created by British Naval Dude
written & directed by BND
"British Naval Dude" is brought to you by the Harcourt Fenton Mudd Commerce Corporation and Booty Shack. Need a woman? Mudd’s your man. Need a better looking android than Data? Maybe you just need 1,000 nags to get your Halo-obsessed 30 year-old Trekker son out of the basement? Don’t tarry- Call Harry.
HARRY MUDD: It’s Leo, darlin’. Leo Walsh is me name.
BND: Arrrrr… thar be a pirate aboot here.
HARRY MUDD: I bet it’s lonely out in space, being all dead. Could I interest ya’ in some company then?
BND: Hey, ya’ know that robo-lass who hung out wit’ Lurch? Safest sex is being dead already and havin’ me a mechanical babe… so, she’s mechanical?! Me first girl wuz made o’ rubber… Arrrrr… well, this one’s a sick one… rated arrrrrrr and a half… hide tha’ kiddies…
-- Scene 1; a corridor deep inside the USS Wampateer
O’BRIEN: Quit tellin’ me to lick tha’ Eisenberg converter!
NOG: Sorry, Chief. I just need someone to boss around now that BND’s dead.
O’BRIEN: Well, he’s not alone- lookee there!
TASHA YAR: Hey- what the hell? Chief? Is that you? Is that… is that Valvoline I taste?
O’BRIEN: Dear God, she’s been dead since we was wearing them tight jammies.
NOG: Well, apparently her clothes didn’t make it to the after-Trek-life. Ahhh… like a good Ferengi woman.
-- Scene 2; on the bridge
YOEWOMAN RAND: Captain, there are reports from all over the ship that the dead are re-appearing.
HONEY BLIGH: Oh shite! One better not be that blind date I had for prom… he deserved it, that cheap asshole.
YOEWOMAN RAND: Well, so far an Andorian ambassador that was knifed by Cleopatra Jones, Jackson who keeps going "trick or treat", several tribbles, a vampire cloud with hepatitis, some green woman looking for condoms and a switchblade, more tribbles, scripts for Phase II, and well… (pauses, adjusts hair) they’re all in the brig. Sir, may I suggest using a holodeck to house anymore dead folk that magically appear?
HONEY BLIGH: No- I want those damned holo-hells closed permanently. It’s getting old having to fend off Al Capone or Napoleon every other week. (looks at Rand) Hey, speaking of old, you certainly don’t look like you’re 170!
YOEWOMAN RAND: Yeah, well screw surgery and the spas when you have the Guardian of Forever. (starts singing) If I could turn back time… dadadadaddada
O’BRIEN: (holding pad in front of himself) I just saw… I mean really saw Tasha Yar! What’s causing all this resurrection?
HONEY BLIGH: Shite! Weren’t you just in a corridor deep inside the ship?
O’BRIEN: Uhhhh…transporters, Honey? Bah- screw continuity cuz I was just watchin’ "The Final Frontier" so piss off.
SISKO: O’Brien! She’s the captain. I’d bust you for your sass but I can’t think of anything lower than Chief.
O’BRIEN: Sorry, ma’am. We engineers be all miracle workers, ya know. I could be enjoying a prosperous career as a character actor now too.
CARL SAGAN: The wormhole is growing billyuns and billyuns of times its original size, and somehow, everywhere you look, billyuns and billyuns of deaceased individuals are being brought out of their time and put into ours. Sort of like Branson, Missouri.
SISKO: Oh damn it- Carl Sagan?! You’re not even from Star Trek. Look, what the hell was that with "Contact?" Jodie Foster’s dad really pissed me off!
JOACHIM: Where am I? Why am I here… a piece of bulkhead fell on me…
SISKO: Oh, great- it’s what’s-his-name? Well, I suppose Mr. Roarke must have granted your fantasy.
JOACHIM: His was superior. Now then, do I finally get a movie credit? ….It’s sad when nobody knows who I am… (sniff)
O’BRIEN: I’ll credit you straight to the brig. You too, Sagan, you prat. I really hated "Full House."
TRIP: Hey- lookee here. I’m back! Well, I’ll be damned. What happens on the holedeck really stays on the holodeck.
O'BRIEN: Except when Riker used it as the can. Had to release Lysol through all the air vents. Now listen Trippy, this here ship only needs one engineer. I got a nice Akuda class for you to play in, boyo. And come on then, the lot of you!
COMPUTER: Dearies, you have to stop that wormhole from expanding. Focus, darlings, focus. (giggles)
HONEY BLIGH: She’s right. How can we stop the wormhole? Can we chuck some of those immense IKEA Bjorg cubes at it? Get me Starfleet Command!
-- Scene 3; a Starfleet video-conference call with the Bjorg Collective:
THE BJORG: Howdy hoody there. We are the Bjorg, yay. It is useless to resist our manufactured Swedish crap, yah. Besides, we Swedes have a thing or two to show you.
DOMIMATRIX ZERO (Bjorg Queen): That’s right, yah. Come on and get all hot and surely kinky with us Bjorg, yah. Blondes clad in all black with mechanical devices. Resistance is futile but fun, yah. And we will have us some fun, yay. Teach you who’s in control.
ADMIRAL JANEWAY: Later. Right now, we need your help to stop this all-engulfing wormhole from further expansion.
THE BJORG: Oh, we can do that, yah. Be happy to do it, yah. Stopping expansion be new to us but we’ll try it all, yay. All engulfing wormhole, eh? Sounds like drone Svensen of Yodeleven at the meatball buffet, yah. Hey, I bet you could use a new bookshelf, yah?
ADMIRAL JANEWAY: Thanks for your help. We’ll send over our plan and coordinates. (tries to end transmission) Oh crimeny! Can’t someone get them off the screen? They just won’t go away…
THE BJORG: Maybe you could use a safe new ship, yah? Do you like something speedy, yah? Born from jets, yah…
DOMIMATRIX ZERO: Yah, if you’re a real bad girl, yah, we could maybe break in some of our advanced way hot and sizzling afterburner turbine tubes, yay, by placing one right in your…
ADMIRAL JANEWAY: End transmission!
McCOY: Why, she wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.
DOMIMATRIX ZERO: Oh, heyay, I was going to say in her head. That is what we do, yay?
THE BJORG: Yay, yay. Make them all blonde, yay. Rinse after twenty minutes, yay.
-- Scene 4; a Run-About scans the space around the wormhole
DATA: There is some human DNA detected at twelve degrees starboard.
B4: Oh, boy! Someone new to play with! (drops his alphabet blocks which he had spelled out "poo", "ass", and "amalgamization.")
DATA: Unfortunately it is necrotized human flesh. And it is just some naughty bits anyway.
B4: Naughty bits! Naughty bits!
DATA: Please recall what I have told you about it not being socially acceptable to play with naughty bits that do not belong to you.
B4: Yes, sir. But, I feel so sad for them, can’t I just warm them up? My popcorn is almost done in the microwave anyways. Oooh, I wonder if they’re out there saying "soooo cold… so very cooold?" Like when I converted my lap into a Frigidaire.
LORE: Why you knucklehead, I owtta Frigidaire you! (throws various emotion chips at him)
B4: Nyuk! Nyuk! Hey Lore! Stop it! I’m mad! Now, I’m sad! Now, I’m irrationally depressed by the bleakness and triviality of unfulfilled potential! Oooo! Now, I gotta pee pee! Maybe even have bowel e-motion!
LORE: Come here you! I’ll moidelize you! (grabs power drill and assaults B4)
DATA: Lore, please refrain from using power tools to inflict trauma on your brother.
McCOY: Drilling holes in his head’s not the answer.
LORE: You’re B4 alright - B4 dad made up positronic smarts! Just deploy the fishnets, knumbskull, and pick that junk up.
B4: Coitenly! But why do I hafta put on these stockings? My legs are so pale.
::: Lore grabs stockings and begins strangling B4 with them :::
DATA: Remarkable. Despite the harsh void of space and massive wormhole irradiation, a generous portion of mammalian reproduction physiotomy remains fully intact. I think I can explain it by…
LORE: Yeah- you explain it and then we’ll hafta find an interpreter for that. Hey, B4, what are you doing now, you lame-brain? I told you to deploy the real fishnets!
B4: Hey look at me! I’m dancin’ Lore! I’m dancin’! It’s the elevator shuffle!
DATA: You appear to be sitting still.
B4: It ain’t got no steps! Nyuk Nyuk!
LORE: You’re getting on my noives! I’ll poivelize, you!
DATA: I will deploy the fishnets and retrieve the considerable chunk of anatomy.
B4: Wowzers! When I want to get that size, I have to dial inflammation. Nyuk, Nyuk!
LORE: Oh that does it, yoos cyber-jerkass! (tries to smack B4 with plasma conduit, trips on alphabet blocks, falls against chair knocking own head off) Where you all go? (head spins around in circles on floor) Woooop-wooop-wooop-woooop!
DATA: It is no wonder that with a litter of three, I was the only one they kept.
Alright, the specimen is on board. It seems BND was lucky that Wesley Crusher had quite a resilient fully functioning reproductive unit.
LORE: You keep going on about those frank and beans and I’ll reproduce you, flathead. (his headless body bonks Data with Mr. Tri-Corder)
DATA: That is it! I am going to teach both of you boobs a lesson. (punts Lore’s head out airlock, spins B4 around in chair) How you like them apples?
B4: I thought we was Windows based! Control, Alt, Delete!
- Scene 5, onboard the Wampateer, Colonel Kira’s quarters (cool!)
ODO: Narys, you seem very pre-occupied. Could I change into something more comfortable for you to relax in?
COLONEL KIRA: No, Odo. I’m fine.
COLONEL KIRA: I know what that "hmmph" means. You don’t believe me.
ODO: Well, all through dinner you kept making large cylindrical shapes with your food. And you were whistling "Anchor’s Aweigh."
COLONEL KIRA: Oh, was I? Well, uumm… I was just thinking about the maritime space needle in the city of Verjonne on Bajor. No reason…
ODO: Oh, boy. Here we go again.
COLONEL KIRA: I’m sorry, Odo.
ODO: Well, look, I have an idea. You see, I have been studying Wesley Crusher’s personnel file.
COLONEL KIRA: Oh? Have you now? What parts have you been studying?
ODO: Every single one. Perhaps I can show you something.
NEELIX: Clayton! The governor’s calling! He needs you right now.
ODO: Damn it, Pete. He couldn’t change his ling if it weren’t for me.
-- Scene 6, at the edge of the quadrant, Deep Space 9:
:::four Birds of Prey are shooting at the station causing considerable damage, the Wampateer drops out of warp:::
HONEY BLIGH: You know damn well the Federation doesn’t put up with this type of shite. Why the hell are you doing this?
KLURR: Because we're huge assholes. Now, bugger off, ya' mix-bred bitch!
KLUNG: Oh- and we're drunk as... as...What's the Klingon word for "hell?" Bah- who cares! Blood in me wine, blood in me urine...
KUSS: Hey, ya two-bit tart, go on an' take yer fookin' girlee pink starship and push off! (raises middle fingers)
KRAPT: We don't give one damn about you. (fires disrupters on station) Look- I just blew out the whole power core of this shitty little station! You had abandoned it anyways!
HONEY BLIGH: It was getting way too serious- death and gods and war and who I believe was Frank Sinatra Jr. Still, Sisko’s spiral station was much better than having the crazy unkempt Kazan as your mortal enemy.
A KAZAN: My cousin kisses darn near like my sister do, hi-yook, hi-yook.
KRAPT: Oh, I’ll take you on, missy! Wipe my targ’s arse with yer bones, I will!
:::Krapt fires on Wampateer:::
HONEY BLIGH: Screw them, then. Target all their ships with quantum torpedoes; full spread and repeat. Fire at will to knock out their weapons and engines.
:::torpedos fire, heavy damage on all four Birds Of Prey, Kuss turns his cruiser around, fires on Wampateer knocking out their cable tv:::
SISKO: Just damn great. I was going to watch Booblelestud Galactitca on Skinemax. Fire again on that ship.
:::torpedoes fire, Kuss’ ship is immobilized:::
NOG: That was pretty easy.
HONEY BLIGH: Yeah, well, I sold Kuss their shield systems- he was drunk and had no idea, the bastard… didn’t realize they were panty shields. Get one of the ogres onscreen. The first ship there. Doesn't matter.
KRAPT: Hey, you Benublian fire possum with traitorous teets! Like the great Klingon writer Mark Twain once said, "Miss, I’ll sip your pee after I huck yer finn with me giant toad!"
HONEY BLIGH: What? That’s… just disgusting. You have a sick mind.
KRAPT: Oh, Kay-Les forgive me as I’m pretty deviant, missy. Seein’ a shrink for me anger management, I is.
HONEY BLIGH: Shut it! I'm sending the Starfleet coppers to pick you up. (ends transmission while Krapt pulls down pants to moon her) Looks like the station is trashed. Now we have to think of something else to chuck in the wormhole. Get me Starfleet Command!
NOG: Shite, we call them more than Jadzia's 900 phone service. Though I sometimes think it’s Worf’s voice on the line.
McCOY: I'm a doctor, not a sex maniac.
Next time on "British Naval Dude":
::: An awe inspiring fleet of vessels have assembled: Federation, Bjorg, Romulan, Cardassian, Ferengi and Mormon- all are tractoring the planet Seti Alpha 5 (or is it 6?) towards the ever-increasing wormhole :::
HONEY BLIGH: It takes a village to erase something vile. Good to see us all working together.
SISKO: The future’s so bright, I’m wearing my shades again. You know, it never occurred to me to chuck Bajor in the wormhole. The Emissary bringing the prophets’ people to the heavens; how poetic. Would have got me fired but it would’ve been cool. Like this.
NOG: There’s something out there.
:::: A Bird of Prey covered in undergarments de-cloaks and fires on the armada, hitting the Wampateer :::
KRAPT: We told ye we were all assholes! Harr! We got ridge rage! Take that, little miss!
HONEY BLIGH: Ignore him- baby just wants his bottle. Keep moving- stay the course. What could possibly go wrong with shoving a planet up a radioactive wormhole in which the dead are re-appearing? Oh, contact the Bjorg. I have crates of lotion they may be interested in purchasing.
NOG: Those Bjorg give me the creeps.
SISKO: I agree. They commit friction-filled crimes. But no matter, we’re one big, happy fleet now.
DR. BASHIR: I’ve examined the…uh… bits of BND that were found. If I were to try to clone from them, I’d just end up with Wesley Crusher’s body. After all, in episode four or possibly five, he sacrificed himself to let BND inhabit his…
SISKO: We all know about episode four. The Empire’s space station insurance rates are still skyrocketing after that fiasco. Doctor, isn’t it against your Starfleet ethics to clone a human being? And isn’t just a bad idea in general to clone one from a cock?
DR. BASHIR: Oh, yeah. I forgot. Well, I can chuck the body I already made out the airlock then. No muss, no fuss.
LORE’S HEAD: (mouthing words in vacuum of space) I regret nothing!