Picard, unshaven, pot-bellied, stained trousers,

Picard, unshaven, pot-bellied, stained trousers, lounged on the sofa. He watched another episode of the Shield. He'd put Data in charge of everything and took a "break."

From the sound of the ruckus outside of his "Ready Room", it sounded as if Worf had finally had enough of Wesley's sniveling and was using Counselor Troy as a makeshift

glowered at the Captain. "Why am I even in charge of weapons? I'm a Klingon, of course I want to kill them all! None this namby-pamby 'Let's talk about this.'" Worf stormed out.

"Number One, thanks for taking care of this." Picard sipped his damn tea with his damnable level gaze. Damn his eyes! I took a stand. "Sir. If you are asking me to set Worf on fire

then I have to ask for preemptive sick leave. The Lt. won't like being set on fire. Klingons have a thing about that." Picard stared me down, by damn. "Number One, I want you to

Get me the newspaper now!"

"Sorry Old Dude, but my break just started, Josiah at the counter will take care of you", said the cashier pointing to Josiah, who was restocking cheese, and then ducked around the

corner and began frantically huffing glue from a paper bag. Josiah put down a wheel of cheese and sighed heavily. The old man put his items on the counter and Josiah totaled them.

But the glue was getting to him and he added the tax incorrectly. That'll be $1999.00. The fumes had filled the room so the old man paid. But then the IRS came and took the money.