The French, English and Speedo's "
By: Pierre D'Aubigne, Flight Control Officer, [PC]

Stardate: 58208.03 1721

Pierre luxuriated in the warmth generated by the fake sun of the holodeck. He had been here for at least an hour and planned to stay here for another three, provided of course he was left alone. He looked across the beach to where young bouncy woman played in the ocean, splashing each other and generally giving Pierre an eyeful.

But Pierre thought he was a gentleman, well, so he thought. All he can think of was, "Oui oui mademoiselle, merci merci." He was almost certain he said it aloud. In fact he got up and decided he would ~degrade~ himself by chatting up a beautiful holograms.

He got up and made sure that his shorts presented the beautiful girls with an appropriate introduction to who Pierre thinks he is. He began to strut a bit, almost a bit too boastfully and exaggeratedly, but that generally was because his speedo was too tight. He remembered finding it as a boy in New Delhi. He actually negotiated with the Indian tradesman to the point that the Indian dealer threatened to rip him off next time. Pierre would have nothing of it. A 300% mark up was atrocious. But then, his brother made plenty of jokes at the sudden use and perfection of the English cuss words.

He carried on his strut. "Enchante mademoiselle." He said with a bow and a wave of his hand followed by a sound effect that resembled something remarkably similar to ripping. The girls burst out in ecstatic laughter. And not even in a ladylike manner! They fell to the ground in a heap of laughter.

"Computer, freeze programme." The images came to a still and all became silent. Pierre turned and walked back to where he was sunbathing. "Tell me computer, where are these girls supposed to come from, France or England?"

"Cannot compute question."

"Typical." He said to himself. "You are the worst type of English scum there is computer."

"I am not English. I’m a Federation Standard Computer system designed to maintain this holodeck and surrounding facilities."

Pierre never got the chance to reply as the doors swished open and the captain of his current posting stepped in. He looked around as Pierre immediately stood to attention. He felt the towel drop casually around his ankles. ~Please don’t walk around~' He prayed silently in earnest.

The captain stepped in, and much to Pierre’s relief didn’t go on a walkabout, taking in the sites of Pierre's now skinny white arse. The captain spoke in a chipped English accent. "Interesting." He nodded toward his Flight Control Officer’s speedo. "You do not see that very often, do you?"

~You betcha cap.~ "Aye capt'n, picked it up in New Delhi when I was still but a boy."

Captain merely nodded and took a step toward his left. All Pierre could hear himself say was; ~NOOOOO!!!!!!~ But the Captain looked out over the frozen computer generated ocean. Pierre almost saw him lost in another world. "You have a new posting. You are to report to Qul Tuq in a couple of and take over flight control of the USS Zion."

"Pardon." He said using the French. "This is a bit sudden."

"Yes I know. But in the meantime, I will let you get dressed and we shall discuss this further later." He said rather sheepishly.

~Did he see it? Well did he?~ Was the first thought to Pierre's mind. He felt the rush of heat to his cheek.

The captain merely nodded and left.

Pierre immediately scrambled and grabbed his towel. ~Well, did he or did he not? Damned English, always so secretive, always so damned English!~ Pierre mulled it over. He liked the captain, but the only disadvantage was, he was English. He was a damned Englishman. The scourge of the human race. He had a question come to mind that he had asked himself countless times.

"Tell me computer, what was God thinking when He created the English race?"

"Sorry, cannot compute."

Pierre merely nodded. "Sometimes I think God didn't either."