TNG Caption This! 297: Brace for Holidays!

PICARD: A Klingon dagger! Hang on; isn't this the one used in ritual suicides?





RIKER: Every Christmas is the same; Worf always overcooks the turkey.





DATA: Klingon Opera? You shouldn't have. Really.





RIKER: Traditionally, the baubles hang on a tree.





TROI: Data! Not without mistletoe, I won't!

 

RIKER: I was searching Beverly's office for her stash of drugs like you told me to when i found these.

PICARD: So this is what she did with Wesleys...you know...after she castrated him...

RIKER: Do you think maybe if we gave them back to him that he might not be such an annoying sissy?

PICARD: ...or we could attatch them to a photon torpedo and fire them into the sun.

RIKER: Why would we do that?

PICARD: Because it would be fun, Fun, FUN, in the sun, Sun, SUN!

RIKER: ...Did you start the drugs without me?

PICARD: Goldfish are standing on my toes Number One!



RIKER: I must say i always thought the reason you castrated Wesley was so you could keep em in a jar on the shelf in your office for show but all this time you've been secretly saving them for a when it was finally your turn to cook christmas dinner. Thats one hell of a secret ingrediant Beverly.

OR

Upon hearing that the secret ingrediant in Beverly's home cooked christmas dinner was Wesleys castrated testicles Worf attempted to regurgitate his food unnoticed whilst everyone else was busy trying to digest Rikers cheesy one liners.




DATA: I had heard that it is traditional to sing christmas carols and perform a nativity before the giving of presents but since none of you are willing to join me i will instead perform a one man rendition of A Christmas Carol in the original Klingon.




DATA: Gentlemen how do you like my portrait of Counselor Troi so far.

RIKER: Well you certainly got the dimensions right and you managed to convey her essential...err...personality quite accurately.





DATA: Why yes Counsellor your rear end does appear quite large in that outfit. It also makes you appear shorter and wider than you actually are. It does however provide a good view of your cleavage which is likely why the captain and other senior officers have not insisted that you wear your actual uniform.

TROI: ........................

DATA: Have i said something wrong Counsellor? You did ask for an honest analysis of the situation?

 

TROI: I'm sensing sexual tension and desire. Hot passionate Vulcan on Klingon sex...

.........they're right behind me aren't they??

 

Worf: If she were Klingon, I would split her like a Tamarian metaphor.
Selar: Can I help you, Lieutenant Worf?
Worf: Kahless, his robe open.

 

Worf: It's delicious!

 

WORF: I know, tastes like chicken.

RIKER: The potatoes?

WORF: The cat.

 

Troi: How sad would you have to be to be taking part in a caption contest first thing on Boxing Day?

Data: Very, very, very sad.

 

Worf: And now I will demonstrate how Klingons celebrate Boxing Day.
Pulaski: That won't be necessary, Worf.
Worf: In the interest of cultural relativism, I must insist.



A Ressikan flute, Number One?
Yeah, spaceport shop had 'em in bags of ten for a dollar.




Riker: Nice fork. After dinner I'll tune the piano.




What's so funny, Geordi?

You should see what's going on in the UV band.




Data: You bore them with stories of your sheltered royal sphere, Counselor. I will rummage through their quarters while Worf and Selar slip away to engage in coitus.

Troi: "Make yourself at home" is just a figure of speech, Data.

Worf: "Still...."

 

PICARD: A Penis Rock? I seem to recall Kirk's was bigger.

RIKER: You're not Kirk.

 

Butthead: Hahaha hahaha... she said box...

 

Who's asking? It might be a bit funnier if it was Data.

 

"VINCENT! We happy?"

"Yeah, we happy, Number One."






Oh, please. I say screw Lt. Big Bowl of Apples. All he does is sit there. Sure, he had a nice moment at Farpoint Station, but what the hell else has he done for us? If he were here right now I'd bitchslap his stemmy red ass, take a big jar of night crawlers and....
he's behind me, isn't he?

 

Riker: No thanks, I just ate.


Data: I am glad that this package does not appear properly shaped to contain spheres. I do not find them useful...they are right behind me, are they not?

 

LeadHead, TFTW.


One more reason to look ahead to the future is that with all the different planetary inhabitants, every day was somebody's holiday.

 

Troi (whispering): "Now Worf is thinking, 'Look at her! Is she just playing hard to get? Damned tease!' and Selar is thinking, 'Geez, that walking hard-on is going to blow a blood vessel before he ever gets the nerve to make a move on me.'"
Data: "Telepathic eavesdropping is fun!"

 

Picard: "Sorry, I've lost track. This year, am I giving this to you or are you giving it to me?"





Riker: "I must say...this food is delicious. Whoever thought of having our holiday party at the Stinking Gorn is a frigging genius."





Data (to self): "Enough of these tschotskes. I'm ready for some cold, hard cash."





Riker: "Posing nude might be fun, but I think I'll pass--you never know where that sort of painting might end up. On the other hand, if you could come up with a way for me to never show my face again..."





Troi: "This is the ugliest urn I've ever seen."

Data (to self): "Boy, do I wish my epithet subroutine was on. I got this exact same item for Deanna's Christmas gift."

Troi (to self): "Boy, do I wish I couldn't read minds."

 

Eat at the Stinking Gorn!

U r right, Finngle Bells- I've been trying to figure it out but I got nothin!



A...bobblehead of Napoleon, Number One?
They were out of Shakespeare, sir.

 

PICARD: The ring finger of the Klingon Chancellor?

RIKER: You said to send them a message.

PICARD: I was thinking of something more along the lines of sub-space.

 

Riker: LeadHead sent us this message, Sir.

Picard: Interesting. A new contest will begin tonight.

 

Special Contest Has Begun!