TNG Caption This! 345: Character Studies

Hello everyone, sorry I didn't get this up before the end of the weekend, I was busy watching the Denver Broncos not attend the Super Bowl.




First up to the plate, we have the "Useful Abilities" Award, going to:

Next, we have the "Better than A Briefing with Neelix" Award, going to:

Next, we have the "Sorting out the Senior Staff" Award, going to:

Next, we have the "Ripoff" Award, going to:

Next, we have the "Literally not meaning Literally anymore" Award, going to:

Our Photoshop Award, goes to:

Congrats to our winners and many thanks to all of our participants!

And now, a new contest!











Enjoy!

 

Picard: Thak you, Counselor. Your insight into Commander Riker from his bedroom techniques will be quite useful.



Data: I would like a Chicken Caesar salad and a glass of Merlot. (whispering) Bill the guy at the helm for it.



Riker: I'm starting to doubt Amazons strategy for delivering packages with Drone shuttles.




Riker: Commander Riker, surrender or you get it!



Worf: Captain, incoming message from Starfleet Command, they recommend not using your sad face while on the Bridge.

 

PICARD: It's the remains of Caption Contest #344.

 

Picard: Mr. Data, why do you keep staring at me?

 

TFTW, Leadhead! May your future be figuratively so bright you have to wear shades.



Picard: Will, the Counselor just made a humorous observation. As much as we give her crap for spouting out the obvious, at least her job doesn't involve repeating everything I say to relay orders I could easily relay myself. Anyway, take us out of here Number One.

Riker: Aye sir, Geordi, take us out of here.

Troi: I'm sensing resentment from the First Officer, sir.



Data: Excuse me, Commander Remmick, but your constant tapping away at that device is interrupting my ability to focus on my job.

Remmick: The android seems incapable of functioning on a task while a repetitive noise occurs just a few meters away from him.

Geordi: Hey, you little worm, he asked you to knock it off.

Remmick: What did you just call me?

Geordi: A little worm, Sir.

Remmick: Ah, Lt., if you only knew...



Picard: Analysis, Gentlemen.

Riker: It blowed up good, sir.

Geordi: It blowed up real good, sir.



Riker decided he had enough of it and proceeded to stun himself to avoid having to go on this away mission.



Worf: Sir, are you not going to address the way Commander Riker cursed everyone out and went into your Ready Room with Counselor Troi?

Picard: Actually, I'm not even mad, that's amazing.

 

DORN: Look, Mr. Stewart. I don't know what they taught you at the Royal Shakespeare Company, but that face doesn't make you look "more French".

 

Picard: Why did I pick you two to serve next to me knowing you two know each other? Riker likes to second guess his captain. Having an ex-girlfriend reading his mind nearby should inhibit his want-to-be captain antics.


Picard (off screen): I have a Klingon on tactical, an empathic Betezoid as a counselor, a black person flying the ship and an android for operations. Assigning possitions based on stereotypes is fun.


Picard: Are you telling me it malfunctioned due to fecal matter being inside it's workings?
Riker: O'Brien did say he was leaving us a parting gift.


Picard: What am I going to do with you Worf? You can't fly the ship and you suck at operations too.
Worf: I'm a Klingon, I should be on tactical.
Picard: Over the militant Tasha? Sure, if she dies on a mission it's all yours, like that'll happen.

 

"Really, Mr. Data, would it kill you to help me pass this level of Candy Crush Saga?"

 

REMMICK: Gentlemen, can you explain your recent entries about a Commander Rem-Dick?
DATA: I think they are enough explicit.


PICARD: It's remind me when I was on the Stargazer and....
RIKER AND GEORDI: Ah crap!

 

TFTW, LeadHead!



Second Officer's Personal Log: I have a positronic brain capable of performing sixty trillion calculations per second with double-hash quantum-state error checking. If Commander Riker double-checks my math on his damn calculator one more time, I will bitch slap the punk.




Captain's Log: Well, it was fun while it lasted, but I guess it's time to knock it off. Lieutenant Worf actually caught me making faces behind his back today.

 

Remmick: We could put you in the sports model: retractable spoiler and nacelles, colored warp engine, Asian computer geek, Indian with tattoo, rich, white guy into hot rods as your driver, and a hot blonde who thinks she knows how to read a map.

Data: Even I think that's too much on the nose.

Remmick: Too many Top Gear reruns.

 

Bad Thoughts, this is for you:

WORF: Data, I think the Captain needs to hear "Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty".

 

Purrfect!

Data, searching through string patches: Soft kitty, warm kitty, what are they feeding you, smelly cat, oh, smelly cat, it's not your fault.

 

Picard: What do you think, Will? Captain's prerogative?
Riker: Your call, sir. But I don't think the crew finds granny boots as hot as you or I do; even less so on a male officer.
Picard: But I could pull them off?
Riker: Oh, yes sir.




Remmick: What is our precise speed, Mister Data?
Data: We are traveling at warp factor 9.342699735294875, sir.
Remmick: And what is that in light speed units?
Data: Multiplied by light speed's 299,792,458 m/s, we get 2,800,870,918 meters per second, sir.
Remmick: I see.
Data: Now hold your calculator upside down, sir.
Remmick: Huh. "Big Ol Boobs." You are good.
Data: It's what I do, sir.




Picard: So why don't we just replace the Heisenberg compensators?
Geordi: Sure, you can get the transporters for a song but the Heisenberg compensators are like a hundred bars of gold pressed latinum each.
Riker: That's how they get you, sir.




Worf: Sir, when I asked you do be my cha'DIch, what did you think I was asking you to be?
Picard: I don't know, some kind of parsnip or turnip?
Worf: No.
Picard: Well an edible tuber, then?

 

Data - "Back off man...I'm a scientist."



Troi - "Will, is it safe to adjust that while it is aimed at yourself?"



Picard - "Awww, did little Worfy have a Boo-Boo?"

 

Troi: We all know what that sign stood for, Riva.
Data: Though Riker is asking for it.

 

DATA: Facinating, the asteroid would have instantly eradicated all sentient life-forms without damaging anything else on the planet suface. It would have remained a M-Class planet.
PICARD: *Sigh* If Tasha had missed her shot, Vulcan would have became an archaeologist wet-dream.

 

TFTW LH!





Riker: Sir... you put in a request for a new first officer before the verdict had even come in?

Picard: To be honest Will, I never even considered the possibility you didn't kill Dr. Apgar after bonking his wife.




Data: I do not know why you consider me a potential securty risk. It is not like I have multiple evil siblings, nor that my creator can remote control me at a distance of light years to take over the ship. And I definitely do not emit a easily detectable signal that renders the ship useless for stealth missions.




Picard: And this is what happens when Starfleet subcontract to the cheapest bidder.





Riva Gibbs: Ah-ah-ah-ah Staying Alive, Staying Alive...

Riker: You won't be in a second if you don't shut up.




Worf: Did Commander Riker turn down another promotion?

 

Deanna: "Will, there should be a button marked "power' in the upper left corner of the ..."

Riker: "Yes I know, stop push me."

Worf: "Are we having female problems Commander?"

 

PICARD: Now she calls ME imzadi. Don't fuck with me Will.



WESLEY (Holding the pad): Hey Data, I figured out how to hack into your motor control system! I'll show you how to dance!



GEORDI: So then Miles twitched and told me, I control the transporters, I can do this to anyone I want.
PICARD: I think it's time we transferred the chief to a more interesting assignment for his own mental health.



RIKER: Chief, beam us down to the planet where they just vaporized three defenseless people unarmed. I think we can safely assume this time they're only interested in peace.



PICARD: A promotion? Your job is so easy a teenager could do it.
WORF: Want to bet?
PICARD: I'll prove it to you.