Star Trek" Spoof - Grand prize winner
by Laurie

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"I said:  Let's get out of here, Spock-- we're wasting time!" Kirk repeated
irritably.  Honestly, did the vexatious Vulcan intend to spend the entire day
applying eyebrow pencil to his silly stylograph over these tiresome
translations of predictably alternating affirmative and negative Woofianisms? 
Early nineteenth-century barkers' carnival code be damned.  Not that there was
ever any real hope of understanding that sort of thing anyway. Kirk was
uncomfortably sure Spock was mocking him.

Does Spock take me for a simpleton? Kirk mused rather anxiously into the empty
atmosphere, a few assorted muscles in his face twitching ominously.  The Force
did not appear to be with him at that particular moment, however, for there was
no answer from an apparently uncaring universe.  Or perhaps it was simply that
he was in the wrong story, and there *was* no Force in this universe.  The way
his so-called adventures were going lately, he wouldn't be at all surprised. 
Kirk stifled a yawn, then remembered his maddening irritation with Spock.  So
what else was new.  It hadn't much going for it as emotions go, but at this
point, he supposed with a worlds-weary sigh, anything-- anything-- to feel
alive.  Anything but this, that is.

Spock stared at Kirk coldly with the usual arched eyebrow.  Or if it wasn't
truly arched, it was definitely elevated.  There was that annoying superior
mirthless smirk of his again, too, damn it.  Kirk, making a mental note to wipe
it off of Spock's eternally supercilious face some day, once and for all,  if
it was the last thing he ever did, and finding himself considerably cheered at
the thought, began to do some pretty serious smirking of his own.  In fact, his
face was beaming rather radiantly in a matter of moments.

Spock merely arched (or at least elevated) his eyebrow even higher, mildly
perplexed, but only mildly.  After all, were his captain's torturedly tepid
inner travails really worth the trouble of his own superior intellectual
penetration and analysis?  Not likely.  Spock's stare grew even colder,
probably from sheer boredom.  Kirk's smile, however, albeit through clenched
teeth, mysteriously grew distinctly more forceful. 

Spock shrugged, almost imperceptibly.  It probably was imperceptible, to Kirk. 
There were times when even a Vulcan was tempted to employ that terrifyingly
ubiquitous and horridly lame W-word.  Spock cringed at the mere thought, in
spite of himself.  He supposed even Vulcan Valley Girls were fond of it.  Not
that he had any interest whatever in finding out.  He cringed again,
conveniently reminded of the matter at hand.

"Wasting time, Captain?" Spock didn't smile.  Sherlock Holmes never did, so
neither will I, had long been his secretly envious motto. "That's debatable. 
Time is infinite and unfathomable, if not a downright illusion, after all.  
How can one waste what one cannot begin to grasp, either because it does not
exist, or because it exists in ultimately intangible overabundance?"

In spite of himself, Kirk's jaw dropped.  This did not bode particularly well
for Spock's jaw, all things considered.  Kirk's secretly sinister smile faded. 
Where does he get this stuff?  Kirk thought incredulously.  Once again, the
universe was discouragingly silent.  If there was no God after all, Kirk
devoutly hoped there was a Goddess, that She took humanoid form at least some
of the time, and that he would meet up with Her in it one day.  Well, that She
would be in said form when they met, not he, of course.  For surely She must
take some creative pride in a magnificent male specimen such as myself, he
reasoned smugly-- and if the verb in the latter description of the mental
activity in which he was then engaged would not be universally agreed upon,
surely the adverb would be.  Cluelessly, he cared not.  The corners of his
mouth began to quirk upwards ever so slightly at the sheer deliciousness of his
thoughts, if thoughts they could universally be said to have been, which they
probably wouldn't be, but in any case, this upwardly mobile labial semi-
contortion restored some small part of the smile he had just lost in his dire
peeve at the ever-aggravating Spock, blast his eyes *and* ears.  Especially the
ears.

Suddenly Kirk forgot all about Spock, fortunately for him, as totally out of
the blue he was, right then and there, rendered utterly and completely beside
himself with the most intense romantic longing.  It was a bit too physically
challenging for Kirk to stay beside himself for long, however, so he wisely
decided to merge back into just one of himself.  Less trouble for him *and* the
universe at-large, though he himself was rather selfishly only taking the
former into consideration.  Ah, but in any case, he now had to face squarely
the sorry fact that life on the Starship Enterprise had gotten much too
comfortable, too predictable, hurtling ever onwards as it not-quite-unfailingly
did with such humdrum inevitability towards This Planet or That Space Station
or the Other Outer Dimension, snore.  What he needed was a real adventure. 
Something with female heart and soul and flesh involved, or at least flesh. 
Something to set fire, so to speak, to the "pages" of his dull, drab, and
dreary Captain's Log-- a *real* "stardate", as it were.  Heh.  He sniggered
momentarily at his own wit, or what passed to himself for it.  Not bad, really,
for Kirk.

Something, he knew not what, but for some reason he had the sneaking suspicion
it was female, nagged at the corners of Kirk's memory then.   Half-forgotten
glimpses of a goddess already known (in the poetic sense) and loved?  Or at
least known, sort of?  He wished.  Damn, let's try to focus on the half-
remembered bits, he thought, squinting inwardly with the usual effort it cost
him to engage in any mental exertions whatever.  His eyes widened (totally
bugged out might be the more accurate depiction) in near-disbelief at what he
saw in there.  We will tactfully omit mention of the effect these seeming
memories had elsewhere on his anatomy.  We will not omit all thought of them,
however, or we will be missing out on the chance for some jolly good comic
relief. 

Whence came these tantalisingly taunting thoughts of Captain Kirk's? Dare we
pursue this little plot "development" (among others, or at least, one other)
any further at this point?

Gentle reader, let us leave these two eminent worthies for now (Kirk and Spock,
that is, not Kirk and his wayward anatomy) to the quaintly philosophical
puzzles (and in Kirk's case, if truth were told, quite ragingly erotic
reveries) which have obviously arisen, singly and in tandem, from the complex
interworkings of their tempestuous and sadly inevitable interpersonal-
intervulcanal, er, tensions.  After all, Kirk and Spock themselves have
seemingly totally abandoned, but for the nonce if not blithely forever, their
in-progress interplanetary canine capers and feline fiddlesticks, such as they
were, so why should we concern ourselves with such hapless hijinx any longer? 
Meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far away, a frustrated, badly writer's-blocked, but
really rather amiable and endearing, if at times maddeningly opinionated and
headstrong, middle-aged hippie lady, Miss Fanny Fret-Fandango by name, sat
restlessly at her computer, struggling womanfully to finish Kirk's and Spock's
adventures for them, since they seemed to be at such a ridiculous impasse as to
be apparently quite incapable of finishing them for themselves. 

Well, she sometimes sat, did Fanny.  Often she stood.  She paced.  She
fretted.  She started.  She stopped.  She stared out the window with semi-
saintly uplifted gaze, hoping against all hope to be seized with a frenzy of
divine inspiration from some beneficent Muse, stricken with a lightning-bolt of
dazzling illumination from On High, tapped on the shoulder by the glitter-glam
sparkle of some kindly fairy godmother's magic wand, or perhaps even become the
sudden serendipitous psychic recipient of madly exciting and previously-
unpublished Star Trek adventures, helpfully channeled by generous alien
storytellers with a literary surplus, from exotic worlds afar.  So far, though,
nothing much of this sort had happened, actually.  But Fanny was a hopeful,
stubborn soul, so she gave it more time.  What else could she do?

Fanny made herself pots of Darjeeling tea, her favourite.  Yum.  She made
alternating pots of the spiced teabag blend "Constant Comment", her next
favourite.  Besides, that epithet had always been rather a nickname of hers. 
Double yum.  Or was that only half a yum, since that tea wasn't her very
favourite?  She smiled slightly and ruefully at the ironic whimsy of it all. 
If only her comments about Spock and Kirk could continue to be as constant. 
Holy Hera's High Heels, what *were* the blighters going to do next?  She jumped
up for the umpteenth time and rummaged around in her kitchen cupboards a bit,
as if not quite sure what she would find this time, then set out her very best
china teacups.  If it should happen to be the fairy godmother who showed up, no
doubt she would approve of such devoted domesticity. 

So far, the only other inspiration Fanny was getting, though, was to fetch out
the cleverly-designed but ridiculously overpriced cosmic cookie cutters she'd
recently purchased from Nancy's New Age Nummy Sweet-Nothings and Other Vaguely
Mystical Miscellany mail order catalog, heap the kitchen table full of
mysterious secret ingredients (well, mysterious except for the vanilla, which
is always so delightfully and dependably ordinary, and not mysterious in the
least, but quite tasty nonetheless), and proceed to bake dozens and dozens of
charming little tea cakes.  It couldn't hurt.  She was really rather a fine
baker, if she did say so herself.  Fanny nibbled a few of the cakes, wishing
she had the time and patience to make fortune cookies, only that would have
involved even more writing, shudder.  And besides, it was no fun reading
fortunes you'd only just made up yourself.  Well, on second thought, Fanny
could think of a few predictions she would have oodles of fun reading no matter
who had made them, if only they would come true.  She then naughtily considered
spiking her Darjeeling with a jolt or two of rum, in desperation, but wisely
thought better of it. 

Yes, rum.  Fanny had always wanted to be a pirate when she grew up, truth to
tell.  But alas, there was just no getting round the sad fact that when she
*had* grown up, as all children must but one (and that one happened to be her
all-time favourite hero but one, and it surely isn't too difficult for the
discerning reader to ascertain in the twinkling of an almond-shaped eye--
which, come to think of it, could apply to either hero-- who these two are),
she had done so into entirely the wrong century and circumstances to have any
hope whatever of indulging her fondest dreams of bodacious bad-girl
buccaneering.  She would just have to make do with affecting the duds and the
boots at costume parties and writing a ripping great pirate novel someday, she
supposed with a heavy sigh.  If she ever managed to get The Further Adventures
of the Star Trek Hardy Boys any farther off the ground, that is.

Besides, as far as eschewing the rum went, in non-piratical surroundings at
least (where one normally didn't have to be quite so outrageously stalwart and
thus not so outrageously well-fueled) it was always best to keep a clear head. 
Spock would approve, the great picky priss.  Drat him anyway.  Drat Kirk for
good measure, if indeed he had any.  But honestly, what earthly good was the
arrival of a beneficent Cyber-Muse, as Fanny was still stubbornly if perhaps a
bit naively hoping to see magically appear in her very midst, if one was
slumped in a stupor over one's keyboard, or worse, regaling same (the Muse and
the keyboard) with sea-salty old lyrics about dead men's chests and yo-ho-hos
and bottles of rum, or even uncharacteristically off-key renditions of "Oh,
Sweet Mystery of Life" or "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General"?   Or
worse.  Like one of those dreadful pseudo-hippie droners about incense and
peppermints or crimson and clover.  As if.  So totally not far out.  Like,
yuck.  Um, yeah, sure.

But back to our dear Fanny, who wasn't even smoking any cigarettes during all
this stress and strain.  She'd virtuously quit smoking many years ago, in
fact.  Damn.  What good is virtue in a literary pickle like this?  Uh-oh,
better not to think of pickles.  There was only one place that thought could
lead, and it had nothing whatever to do with virtue, and she really didn't need
the added frustration.  Where, O where, was a good mentholated nicotine rush
when one needed it most?  Probably in some other galaxy far, far away.  Now
what?  More caffeine?   She decided she'd been getting up and down out of her
chair quite enough as it was.  Time, instead, to reach for her guitar.  So she
did.  She noodled.  She twanged.  She strummed.  She riffed.  She rocked out. 
She even considered setting fire to the thing like Hendrix, but shrugged in
almost Spock-like non-frenzy and declined.  *He* wasn't her favourite
guitarist, anyway.  Neither Hendrix nor Spock, actually.  *Her* favourite
guitarist could set fire to the strings *without* torching them.  She smiled
fondly (and in all truth somewhat wickedly) at the memory.

Suddenly, right in the middle of Fanny's playing around-- well, that is,
somewhat languidly with exotic tunings, while seriously thinking of escaping
for a very long walk-- perhaps a spiritual pilgrimage for old time's sake to
Woodstock, New York-- a weird unearthly golden glow began to appear right there
before her.  Its luminosity and size slowly and ceremoniously increased until
it became a truly ogle-worthy if somewhat oddball orb of light.  A great ball
of fire, as it were.  Honestly, it did look strangely familiar.  Fanny, at
first half-expecting Glinda, the Good Witch of the North from the Land of Oz--
or at least what passed for her and it in Hollywood-- to materialise and step
daintily out of the golden globe, probably to start intoning some predictably
pious homily or other in that cutesy overgrown-Munchkinesque little voice of
hers, began to worry that her wee kitchen, however charmingly cosy, just
couldn't accommodate the sheer bulk of Glinda's famous glitzy pink gown.  Did
Glinda even like Darjeeling and vanilla tea cakes, let alone guitars?  Did
Fanny even like Glinda? But this was Iowa, not neighbouring Kansas, so Fanny
figured hopefully she'd got the wrong story.  And she had. 

The hovering ball of light intriguingly and invitingly began to change into the
shape of an upright guitar.  Wonderful celestial tones and harmonies resounded
from its ethereal rainbow-hued strings.  Tones and harmonies Fanny had only
heard in her dreams, but would dearly love to replicate.  Yes, she would surely
try with all her might and main to remember them now.  Especially since, having
heard them in her dreams, and not actually recognising them as anyone else's,
chances were pretty good she herself must have composed them, if only
unconsciously.  A good song is a good song, nevertheless.  Why be fussy at the
circumstances of its conception?  OK, well... Fanny could see after all that
there were times when one definitely should be.

Just as the supremely gratifying realisation of her probable authorship of
these astounding melodies was truly beginning to dawn on her, then suddenly,
without further ado, from forth the luminous light-guitar shimmering in mid-air
before Fanny's bedazzled eyes, there stepped the tall slim leggy figure of a
woman.  At least, a female.  Was this another good witch, like Glinda, or even
a goddess?  Her dress was red, not pink, and decidedly not nearly as space-
consuming as Glinda's.  In fact, it really didn't take up very much space at
all.  Her hair was long and blonde, and on her proud high brow sat a gorgeous
golden crown, cleverly inlaid with some pretty righteously eye-popping jewel-
studded tiny guitars.  Speaking of eyes, the woman's (or good witch's, or
goddess') were strikingly sea-green and rather mischievous.   Downright impish,
in fact.  Perhaps she had sea-urchin or mermaid blood.  Hmmm, now how would
*those* logistics work out? 

Looking into these strangely familiar emerald(ish) eyes more closely to try to
decide, Fanny did a double-take.  The Mother of All Double-Takes would be no
exaggeration, frankly, and as such well worthy of a featured presentation in
the off-key-pianniest old melodrama that ever appeared in any two-bit little
Wild West heap o' bricks-and-mortar grandiosely named something like the Bijou
or the Orpheum.  Except this melodrama didn't come anywhere like there, it came
right to Fanny's own kitchen.  There must be some mistake.  Was she looking
into a mirror?   Her jaw dropped.  This woman, if woman she was, looked just
like her.  Except of course for the dropped jaw.  How could this be?

"You look just like me!" Fanny gasped unceremoniously.

The majestic apparition winked, with equal disregard for ceremony.  "That's
because I *am* you, dear girl.  You know, in another dimension.  I am one of
your alter egos:  Empress Gitarra of Alvinia, from the planet Skyron, in the
galaxy of Andromeda.  Or thereabouts.  You should know the address as well as
I."

"I should?  Oh, yeah.  YOU.  Ye goddess, I thought I made you up!  Well, didn't
I?  Aren't you really from Bikini Bimbo Planet, then?"

"No way, hon.  That's only a big front.  As it were.  Heh heh.  We're all much,
much too smart to be bimbos, and you of all grrls should well know it.  For one
thing, why even bother with a bikini when one wants to attract male attention? 
I mean, how smart is that?"  Empress Gitarra grinned and winked again, thinking
for a moment, but only for a moment, which was really all she could stand, of
that silly Captain Kirk fellow she had once toyed with in rather overtly bikini-
less fashion for an unreleased-- because rather stringently and ridiculously
puritanically censored-- Star Trek episode or two.  Bo-ring.  Afterwards,
wondering what she'd ever seen in the guy, even questioning her own sanity, a
truly rare event, she'd put the Triple Bizarro Gitarra Zap on him so he
wouldn't remember her name or whereabouts, in case he tried to follow her into
the next galaxy or something.  Scary thought, honestly. 

Now that Spock fellow, he might have been more of a challenge.  But not much
more.  And ever such a prim-mouthed priss, even if he did at times seem rather
a bit like that infamous Earthling detective Sherlock Holmes, the immortal
tales of whose almost inhuman brilliance had preceded him throughout the
universe-- more's the pity the charmingly cerebral chap himself had never
followed, as he always *was* one of Gitarra's hottest fantasies.  Oh, well. 
Spock could only ever be just the tiniest bit like him, anyway.  Scarcely at
all, really, with those unfortunate ears of his, and without even the benefit
of a dashing deerstalker cap to somewhat distract the eye from the ears.  Um,
no, thanks.  Why waste the stunningly sensual glories of Empress Gitarra on
such pitiful paramours as these?   She could certainly do better.  In fact, she
had every intention of doing better, very, very soon.   After all, she had a
reputation to maintain, to say the very least about it.  But that, gentle
reader, is quite another story.

Fanny grinned and winked back.  "I see your point about the bikinis, Your
Imperial Highness.  Or whatever it is you like to be called."

"Please, please, dear Fanny, no titles.  'Gitarra' is fine, or I suppose you'll
have to call me 'Tarra', if you really need a nick for me.  The alternative
first sylllable one is probably just too startlingly crass for most
Earthlings."  She chuckled rather wickedly.  "Say, girl, before I return to the
Planet Alvinia, what say we have ourselves a proper night out, eh?  We could
surely have an awful lot of amusing misadventures pretending we're twins. 
Maybe even more adventures, come to think of it, if we're just up-front about
the fact that we're look-alike alter egos from alternate dimensions.  Ha.  If
anyone would even believe us.  Hey, we could give it a shot.  Any good concerts
in town?"

Fanny frowned, furrowing her brow.   "Not really.  Not yet, anyway."

"Too bad.  Guess I'll have to come back when there are."  She and Fanny smiled
knowingly at each other, and both winked extra mischievously.   Then they sat
down together most amiably to tea and cakes.  And, of course, guitars.   Why
look any farther than that for the Center of the Universe and its Ultimate
Meaning?  Unless it might be to certain guitarists.  Lovely thought.

But whatever became of Kirk and Spock, you may well ask?  What adventures might
they, even now, be having somewhere on the Planets Woof and/or Meow, assuming
(as perhaps in all honesty we should not) that Kirk hasn't yet finally cut
loose and righteously wiped the superior smirk from Spock's eternally
supercilious face, once and for all, as he earlier secretly vowed to do?  An
act eminently understandable, to be sure, but one perhaps truly too horrible to
contemplate at this hopefully happily-ever-aftering stage of our story? 

Or is it?  Too horrible to contemplate, that is.  Empress Gitarra frankly
doesn't think so.  But then, she doesn't give a damn about either personage--
or, in Spock's case, Vulcanage-- to word her sentiments on the pair of them a
wee bit more stridently than Miss Persimmon's Peerless Etiquette Guide for
Properly Prissy Young Ladies would be inclined to do.  A truly awful book, by
the way, which Empress Gitarra herself, perhaps needless to say, has never had
the exceedingly ill fortune to encounter anywhere at all on the Planet
Alvinia.  But the fun-loving, freewheeling Earthling, Miss Fanny Fret-Fandango,
who was given the wretched book for her birthday by a dour and distant great-
aunt when but a poor unsuspecting innocent young girl of twelve, and who
happily got rid of the blasted thing as rudely and violently as possible at
around the age of fifteen, for reasons of her own, secretly rather wishes Alvin
Lee himself would write yet another delightful chapter in his own Star Trek
story some day. Well, gentle reader, don't you wish that too?



Star Trek Spoof - 1st RUNNER UP
by GREG

Spock to Enterprise beam us up Scotty and beam Hembrow to sick bay"
 
'Who is controling that ship?' thought Kirk 'I got to keep searching until I can find the answer'
 
"I can't believe it!" said Kirk as he sat down in his chair, "a whole planet ruled by dogs next to a planet ruled by cats."
 
"Stranger things have happened Captain" replied Doctor McCoy
 
"Is it true that a dog is man's best friend?" asked Spock.
 
"I agree" remarked Bones, "On Earth dogs are man's best friend.
 
"Sulu" ordered Kirk "Warp one to planet Meow"
 
"Warp one, sir.  Acceleration beginning" Sulu called out.
 
"Standard orbital procedure Mr. Sulu with shields up" Kirk commanded.
 
"Eye Sir 2.212 seconds to orbit, shields are up," said Sulu.
 
Meanwhile back on Meow.
Tiddles jumped up on the spindly old lady's lap while Spot curled up at her feet.
 
"Just get me on board the Enterprise my precious," croaked the old lady as she rubbed Tiddles ears,
"If you get me on the Enterprise you can have all the fish on Woof from sea to shining sea"
Tiddles nuzzled her head into the old lady's breast and purred loudly.
"Yes you can have the fish and I'll have all the chiengora."
 
"Perr-fect" purrred Twiddles.
 
"Now go get me aboard that ship!" Screamed the old lady!
 
Tiddles jolted off her lap and with Spot following scammered out of the room.
 
As the starship swung into orbit the clouds were so thick if you were to look out the Enterprise's windows
you would not be able to see any stars or any of Meow's nine moons.
 
"Spock have you found where they docked the Dreadnought star cruiser?" asked Captain Kirk.
 
"Captain" interruped Uhura, "The Furcoatians are hailing us"
 
"On screen"
 
Tiddles appeared on the screen.
 
"Hello Captain Kirk I see you went to Woof. Why in universe would you want to go there?"
 
"We boldy go where no man has gone before" smiled Kirk,
"Now you tell me what you know of the mission of the star cruiser."
If only they didn't look so darn cuddly thought the Captain as he watched Tiddles on the screen.
 
"Yes Captain why don't you beam us over and we shall talk over dinner." responded Tiddles.
"I believe you humans eat birds and rats we would love to try both."
 
"We have Chicken a la Sisko and porakan eggs onboard but humans do not eat rat" replied the captain tersely.
"Why don't you have a nap I'll beam you up at 19:00 hours and Tiddles please come alone." he concluded.
 
After the screen when blank Spock said "Tiddles is correct Captain humans do eat rat.
I ate rat on Earth when I was in Pyongyang.
I met a man on Daedong River and he was roasting rat over the fire.
He offered me the meat and it tasted good."
 
McCoy looked incredously at Spock "Mr. Spock What on God's Green Earth were doing there?"
 
Spock scanned his instruments then looked up "The Enterprise was getting the core upgrade and I had a few days leave.
Spock raised an eyebrow and continued "I find it interesting that humans can travel the universe, and still have poverty on the home planet."
 
Kirk asked, "Spock what do we know of these Furcoations and this planet?"
 
"It would appear Captain" answered Spock," that overfishing has destroyed most of the natural fish on the planet
and the Furcoations now rely on farmed fish, also they prefer wild fish to farm fish."
 
Captain Kirk thought for a moment then said,"The Furcoations must be after wild fish stocks on Woof! Now only if could get Tiddles to tell us who is controling the star cruiser." Spock if I recall correctly the feline spieces of Earth craved special grasses and would do anything to get some. Find out all you about these grasses." ordered Kirk.
 
"Sir there is no record of this or any similar grasses on the planet Meow. Although my records reveals that eating grass aids their digestion, assist in removing fur balls and increases roughage in their diet."
 
"Captain" said Sulu, "As an avid botanist I have many rare and delicate plants I have collected from all over the Ferderation, including a grass called Cat Nip!" It is very potent blend and highly addictive to cats."
 
"Excellent" smiled Kirk, "Prepare me some immediately Sulu I'll be in my quarters" Kirk returned to his quarters and tried to rest but he couldn't relax because all he could think of was that soft red fur and those pale green eyes. An hour later Captain Kirk recieved a call.
 
"Chekov to Kipton" chirped Chekov, "Your Gurrass is weady in the lab."
 
"Copy" replied Kirk. "Please have it brought to the Holodeck with along with a warm bowl cream. Captain Kirk returned to the bridge and sat in his command chair.
 
"On my command energize Tiddles"
 
"Yes Captain" replied Sulu.
 
Twiddle materializes on the bridge decked out with a thick black leather studded collar around her neck"
 
"Welcome to the Enterprise" said Kirk as he stood up from his chair and greeted Tiddles. Please follow me I have arranged a picnic in the holo deck. Spock run some tests on the interphase generator. Do not disturb me unless it is an emergency." The doors opened with a swish as Kirk and Tiddles exited the bridge.
 
In the Holodeck a table was set for two in Delta Marsh complete with flowers and candles.
Songs birds sang and waterfowl flew past.
 
"I have prepared Beijing roast duck. Please enjoy"
 
Kirk was memorized by Tiddles as she enjoyed her duck. Her pointy ears twiching at the sounds of the marsh. Such soft red fur how I love to stroke it he thought.
 
"Thank you Captain this is delicious" remarked Tiddles as she chewed on a duck leg. The food is dreadfull on the Dreadnought star cruiser."
 
"Please call me James" said Captain Kirk "Come over to the couch and join me in some dessert I think you will enjoy even more than the duck." Tiddles jumped on up the couch with Kirk and he passed her some of the warm cream and grass.
 
"Oh James this grass tastes so good, Can I have some more please?" asked Tiddles.
 
"Sure just tell me the mission of the star cruiser and you can have some more." said Kirk.
 
Tiddles flicked her tail and shaked her head she had never felt like this before." The Captain moved a little closer towards her and she came at once into his arms, fresh and warm and eager.
 
"Tiddles now please tell me the mission of the star cruiser."
 
"Just one more little taste of the grass James pleassse!
 
"Computer put on Jimmy Dorsey"
 
The music started and Dorsey sang.............
.......long after stars close their sleepy eyes, and the glow from a full moon dies.......
Full moon, when love is in flower........
 
"Tiddles would you like to dance?" asked Kirk.
 
"There is no room to swing a cat in here." replied Tiddles "How bout that grass now?"
 
Kirk lifted a hand and ran it down Twiddles back.
It's even softer than it looks he thought and stroked a little faster.
I've got a thing about you baby." blurted Kirk.  
 
"I assure you Captain the attraction is mutual." Kirk felt his face flush. "James I would like you to meet my Grannie she can explain the mission of the star cruiser much better than me."
 
"And who pray tell is Grannie?" asked Kirk.
Kirk picked up a stalk of grass dipped it in cream and fed it to Tiddles.
Tiddles nibbled on the grass kneading the cover with her eyes closed in sensuous ecstasy.
 
"Grannie came from the Seenyourzitzen Galaxy she was left adrift by her children who no longer wanted her."
Such a dear sweet lady you must meet her."
 
"I would very much like to meet her." replied Kirk. "Let us go together to Meow and meet her."
 
"Why don't we bring her here? She would very much like to see your ship and drink some Hari Georgeson Tea."
 
"Excellent idea' said Kirk "Kirk to Bridge contact the Dreadnought star ship and beam Grannie aboard."
 
"Aye Aye Kripton" chirped Chekov.
 
Grannie materializes on the bridge in her spindly out wheelchair just as Kirk and Tiddles entered thru the sliding doors.
 
"Welcome to the Enterprise." greeted Kirk and reached forward to shake Grannie's hand.
Their hands touched to shake and Kirk bowed to kiss Grannie's hand. As Grannie clasped his hand she suddenly flips Kirk on the floor and pushes a knitting needle up against his throat.
 
"Nobody move!" rasped Grannie
 
"Tiddles help me" whispered Kirk.
 
"I'm sorry James but my planet Meow needs the fish on Woof and Grannie will help us get it."
 
Grannie pressed the needle harder against Kirk's neck and demanded, "I need your phasers to kill the dogs on Woof!"
 
"Why must you kill the dogs of Woof" asked Kirk.
 
"To get the chiengora of course." replied Grannie.
 
"Spock" asked Kirk, "What do you know of chiengora?"
 
Spock punch some keys on the control panel and reported, "Gora is from angora,
a strong luxury fiber like mohair and cashmere which is made from goat hair, or angora which is made from rabbit hair.
Chien is French for dog. Together they are called Chiengora"
 
"That's is correct Captain Kirk," said Grannie "I need the dog hair for my knitting."
 
Kirk deperately looking around suddenly remembered something. Dogs are a man's best friend. "Grannie I think I can help you without having to kill all the dogs. I could make a trade deal with the dogs give them Bones for fish and hair."
 
"I'll not go willing Captian" cried McCoy
 
"Don't worry Bones I did not mean you. Grannie could bake milkbone cookies and trade them with the dogs."
 
"I think this just might work Captain Kirk" said Grannie and released Kirk.
 
"Assemble an away team. Spock you have the bridge."
 
Kirk and the away team beamed down to Woof and sucessfully made the deal with the dogs.
The dogs would supply Meow with fish and hair in return for milkbone cookies.
Grannie and Tiddles returned to Meow with promises from Kirk he would return and visit.
Sulu gave Tiddles some seeds so they could grow their own cat nip.
Hembrow was repaired and returned to duty.
 
"Where to next Captain?" asked Spock.
 
"I've changed another world now I don't know what to do so I'll leave up to you." replied Kirk
 
"In that case Mr. Sulu set course for former North Korea on planet Earth.
I have me a hankering for some Pyongyang rat."
 
The Enterprise streaked off through the quadrant in a blur and Captain Kirk dreamed a dream of soft red fur.
 
The End.


Star Trek Spoof Honorable Mention
by George

As Kirk and Spock rematerialized on the transporter platform, Scotty stared
astonished.  "Weer ees that wun guey ye toooook down with yes?"
"Nevermind that Scotty" barked Kirk.  "Beam us down to Meow." 
"Aye Keaptain."
While the two disappeared off their respective discs, Scotty mumbled some
inaudible and itelligible prayer.  "Arrrg eye heet kits."

Spock and Kirk materialized on a surface like gravel.  They quickly surveyed
their surroundings.  "Thanks a bunch, Scotty."

Spock threw a look the Captain's way and said "Your Gratitude is highly
illogical Captain.  It appears he has beamed us directly into a litter box of
some kind."

Having had enough of the situation, Kirk growled "I was being fecicious you
cro-magnon looking pointy eared freak!!!"

The two stealthily stepped out of the box and walked sideways back to back,
making sure to monitor every aspect of their surroundings.  The planet was one
of the stranger ones the two had ever stepped foot on.  Every dwelling on the
planet had an earth transportation device parked out front.  All of them were
huge.
"I recognize these vehicles, Captain.  They are known as Cadillacs.  Humans of
the twentieth century used them as their primary form of transport.  Cadillacs
were highly popular among the geriatric community."
"I have a feeling I know who who has taken over the Furcotians, ant that cute
cuddly kittie Tiddles."  Said Kirk with a look of accomplishment on his face.
"Ya think?" said Spock with a furled brow shaking his head.

Kirk and Spock turned and walked to one of the dwellings.  They had planned to
use their futuristic level of intelligence to outsmart the feeble old people. 
They found no answer at the first door.  They were able to pick the primitive
lock and gain entry.  Upon walking in, they were overwhelmed by the mothball
aroma.  They looked around curiously at the furniture.  All of it was tightly
sealed in plastic, the trinkets stood spotless in cabinets that appeared to take
up entire walls.  On the table in the kitchen sat individually wrapped packets
of sugar and butter.  Just as they were about to investigate the living
quarters, a rumbling began.
"That's a Dreadnaught if I've ever heard one." yelled Kirk.
"Sounds like a pleasure cruiser class" added Spock.
The men rushed out the back door to the landing pad as Lol wheeled herself down
the ramp.
"I've been expecting you, Kirk" Lol spoke in a gravely, annoyingly high pitched
voice.
"Ready yourself, Captain."
"C'mere and let me get a good look at you.  My you're a handsome boy, Kirk."
Kirk giggled politely and felt an uneasiness in his stomach.  He looked at Spock
with a "let's get the hell out of here before she offers us tea" expression on
his face.
"Why don't you boys come in for tea and cookies.  There was a sale on cookies at
the store so me and Mildred went and they were sold out so we got a raincheck
and the shipment came and....."
Kirk grabbed at his communicator and screamed out to Scotty "Beam us up NOW!"
Back on the bridge Uhura received a message from Tiddles.  "Captain, shall I put
it up on the screen?"
"NO! Let the machine pick up.  Chekov, Warp 9 and 1/4, heading 420 degrees, full
thrusters to the nearest galactic pub."
"Aye< Kipteen."

Captain's Log: Stardate Last Call
"I have never been so scared.  The fat underneath that old lady's biceps seemed
to talk to me and move on it's own.  Her hair was an in comprehensible shade of
blue.  I am still shaking the memory of those gigantic spider veins that ran the
entire length of her legs.  I feel bad for Tiddles, but screw her.  Research has
shown that felines provide the elderly companionship.  That means Lol will never
invite me to tea again."


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