire station, Garak treated every day like a sundae. The anti-pun police came and were promptly doused with syrup, but they had umbrellas, so they could fly to safety just as Mary Poppins had, and they evaded the syrup. But syrup proved to be more sinister than anyone had thought: it had evolved into proto-matter and planned to inflict chaos. Odo linked with it, and knew that only a miracle could save them now because the syrup was 100% sugary, and that could cause sticky fingers - a nightmare for certain Cardassians, who need to use touch-screens.

Odo unlinked, realising that he was now sticky but unable to remember why that meant anything bad. To prevent Chaos, Odo changed into full security uniform - made from genuine Founder skin - and was also crotchless. Which would have been okay, and, thankfully, it was. He underwent a emergency sex change operation, and looked like Kira. Yet no-one could tell, since changelings don't have sex, preferring instead to use a sexual "aid" ordered from a restaurant - not very sexy, really. It also had too many flashing lights and tinkling bells and so he discarded it to instead get a new sense of what makes a natural woman.

"Odo to Garak”, said Admiral Ross, as he had a moment of schizophrenia brought on by severe constipation, and detrimental to efficient command. "Garak" said Ross, "I have gained shape-shifting abilities. Please advise.”

Garak replied, "I have a strong desire not to help, especially since you owe me for that "favour" I did.

"Flavour?" said a confused Ross.

Garak sighed, "I'll take measurements, you'll need a new uniform. Now, maybe you can pay more than just 3 cents."

"Not on an admiral's salary.”

“Well, I shall stick my tape thusly, and then this way, and - oh dear - a rip”. Garak smiled innocently, which made Ross blush, laugh, then fart.

Garak snarled. "You break wind like an Andorian! Now, Cardassians are full of hot air. But we don't simply fart -we emit shockwaves when we expel gas - it's called Ramscoop...uh-dup a-do hurrah. Then we evolved a new...er...well.... passageway”.

"Enough with the state secrets!” said Corbin Entek, smiling at them, his eyes somewhat dangerous. “We should discuss the rigors of interrogation and how to break the will and spine of those who...oppose Cardassia”.

"Who dares oppose Cardassia?" thundered Gul Evek "I would see that person brought low and made unto dust!"

Garak looked around cautiously and said, "I think the Ori are behind the sofa. Has anyone looked?”

“Nothing here" said the Doci.

"How about the ottoman?”

"Nah, that empire fell about a gazillion years ago, and furthermore this isn't the time or the place to rehash the decline and fall of furniture empires. Who names their entire timeline after an empire of footstools? It's nonsensical. Ridiculous!”

Thot Mog, now bitter with unripe fruit, waddled away dejectedly (as dejected as Breen can look). Subtle, but Quark spotted it. He had a bartender's keen lobes for a sunken heart.

“That Breen loves me," Quark stated greedily.

"B-b-brother?", stammered Rom.

"That Breen loves everyone”, Odo said with a harumph. He gestured, "especially those selling drinks.”

"With FABULOUS lobes," insisted Quark.

"Breen have no lobes," said Ex-Liquidator Brunt. "Been lobe-less since the Great Lobe Job in the summer of '69".

"Thot Mog was at Woodstock?" Bashir asked, astonished.

"2269, Doctor," Odo said, "He was at Space-Woodstock.”

"Whoa...that was even wilder!”

"Still too many bellbottoms, though”, Thot Mog said. "It was awesome. I was trippin' the whole time...I didn't even remember what happened to my starship until the following week. I traded it for ten lids, man...Wait. Wrong Woodstock.”

Ross pondered this for a moment. "Too much LSD, huh?"

"People, chill," said Vedik Bareil. “We put extra lice in your hair, so you can nitpick to your hearts' content."

“Ah...nitpicking...", reminisced Odo "...reminds me of during the occupation when we picked lice foods and sucked them up our warped nacelles of mindless matter. Great days."

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Odo smiled, stroking his newly formed beard. "Why these friendly earthworms I have raised since birth are evil and are, even now, prepared to take over the wormhole as is their birthright".

The Female Changling was horrified. "Those pink mittens I loaned you; why do you not wear my glorious pink handgear? You provoke my genocidal tendencies. I homicidally evoked upon you by the time we reached the Great Link the curses that cascaded like katydids down from the unholy cliffs of the Holy."

Odo stared blankly, replying “Why is it that whenever a plot begins to unfold...”

“Constable, report to Ops, please”.

"On my way," Odo sighed. He reached Ops, where Captain Crunch offered him some cereal. But Odo didn't eat solid food; only mushy carrots. Sisko then challenged Crunch to a duel. But Tucan Sam and Lucky Leprechaun joined in the brawl. Frankenberry and Boo-Berry jeered from the sidelines, until The Green Giant joined the Trix Rabbit, and together they ended this product placement theme. Everyone blamed Berman for the...well, the everything. But he deserved it for the product placements.

Sisko yelled, "That's enough!” He had barely survived the assault of the product placement-beings.

“You're exaggerating, Ben," scoffed Dax, "it was a flesh wound."

"Julian had to perform emergency band-aid placement on my bobo!” Sisko exclaimed. "That's more than you had during slug surgery!"

"Benjamin, you ass-hat!" Dax snarled, "suck it up, Captain Sisko!"

"Curzon would never have put me down so viciously! You've changed! It's like you're not human anymore, just a shallow shell of a snail. You have offended my honour, Dax... if that is your name. I think otherwise...you are CREWMAN DAX! From the movie, no not THAT one, the one with Shakespeare-quoting Klingons!”

"You rang?" quoth Chang walking into Ops. Dukat was immediately pleased to see his partner in evil, although he was slightly jealous of his awesome British accent. Who wouldn't be? Sisko certainly was although he boasted a British passport.

"Nice hat" said Chang to Dukat, further cementing Klingon-Cardassian business interests in manly purple hat sales and an annual subscription to the Klingon magazine, Concrete Users Weekly, written by the Horta and edited by a drunk mugato but still a prestigious publication.

Suddenly everyone was completely naked, except Jake who wore ALL his finest Bill Cosby-inspired clothes!

Maihar’du leapt into action, and sold everyone clothing and hats.

"These are substandard" complained Garak, as he settled down to start tailoring. He knew that Worf was allergic to certain blends used in feminine lingerie, but he included them because Worf's inner Goddess demanded it. Besides, Klingons and rashes went down well with those creepy chaps in cargo bay four.

The sale of Ankh-Morporkian dress had come as a shock to everyone as it was deemed so last year by fashionistas and provoked Vetinari's eyebrow to detach itself and flutter away. Fortunately, it fluttered right back.

"What a terrific story arc!” murmured Ridcully, who didn't really think it was that terrific. This latest arc was lacking a certain edge. It seemed to be avoiding the issue and was short on villains. To satisfy our urge for melodrama, adventure, and "manliness" references, the story was upgraded to a serious Academy Award quality - and won!

Dukat claimed the PETA protest over his use of leather-like garments was irrelevant, as Cardassians hated animals, because they smelled bad. "Animals should be eaten, worn, and at times, spanked.”

“Animals should be honoured," Worf barked, as he painted his toe nails.

PETA Troops descended on ropes and threw everyone candy canes. They were consumed by tribbles that had been created by a mad scientist who lived in a castle (of course) with a hunchbacked assistant and a german shepherd named Skippy. Skippy had Surak's katra, and Thot Mog's fashion sense. He knew the Cardassians would appreciate this rather strange combination of character traits, because what better example was there of seemingly unrivalled intelligence, and espionage skills?

 

[Deranged Nasat]

Meanwhile, back on DS9, everyone continued on much as before, singing, dancing, fighting, and drinking. For days, nothing weird happened. Then, finally, something weird happened. But, it wasn't weird enough. So everyone got bored and started playing Monopoly at Quark's. "Dabo!" shouted Leeta, not understanding. Sisko was insanely jealous for her Dabo/Monopoly crossing skills. He also coveted her purse. It was a chartreuse handbag with little glittery things that matched Sisko's new belt perfectly.

"Bring me Leeta's purse!" he said, mistakenly calling Matt Groening.

"This still isn't weird enough! Where have all the flowers gone?” asked Gul Damar, looking pensive. Dukat, who was not known for finding flora flattering, frowned forebodingly.

"Flowers are frivolous and, frankly, frustrating to fine fellows who frequent fast-food franchises and foment fiendish plots for said flower to wilt into.”

Sisko snagged the purse, ran for the exit and almost fell out of the sky. Odo arrested him for theft then ousted him through the level three airlock. But just before exploding from zero pressure he activated his emergency backup stunt stand-in who exploded rather pleasantly, in a flurry of red goo.

"I rate, 9.5!" said Garak, an explosion connoisseur.

Making the new thing work was paramount to the success of Nog's evil plan. He began with rewriting all the established canon in the Bajoran demonic texts. He also summoned Mirror Universe Jake with his trans-dimensional whistle.

"Wait a minute, Mirror Jake doesn't exist. He never existed. So who did this nifty whistle summon anyway? Clean as a whistle was my plot, and now mysterious gibby bunnys are ruining it”.

“I am not gibby," Worf yelled. "But I do eat them”.

"You eat gibbs?" Different-MU Jake said, stroking his evil goatee - de rigeur in MU circles - whilst feeding his favourite pet gibby bunny, which gibbered unceasingly.

"Cease that gibbering!" Odo snarled, "Unless you and your gibby bunny wish to spend the Gratitude Festival showing everyone how to grumble the nub in the glass of kanar over there.”

Mirror Jake looked confused and tried to grumble HIS nub, difficult as that might sound. Sisko clapped his hands and all nubs popped off into the tulgey wood. The Jabberwock's sister, Jabberwench, arrived in a spindled sponge-like spread, eating strawberry jam and drinking tar.

"The time has come" intoned Batista. "Here in the WWE, we talk of many things Cardassians love, like pro-wrestling and Lewis Carroll's poetry. But they were also fond of Elvis."

Batista was about to flex his influence, but then a strange thing happened to everyone in shouting distance of Worf. Worf's shouts travel far, so far that even distant pilgrims will drop bowels in fear. And not necessarily their own.

“What sort of pilgrims would be carrying around bowels? Do bowels have some sort of pilgrimy significance or something?”

"The bowels are alive," said Captain Von Trapp, "and not with music but with EVIL! Those pilgrims had better drop the thought of asking Sisko to drop anything bowel-related.”

The Andorian nuns were shocked, as were the Medusan monks, that bobby pins and A/C-outlets looked very strange and pointed when combined. Shocking indeed! Also, watt a mess they made!

Sisko lit up like a gasoline-covered Christmas tree. He began to dance with the expectation that his hypnotic rhythms would provide gratification for millions. But his dance was instead laughed at by those who saw it on You Tube.

"Feel the wrath of Sisko!” he typed in response to the message sent by the bashers on Youtube. With that, they scurried away, and Sisko managed to avert a flame-war. Winn and Dukat, however, began a literal flame war instead. Caught in the crossfire was Thot Mog wearing - heavens! Polyester!

"Watch the hat, Adami!" Dukat screeched, but alas, too late. The purple hat was ash.

“Lucky I wore my asbestos thong, or it would be a sad day in pantstown.”

“You in a thong is a sad day anywhere, Junior”.

Odo was looking forward to looking back on his life, and the sordid mess that it had become, ever since his trip to Quark's Loveshack (tm) which, thankfully, was false advertising. Oh, what a night that wasn't. It was instead a daylight sojourn in a dank rain forest on Derna. It was NOT as advertised, but at Quark's place, what is? All the same, Quark tried little to impress the fashionistas, instead committing Sins of Fashion which made Thot Mog weep.

 

[Deranged Nasat]

On the Promenade, a ruckus started at the jumja stall when they started selling the new sentient jumja as a garnish to go with food. However this was then banned because it violated the rule of sentient garnish abuse awareness.

"The idea of thinking jumja is disturbing, if only because it might think of how to cure my baldness" Sisko mused while stroking his goatee.

Lt. Prick arrived to investigate the situation and discovered that Sisko's goatee violated Starfleet protocols.

Sentient jumja said, "Shave him!”

"Not on my watch!" boasted Sisko, gulping down the jumja.

“You FIEND!" shouted Bashir, "Jumja is alive! As Chief Medical Guy, I must operate to save the jumja from a strange plot device known as happy ending at any cost.”

Sisko began to mutate, growing hairier by the second. His beard was long enough to earn him ZZ Top membership, which had been a lifelong goal of Morn's, who jealously picked up a guitar and smashed it on Rom's head.

The Prophets demanded an update, but Sisko and his beard refused with much weight and physic energy, which a mutant hamster (miniature, giant and space, obviously) is known for passing on.

Eddington wasn't about to just let this slide, so he put on his OWN purple hat and then sang a song. Alas, he sang off-key.

“Beyond the rim of the galaxy is a place called Sha-Ka-Ri, where all is pure absurdity. Won't you come and dance the tiki-tiki?"

"Contract on Eddington, Mister Garak”, an incensed Sisko said, insistently.

“Frankly," Garak said frankly, "I don't give a damn what kind of thong you buy. If you're not buying something tasteful, I want no part.”

"Always with the judging," Sisko scolded, "perhaps I should just find a new tailor!"

Garak's palor changed - "Leopard thong, then?”

"Perhaps something in glitter," Sisko said with a gleeful wink.

Eddington interrupted this exchange and began the second verse of his delightful ditty. "There's so much more to sing about, a thong which is large, a radioactive flying space barge...”

"A huge overcharge!" suggested Quark.

"A Simpson named Marge!" Odo added sarcastically, before declaring Eddington the next one of the "five world" cast to go all weird and whimsical with his demand of equality.

“Eddington" Worf muttered, "Is NOT manly, nor is he whimsical. Even Jake is more manly and this concludes my rant”.

With that Eddington vanished forever. Sisko started to consider who would inherit Eddington's purple hat. The faded, threadbare chapeau was adequate, but reeked of desperation and reminded everyone of human mortality in the face of eventual cancellation.

"This hat”, former president Jaresh-Inyo intoned solemnly, "is mine now, losers."

But Sisko wasn't having it. "NOOOO!” he screamed, "the president must be stopped!"

Jaresh-Inyo replied "Unlikely, given the Federation's stance -

*Smack!*

“You struck me?!" the ex-president said, as he wiped the vegemite off his jowl. "Grazerites, you must defend your master from this jumja-eating ruffian!”

The Grazerites brandished their phasers, and then scratched their bottoms. That distracted everyone long enough for Jaresh-Inyo to take the initiative, and summarily drop-kick Sisko. Sisko landed with a thud on O'Brien, which resulted in a brawl of epic scale which could only conclude with a deux ex machina style intervention from Q.

"The trial never ended, Emissary. We've been watching you fumble about, making nutritiously inappropriate dinners for the past ten years. Now we see the result. High blood pressure and irritable bowel syndrome, not to mention that whole fad of eating a grapefruit, which lasted, what, all of one meal? Seriously, that's not -“

"I want guuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmbooooo!" screamed Sisko.

"No, not until you finish your Andorian sprouts. You've gained 10 pounds, but no wisdom."

"Story of my life," Sisko sighed.

The authors paused to consider possible future storylines and decided to play a game where they would take turns throwing darts at plot points.

“Bullseye!" shouted Vulcan Princess.

Then Cuhl yelled, "She hit my tricorder right in the middle of my technobabble detection scan!”

"Ain't that a crying shame”, the narrator interjected. "Now, back doing what we do best, further muddying the narrative waters. Speaking of mud, environmental systems are running smoothy, despite Rom's addition of Tellarite mud baths”.

Several crewmembers were relaxing there until they realized: faaaaaake mud!

“It's reeeaaal!" insisted Sisko, passionately.

"How would you knoooooooow?" O'Brien questioned.

"Dammit, I'm the Emissary!”

"That only impresses YOU," Kira stated. "Well...you and my butt."

All looked to Kira's butt, which caused Odo to seethe in a jealous rage.

“Move along people, nothing to see! This is all mine!”

 

[Deranged Nasat]

It didn't matter that a Dominion Show Choir was arriving to perform the COPACABANA play. Sisko convened DS9's Glee Club, which consisted of Morn, Quark, Worf, Leeta, and Nichele Nicholes, singing in five part harmony. Morn, of course, sang tenor, hitting the high notes effortlessly, bringing tears to the eyes of the visiting Vedek Assembly. Odo looked on in horror, unable even whistle Dixie to himself, but he could hum "Helter Skelter” (Off-key, of course.)

He turned into a rhythm guitar that was oozing with syrup. The Pancake Baron had returned, and he had brought his Ham-steak harmonica. The station filled the void in the heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad, which was reviewed by Garak and dismissed as "monologuishly deficient."

"But my dear Garak surely monologuishness isn't your only criterion?" said the Goa'uld Yu who lived under his desk. "Why are your eyes so watery?" he asked.

"The damn syrup prevents my throat's supreme monologuity, which I find quite vexing and the antithesis of monologuetastic, and at odds with monologueism!"

“Monologuemania!" gasped the entire cast.

Then Morn said, "Monologue this!"

“That was the shortest monologue that any monologist had monologuated in Cardassian history," Garak spat. "You are antimonologuity made manifest”, he sputtered, obsessed with monologues.

"It may be time to --"

"To be a Klingon," Worf monologue-interrupted.

"I'm with you," O'Brien shouted.

"Indeed," cried some red-shirted lieutenant. The red-shirt was promptly disintegrated.

"Too cliched," shouted the narrator's voice, booming like a bass in the deep sea's bottom. Worf pulled out his bat'leth, and filleted the bass. He liked a good, honorable fishstick and howled gleefully. "Mmmm, fish!”

"Omega-3 fatty acids make me gassy," Quark complained, whimpering quietly while looking for his Beano.

"I used the last Beano to stop the dilithium chamber from exploding, Brother," said Rom sheepishly.

"Rom, you idiot! We needed it to avoid flatulence!"

O'Brien slapped him twice. Suddenly the air smelt like rotten 'Owon eggs.

"I warned you clowns," sneered Q. "Now face my horrible and terrible gust of wind as I spin and whirl like a merry-go-round on speed."

He spun, whirled, twirled, and generally rotated at alarming speed. His purple tutu simply blurred the line between art and excessive, desperate display of manliness. His hat flew off and decapitated a lowly ensign, who wore red, naturally, and who probably should have known better.

"Ensign Rawlins will be missed by no one, because he was included in the story for the Director's brat nephew".

"Shouldn't the gold-shirts be the canon-fodder?" asked some nerd.

"I was featured in Trekkies!" said Rawlins' gold-shirt twin brother.

Sisko decided it was time for tea and crumpets, so he asked the replicator to produce the said substance; but Q wasn't done with punishment and crumpet-making backfired horribly. Earl Grey materialized instead and he wasn't happy about it!

Sisko grumbled "I'm not Picard!"

"You're easier to provoke," Q laughed. Earl Grey just scowled.

"Duke, duke, duke of Earl!" exclaimed Kai Winn, who assumed this was karaoke night at Quark's, as she loved doo-wop. She then turned to Q, expecting him to sing along. But Q despised karaoke with every fiber of his being, even suffering from psycho-somatic head-pain when hearing it. Q turned to Winn and transformed her into a giant, talking ham sandwich, which made Sisko giggle like a schoolgirl.

"I think she needs mustard".

Q nodded, turning O'Brien into a giant institutional mustard dispenser. This caused Odo's deputies to run for some hot dogs. And Damar found his kanar, which incited several members of the Maquis, but especially Chakotay, back from the Delta Quadrant to throw a Kanar party - to welcome the visitors from a super awesome planet called Bob.

"Grab a weiner, and shimmy yourself up to the bar to enjoy a nice warm bun and delectable meatsauce", Chakotay said with a chuckle.

"That was far too suggestive", said Dax, "and I like hamburgers better anyway," she laughed.

"Who let this Maquis muthalover on the Promenade?" Odo growled.

"Well, Mr. Jello, I go where I want!" Chakotay growled.

"At least during the Occupation I could toss chumps like you out an airlock. I regret the Bajoran government is slashing funding for chump tossing" said Odo.

Shakaar shrugged apologetically and grabbed a chili dog.

O'Brien asked "mustard with that?"

(Editor's Note: he and Winn haven't been changed back)

"Natch," Shakaar snapped. "What else?"

 

[Deranged Nasat]

The next general election on Bajor was interrupted when Winn left for a vacation on such short notice that she left her collection of silly hats behind. Dukat tutted, unimpressed by this shocking oversight. He ordered a cargo ship to transport the silliest hats far beyond the galactic rim, as far as possible. But the Barrier at God's Retirement Home was unable to allow hats like that. God preferred lavender berets or ones of the raspberry persuasion. The kind you find in the heretical Church of the Artist Formerly Known as the Apostate. He revamped his cult by impersonating the Andorian nuns, but antennae and hats don't mix.

But antennae and beanies go together like chocolate and broccoli, meaning not at all.

"Speak for yourself" said Sisko, wearing a propeller-sporting beanie given to him by Cecil, a lisping, seasick sea serpent, before being eaten by Jabberjaw, who spat the beanie out

But at that very moment a self-sealing stem bolt was actually a Changeling, who was even older than Kate, who kissed a Klingon, who knocked out a Kazon...

(Editor's Note: "Kate" being our very own JustKate, the "old woman of the thread" who delights in incorporating content dating from before many of our births...)

"Stop kvetching! Who knows what happened in the deranged minds of the sickos who wrote this disturbing thread? Why, they could be criminally insane, judging by the preponderance of Voyager characters".

"Re-edits, man! Re-edits!" suggested Sisko.

"That does it!" exclaimed Kira. She kicked the Changeling/stem-bolt, hard.

"It's self-sealing...er...healing!"

"Heal this," Worf quipped as he applied his EMS training and performed a Klingon ritual. He held a salt shaker and sprinkled the Changeling, chanting "Boom boom acka lacka boom".

"That's Johnny Cash," exclaimed Sisko.

"His name was Zha'nee Kash! Kash is best in Klingon", Worf growled, dressed in black.

The Changeling began shrivelling up and yelled, "Help me! Help!" so Sisko dropped it into a vat of sulfuric acid that he kept under his desk.

"Hellllp meeee, I'm meeeeeeelllllllllllting!" the changeling cried, somewhat theatrically and yet who can blame him/her?

This prompted the Jem'hadar to sigh and reluctantly slaughter all the annoying humans in the vicinity, save their favourite human, a clone of Bill Cosby! CosbyClone and the changeling then offered a bounty for booty. 200 pudding pops for a nice sexy Orion slave girl. Unfortunately for them, that Orion was a robot assassin!

"NO!" shouted the Changeling, who was blasted by a polyneutrenic iso-verteron pulse emanating from the Orion's left breast.

"Take that, changeling!"

"Stop this constant changeling-bashing!" screeched Weyoun.

"Up yours, Vorta!”

“Changelings have weak electro-chemical balances!" Bashir showed Weyoun his tricorder, knowing he couldn't see well.

“You mock every Dominion species?!” a drunk Damar said, then grinned, "let me help!" He snarled "Vorta are sooooooooooooo ugly”, then sang Grace Jones's Libertango.

This was too much for Weyoun, who started freaking out. He began having a seizure and Bashir gave him cordrazine. Weyoun skipped insanely off down the Promenade. Bashir followed him. Weyoun was headed for the Klingon restaurant, as he craved Targ.

"Stop him!" cried Bashir. "If he eats all the targ, I'm not a happy camper. Worf will cry and cry!"

High on cordrazine, Weyoun ate Kai Winn, still a sandwich. Everything, really. Targ, cushions, hats, and a writhing Gagh plate.

"More! More! More!" he shouted.

“He's gonna blow!" warned O'Brien, still a giant mustard dispenser. Q, bored, changed everyone back

Then Damar farted on Quark, Weyoun exploded, and Bashir wept. Winn denounced them as heretics, bursting from Weyoun's exploding innards. The Dabo girls schemed to start a Union, but Quark sold them into slavery, which required lots of green paint.

"Damn this station's paint shortage!” he groaned as he tried to use Saurian brandy instead. Morn laughed at Quark's antics and then he laughed at Quark's antiques, which included some late 20th century baseball cards. Cards which The Sisko coveted.

“They're all mine!" Sisko bellowed.

"For a somewhat reasonable price, say 5 bars of latinum, I'll let you hold them; but only if you eat that sandwich I made at Thot-Ruckers, the Breen-owned deli. ‘Home of the one pound Tribble Burger’ is their advertising slogan, although they do carry tofu-tribble for Vegans (i.e., people from Vega), particularly those who drove Vegas, and do you agree?"

Sisko saw no alternative. "I agree!”

“Then how come you're the captain if you submit to the whims of Breen Thots and other supporting characters?" asked The Fire, who led her minions on a quest for the True God of this particular section of the thread.

Boringly, it soon turned out that Morn had dreamed the night he tried habanero soup. He went to the holosuite, only it was shaped like M.C. Escher's Relativity lithograph, upside down, however. It was so mind blowing that Morn's mind exploded in scintillating conceptions that he wished he'd trademarked before everyone saw them.

“I'd be rich as a five lobed Ferengi, if only I had thought ahead. Oh I am beautiful but dumb!"

“You're also deluded if you think you can trademark this!" mocked Quark, polishing his best customer off the stool.

“You know what you need? Some Antarean glow water, Morn!"

Morn, however, had transcended this craze for Antarean glow water. Root beer is more spiritual, as Nog gulped one down.

“That'll be two strips, Nog,".

Nog began removing his clothes as "YMCA" began to play and other customers ran for their cameras.