Captain’s Log, Stardate, oh, wait. That’s pajama boy stuff.
I was sitting at the bar in Quark’s Place when in walked Scotty, fresh off a transport from Earth, and dressed to the hilt in full Highland regalia.
“Ah, Kahuna. I’ve been looking for ye,” said the Scottish engineer.
“What for?” I asked, then finished my pint of Guinness and knocked back the shot of Tribble Sweat.
“I jest got in from Earth and I need a few of those new Wave Maker 2012 Palinizers I’ve been a hearing about.”
“I think I can spare you a few. How was the trip?”
“Oh, the trip was fine, but the security to get through to the boarding area, now that’s another story,” he said, giving me a long, hard look.
“Buy you a drink?” I asked.
“I thought ye’d never ask. Quark! How about some of that 21 year-old Laphroaig? Two glasses, if’n ye will!”
I watched as Quark came over with the desired bottle and a pair of whisky glasses. Quark set the glasses down, poured the amber liquid into the glasses, corked the bottle, then turned to put it back on the shelf.
“Now Quark, if’n ya do not mind, leave the bottle,” Scotty told him. He took a good swig of his Scotch, grinned wolfishly, and then began his tale. “I was all set to pass through the TSA security checkpoint when I was informed of a new set of procedures. They wanted me to go through their new Pipe and Drums measuring device,” he said.
Quark, hanging around, decided to pour himself a glass, and asked quizzically, “Pipe and Drum Measuring device?”
“Aye, lad. You know, the X-Pose Yer Bobby 1701.”
Again, a puzzled look from Quark.
“It’s the new body scanner they use to view your body,” I said.
“Oh, the strip-tease scanners,” Quark said.
“Aye, lad. That’s the machine. Anyway, there I was, in my finest kilt, and they wanted me to go through that confounded machine. So I respectfully declined. I dinna want some Ensign Expendable peeking at my bagpipes. For all I know, he might get a wee bit jealous of me! So, this fine young redheaded yeoman, I di’na’ catch her name, said that she would have to give me an enhanced pat-down in order to board my ship. ‘Pat-down,’ I says. She assured me that it would be okay, no big deal, and that all of the opt-outs had to go through it. It would only take a minute, she said. With that she began a very thorough pat-down of me, starting at me ankles, and working her way up. then she did the unimaginable, and kept patting me up the leg right under me kilt, until she reached my Pipe and Drums. Low and behold she gasped and said, ‘It’s true! There’s nothing worn under the kilt!’ Too which I responded, ‘of course, love, it’s all in perfect working order.’ At
that, she took a blue ribbon from her hair, reached back under me kilt, and deftly tied the ribbon in a bow around me manhood. She finished her pat-down, then told me I was free to go on my journey. As I walked off, I could na’ help but sayin’, ‘Well, lad, it looks like ye took first prize.'” Scotty then finished is first Scotch, uncorked the bottle, filled his glass again, then recorked the bottle. “But here’s what’s really disconcerting,” he continued, reached behind his back, whipped out a compact Type 1 phaser, and laid it on the bar. “The took me nail clippers and somehow they missed this. I forgot that I was carrying it at the time, but ye would have thought that they would have said something about a fully charged diplomacy device and let me keep the nail clippers.”
Kahuna out.
