It would have been cool if the ship’s counselor on Star Trek was bowling-shoe ugly.
So, like, every week, she’s still single and doing yoga with Dr. Crusher. Then that week’s diplomat comes on board for some kind of summit, and she thinks he’s handsome, but of course she can read his feelings, which are something like, “Goddamn, Stardate: Help Me, I’m currently circling the Pockmarked Planet of the Wad of Cottage Cheese system.”
She’d try anyway, though, and get up against him, saying, “Perhaps I can escort you to your quarters?” and he’d be like, “Nah, you know what, I’m just gonna take this brochure from the Chamber of Commerce and walk around your bigass plane for a bit. You stay here.”
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