Captain's log, stardate 41235.25.
Well here we are. On a mission of exploration and blah blah blah fuckity blah..... *sigh* I know you are not going to listen to these log entries Starfleet. So it doesn't really matter if I record a Captain's log at all, does it? Well I really don't care if you Starfleet bastards listen or not. I am going to keep doing it because that is what a fucking Starfleet Captain is supposed to do! I don't care if we are the exiled rejects of Starfleet, THIS IS MY SHIP AND MY CREW AND WE ARE GOING TO DO WHAT WE WERE ORDERED TO DO GODDAMMIT!! . . . . . . . . . . . . And those orders are to patrol the most sterile and tame sectors of explored Federation space. We are just supposed to take laps around our territory until 7 years pass or we are destroyed. I know you Starfleet bastards hope for the latter.
Well let's get down to brass tacks shall we? The last week has been just fucking horrible. We are not five minutes out of Spacedock for the second goddamn time and I already have 4 members of my crew in the brig. Their faces were a bloody fucking mess. I had to tell Lieutenant Gonzales that he cannot beat the shit out of and arrest his crewmates for "looking at him funny". My Chief of Security is the biggest security risk on this whole goddamn ship.
Fishk just loves being on the bridge, she just fucking loves it! She is always sitting around yakking her stupid brains out with anyone who makes eye contact. It's not just that she is an incredibly annoying, fully nude Ferengi , it's that she has an odor. It's not a gag inducing stench. . . . it's kind of like . . . going into someone's house who used to own several ferrets. She is the ship's counselor, but if you go to see her, she does all of the talking. You'd think with those huge fucking ears that she would be a better listener.
The only member of this crew that seems to be able to do it's job correctly is that huge amorphous blob of goo that fills engineering. It's an oozing monster that stinks of sulfur but the ship's engines are running as if they are brand new. I don't really talk to it, it doesn't talk at all. It looks to be a good relationship.
Besides Lil' Shithead, the Gorn crewmen are working out surprisingly well. All of the storage and shuttle bays are clean and perfectly organized. The Gorn themselves are extremely clean, quiet and polite for fucking monster lizard men. I still hate Lil' Shithead though. That midget Gorn prick is testing every inch of my nerve. One day Lil Shithead might be careless.. . . and an airlock might just. . . . Open.
But this takes the cake. So there was more than one reason you assigned Lt. Ruvack to this ship wasn't there? It's not just that he is an insufferable, pompous, racist, Vulcan prick, is it? So it turns out that Ruvack's perfect Vulcan blood is not so pure. It turns out that his grandmother was human. HA HA How about that! Normally that would be hilarious but it seems that a bit of that human DNA has affected Ruvanck's breeding cycle. It seems he goes through Pon Farr as often as a human woman menstruates. Isn't that fucking great? Of course he is a proud Vulcan and it is inappropriate to talk about it. So, little did we expect a naked Vulcan with a raging hard-on to burst onto the bridge. Vulcan's are four fucking times stronger than humans! Did you know that!? Of course you did. Have you ever been dry-humped into submission by a horned-out Vulcan? Commander Scrotch was. Ruvack just pinned him down and went to town. Have you ever seen a Vulcan's penis? It looks like a dolphin's dick. It's all thick at the base and extremely thin at the top and it flexes constantly. Fucking disgusting.
Ruvack would lash out at anyone who tried to assist and stunning him would just piss him off. Ruvack is the fucking Doctor so it took us twenty minutes just to find the right hypospray that would knock his ass out. Poor Scrotch took it for the full twenty minutes. I've let him have a few days off and we replicated a new uniform for him. We chose to incinerate his old uniform. Unlike a normal Vulcan, Ruvack's Pon Farr is not deadly if he does not mate and it only lasts four days. But it happens every goddamn month. So from now on, once a month, Ruvack gets locked in his quarters. He's like a Werewolf with a huge, slimy dolphin boner.
I understand we have been ordered to spend the next several days scanning a previously explored Class 2 Nebula on the outskirts of Federation space. Of course, you guys know that the matter within a Class 2 Nebula is disruptive to the sensor arrays of Federation starships, right? What's Sisyphean task would you like us to perform next? Make first contact with an asteroid? Start a Klingon beauty school? Create Tribble birth control?
Captain Touglas Franklin signing off.