Contest: ENTER TNG Caption This! #503: Cosplaying, Dear Data

Data: Geordi, we must not give up our search. Spot has gone missing, and we must find...

Geordi: Probably in the building just behind us, the one marked "MEWS".

Data: That is an attempt at a humorous caption. It is not funny, but I get it.

 

Data: "I always doodle at senior staff meetings, sir. It helps me process."

 

Holmes: Don't tell me - there's been a murder!
LeStrade: -
Holmes: No wait! A conspiracy!
LeStrade: -
Holmes: A murder!
LeStrade: -
Holmes: A double murder!
LeStrade: -
Holmes: A conspiracy for double- murder!
LeStrade: - Uh oh!
Watson: Explosive Diarrhea.

 

Rule #1 of avoiding awkward conversations: don't make eye contact.

 

Geordi: Data... Would you get rid of that? I'm pretty sure you & I are the last 2 people in the entire Federation who'd need a damn magnifying glass



Picard: So? What's the big deal?

Geordi: He's holding Dr. Pulaski captive

Picard: Well, beam her out, & shut down power to the entire deck, for god sake. Do have to think of everything?



Moriarty: I think therefore I am,

Pulaski: Yeah... that & a replicator will buy you a cup of tea



Picard: This funny hat club better not be a waste of my time, ensign.

Data: I'm not an ensig... oh

 

Tramp: What the mystery bags is that arfarfan'arf loonie lookin' at with that glass?!
Watson: Hey! At least I got him out of the bathroom with it!

 

DATA: Computer Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker Street.
COMPUTER: Rathbone, Brett, Downey, Cumberbatch, Miller....
PICARD: You might want to be more specific.

 

Geordi: As you can see, he drew a picture of her wearing the Heart of the Ocean.

Picard: *mutters* I shouldn't have approved Beverly's transfer...

 

Data: - therefore I can deduce from this evidence that the pepetrator was a man or woman, possibly now wearing a single shoe!
Geordi: Computer, make a challenge capable of defeating Data.
SIGN: MEWS >> MEW'S

 

INSPECTOR: Unfortunately we may never find the real Fake Mustache Killer.
DATA: I may have a new lead!



DATA: Yep. I definitely stepped in dog poop!



PICARD: Trouble is if we say Moriarty isn't sentient we also have to say Data isn't sentient, and then I'll look like a real jackass.



MORIARTY: Do not worry good lady, if I must kill you, I promise I will do it in a delightfully Steampunk way.



PICARD: You should try the 21st Century BBC version.

 

(Because someone has to)
LaForge: No s#!t, Sherlock.

 

Moriarty: "You'll like this tea. I always put a little bit of myself into everything I prepare."
Pulaski: ...
Moriarty: "Don't you get it? That's a photonic joke? Photons - making up my substance and that of the tea? Ah?"
Pulaski: "Sorry, didn't land. You do realize this is replicated tea prepared for the users of the holodeck? Whereas, if it was for you, it would be photonic. So..."
Moriarty: "Blast! I knew I should have spent more time perusing the operating manual!"

 

Picard: This Moriarty knows that he is the product of the imagination of Sir Arthur Canon Doyle?
Data: He says that we are the product of the imagination of Benny Russell.
Riker: Who?
Data: A mid-twentieth century hack science fiction writer who penned a series of stories about an African-American commander of a space station.
Laforge: Well that can't be us. Most of you are pasty white.
Data: It's not clear that we are part of the story, only that we appear to share the same universe. There is one exception: Benny Russel wrote a character named Worf, a baseball playing Klingon.
Worf: Death to the opposition!
Data: There's more. It appears that we are the inspiration for many of the late stories of Mark Twain.
Troi: Twain was early twentieth century.
Riker: A paradox! We exist because of a writer in our past, but are presence had an effect on a writer earlier than him.
Picard: How can any of this help us out?
Data: I recommend that we can use this primitive Earth technology, paper, to write a dense symbolist tome to trap Moriarty.
Picard: Give him the Moby Dick treatment.
Laforge: Isn't that from Futurama?

 

DATA: It appears someone changed the lock.
PICARD: That's what happens when you don't pay the Holo bill.

 

Holmes: Inspector LeStrade, LeVar LaForge. LeVar LaForge, Inspector LeStrade. LeHow may I help you today?
LeStrade: Thank the Almighty you're available today, Holmes, I'm in a deuce of a dilemma.
Watson: "Deuuuce".
Holmes: Then may I say your intrepid English Moustache becomes you, Inspector Lestrade, whilst simultaneously affording me yet again the opportunity to serve Queen and country - though regrettably sans barbu upon my own mien, if you will.
LeStrade: If I will what?
Holmes: I only meant n'être pas un barbu, meself.
Emissary: I beg your pardon, sir, I don't speak French.
Holmes: I endure bereft of any bristle upon my own comportment, sir.
Emissary: Why is he talking like that
Holmes: I'm without a hint or trace of beard, sir.
Watson: Data, did you just say "I'm"?
Holmes: I assure you I did not, dear Watson, as I am incapable of employing any phonological or morphological function word contractions whatsoever.
LeStrade: You used French contractions, I 'eard you!
Holmes: I most certainly did not, Inspector.
LeStrade: "N'être pas un barbu!" You bloody did! Didn't he, Emissary!
Emissary: I'm sorry, I did mention that I don't speak French.
LaForge: Data, Holmes really had no facial hair? No fine, full, dignified beard?
Data: Absolutely not a "Strand", if I may.
LeStrade: If 'e may what?
Laforge: I don't get it.
Data: The Strand - where Conan Doyle pub - never mind. You were saying, Inspector?
LeStrade: We need your help, Holmes. This gentleman here, an Emissary of a Foreign Government, and as you can see, sporting a fine Handlebarred Balbo on his prow, has been the victim of a most accidentally wicked -
Watson: I beg your pardon, sir - a "Balbo"? Are you quite sure that isn't a "Handlebar avec Goatee" Inspector?
Emissary: I don't speak Norwegian either.
Watson: Nobody asked you, Ducktail.
Holmes: A common misconception, Watson. But if you'll note the subtle peaks along the crest of the upper edge you will no doubt recognize that this Balbo, is in fact - a Hollywoodian! A-ha!
LeStrade: Astounding, Mister Holmes! A Hollywoodian? On an Emissary of a Foreign Government?? I'd sooner believe it was a Klingon with a little set of Sparrow Wings!
Watson: A KLINGON?? And just how would you know that, sir??
LeStrade: I know a great many things, Doctor Watson - or should I say, Doctor Ghetto Booty Brush!
Watson: HEY! IT WAS COLLEGE!
Holmes: Gentlemen! We have only to inquire the Emissary of a Foreign Government here, pray, what style of manly face fungus appeared on your last l'addition du coiffeur, s'il vous plaît?
Emissary: I told you I don't speak French, you Baldfaced Chin Mullet.
Holmes: Doorknocker!
Emissary: Alabama Mudflap!
Holmes: Bow Wow Mutton Chops!
Emissary: The Freestyle Moustache-Less!
Holmes: Hungarian Walrus!
Watson: Half Beard!
Emissary: Chin Stripe!
LeStrade: Nut Smudge!
Holmes: Kisser Fuzz!
Emissary: "The Fop"!
Watson: Porn Stash!
Holmes: Tache Taster!
Watson: Tasha's Brazilian!
Holmes: How did you - Five O'Clock Next Tuesday Shadow!
Watson: Social Media Coordinator!
...
Watson: I'm sorry, I took it too far, Holmes.
Holmes: I may be an android, but that one stung, Watson.

 

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