PhantasmsBy Nic Corelli
Posted at December 25, 2004 - 7:29 PM GMT
See Also: 'Phantasms' Episode Guide
Data: Excuse me, no repairs were authorized on this deck.
Construction Workers: Damn the bleeping Starfleet regulations. Did you know that in the Maquis, if something's broken, they just fix it?
Data: But this is working fine, and you're breaking it.
Construction Workers: You also look like something that's working fine and would be incredibly fun to break!
Data: Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch!
Picard: Unbelievable. The Admirals have failed to invite me to their banquet yet again! I'm starting to suspect they find me boring.
Riker: Perish the thought, Captain!
Picard: Well, I'm going. They must hear my fascinating theories on the Egyptian-Hittite battle of 1294 BC.
Riker: Here we go again... It was a draw, get over it!
La Forge: So Data, what's in those dreams of yours? Lions, tigers, bears, Gollum?
Data: Actually, there were some construction workers.
La Forge: So you're dreaming about construction workers, eh? Interesting!
Data: Why so, Geordi?
La Forge: Well it was about time for this show to get a gay character. I just never expected it would be you.
Picard: Are we ready to activate the new warp core?
La Forge: (over the comm) Almost. You just have to choose between the Coaxial Warp Drive mode, the Quantum Slipstream mode and the Hindenburg mode.
Picard: You pick one. I don't care, as long as it works.
Worf: A modified warp core on a Starfleet ship that works? Hah! And targs fly!
Troi: Data, why are you staring at Spot like a maniac?
Data: I'm jealous because he sleeps so peacefully. If I freak him out, perhaps he'll have nightmares too.
Troi: Okay, listen. I've been meaning to ask you this for days... do androids dream of electric sheep?
Data: Well I'm glad you asked, because....
Alarm Clock: BEEP!
Data: Sorry. I'm past my bedtime.
Troi: Wait! Tell me! I NEED TO KNOW!
Data: Hmm, what an interesting dream. Lt. Worf is eating a comm badge cake.
Worf: Grrr. They were out of comm badge pie.
Data: Oh my Lord! Is that Troi served on the table and frosted?
Worf: It was bound to happen. She had eaten so many chocolate cakes in her life that she now turned into one.
Dr. Freud: It's all your mother's fault.
Data: But wait, I haven't even told you....
Dr. Freud: Mother.
Data: But I don't have a mother.
Dr. Freud: MOTHER!
Data: I see you're tremendously useful, just like any other Counsellor.
Picard: Well, Admiral Nakamura, you have run out of your excuses. I am coming.
Nakamura: Oh Captain, you could always email us your insights into the Egyptian-Hittite battle. Or drop the subject entirely! It was a draw!
Picard: It was not! The Egyptians won! Ramses II says so!
Nakamura: And why should Ramses II be trusted?
Picard: Because he wasn`t influenced by Romulan astronauts, like those deceptive and double-crossing Hittites!
La Forge: (over the comm) Okay, let's try out the new warp core again.
Riker: Everyone say Edsel!
Warp core: Pbbbt.
Riker: Neat. It has a Dreadnought mode!
Data: Hey Geordi! What is that strange mouth on your neck?
La Forge: A mouth on my neck? You're getting weird, Data.
Data: It's been a really weird day. There is something strange happening on the Enterprise!
La Forge: Oh my. As opposed to the other 364 days of the year when something strange also happens on the Enterprise? How shocking!
Troi: Lalala... I've got faith, of the heeeart... Hey Data, why are you stalking me? With that big knife?
Data: Time to find out if you're really a chocolate-based lifeform posing as a humanoid. STAB!
Data: And so I was dreaming that Dr. Crusher was sucking something on a straw from Commander Riker's head. I can't imagine what, but still....
Picard: Okay, enough. Anyone here have a solution to Mr. Data's problem? Doctor?
Crusher: Sure I do, Jean Luc. And it's great. It's called -- A STRAIGHTJACKET!
Riker: She's no help at all.
La Forge: Like son, like mother.
Data: Thanks for taking care of Spot, Worf. Remember, you must bathe him, kiss him and read Jane Austen to him.
Worf: All that might turn him into a girl!
Data: Never mind. I'll just be sitting here in a good mood and singing cheerfully!
Data: Yesterday... All my troubles seemed so far away....
Crusher: Well, astonishingly enough, nothing is wrong with Data. Something, though, is wrong with the Universe.
Riker: Horrible! Interphasic parasites, on our bodies!
Picard: I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one.
Picard: We'll link your mind to the Holodeck now, Data. Don't worry, Holodecks are perfectly safe.
La Forge: Then we'll be able to stroll around your darkest, scariest nightmares!
Data: If you encounter a warp core breach and start believing you're impervious to antimatter explosions -- I'm still dreaming.
Picard: Sweet nightmares, Mr. Data!
Data: How thoughtful of you, sir.
Picard: Do you perhaps want a little bedtime story? A Stephen King novel? Anne Rice?
Dr. Freud: Guten Tag! Willkommen in Data's Kopf!
Construction workers: SHOOT! BANG!
La Forge: Oh my God! The construction workers killed the doctor!
Picard: This must be Data's repressed resentment of his father for telling him "Stop thinking about construction workers and find yourself a nice doctor!"
Data: A problem, sir. We've been doing so much to make this episode all cool and weird and... weird, so now it's no longer possible to resolve it nicely.
Picard: Oh well. All good things must come to an endgame. Mr. La Forge?
La Forge: I'll get some technobabble from the fridge.
Troi: Hello Data! Even though you`ve brutally stabbed me, I still like you, and I have a nice gift for you. A delicious chocolate cake!
Data: I am grateful, Counsellor, and you know I would be very happy to taste chocolate once, but I am an android -- I cannot eat.
Troi: Aw! Who knew? In that case, you`re free to watch... as I eat this huge, exquisite, scrumptuous cake... with thirty different layers of chocolate... right here, in front of you... Yum... Yum... YUM....
(Troi eats the cake at Very, Very Slow Speed)
Nic Corelli is one of the contributors of Five-Minute Voyager, where sci-fi episodes are reduced to "fivers" of one-twelfth their original length.