"Hey, Bones."
"..."
"Boooooones..."
"..."
"Bones! Snap out of it, man! That's an order!"
"Huh? Oh shit. Sorry, Jim, is all these damn go-go dancer boots and mini-skirt outfits Starfleet Command keeps issuing all the super hot chicks we got on board, its hard to concentrate with the limited supply of blood going to my brain."
"Yah, I wish they'd issue them some puffy-looking snowsuits or something, the crews' reaction times are down across the board."
"Even Spock is messed up. Check 'im, out, he's playing that Vulcan Guitar of his again, wtf."
"I dunno what we're supposed to do with this shit, even that bald alien chick with the pointy ears and the gross little spikes coming out of her forehead is starting to look pretty goddam hot to me."
"Yah, what the hell happened to all the ugly smart chicks? They were WAY easier to work with."
"I dunno man, its like some kind Trapped In An Elevator Syndrome or something."
"Yah, space induced beer goggles mebbe."
"Well, whatever, gimme another shot of that Antiviagra stuff, I'm startin' to see stars and shit."
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