Seven Words in TNG

back-rub in exchange for the neat tool-belt

(mea culpa, I took liberties with the hyphens)

 

. "I'll give you the tool-belt. But please

 

make me a fried pickle sandwich. I

 

want the pickle deep fried and sauteed

 

meatballs on the side."

Wide-eyed, Guinan swiftly

 

grabbed her camera. Her childhood dream of

 

forming a Mariachi band took a backseat

 

to watching Geordi's mancrush play out in

 

glorious fried pickle love. But before anyone

 

could reach for their puke-bags, the Enterprise

 

entered an anomaly. "Why is it always

 

me that has to sweep the deck?,"

 

wondered the designated deck sweeper, Ensign Brooms.

 

"Brain the size of a planet and

 

IQ of 15. Go figure," observed the

 

kitchen staff. "Besides, if it weren't for

 

the holes in the Lifesavers, we'd all

 

be stuck with Retsyn from Certs. As

 

far as I am concerned, there shouldn't

 

be this kind of stress on Starfleet