Kowabunga

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

Quark's place was quiet for a Friday afternoon happy hour. Probably because Cisco has his pajama boys working overtime on a new project of his. I was on my second round of Guinness and and Tribble Sweat when Quark disled up to my spot at the bar.

"Hey, Kahuna," he said, "did you hear the news? Obama is being touted as the heir to JFK!"

"Flipper Kerry? Not surprising. He is a bit of a moonbat."

"No, not that JFK, the other one. Kennedy."

"The one with The Medal? How did they come up with that comparison? Kennedy was a hero in some ancient war while Obama doesn't even know who to salute in the armed forces. No surprise, non-military whelp that he is," I said.

"Naw, they think he's the next JFK because of his winning smile and ease in front of an audience."

"So, is he auditioning for a role a role on a TV sitcom or running for President."

"Point taken," Quark responded. "But that's the basis, at least in part, that they are making the comparison."

"Let's see: winning smile, easy with audiences, at least with the ones full of lefties…"

"And we all know leftie girls are easy," Quark interjected.

"Right. And he wants to abandon Bajor, pull the Federation out and leave it to the Cardasians to surge back in here."

"No, that's not why they think he is JFK."

"Can't be his tax policy. Kennedy implemented some of the biggest tax cuts in the history of that historical nation, the U.S.A, while Obama keeps calling for more taxation."

"They also say he has great judgement…"

"Okay Quark, we are talking about the same Barack Obama, right? The guy who has stated that he would invade a close ally if he had operation intelligence to get that dufus bin Ladin, right?'

"Uhm, yeah."

"Call that good judgment?"

"Point taken."

"Okay, how about his plan to abandon Bajor and let the Cardasians have it back. Is that like JFK?" I shot back.

"Well, JFK did abandon the Cuban refugees during the Bay of Pigs Invasion. Does that qualify?"

"Yep, sure does," I agreed. Quark is up on his Earth history. That would be similar to JFK. Kennedy had changed the original invasion plan from landing at the city of Trinidad, Cuba, where Brigade 2506 would have been able to secure help from anti-communist locals and a more defensible position to the Bay of Pigs where they had little chance of success, then they ran out of ammo as the U.S. failed to resupply them, leaving them to be cut up by Castro's troops and forced to surrender.

"So, let's sum up," I said. "JFK abandoned a close ally to a totalitarian regime, looked good in front of the camera, and cut taxes. Obama wants to abandon a fledgling ally to a totalitarian regime, looks good in front of a camera, and wants to raise taxes. Okay, two out of three ain't bad."

"Another round?" Quark asked.

"Yeah. Make it a double, will you." Debating with Quark is thirsty work.

Kahuna out.

Tags:

Obama Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 5:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

Quark's place was jammed packed for Happy Hour by the time I got there. Still, I managed to find a spot at the bar, and looked around for the Doctor. I knew the Doctor was on DS9 as I spotted the familiar blue Police Call Box next to Cthulu Coffee on the Promenade. As I didn't see him around Quark's I figured it wouldn't be long before he turned up, and then maybe I can convince him to head over to tunok's Kill and Grill for some roast Mugatu.

Quark noticed my arrival and sidled up to me, setting a pint of Guinness and a shot glass of Tribble Sweat on the bar. "You look thirsty, Kahuna. Dry run?"

"Yep. Not a decent wave in sight and the Duras Sisters are still ticked at me for unloading 60 cases of ketchup on them. I need to make it up to them somehow so that I can lay may hands on something better than a Ripple Ranger torpedo."

"Try sending them a few cases of Tribble Sweat," Quark suggested. "Then maybe they'll stop confusing you with Flipper Kerry." Quark had a slight grin on his face as he said that.

I mustered up my best evil eye on Quark, which only caused him to laugh in hysterics. At least it caused his ears to hurt.

"Speaking of Flipper, have you seen the latest?" I asked.

"No," Quark said, now putting on his best business like poker face. "Do tell."

"There's a youviewscreen.com video running around of him spouting off on how if the Federation were to withdraw from Bejoran space there wouldn't be any kind of fallout or massacre. No need to worry about the Cardassians rolling back in, either. He compared it to Vietnam and said there were no mass killings when the Federation pulled out of there either."

"There wasn't?"

"Not unless you count the roughly 165,000 people killed in the reeducation camps. Or the nearly 3 million wiped out in the neighboring system."

"And this is all on youviewscreen.com?"

"Yep."

"He must be pretty stupid," Quark said.

"Yep."

"So, just how did he get to be a Senator, anyway?"

I looked at him in all seriousness and said, "Beats the heck out of me…I'm from Qo'noS, not Massachusetts."

"Must have been the ketchup money," Quark said., grinning.

"More likely there was something in the ketchup."

At this point the Doctor showed up with two good looking companions, Nissa and Tegan. At least these two aren't Vulcans. Time for dinner.

Kahuna out.

Tags:

Flipper Kerry

Posted by Kahuna at 8:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

It had been a long, surfless run out to Antares and back. The crew was
happy when we hit DS9 for some badly needed R and R, not to mention a
chance to pick up a the new wave making torpedoes I had ordered from the
Duras Sisters. At least we would have something to look forward to on
our next patrol.

I ran into the Doctor at Quark's, he was nursing a pint of bitters, and
I saw him motion for me to join him.

"Ah, Kahuna, good to see you. Jelly Baby?" He offered his ever-present
back of jelly baby candies.

"No thanks, Doctor. It doesn't go well with Guinness."

"True," he said as he put the back of little candies back in the right
pocket of his oversized coat. Never could figure out why he wore that
big heavy coat and multi-colored knit scarf on a space station that
maintained a constant 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Just one of his quirks, I
guess.

Quark, reading my mind, sidled up with a pint of Guinness and a shot of
Tribble Sweat. My usual.

"Kahuna, got any new vids for me?" Quark asked.

I looked at the Doctor, then at Quark, figured it was okay to talk in
front of the Timelord, especially since he provided me with the tech to
pull it off. "Yep. I good one. I was at a campaign banquet for the
Hill."

This caught both their attention. Quark said, "how'd you manage that
trick?"

"Well, I got some tickets from Flipper Kerry as part of a trade. I
figured, what the hey, and rigged up a miniature camera that the Doctor
here helped me with."

"Okay, so you were at one her campaign banquets. Those are not, from
what I have seen, good entertainment," Quark said.

"This one is," I said, knocking down my Guinness. Quark glared at me as
I set the mug down and reached for the shot of Tribble Sweat. He hates
it when I slam the empty shot glass down on the bar after I've drunk my
chaser.

I pulled out the memory crystal with the video on it, and passed it to
Quark. "Go ahead, put it up on the big screen."

"Now?" Quark asked. "I haven't had a chance to check it yet." He eyed
the crystal. "So, how much you want for it."

"I'm sure you'll think of something good once you've run it a couple of
times."

Now Quark was really suspicious. "Can't be much if that's your idea of
bartering a price."

"Try it, you'll like it," I said.

"Okay, Kahuna, you're on!" Quark went of with the memory crystal.

Soon, the new video came up on his main screen. On the screen was a man
standing behind a podium, to his right sat, in all her glory, the Hill,
presidential candidate, and current senator from New York. The man was
introducing her, saying all kinds of things about her and her time in
the White House as First Lady and her hoped for return as President of
the Federation. When he concluded his oratory, the Hill stood up,
smiled and said, "Thank you, Sandy/" Then she hugged him and said, "My,
are you happy to see me, or are those classified documents you have in
your pants."

Quark's bar exploded with laughter and cheers. Quark smiled at me. He
knew I managed o do it again. Looks like ten cases of Tribble Sweat for
me.

Kahuna out.

Posted by Kahuna at 6:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

Every now and again, I pick up something of exceptional interest to trade to Quark. Today was not only an exception, it was an exceptional exception. In the form of a new R2D2 unit. When I strolled into Quark's place I heard him bellow, Don't bring that thing in here, Kahuna. We don't serve their kind, and you know it."

"This is different, Quark. It's not here to be served, but has something stored in it that looks rather…interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Okay, profitable."

"Now your talking, Kahuna. What's it got."

"Show him, R2."

R2 began running the holographic message loop I stumbled upon after buying it. A group of Federation soldiers, dressed in battle camouflage gear appeared. There were eight of them. Including the Vulcan.

"Yeah, so?" Quark said, impatiently.

"Just watch."

One of the soldiers stepped forward and spoke:

"Halp us Jon Eff Carry. U r hour onlee hohp!"

It repeated the message several times before cutting it off.

Quark was looking interested now.

"There seems to be more message, but I haven't been able to get it to play it all back."

"I wonder. Guinness?"

"Sure, and a shot of Tribble Sweat."

"You got it." Quark sidled off down the bar to get my drinks. While he did so, he motioned to the Doctor to come join us.

"Kahuna, play that again for the Doctor, would you." Quark said as he set the drinks down on the bar in front of me.

"Play it again, R2."

The message played again, and the Doctor watched it intently. Finally, the Doctor spoke. "New R2 unit, quite new. Where did you get it?"

"Traded it for a Wave Maker 06. Some Orion trader off of Epsilon Tao Tao."

"Definitely more message here. Let's see if I can extract it." The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and made some motions on the R2 unit. The message played.

"Seniter Carry. We dirn't studie harhd, ohr dew hour homewerk. Nowe we r stuk on Bajor. Halp us Jon Eff Carry. U r hour onlee hohp! Okay, Jim, how did that look? Did we get it right that time."

"Perfect. Spock, do you think you can manage to look a little more uneducated?"

"That would not be logical, Captain."

"Bones, can you show Spock how to do it?

"Dammit Jim, I'm a Doctor, not a method actor!"

After the three of us stopped laughing, Quark looked at me in all seriousness, and said, "How much do you want for this treasure, Kahuna?"

"Half the tab when you run it."

"Done!"

I finished my Guinness and Tribble Sweat, slamming the empty shot glass upside down on the bar.

Quark winced. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"Yeah, I know."

Kahuna out.

Thanks to the soldiers of the 1st Combat Brigade, 34th Infantry, Minnesota National Guard, now serving in Iraq, for inspiring this entry in the Surf Logs of the Kahuna.

Tags:

Kahuna
Star Trek
Bajor
John Kerry

Posted by Kahuna at 9:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

It was "Happy Hour" at Quark's. The place was jamming. Wall-to-wall people, so it was a bit of a challenge getting a seat at the bar. I managed anyway, as I spotted the Doctor busily knocking back a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.

"Ah, Kahuna, How have you been?" the Doctor asked.

"Thirstymind if I join you."

"Not at all. I see the boycott hasn't impacted business."

"Boycott?"

Yes. Haven't you heard? All of the undocumented workers across the Federation did a one day walkout, protesting some nonsense about their legal status."

"That would explain all the Jem'Hadar lurking around the place, sporting Delta Quadrant flags." I had noticed quite a few of them around Deep Space 9 today, but didn't think much of it. They're always hanging around the Promenade looking for day jobs where the pay is strictly under the table. That way they keep below the Federation's Immigration and Naturalization Service's radar. Nothing more embarrassing than having losing a war with your neighbor, slipping in under the border, getting forged documents and starting a new life.

I caught Quark's attention and signaled for my usual pint of Guinness with a Tribble Sweat chaser. As busy as it was, Quark managed to show up with my pint and shot fairly quickly.

"Kahuna, enjoying the Boycott?"

"Should I be?"

"Not reallyseems like every illegal alien in the quadrant is here today. I hear Tunok's is booked solid until past midnight. Not just the Jem'Hadar showing up either. Cardassians and Romulans and Borg."

"Oh, my," said the Doctor.

Quark and I both shot him a look.

"Sorry. Just had to say it."

"Right. Well, since Tunok's is shut down, how's the grilled tauntaun?"

"Excellent. Yoda is busier than a two-fisted iron chef in the kitchen tonight, but I can get you taken care of in a jiffy," Quark responded.

"Great. Since every place on the station is swamped, especially your place, it'll beat eating with Cisco, or going back to my ship."

"Exactly. Besides, you're one of my best customers. And I always take care of the best with the best. Grilled tauntaun coming up."

"Add some tribble kebobs with that, would you?"

"Certainly." Quark said, then headed off to the kitchen.

"Quark is right, all of the bars and restaurants are swamped. The only businesses that are shut down are a number of Federation Agencies and the schools. Joined the boycott, it seems. Station personnel have been doing a lot of their shopping, and many of the shops have been running special Boycott Day' specials. Even Garrick has gotten into the act. And he's got his green card the normal way," said the Doctor.

I looked around. If the Feddie's INS came in here, they would have a field day. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if they were out enjoying the boycott as well.

Kahuna out

Posted by Kahuna at 7:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

We had been back from the surf tour with Flipper Kerry a couple of weeks, and I had been riding high on Quark's generosity (meaning, I still had to buy my own drinks) for the high quality footage I delivered up to him, on Flipper Kerry's attempt at product endorsement for the Duras Sisters. Things have grown tight as out-of-control prices for dilithium crystals hit all time highs.

Quark sidled up with a second round of Guinness and Tribble Sweat for me, and asked if I had been following the reports coming out of the Federation Senate.

"No. I take it you have."

"Of course…good for business. And our friend Flipper has been very active there."

"Oh?"

"Watch this," Quark said, and activated a view screen in front of me and ran a transmission from the Federation Senate, courtesy of the Drazi News (Fair and Balanced)).

Green Drazi: Senator Flipper came on to the floor of the Senate today to speak out against "Big Dilithium" and the current high prices for raw dilithium crystals. After railing against "Big Dilithium" he called for a special tax on dilithium crystal companies, and called on Federation residents to cut their use of dilithium by at least 30%. Here comes the Senator now.

Purple Drazi: Senator Flipper, what do you see as the main driver of the high price of raw dilithium?

Flipper: That's easy. As dilithium corporations are showing record profits, there is strong evidence of price gouging despite the current high prices of raw dilithium.

Green Drazi: What about opening up the Arctic Federation Wildlife Reserve on the ice planet Hoth for dilithium?

Flipper: Out of the question! Why should we invest billions of gold-pressed latinum for the six month supply of dilithium that may exist on Hoth. Besides, it would be detrimental to the wampa population.

Purple Drazi: Senator Flipper, according to the Federation Depatment of Energy, it is estimated that Hoth has enough dilithium to supply the Federation's needs for several decades. Are you saying that the official reports are wrong?

Flipper: Well, you have to consider the source. They put that together to make the current adminstration look good, and play into the pockets of Big Dilithium, which we all know backs the president. Besides, we have to be concerned about the wampa population on Hoth. Do we want to drive them into extinction over corporate greed?

Green Drazi: What about the growing instability in regions within the Organization of Dilithium Exporting Empires, such as the Romulans and Cardassians, as well as the Delta Quadrant. By taping Hoth, and the AFWR, we would greatly reduce the Federation's dependence on foreign dilithium, at least until those areas become more stable, and maybe Federationized.

Flipper: I have to disagree with you on the importance of the geopolitical impact on our current dilithium supplies. Gotta go. I hear the surf is up out around Dantooine.

"Business as usual. The leftwing nuts kowtow to the environmentalist lobby, buying their load of tauntaun about the wampa's, which statistics show that their numbers increased during the several decades that dilithium mining took place on the neighboring Rebel Stand site."

"Right...and then there's San Fran Nan calling to change starship propulsion to run on something involving balloons and hot air."

"I think she was referring to bloviating blimps like Flipper's pal from Chappaquiddick."

"Oh, Teddy."

"That's the one."

"Naw, I think she was referring to something else. I'll try and dig it up for you sometime."

"Sure…meanwhile, I have a date." With that, I laid some latinum on the bar and headed to Tunok's for a very larger grilled wampa steak.

Kahna out.

Posted by Kahuna at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Captain's Log, stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

We were hanging out on the outskirts of the Altair system, waiting for Flipper Kerry to launch the first of his test torpedoes at Altair IV so we could record his gallant ride across the solar system on the resulting wave.

"Hey, Kahuna, how does my position look to you?" Flipper's voice came over the subspace radio.

I analyzed his position on the main viewscreen, spotting the S.S. Winter Soldier amongst the small Secret Service escort ships that flitted about like so many deep space fireflies, decided he looked okay for a Feddie Wannabe. "Looking good, Flipper. Got the Ripple Ranger Mk 86 ready?"

"I have an intern briefing me on the user's manual in five minutes. Then we'll be all set."

"You mean you haven't read the manual?"

"Of course not. I have Congressional interns do all my reading for me. Then they give me a briefing hitting the high points of what I need to know in order to make a decision, and give me some recommendations. Then I either do what they recommend or I don't. Sometimes I do both."

"And now we know why they call him Flipper'," I muttered. Quark was right. This should be good. Not as in good ride, but as in good laugh.

We hung out on the edge of the system, waiting, until we heard Flipper Kerry call out, "Fire when ready, Ridley."

The Ripple Ranger streaked through the vacuum of space until it slammed in to Altair IV, with devastating effect. No more "monsters from the id" coming from that planet turned asteroid belt. The Ripple Ranger did its job, generating wave after wave of gentle ripples through space, providing easy rides for all bet the gremmiest of surfers. Like Flipper. for whom this would be a real challenge.

We watched (and recorded) the fun as Flipper maneuvered the Winter Soldier onto the leading wave, the swarm of secret service agents in their ships keeping in close enough to guard, and far enough out so that, hopefully, Flipper would not slam into one of them again.

The Winter Soldier went for the ride, and bobbed in and out of the wave as we could tell that Flipper was struggling to keep the ship under control. Instead of dazzling us with a display of expert surfing, we were treated to Flipper doing flips and turns and crazy stuff, and still managing to slam into his secret service escorts, much to their chagrin, as Flipper loudly cursed them for getting in his way.

After Flipper's first ride ended with him scrapping the side of the Winter Soldier on one of the chunks of Altair IV, we could here him calling out. "Man, that was one tough wave. I need to do this again."

"Again?"

"Yeah. Hey, Kahuna, how many of these things have you got with you, anyway?"

"I have two moredo you want to use them here, or head to Alderran?"

"I here Hoth is a really cool place."

"Yeah, however, there's a fleet of Star Destroyers there, and the 5th Imperial Armored Walkers are on the surface performing maneuvers. It may be better to head over to Alderran."

"What ever you say, Kahuna. Just don't transmit that vid to the Duras sisters until we've finished this tour and I have had a chance to review them. I want to make sure they get my best stuff."

"No sweat, Flipper." I suppose there is no need to tell him that it was broadcast live at Quark's Bar on DS9.

Next stop, Alderran.

Kahuna out.

Posted by Kahuna at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

"There I was, taking a team of spec ops into Cardasian Territory, when one of these guys handed me his hat. Said I should keep it for good luck," Flipper told the eagerly listening crowd, as he opened up his briefcase and produced his famed "Lucky Hat." The ohs and ahs from the surrounding onlookers was enough to make me want to Rommie; Quark was having a hard time suppressing a laugh.

A pint of Guinness and two fingers of Tribble Sweat was enough to loosen my tongue and that was my downfall.

"Hey, Flipper, when did you say you did this mission?" I asked.

Flipper looked over at me and responded, "Good to see you, Kahuna. Long time, no see. Pick up any new goodies from the Duras Sisters?"

He dodged my question. Probably because he didn't want to go into the "Christmas on Bajor" story again. He's been nailed on that too many times to count, yet, somehow, he still gets away with this load of hooey. Oh, well.

Quark butted in, "I hear the Duras Sisters have a new line of Ripple Rangers ready. Something targeted for surfers of Gremmie's caliber. Have you tried them out yet?"

"No," said Flipper. "How about it, Kahuna? Think they're any good?"

"Well, the Duras Sisters always turn out quality product. You should take a few out for a test drive, so to speak," I suggested.

"Good idea, Kahuna. I'll take you up on that. Care to join me for a test?"

That invitation caught me off guard. I had to think of something pretty quick.

Unfortunately, Quark intervened. "I think that's a marvelous idea. Kahuna can probably even arrange product endorsements for it. I'm sure Lursa would like that."

"Well, maybe they'd like me to endorse it as well," said Flipper, puffing his chest up at the thought of me getting all the fame and glory.

Quark continued, picking up on the new thread, "why, that's inspirational. Kahuna can provide commentary to your test driving the new line Ripple Rangers, and then cut to you providing the product endorsement."

"Hmm..."

I could see the bits of data flipping between binary positions as the logic of this hit Flippers, firing off the synapses of his brain.

"I think that is absolutely inspirational," Flipper finally concluded.

I looked at Quark, signaled for another round of Guinness and Tribble Sweat. When Quark sidled up to me, I whispered, "thanks a bloody lot," to him.

"Least I could do for my favorite customer."

"A little late to butter me up, isn't it?'

"I was referring to Flipper." Quark leaned in close, and in a whisper, said, "besides, think of all the great vid you can get of Flipper, displaying what a poser he really is."

I grinned at that, finally realizing what Quark was plan. By Kahless, he is truly devious. I lifted my pint of Guinness in a toast to Quark, and downed it in one mighty gulp. This should be fun.

Kahuna out.

Posted by Kahuna at 11:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

It had been a while since we had called on DS9, and with the impending elections on Bajor, I figured now was as good a time as any to stop by Quark's and shoot the breeze.

We had picked up on the Bajoran News Network that, once again, as Bajorans exercised their right to vote (something that was denied them under the Cardasian Occupation), they would be dipping their index fingers in purple ink.

Checking one of my favorite blogs, Little Green Drazie, I learned that many Feddies stationed on DS9 were dipping their index fingers in purple ink as well, as a sign of solidarity with the Bajorans.

As my crew and I have always been supportive of Bajoran Independace, and their free elections, I had my quartermaster, Kalunamoonya, run up some purple ink so that the crew could also partake in a show of solidarity.

After docking, I figured I would head down to Quark's for a few pints of Guinness with Tribble Sweat chasers before heading over to Tunok's Grill for dinner.

The promenade was full of Feddies, Bajorans, and peoples of other races, many sporting purple fingers. Even the Drazie, despite their differences during their own elections (using purple and green sashes), were sporting purple fingers.

Quark's was busy, happy hour being in full swing and all the controversy over the Feddie election and Flipper Kerry had finally blown over. Things there were back to normal.

Taking a seat at the bar, I could see Morn gesticulating with an obvious inked purple finger. It was catching on.

"Kahuna, long time, no see," said Quark when he approached me. "The usual?"

"Yeap, and keep em coming."

"Okay, but let's see your finger first."

"My what?"

"Your finger. Or haven't you heard?"

"Hear what?"

"First one is on me to all purple fingers. One round per customer," Quark said, then held up his own purple-inked finger. "See? Even I am on this bandwagon," he grinned at me, then whispered, "and it's good for business, as well."

No surprise there. I held up my right hand so he could see my freshly inked index finger.

Quark smiled, pulled a pint of Guinness from the tap, set it in front of me, then poured a shot of Tribble Sweat, and set the glass next to the pint. "By the way, only the Guinness is on the house, not the Tribble Sweat."

"No prob." Actually, I was surprised to get the Guinness on the house. But then, it looked like he was right. People were knocking back pints galore, and the volume of noise was nearly intolerable.

I was just finishing my first round when Captain Gremmie turned up, two fingers inked, not just one, so I had to ask him about that. Big mistake.

"Oh, you see, I got it wrong, and dipped my middle-finger first. Then Quark, when he saw what I had done, made me display it to everyone here. The Drazie went ballistic, started a riot that spilled out onto the promenade, taking me with them. During the riot I was knocked out. When I regained consciousness, I was sitting in Bwanna's with my index finger inked purple. At least I thought it was ink. Well, yeah, it is ink, just not the kind that will wash off in a few days. But laser-tattooing ink. Its permanent."

"Who did that to you?"

"Not sure, but I suspect it was the Drazie. They've been buying me drinks ever since."

This came as no surprise as I had noticed some Drazie with green sashes pointing at Gremmie, and snickering behind his back as a drink mysteriously appeared in front of him. It was purple.

"So, what is that thing you are drinking?" I asked.

"They call it Purple Haze. No idea why. This is my forth one. Keep this up I won't be able to make my run in the Bat Guano tomorrow."

For once, I actually felt sorry for Gremmie. But I stopped short of inviting him to join me at Tunok's for chow. I didn't feel that sorry for him. Since I finished my first round, and a second had yet to materialize in front of me, I decided to make a quick exit and beat the dinner rush.

Kahuna out.

Posted by Kahuna at 8:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

It was a slow week, the surf was unusually glassy, and we were fresh out of torpedoes from the Duras Sisters, so we put into port at DS9 and I headed down to Quark's Place for a few rounds as a prelude to a dinner date over at Tunok's Grill. I should have known better.

The place was quiet, however, happy hour hadn't started, so I was early.

Quark sidled up to where I sat at the bar and said, "let me guess...the usual?"

I nodded.

He returned a moment later with a pint of Guinness and a shot glass of Tribble Sweat. I picked up the pint and took a mighty gulp, draining half of it before setting the tankard down on the bar. Quark was looking at me intently.

"Okay," I said, "what's up?"

"Nog was here on leave recently. I'm worried about him," Quark said.

I nodded, remembering that his nephew, Nog, had joined Star Fleet for some unfathomable reason. Quark had good reason to worry. I thought about what Star Fleet did to Woof, or Wuf, or whatever that slacker warrior wanna-be's name is. Talk about creating a basket case.

Quark continued, "they are really brainwashing him, filling him up with all kinds of strange ideas. This time when Nog came up, he ranted on and on about what a good thing Social Insecurity is."

"I think they call it 'Social Security'."

"Yeah, right, whatever. Any rate, he went on about what a good system it is for the workers as they never have to worry about retirement. The Federation taxes the snot out of them, then decides how much they can have if they live to retirement age. Which is currently something on the order of 95."

"They've raised it a few times since the original concept was implemented on Earth several centuries ago," I said, just so Quark would know I knew something about the system. "It never worked very well as they kept having to delay retirement age, reduce benefits, and raise the amount workers were taxed. There were some attempts to privatize the system, but many were lead to believe that doing so would cause the whole system collapse."

"Right," Quark agreed, "so they ended up having to keep doing as you said, raise the taxes, and reduce the benefits. Privatizing the system would have been much smarter, but, the point is, this the kind of tripe they have been feeding Nog. He's going to end up worse than Worf!"

That's his name! Worf! I remembered him well, now.

"Any rate, what Nog was spouting off about was that by paying into this system, you are guaranteed to get something back. When I pressed him how much, he said that once he retired at 115, they raised the age limit again, he would get roughly 200 credits per month for the rest of his life. So I asked him, how much per month does he put into the system. Do you know what he said?" I had a blank look, so Quark supplied the answer. "250! Each and every month. Now Nog is only 25, so by the time he is able to retire at 115, in 90 years, assuming they don't bump it up, I asked him how long he expected to receive benefits. He said for the rest of his life. And smiled like he was really getting something good. When I asked him what the life span for a Ferrengi is, he said 90. Now the last time I checked, he can expect to be fully in the ground 25 years BEFORE he gets to receive any benefits. His defense: They have to keep raising the retirement age because the Vulcans live so much longer. 'Besides,' he went on, 'it's all in an individual account' with his name on it. Then I asked him, when he dies, does the money in this account go to his heirs. He said no, it goes to pay those receiving benefits already, and when he retires, the people putting money into their accounts will be in fact supporting him. Now, I looked at him and said, if the money you put in to the system goes to support those already getting paid by the system, then you really have nothing saved in an account for yourself. That, and he would have to live to, what, 228 before he started receiving positive returns, getting more out of the system than he put in! Talk about a bad investment!"

I couldn't help but agree with Quark. He may not know much about surfing, but he does know finances. I finished my first pint, and knocked back the shot of Tribble Sweat, setting the glass on the bar gently so as not to cause ringing in Quark's oversized ears.

"Think they'll privatize it?"

"Well, it's doubtful. so long as so many Feddies are hoodwinked into believing that they'll do better on such a system than thru private investing. Why can't they be more like us, or you Klingons, who are self-sufficient, and take care of your own finances. Taxes are so much lower in either the Klingon Empire or on Ferringanar. Why, even the Romulans have a private system."

Quark set a second round on the bar in front of me. "Thanks, Kahuna. I feel better now. At least I know I'm not the one going crazy. Next time Nog comes in, I half expect him to go on about how great the Federation is with their excise taxes on Dilithium."

Quark is an interesting character. Sometimes, when he gets going on a subject, he just won't stop.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 7:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

We finally laid our hands on a new load of torpedoes from the Duras Sisters. We had plenty of Mr. Zog's S.. Wax on hand as I had traded 10 barrels of blood wine and a case of Romulan Ale with the Doctor. The Doctor had decided that surfing supernovas was a bit hard on his TARDIS. However, he did insist on coming along for the ride. It was time to surf!

All that was needed was an out of the way destination, like Vogosphere.

Okay, I admit it. That spineless buffoon in a bathrobe put us up to it. Something about his home world being demolished by a Vogon Constructor Fleet to make way for a hyperspace by-pass. Never mind the fact that this not-so-hoopy non-frood's planet was replaced with a new, exact to the minutest detail, planet. And he didn't even want to come with us.

His loss.

And it was fairly well out of the way.

We set up on the outskirts of the system, and prepped the torpedo, and were about to send it on its way when we spotted another vessel. Sleek. Black. So black you could barely discern it against the back drop of space, as though it had a new fangled cloaking device that defied all logic. And it was headed right into the Vogostar. With any luck, we wouldn't need to use a torpedo to get a nice ride.

All frequencies were picking up the blast of heavy metal music, and we spotted off in the distance a group of ships that comprised the concert fleet of Hot Black Desiato and the Disaster Area. If sound waves could travel through the vacuum of space, we would be in for one wild ride just on the output from the concert. At least when Desiato's "Sun Ship" hit's Vogostar, we should see a spectacular novel and be on the receiving end of some awesome waves as the exploding star spews forth its entire mass into the vast reaches of space.

Soon enough, the Sun Ship smashed into Vogostar, and the race for good waves on, as we deftly maneuvered the Kowabunga into the wild surf.

Hailing frequencies opened.

"Hey, Kahuna, get off of my wave!"

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Yeah, Kahu-u-u-una," came a very familiar voice. It was.

We picked up the Winter Soldier on screen, just ahead of us, being tossed by the tremendous shockwaves thrown off by the exploding like a rodeo bronco throwing it's rider. The Winter Soldier narrowly avoided colliding with the Heart of Gold, which also picked up the same choice wave.

"By Zarquon, #$@$#*!"

I opened up communications, "Is that you, Flipper?"

"Yes, now get off my wave! Locals only, dude!"

"Now, wait a minute, Howlie, you aren't from around here!"

"I bought the system, so, in fact, yes I am," came Flipper Kerry's response. "I needed to do something to get my mind off of losing the election!"

Just great, nothing is sacred.

"Dude," I called back, "when you stop being a poser and actually learn to surf, let me know, otherwise, this here is my wave!" I closed all frequencies, except for the channel that poured in the Disaster Area's concert, which caused the Kowabunga to shake and rattle more than the waves of energy thrown off by the super nova.

And we got it on tape. Quark is going to love this.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 7:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

We were at Tunok's "You Kill It, We Grill" bar and grill. Since we were pressed for time, we opted for the pre-killed critter combo surprise. That's the one where you don't know what you are getting until it is set in front of you. It may be fresh, however, not knowing if it is Mugato or Denebian Slime Devil adds a little mystery and flare to the meal.

You may wonder what goes with Mugato? Blood wine. And with Slime Devil Cakes? Blood wine. How about Rack of Vulcan? Blood wine (albeit Vulcan's Blood wine). Or, for that matter, Tribbles on a Stick? Blood wine.

We were on our fourth bottle, and that is after several rounds of Guinness in the bar for what seemed to be an eternity waiting for a table. It was a busy night, and not many diners were in the mood to hunt down their own meat that evening, so it was jammed. Note to self: Next time make reservations, or plan to hunt. Hunters always get premium seating.

Bwanna was filling me in on his accomplishments in his many runs in the Rua Pentherod, and Thunder Jack giving me his sage advice on targs and sledding the rugged tundra of Rua Penthe, and the need to always show the targs who is boss, otherwise, you'll end up being their next meal. Both seemed to know their stuff. Bwanna took great delight in informing me that he is the only musher to win the "Flaming Torch" ten years running, and has won it more than anyone else. I was very impressed until Thunder Jack explained what the "Flaming Torch" was awarded for.

"Last place," he boomed, "ten years running."

"You're kidding, right? That doesn't sound like a great accomplishment to me." I said.

"It takes heap big practice to come in last every time," Bwanna said in his own defense. "Bwanna big time expert."

It was beginning to dawn on me that I'd been had. If Bwanna was going to coach me for the Rua Pentherod, and since he is THE major last placer in the race, I was in deep tribble fur.

I leaned over close to Thunder and said, "Hmmm, I thought you said he could help me be a great musher?"

Thunder Jack let out a laugh that shook the whole restaurant, responded, "The trick is to see what Bwanna does, and do something else. If he recommends a gentle targ named Spock, you choose the ferocious one name Kohath. Or Kor." He emptied his flagon of blood wine, slamming it down on the table with a thunderous clap that rang throughout Tunok's Bar and Grill, startling the other diners, and their dinners. (Fresh meat is best served when it is still moving.) He reached for the bottle, discovered it was empty, and signaled to our waiter to bring more Blood wine.

By the puzzled expression on my face, Thunder Jack knew he needed to explain further. "You need a good lead targ, like my current champion, Fek'lhr. Now he's a real strong leader. And you'll need that, and it has to be one that will recognize you as Alpha, otherwise, you'll never get his respect."

"How do I do that, get his respect?" I asked.

"Well, showing him who's the boss, who's number one. And if all else fails, bite his ear," Thunder Jack responded.

I saw Bwanna nodding his agreement, "Yes, bite his ear works every time. Unless you are some kind of redshirt wanna be, then you dinner anyway. Better to get targ named Daisy."

"Gremmie has Daisy, so maybe he should get Lassie, or Gentle Ben?"

"Yeah, those good entry level targs for mushing. Surfer-boy do well with those," Bwanna agreed with Thunder Jack. "We take you down to Kola-KooKoo's Targ Farm and you get pick of litter."

This is some way to be introduced to the Rua Pentherod. Not the best way, though. Not by a long shot.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 3:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's pajama boy talk.

The Duras Sisters are having problems keeping up with the demand for the latest entry in their line of wave making torpedoes, which I decided was a good thing as I needed a break and with that in mind, put into port at DS9 and headed down to Quark's place.

I was on my first round of Guinness when I heard Quark say, "Oh, oh, here comes trouble."

I looked around and spotted a grizzled old warrior in a battered battle armor stroll in. He looked like something dredged up from the time of Kahless and ready to head for Stovakor; his long grayed hair with two small braids framing his scarred face; The ridges on his forehead were strongly pronounced, and looked capable of beating down Kor in a head butting contest. As he approached, I asked who he was.

"That's Thunder Jack," Quark responded, his voice betraying a level of great concern, and he looked a bit nervous. "The meanest musher in the galaxy," he added in response to the blank look on my face.

"Thunder Jack?" I asked, still confused.

"Yeah, he got struck by thunder." Quark said.

"Three times," Rom whispered.

"Come on now, no one has ever been struck by thunder!"

"He has." Quark said, definitively. Rom nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

The old warrior reached the bar and boomed in a commanding voice tinted with gravel, "Tribble Sweat, and make it a triple!"

Quark quickly placed a large flagon in front of Thunder Jack, and filled it to the brim with 100 Feddies Tribble Sweat, and quickly scittered away.

"What are you staring at?" Thunder Jack growled at me.

"Just surprised to see you here is all."

"Hmph. Bet you don't even know who I am, do you boy?"

Okay, he had me pegged.

"I know who you are, boy. You're that hot shot surfer they call Kahuna."

Now I was surprised that this battle-scarred warrior knew who I was, and embarrassed that I had never heard of him.

"Okay, you've got me. I really don't know who you are," I confessed.

"That's what I thought. You ever hear of the Rua Pentherod? The biggest, longest, toughest targ sled race in the galaxy?"

Okay, I've heard of it, but never followed it. Rua Penthe is a penal colony on a space going iceberg.

Thunder Jack continued, "I'm a six time winner, although it's been a while since the last time I won. Plan to change that this year, and make a come back. Got me a new sled team, including the best lead targ I've ever seen. I think I may have another good six wins left in me, maybe more. What do you think?"

"I'd say you were right." He certainly looked tough enough to outlive
just about anybody I knew.

He lifted his cup in a mock salute, drained it in one mighty gulp, slammed the empty upside down on the bar with a mighty boom so loud that it shook the place, and had Quark covering his ears in response to the sonic blast that reverberated throughout the bar. I was beginning to understand why they called him Thunder Jack.

"If you were Klin enough, instead of being some surfer dude, I'd suggest you get yourself a team and try your hand at it." He looked me up and down with his studied eye. "But then, maybe you aren't up to, unlike Captain Gremmie of the Bat Guano." He looked at his now empty cup, turned towards Quark and hollered, " Quark! My cup is empty! How about a refill!" He then turned back to me as Quark hurried over to give him a refill, "sometimes I wonder just what kind of place he's running here. Let's a guy go dry like this!" He flashed a toothy grin at me.

"So, Gremmie is entering into this sled race, eh." This had to be a joke, Gremmie couldn't surf his way out of a wet paper bag. The thought of him handling a team of targs was a bit too surreal for me to believe.

"Yeah, incredible to think, ain't it! Sure you don't want to give it a try? I even know a trainer who'd be available to get you started."

"I take it mean you would be available."

"Oh, not me. I'm racing. Going to win it, too. Why, my new lead targ, Dubya, has tremendous power. We're talking fur-wheel drive, four on the floor and ready to roll. No, no, I was going to suggest you talk to Bwanna. He used to be quite good. Or so I'm told."

I looked at Thunder Jack incredulously, "Bwanna?"

"Yeah, you know, that old witch doctor. The one who's set up shop next to Starbuck's with the lousy raktijeno."

"You're serious. Bwanna was in the Rua Pentherod?"

"Yep, he's a five time winner of some award or t'other." He slugged down his second flagon of Tribble Sweat, and once again slammed the empty upside down on the bar with a thunderous clap. "Tell you what I'm going to do. Offer me dinner over at Tunok's Grill, and I'll get you set up with Bwanna as your very own mushing mentor. What do you say?"

Okay, what else could I say. He as much as challenged me to do this, and no good Klingon Warrior ever backs down from a challenge. It's a matter of honor and duty. Besides, one needs to do something other than surf every now and again.

"Okay, you're on. Meet you at Tunok's Grill at 19:00 hours?"

"You're on. Tunok's for some fresh kill and grill, with large amounts of Blood wine. See you there."

With that, Thunder Jack rose up from his barstool and headed for the door, presumably to make arrangements with Bwanna to teach me about targ sledding. What have I gotten myself into?

Kahuna

Technorati Tags Star Trek Klingon Fandom

Posted by Kahuna at 9:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's Pajama Boy talk.

The surf was down today, way down, no wave action anywhere in the quadrant. Just as well as today was the day for the Intergalactic Bowling Tournament hosted at the Scum and Villainy Lanes on Mos Eisley. Teams from all around were scheduled to put in an appearance. I had to scramble to get one put together as most of my crew never heard of bowling. Neither had, but I figured what the hey! If Gremmie can bowl, so can I.

My team ended up comprised of the Doctor, Bwanna, and Kola KooKoo, Bwanna's assistant. We were primed and ready, and nothing better to do since there wasn't any surf to speak of.

If we only knew what was in store for us.

At the Scum and Villainy Lanes, all participants must first check their weapons at the front desk. No Bat'leths and no phasers. No problem. I looked at my disruptor, verified it was fully charged and holstered it. Weapons check complete.

Bowling looks like a fairly simple game: You pick up a large ball, weighing around 14 pounds, and roll it down a lane to smash into a punch of pins, 10 to be exact. The more you knock down, the better, get 'em all on the first ball and you get what is called a strike (no relation to unions or the Federation Strike Force), or, if you have to use two balls, one at a time, and knock them all down, you get a spare. Simple enough.

However, it wasn't long before we figured out that this game was somehow rigged. This cat in black robes and armor, whenever he was left with one lone pin standing, would stand out there, hold up one hand, and sure enough, it would turn to dust before the pin setter grabbed it.

The Doctor found that he could use his super long scarf to similar advantage, using it to snap at a pin to knock it down. The problem is, the pinsetter grabbed the scarf and shredded it, knocking the lane we were on out of action until the yarn could be phasered off.

There were other obstacles, much like you find at a miniature golf course: tractor beams forcing balls into the gutter, deflector shields, and super magnets to hold the pins in place. It turns out this is standard bowling in Mos Eisley.

Bwanna and Kola KooKoo used their mystic powers to help raise their scores, however, I was left holding the proverbial Bat'leth. I guess this means I should stick to surfing.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

It was Happy Hour over at Quark's. Some of us take Happy Hour seriously, and so it was with me, as I sat down at the bar and ordered up a pint of Guinness with a Tribble Sweat chaser. My usual, as it were. I was hanging around waiting for the Doctor to show up when Woof strolled up to the bar and ordered a root beer and prune juice chaser. I looked at him quizzically.

"Prune juice, it's a Warrior's drink," he said, as if to answer whatever question I was about to ask.

"I was wondering about the root beer. That stuff is banned everywhere outside of Federation space."

"I know, that's why I drink it."

"Come again?"

"Because it is so bubbly, it reminds me of the Federation...happy and cheerful."

"Ah." I focused on my Guinness, decided it was time for a second round, so I swigged it down and followed it with the shot of Tribble Sweat. I caught Quark staring at me, and remembered to NOT slam the empty shot glass down on the bar. He hates that.

Quark came over, bearing a second round, and said, "Did you hear who's coming to DS9?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Kern."

"Woof's brother?" I queried.

"My name is Worf!" responded Worf, slamming down the tankard of root beer. Quark winced.

"Easy, my ears!" Quark admonished Worf. At least I wasn't the only one to irritate Quark that way.

Now, of course, I was wondering what would bring Kern out here. It certainly wasn't the root beer. Or the prune juice. So I turned to face Worf and find out more, or at least kill some time. Besides, the Doctor, which ever one was on station at the time, had yet to show up.

"What brings the prodigal brother to DS9?"

"He is coming on a diplomatic mission for Martok, commanding the newest ship in the Klingon Fleet."

"You mean Kern got to command the newest battlecruiser?"

"Yes." Worf didn't look happy. "Why did they have to name it after 'HIM'?" He really didn't look happy. In fact, he looked like he had just learned that the latest battlecruiser had been named after Jean-Luc Piccard, Knight-Commander of the Order of the White Flag. That's the kind of look I would have had that been so. But I knew for a fact that this latest battlecruiser was named for one of the greatest heroes of the Empire, helped beat back the Romulan Empire in the early days when the Rommies had expansionist plans. So, I decided to play dumb.

"'Him' who?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" Worf asked. Quark leaned in closer, as if he needed to with those oversized ears of his, so as the better to hear Worf with.

"No. I was out near Bellatix, waiting for a Super Nova. I'm getting tired of using Wave Torpedoes. What should I have heard?"

Worf looked rather stressed as he formulated his answer. "Kern is in command of the IKV Ronald Reagan," he finally stammered, then quickly slugged down his prune juice.

Quark grinned. I signaled that he should get Worf another root beer, or perhaps a ginger ale. Something soft like the Federation.

"And Kern accepted command of it. Didn't even think twice about the name. How could he!" Worf howled. He grabbed the tankard of root beer, drained it in a mighty gulp. "I thought I raised him right!"

"You did the best you could, Worf, and Kern is a fine Warrior, and he'll do great things with his new command," I said to him. "Besides, it's not like they named it after Admiral Kirk, or that poser, Captain Surrender himself."

"Captain Surrender?" Worf looked puzzled.

Then I remembered that he has always been a poser himself, a Feddie want-to-be, dressing in their pajamas and calling them uniforms. "You know, Piccard. Every time he encounters an enemy, he runs up the white flag."

Quark, more perceptive than I sometimes am, ducked for cover. I realized my mistake a moment too soon, however, my surfer's reflexes kicked in and I easily avoided Worf's fist. The Doctor, on the other hand, who had finally showed up, didn't.

The Doctor, his long, curly locks of brown hair flying, hit the deck with a mighty thud. Worf, realizing he missed, became very distressed and apologetic as he offered his hand to the Doctor, helping him back to his feet. "I am so very sorry, sir," Worf stuttered, "I was attempting to hit the Kahuna, and, regrettably, I missed."

"So I see. Here, have a jelly baby," the Doctor proffered his bag of jellies to Worf.

Worf looked at the bag with suspicion, reached in and plucked out a jelly baby, sniffed it, then stuffed it in his mouth and made short work of it, gulping it down. "I think I need some more prune juice," Worf muttered and turned his back to us.

"Well, not so much as a thank you. That's Klingon manners for you." The Doctor complained, tossing his knit scarf back over his left shoulder.

"Well, at least he still has some of his heritage," I whispered to the Doctor.

"Ah, well, in that case," the Doctor paused, collected his thoughts. "So, you want to see how the TARDIS handles in some really wild surf, eh, Kahuna."

"That would be fun. If the TARDIS is all it's cracked up to be, should be a blast. And after we get some surfing in, maybe we can use it to go get some grub at Milliway's."

"Milliway's? My, that does sound like a good way to end a day of surfing. Ah, Kahuna, I can see we're going to be great friends. What say we get an early start. I'll meet you at Starbuck's first thing in the morning, right after I get my morning Raktajino. Sound good?"

"Work's for me."

Surfing with the Doctor in the TARDIS. I love it when a plan comes together.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 8:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's Pajama Boy talk.

We'd been in port at DS9 for a week, waiting for a delivery of surfing wax for the Kowabunga. Those Feddie supply ships take too long to transport needed supplies out to the far reaches of the Federation. Not very efficient, unlike the Klingon Empire, or even the Ferengi. This is what happens when government takes control of transportation. Distribution slows down to a snails crawl. It gets worse when you let government control the means of production, which the Federation is hard at work at accomplishing. Mr. Zog's has been working on moving their factories out of Federation space before they get nationalized. If Flipper Kerry wins the election, then they've made the right decision. Either way, supply of their number one product should stabilize. Demand is always high for their wax.

With everything else secure on the Kowabunga, I decided to check out the Promenade, and hit Quark's for a few rounds. I noticed that maintenance crews were busily working on cleaning up after the Drazi election. Okay, so how was I supposed to know it was Green Drazi Week at DS9 when I offloaded the group of Purple Drazi that Flipper stuck me with. The ensuing riot on the Promenade generated a call from one very upset Cisco.

Starbuck's had opened up on DS9. About time, even if they do make a lousy raktajino. You'd think that refugee from a Battlestar would at least learn how to make a decent cup of coffee, not like those silly fru-fru drinks the Pajama Boys like to quaff down by the gallon. Latte's, I think is what they call them. Note to self: Next time I see Cisco in Quark's buy him a round, preferably a Fuzzy Klingon.

Noticed funny blue cabinet labeled "Police Public Call Box" next to the Starbuck's. I guess the crime rate must be going up. Or maybe riot control for the Drazi? I wonder who won?

Entering Quark's I made a quick scan, noticed a few Drazi knocking back pints of Denebian slime Water. No sashes, so these guys had been "voted" out of the election. Quark had redecorated, and added another one of those new Police boxes I had noticed by the Starbuck's. Cisco must be paranoid, or something.

At the bar, Quark came up and said, "So, Kahuna, the usual?"

"You bet," was my response. The usual being a pint of Guinness with a Tribble Sweat chaser. "May as well rack up a second round. It's been a rough day."

"Oh, do tell...Cisco still mad at you for dropping those Drazi off on his doorstep?" I nodded. "No surprise there, it was the middle of the Green Drazi Convention. Imagine: Hundreds of Drazi, all wearing green sashes, having a grand old time, when suddenly twelve Drazi wearing purple show up. Luckily I was able to close down before the riot hit my bar." I nodded again, plunked down the empties from my first round, while Quark drew me another pint, and set a second shot of Tribble Sweat down in front of me.

"So, what's with the new security boxes?" I finally asked.

"Security boxes?" Quark looked puzzled, so I pointed at the blue police box. "Oh, that, it belongs to the Doctor."

"Julian taking an interest in police property?"

"No, not Julian, him." Quark pointed out a man with brown curly hair sticking out form under a foppish hat, a multi-colored scarf coiled around his neck and draped over his shoulders.

"Who's he?"

"Some drifter. Arrived in that blue box in the corner."

"So what's his name?"

"Who."

"Him?!" I pointed at this roguish fellow, just to confirm who I was talking about.

"The Doctor?" Quark responded, nonchalantly.

"Yes, the doctor. What's his name?" I was loosing my patience with Quark. I slammed the empty shot glass upside down on the bar, just to annoy Quark. He winced.

"I told you already."

"Told me what?"

"His name."

"Who's name."

"That's right."

"His name is Right?"

"No. Who's his name."

"That's what I'm asking you!"

"Okay, Kahuna. Take a deep breath and relax. Listen to what I say. The name of the Doctor is Who."

"Quark, you should listen to yourself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been seeing Gag Halfrunt."

"Quiet, someone might hear you." Quark's glance darted around the place, checking to see if anyone had heard that last exchange. Relaxing, he said, "Look, Kahuna, just call the guy Doctor. Everyone else does. He's just the Doctor."

"Okay, so he came here in that blue police box. There's one like it down by the Starbuck's. He couldn't have come in that one as well, now could he?"

"He could."

"Who could."

"That's right."

"You're losing me," and I was getting more annoyed. Time for another Guinness. "And I'm getting dry."

"No more for you unless you swear that you will never, ever slam a glass down on my bar again. You know how it hurts my ears."

"Okay, I'll swear to never do that again."

Quark, satisfied, drew a pint of Guinness for me.

"Now, about this Doctor, how could he show up in two of those boxes?" I asked.

"More like seven or eight. Including the one in Cisco's office. Cisco wasn't amused." Quark pointed to various groups around the place. "And they all brought a variety of friends." I could see the dollar signs in Quark's eyes. Profit!

"So, who are they?"

"The Doctor."

"All of them?"

"That's right. And they are all the same person, and yet they aren't," Quark sounded a bit mechanical in his response, as if he said it a hundred times before. "If you only knew how many times I've been thru this."

Things were beginning to get clearer, but then again, maybe not. "What brings them to DS9?" Curiosity was nagging at me.

"They all came out to see the new K'Abbot and Kostello routine. They're performing here tonight. I even saved you a few tickets." Quark smiled, "but they're going to cost you."

"Okay, Quark, how much?" He knows I am a big fan of these two comedians. They even made a few films, my favorite being K'Abbot and Kostello Meet Captain Kirk. Tremendous laugh fest as they outwit Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise, preventing McCoy from putting Kostello's brain into Spockenstein's Monster. It's been awhile.

"Kahuna, old buddy, old pal. All they are going to cost you is ten barrels of Blood Wine. The good stuff, not the cheap stuff from Rua Penthe."

"Deal." I finished my third round, failed to slam the shot glass on the bar to Quark's delight. "I better get back to the ship and let the crew know we're going to the show tonight."

Quark may be a pain to deal with at times, but he always takes care of his best contacts, and we always take him up on all offers extended. Ten barrels of Blood Wine. We've got at least that much in the cargo hold.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's Pajama Boy talk.

There is an old Klingon proverb that states "Revenge is a dish best served cold." I can't think of any place colder than deep space, and so I made my plans.

I contacted the Duras Sisters, and arranged to rendezvous with them at Rua Penthe, where we would do a bit of trading. They were surprised at my request for a Ripple Wrangler, their lowest capacity wave maker, designed for gremmies and novice stellar surfers, insisted that as part of the deal for the 500 cases of ketchup, with a load of caviar and champagne thrown in, that I tell them what I wanted it for. I suppose it didn't help when I told them that I wanted it setup to resemble a Duras Sisters Primo Supremo Wave Maker Torpedo. They figured I had to be up to something special. So I had to tell them I was planning a little revenge on someone who did me a dirty trade. They accepted my explanation, and agreed to the deal.

After that, I headed down to Quark's place for a pint and a chaser before leaving port, and casually let it slip that I was picking up a couple of fresh torpedoes from Lursa and B'Etor, but not to let it circulate to widely. These things are so hot, they are next to impossible to get, unless you are me, and know the sisters.

Once we arrived at Rua Penthe, and rendezvoused with the Duras Sisters, they came on board for a few rounds of Blood Wine, and they pressured me into spilling the whole scenario to them.

"So," Lursa said, "Flipper slipped you a load of ketchup instead of wax, and you plan to get even. That's it?"

"Well..." I wasn't sure if I wanted to give them whole, complete, setup. But the Blood Wine had me relaxed, so I gave it to them. "Flipper can't surf even half as well as Gremmie. So, I thought I'd record some classic footage, and swing back to Quark's for a special showing and victory party."

"Okay, Kahuna, but we want to come along for the fun," Lursa and B'Etor insisted.

"Deal. Your ship or mine?"

"Too many ships might have him thinking something is up. We'll ride with you, and send ours over to DS9," Lursa responded.

And so it was that I found myself hanging out at Rigel VII, waiting for Flipper to show up in the Winter Soldier, and a small fleet of Secret Service escort ships. I figured that Quark must have told at least a hundred people by sub-space that I had some new torpedoes, and might be willing to part with one.

I was right. It wasn't long before we were hailed by the Winter Soldier, and Flipper came up on the screen, looking like Mr. Homn. "Ah, Kahuna, so good to see you again," came his greeting. Yeah right!

"What brings you out around Rigel, Flipper."

"Looking to catch some hot waves. Hey, I hear you have some Duras Sisters Primo Supremo Wave Maker Torpedoes. Any chance of trading for one. I have 500 barrels of Zog's. I'll even throw in 10 cases of 100 Feddies Tribble Sweat."

He must be desperate. He hasn't offered ketchup as trade stock.

"I don't know, Flipper. These torpedoes are pretty hard to come by. If you can throw in a few dozen barrels of Blood Wine to sweeten the deal, maybe we can talk."

"Blood Wine? No, no Blood Wine here, sorry."

"Okay, then have you got any Green to throw into the deal?"

"No Green...how about some Purple?"

Purple? What the Fek'lhr is Purple? "Well, I don't know...how much of this Purple have you got?"

"I can give you 12, which is all I've got."

Twelve what? Oh well, what the hey. I can always use it as trade stock. "Deal. You just got yourself the latest in surf wave makers from the Duras Sisters. Have your cargo chief work out the transfer with Kareless."

"Roger that, Kahuna, and thanks."

He switched off the comm and called up Kareless, my cargo chief. "Be sure that you get the wax on board first, and check some of the barrels to make sure he isn't pushing more ketchup on us. That stuff is harder to trade than stem bolts."

The Duras Sisters were rather pleased with the take, since they were due part of the haul. We weren't celebrating long before I got the call from Kareless confirming that this time the stuff was Mr. Zog's, so we went ahead and transferred the torpedo, while still receiving our goods.

Then the Winter Soldier hailed us again. It was Flipper.

"The last of your end of the deal is beaming over now. I hope you enjoy your Purple. By the way, someone has been filming my practice runs. I hope you don't mind if I ask you not to follow us."

"I wouldn't even think about it." No, not think, but do.

"Good...really appreciate your co-operation here. Well, that's it for the cargo transfer. Gotta run. Winter Soldier out." He cut communications.

I signaled Kohath to be ready to follow when the least expected thing happened. The Winter Soldier disappeared from our view screen. Somehow, Flipper had managed to lay his hands on a cloaking device. Who'd have thought.

Meanwhile, I received a call from cargo. It was Kareless.

"Everything all secure down there?" I asked.

"Well, um, yes sir, but about that Purple..."

"Yes, yes, twelve cases, right?"

"Well, not cases..."

Barrels? Even better. "Okay, barrels then, got them secured?"

"Not barrels, either."

Not barrels?! "Okay, what ever the containers this Purple..."

"Not cases, not barrels, but Drazi."

"Okay, so secure the twelve Drazi and we'll sample one later."

"Uh, Kahuna, you still don't understand. He beamed over 12 Drazi, and they don't look very happy."

They?! "Are you trying to tell me he sent us 12 Drazi wearing purple sashes?"

"Um, well, yes, that's exactly what he did."

Just great. If they find out over at Little Green Drazi, my targ will be cooked. "Well, I guess you better find some quarters for them, and hid anything of that other color."

"You mean green?"

"PURPLE!" I heard the Drazi call out in the background.

Well, maybe we'll get lucky and the Drazi election will be over before we hit DS9.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's Pajama Boy talk.

It was after the Betelgeuse Rollers. I put into port at Deep Space 9, docked the Kowabunga, and headed down to Quark's. It had been a long haul out from Betelgeuse, and I was ready for a pint or five.

After I hit the bar, I remembered that the last time I was here there was a bunch of Feddies in dark suits loitering around, and driving business down. They were looking for whoever had delivered up some footage of Flipper Kerry when he was out playing with a Genesis Wave Maker ME.

I took a look around, noticed the distinct absence of said interlopers. Business was still a little off, but looked to be heading back to normal. A couple of Drazi wearing purple sashes were at one end of the bar, talking with Morn.

Quark joined me at the bar, "Ah, back in town, eh, Kahuna. The usual?" I nodded my response. As he pulled a pint of Guinness for me, he looked around and said, "What do you think of the new big screen monitors?"

I hadn't noticed, so I looked. These things were huge. Quark must have bought out the section of DS9 directly above his bar to make space for the things. And there were three of them.

"Great for watching the Betelgeuse Rollers," he said, setting the pint in front of me, then following it up with a shot glass of Tribble Sweat. "And other surfing adventures."

"How'd you manage to get all of this?" I was curious.

"Remember that memory chip you sold me a while back," alarm bells started going off in the back of my head, "well, turns out the subject of said surfing incident wanted it off of the market, so they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. No worries, though, I didn't tell them where I got it from, just all copies that were currently in my possession."

Okay, so I could relax, and knocked back half of my Guinness. Quark is, after all, a businessman, and one you could trust if you are is friend, which I am. "What about future films, are they expecting you to turn those over, or information on them?"

"They didn't get that specific in their demands. Nor did I tell them about the copies I exported the Romulans. Nor the copies I sent back to Ferenginar." Quark displayed a wicked grin at this disclosure. "Maximizing my profits, which is only fair since they essentially shut me down for several weeks."

I finished off my first pint, drank the round of Tribble Sweat, and slammed the empty shot glass upside down on the bar. Quark snatched up the empty glass, wiped down the bar, said, "Ya know, Kahuna, I really wish you wouldn't do that. It hurts my ears!"

I grinned at Quark, said, "So what's the latest news?"

"Aside from your losing the Betelgeuse Rollers to Zaphod Beeblebrox?" I winced at the mention of that. "Stunning defeat."

"It was second place, not a loss," I said, a bit defensively. "How about another round?"

"Only if you promise to stop pounding the bar with the empties. Otherwise, no more Tribble Sweat for you!"

"Would you prefer I throw them at one of those nifty new viewscreens of yours?"

"You wouldn't do that."

He had me there. "Okay, no more pounding the bar with the empties," I agreed.

"Now, how did you manage to lose so badly?" Quark was trying very hard to needle me on the Rollers.

"Well, for some reason, the barrels of Mr. Zog's Sex Wax we got in trade turned out to be barrels of ketchup." Those barrels were received in trade from Flipper for a Duras Sisters Special, labeled as wax and no one bothered to check. Including me! However, Kareless should have flagged me down when he noticed something was amiss with the stuff he was slopping on the hull of the ship. No Tribble Sweat for him during this leave. Come to think of it, no leave for him.

"Now, who would have done such a thing as that?"

"I wonder," I said, finishing off a second Guinness, tossing off the chaser, and remembering to NOT slam the shot glass on the bar when I got Quark grimacing at me. "Besides, with Zaphod using an Improbability Drive, that made him pretty tough to beat. Did you know that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters appeared on his wave, knocking out a manuscript for Hamlet? In Klingon?"

"No."

"Yep, sure did, saw the whole thing. It was wild." A third round appeared on the bar in front of me.

"Say, did you check out the latest report over on Little Green Drazi?" Quark said, just a little loud. This garnered the response he wanted as the two Drazi at the end of the bar shouted out "Purple," looked around for targets, and seeing that they were the only Drazi in the place, went back to their drinks and conversation with Morn. Quark snickered at their reaction. It was definitely a deliberate jab at them. "Election time for the Drazi," he explained. However, my curiosity was aroused.

"What report is this?"

"You haven't heard then. Well, a couple of days after the Rollers it came out that Flipper Kerry had arranged to have someone "ghost surf" for him in the competition. Originally he had selected Captain Gremmie, but apparently they had a falling out, so he got someone else to do it. Want to know who?" He was deliberately drawing this out. Must be good.

"I'll bite, who?"

"Piccard."

"You've got to be kidding." I knew he wasn't, and somehow it all fit, especially the use of the Piccard Maneuver in the competition. No one, other than the legendary Captain Surrender, ever used that particular stunt.

"Nope, no kidding. Apparently it came out in a session with his analyst, who leaked it to the media, most of whom glossed over it, discounting the incident. Gremmie confirmed it, probably because he lost out on Best Wipeout." I could tell by the expression on Quark's face that there was more.

"And..."

"Well, Gremmie also confirmed the footage of the winter Soldier you traded to me as being the real McCoy. That's why I was able to get so much for the memory chip you traded me. Flipper Kerry wanted that footage put out of circulation."

Things were really becoming clear. He made out like a bandit. Now, I wonder what I could get of the one I had of the Winter Soldier smashing up with a Duras Sisters Special. Better get back to the ship and make sure we still had it. Maybe Quark and I could form a partnership and really soak the Ketchup King, especially after the way he took me on the trade for that torpedo.

I finished my third round, got up and told Quark I'd catch him later, and that I might have something special for him. All he could say was that if it is as good as the last one, and then the profits should be great.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 8:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh wait, that's Pajama Boy talk.

After spending a lot of time tracking Flipper Kerry and his ship Winter Soldier, we managed to get a lot of new footage of his ineptitude on the really big waves provided by the latest in wave-making surf torpedoes. He sunk to new lows, not only slamming into several of his secret service escorts and cussing them out, we got class A action footage of wipeout after wipeout. I had to give him credit for trying, even if it was a laugh.

With the Kowabunga cloaked, we made our way to Epsilon Eridani to test out the one torpedo I had left. We rendezvoused with long time surfing buddies Han Solo and Chewbacca, who, with the aid of Capt. Sulu of the Excelsior, set up some ships with cameras to record our own use of this latest of greatest super surf torpedoes. Both Sulu and Han wanted in on the action, and since they were helping record the event, I welcomed them to join me on the waves that this thing would generate. After all, there is plenty of room in space for all of us to be a shockwave rider.

All was ready, and my weapons officer launched the torpedo straight into the K2, orange-red dwarf star that was Epsilon Eridani. When it impact, the resulting cataclysmic explosion sent wave after wave of wonderful high riding surf the likes of which had never seen before.

As we were enjoying this wonderful ride, cutting the crest of the lead wave, carving the face, then shooting the tube, I noticed a familiar ship bouncing along the trailing ripples: the Bat Guano. Then came that all too familiar voice over the subspace radio, screaming "There's no-o-o-o need to -fear, Captain Gremmie is here."

With his appearance, I had my navigation and weapons officers check for any other shoulder hoppers. The report came back negative. No Winter Soldier in sight. We continued our ride.

After shooting out of the tube, we carved our way across the face, and back up to the top of the crest, then sliced down on the wave, hard, riding it for all that she was worth. It was tough going as I felt the hull of the Kowabunga shiver and shake like an old wooden frigate caught in a hurricane. As we thought the ship was going to fly apart on us at any moment, I said a quiet thank you to the Duras sisters for this wonderful ride as the crew shouted out "Sto-Vo-Kor!"

Then we were out of it, the wave losing much of it's energy. It was one wild ride, but the ship held up.

I contacted the Excelsior and Millennium Falcon and suggested that after we gather up the recorders, we all meetup at Quark's for celebratory drinks and watching this bodacious ride we just experienced. I couldn't wait to get my hands on more of these Duras Sisters torpedoes. They are, by far, the best yet.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 8:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama-boy talk.

"Ka-hu-u-u-u-na!" I heard that all to familiar voice come over the intercom. It was Gremmie. What the heck did he want now?

"Kahuna here, Gremmie," I responded.

"Ku-u-ul, Du-u-u-de. Have you got the Zog's? I've got your ketchup."

It was coming back to me. Quark said he had a contact that might be willing to make a trade for that case of ketchup for some Mr. Zog's Sex Wax. We needed enough for the ship when we hit the Betelgeuse Rollers in a couple of days. Lots of Zog's, actually.

"No Gremmie...YOU are supposed to have the Zog's for me, and I give you the ketchup." Gremmie was pretty whacked. Must have been from the incident with the Bat Guano. This was a new ship. Somehow, it looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Thing was a yacht. More than Gremmie could afford on Fleet pay, and no sane person would higher him to Captain a boat like that. Meanwhile, still no wax.

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h. To-o-o ba-a-a-ad. I have 500 cases of Heinz Ketchup onboard to tra-a-a-de."

That's a boat load of ketchup. No tribbles to make burgers either, I bet. "Sorry Gremmie, don't need the ketchup. Just the wax. Know where we can find some?" Something flitting about in the distance got my eye on the view screen.

"Yea-a-a-ah, but it isn't up for trade or sale, except for maybe a Duras Sisters' Special."

Ah, I get it, Gremmie wants to try out the latest wiz bang, kowabunga making, torpedo from the Duras Sisters. I had managed to sweet talk them out of two in exchange for a product endorsement, and a few other, uhm, favors. The endorsements to be made after testing them out.

"I don't know Gremmie, these babies might be a little too hot for you to handle." I was realizing I was fastenated by the flickering lights in the dancing in the distance. I couldn't quite make them out. Kind of like fireflies dancing in the moonlight.

"You have one?" another voice cut in, very excited.

"Well, hmmm, suppose I do?"

"To-o-o-ld you Kahu-u-u-na would ha-a-a-ve one." I heard Gremmie say.

"I'll give you 10 barrels of Zog's AND the ketchep."

The voice was somehow familiar, but I couldn't place it. Were those dancing lights little spaceships?

"Got any tribbles for a barbeque? Or a few cases of Tribble Sweat?"

"No. How about some champaigne and caviar?"

Cavier? Fish eggs? Who the heck is this poser?

"I don't know, dude. That's not much for a Duras Sisters Primo Supremo Wave Maker Torpedo." They looked like little interceptors.

"How about I make it 20 barrels of Zog's, the ketchep, 10 cases of champaigne, 10 pounds of cavier, and 20 pounds of Brie cheese?"

Oh brother...what the hey, we need the wax, and with the Betelgeuse Rollers coming up faster than a new hit from the Praxis Jacks, I figured what harm could letting them have one torpedo do?

"All right, you've got a deal."

"Fine, fine. Gremmie can co-ordinate the cargo transfers with you."

Something in the back of my head was warning me that this might not be such a hot idea, but, too late. We had a greed to a trade, and I always keep my deals. Never once have I Rommied out of a trade.

Makani and Kareless, worked out the details of the transfer with our new tradig partner while I went down to the bar for a pint of Guinness.

I was on my second pint, going over wave reports, when Makana called me on the comm, and asked me to join him and Kareless in the cargo bay.

When I joined them, Makana said, "Um, Kahuna, you aren't going to believe this. I think we've run into this guy before."

"Are you sure?"

"Um, yeah. Look at the markings on the cases."

I did. There on all the cases and barrels there was the ship's name that we just traded a top notch surf torpedo to. The signs read:

U.S.S. Winter Soldier

It was worse than I feared. Not one, put two posers with a Duras Sisters' Primo Supremo Wave Maker Torpedo.

I hit the comm switch, and called out to the bridge, "Kohath, follow that ship. At a distance, and start recording. We may be in for a really great show."

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate, oh, wait, that's pajama-boy talk.

We headed into one of our favorite ports, DS-9, and I was happy to learn from the station that a shipment had arrived for us.

Great! Our shipment of Mr. Zog's Sex Wax had arrived. I notified my cargo crew chief, Kareless, to be ready to bring supplies on board.

With that in progress, and feeling good, I headed down to the Promenade and stop in at Quark's Place for a little exercise. The 32 oz. curl variety. Time for some Blood Wine, or, at the very least, a few pints of Guinness. Besides, I had this recording of the Winter Soldier in a major league wipeout that I though Quark could run as part of his sports show on the view screens.

"Quark," I said, "have I got a piece of media for your entertainment system!"

"Let me guess, more of Gremmie doing loop-de-loops?" he queried, somewhat sarcastically.

"No, better. Who's that joker running for President of the Federation?"

"Which one?"

"The Ketchup King."

"Oh, him. What about Kerry-Heinze?" Obviously, Quark had successfully figured out who wears the pants in that family.

"I ran into him surfing out around Ceti Alpha VI. Got the whole thing right here."

"Yeah, so what. I hear he's a great surfer."

"Who from?" I had a hard time believing that Kerry could surf his way out of a cosmic cloud, especially after wiping out in that little ripple he set of.

"It was on the Subspace Transmission from the Federation Broadcast System."

Of course! The FBS, or the BS for short. Great source of information, if it weren't for the spin.

Quark went on, "they had him surfing out around Ceti Alpha VI, in a humongous wave such as even you, the Kahuna, have never seen the likes of before."

"Oh really. Ceti Alpha VI, you say? Wouldn't happen to have been around Stardate 64573.33, now would it?"

"Yeah, I think that's right." Quark looked more interested now. "What 'cha got"

"We were there, and have the whole thing right here," I tapped the memory crystal on the bar for emphasis, "for your viewing pleasure."

"Really, now, and what's so different from the BS broadcast."

"Well, for one, he wiped out. Slammed right into one of his secret service interceptors accompanying him." I definitely had Quark's interest. He finally produced the long awaited tankard of Guinness.

"Do tell me more."

He was hooked. I relayed to him the entire saga, from first contact by subspace to the main event. Quark was near hysterics, and I could see the dollar signs flashing before his eyes.

"I could have a special broadcast tonight. Let's see, five bucks cover charge, two, no, three drink minimum. I'll give you two barrels of Blood wine, my best, and 5 kegs of Guinness."

"Throw in a case of Tribble Sweat, and you've got a deal."

Quark thought about for a moment, looked at the memory crystal, and said, "Done! I like doing business with you Kahuna." I passed the memory crystal over to him, he quickly pocketed it. "Now I have to get tonight's wing-ding promoted and planned. Probably need a few more Dabo girls as well."

I finished my Guinness, headed back to the ship. Kareless met me as I came back on board.

"Ah, Kahuna, the shipment wasn't Mr. Zog's Sex Wax."

"It wasn't? Then what did we get?"

"A case of ketchup..."

"Ketchup?! Now who would be sending us ketchup?"

"There was a note attached." Kareless handed me the card that came with the case of ketchup.

It was from Kerry.

Hope you enjoy the ketchup. If you have any recordings of my surfing at Ceti Alpha VI, I would appreciate it if you destroyed them.

J.F. Kerry

I contacted Quark and made reservations for the entire crew, and asked if he had any Sex Wax to trade for a case of ketchup.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

It was a happy day, a great day. It was a big wave day! Kowabunga! At least that's how it started out.

We were cruising in the vicinity of Ceti Alpha VI when we picked up a distress signal from the U.S.S. Winter Soldier, requesting assistance with their Genesis Torpedo, and in desperate need of a good wave. Great, another Gremmie poser wanna be.

"This is the Kahuna of the IKV Kowabunga, " I called out through the vastness covered by subspace radio.

"Kahuna?! Great! I've heard of you. This is J. F. Kerry. We are having problems with our Genesis version ME Wave Maker 2. Any ideas how to set the timer on this?"

Ever hear of "read the manual," Feddie-boy?

"Yes," I heard myself respond, and proceeded to tell him how to set it, and next time to use the Open Source line of the Genesis Torpedo Wave Makers. "Don't forget to launch toward a large planetary body, and be ready with the warp engines."

"The warp what?!"

"Sir," I heard another voice cut in, "that's the propulsion system. Sort of like the impulse engines on PCF 44. Remember, Chrstmas on Bajor, sir?"

"Oh yeah, right. Get my lucky hat, will ya. The one the CIA guy gave me on that run. And get those secret service interceptors out of my way...I want to make sure I get a good ride."

By now, I had put two and two together and came up with that uber-gremmie, John Flipper Kerry. Just Great!

I had Kohath, my helmsman set a course for the Winter Soldier. Just in case he has a major wipeout, I wanted to get it filmed for prosperity.

We got there, following the transmissions that he conviniently left on, and watched from a position far enough out that we wouldn't get into a collision when the inevitable wipeout did come.

We watched on all monitors as he launched the Genesis Torpedo at a small moon, and thought, figures, want's a ripple, not a real wave, and realized that that was no moon, but a space station. POOF! went the Deathstar, and the resulting shockwaves, a tad more than the ripple that I was sure Flipper Kerry was expecting shot out like a storm, catching the Winter Soldier in a broadside, flipping the craft end over end, right into one of the secret service interceptors.

"God @#%&*! What the effin' do you think you're doing?" I heard Kerry blast the pilot of the interceptor he rammed into. "You caused me to have a wipeoout," whined Kerry, and continued with a string of expletives that even I refuse to repeat.

The other interceptors danced around the U.S.S Winter Soldier like so many tribbles in a frying pan. My crew howled with laughter at the surfing ability of this surfer wannabe, although taken aback by his blatent disregard for the safety of his security personel. We could care less if he crashed into a small planetoid, but to take honorable warriors out with hime, and then blame them for his bad surfing, that was too much.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

No decent waves again today. Bummer.

Put into Deep Space 9, met with that Ferengi about a trade for some Mr. Zog's Sex Wax. He wants a Genesis Torpedo AND a 5 cases of Tribble Sweat for the hundred barrels. Asked if the torpedo was for Captain Gremmie, to which the Ferengi said "None of your business." Warned him that this thing produces too much wave for Gremmie to handle, which is why it comes with a warning label from the Feddie's Surfer General. Otherwise, only one case of Tribble Sweat. Eventually settled for the torpedo, one case of 100 Feddies Tribble Sweat, a very good brand and two barrels of Bloodwine, while the Ferengi threw in 10 cases of something called Romulan Ale. Hard bargain.

Ran into O'Brien. He was looking for a new surf program for the holodeck. Said he needed the practice before he and that Klingon wanna be, Woof, or whatever his name is, took Defiant out for the Betelgeuse Rollers. Told him I would see what I could do next time I'm out. And to have some good trade stock on hand. Start squeezing tribbles, Dude.

Ran into Dax. Dude, is she hot. Makes me want to count her spots. Took her to that Ferengi's bar, and we swapped rounds of MY Tribble Sweat, and traded surf stories. Invited her to go out surfing with us. She'd be a good Captain's woman. She sounded agreeable, but would have to wait until she can get leave for her duties. Dax said she'd rather go out with me than that fake Klingon, Woof.

The Ferengi threw us out, said he was tired of drunken surfers and, anyway, he was closed.

Went back to my ship and crashed. Dreamed about surfing some big waves soon.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 8:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

Received call from engineering. Running low on Mr. Zog's Sex Wax. I told Makani to make arrangements with that Ferengi on Deep Space 9 for a hundred barrels. That should be enough to last through a month of Praxis scale surfing. Incredible how much of that stuff we go through in a week. It's almost as though my engineer is eating the stuff. Or something.

Surf is flat throughout the quadrant, anyway, and the Duras sisters haven't finished testing that new torpedo for me yet. Are they HOT!

No surf, no fun. I need a beer with a Tribble Sweat chaser. Why aren't Klingon ships equipped like Kirk's, with nubile yeomen, er, yeowomen, at hand. Make note, recruit more women for the ship for those surfless days.

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 8:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions

Stardate oh, wait, that's pajama boy talk.

The surf was really up today at Ceti Alpha VI.

We got the IKV Kowabunga positioned, watching the sets roll in, watching for that perfect wave, when all of a sudden, over the ship-to-ship, I received a hail from that Feddie Sheep, Captain Gremmie of the garbage scowl, Bat Guano.

"What do you want, Gremmie?" I demanded.

"Where's the su-u-u-u-u-r-f, du-u-u-u-u-de?" he responded most sheepishly.

"No way, hoser. This is for locals only. Better scat before Khan spots you!"

"Oh, come on, Kahu-u-u-u-na, there's plenty of wa-a-a-a-ves to go around."

This poser just doesn't know when to cut and run, and the waves were getting more and more gnarly. Realizing I'll never shake this turkey, it was either blast him out of space, or push him on a mellow chaser wave, the kind that even Gremmie can't wipe out on. Of course, I could always let Khan swing by in Reliant and fry Gremmie's pooper-scooper. I decided to take the higher road of honor, especially since a new set was coming in, and it looked like the chaser would be about Gremmie's speed.

"Oh, Jimmy Kirk, Gremmie! Catch this next wave, and let's see what you can do with it."

"Cool, du-u-u-u-de. See you on the other side, Kahu-u-u-na." And with that he went for the wave I directed him to.

This chaser was even more mellow than I thought it would be, barely a ripple in a wave tank, and that's really about all that Gremmie can handle. Maybe he'll get lucky and score some points and get command of something better than the Bat Guano.

But then again, maybe not. It just figures that this hosehead would wipe out after a few A.U.s, even after this itsy-bitsy chaser wave had petered out. What a loser!

Kahuna

Posted by Kahuna at 9:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
View blog reactions