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Title: Star Trek Meets Monty Python
Rating: C for crazy and talk of Kirk's cock.
Warnings: My own insanity.
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't mine. I don't own Star Trek, nor am I a member of Monty Python.
Notes: Blatent ripoff of the Spanish Inquisition sketch written for this prompt at the kink meme. Written in aproximately fifteen minutes - adjust expectations accordingly.
“Sorry I’m late. We’re still having trouble settling all the Vulcan refugees.”
“What kind of trouble,” his wife asks.
“Well, there have been some problems finding them a planet.”
“Why? There’s plenty of them around.”
“Well, we can’t just give them any old planet, can we?”
“Why not?”
“Well, there’s factors to take into account. Factors, issues, delicate negotiations, climate research, swallow migrations to calculate,” the diplomat huffs.
“What does that even mean,” his wife says, blinking at him in confusion.
The diplomat frowns at this line of questioning. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Kirk bursts into the room with Spock and Bones following closely behind him. The alien band on the stage stops abruptly, before playing a quick dramatic theme.
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Kirk yells, kicking the hem of his crimson robe behind him. The guests at the diplomatic event are stunned speechless, which is convenient. Kirk wants everyone to be able to hear him
“Our chief weapon is surprise, surprise and luck, luck and surprise. Our two weapons are surprise and luck…and a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan.” Kirk frowns. “Our three weapons are surprise, luck and a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan…and an almost fanatical devotion to Starfleet. Our four. Wait, no. Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as surprise, luck.” He trails off. “Damnit, I’ll come in again.”
He, Spock and Bones go back out, and wait for the diplomat to say his line. The diplomat is not being very cooperative, so after a moment Bones ducks his head in.
“Say your line damnit. We don’t have all day.”
The diplomat exchanges a confused look with his wife. “I didn’t expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Kirk, Spock and Bones leap back into the room. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquistion,” Kirk cries. “Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as surprise, luck, a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan, an almost fanatical devotion to Starfleet, and dozens of nice Red Shirts whose deaths we don’t care about. Damn!”
Kirk leans over to Spock. “I can’t say it. You’ll have to do it.”
Spock blinks at Kirk impassively. “That would be illogical.”
“No, I can’t say it, so you’ll have to say the bit about ‘Our chief weapons are…’”
Spock looks vaguely constipated before nodding slightly in agreement. He leads the way back out of the hall, and the diplomat doesn’t even hesitate this time.
“I didn’t expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Spock, Kirk and Bones enter again. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Spock says in monotone.
Kirk elbows him in the stomach, and Spock sighs before continuing.
“Amongst our diverse weaponry are surprise, luck, a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan, a fanatical devotion to Starfleet, and dozens of Red Shirts whose deaths we don’t care about.” He turns to Bones. “Please read the charges.”
Bones rolls his eyes. “You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy by making claims that Captain Kirk was incompetent and also bad in bed.”
Kirk nods. “Yeah, you tell ‘em Bones.”
“Jim, this is ridiculous,” Bones grumbles. Kirk just kicks him in the shin and points at the bewildered diplomat.
“Fine. How do you plead?”
The diplomat blinks. “Innocent,” he says.
Kirk laughs maniacally. “We’ll soon change your mind about that! Spock, put him in…” Kirk pauses for dramatic effect. “The comfy chair!”
A murmur goes through the crowd. “No, not the comfy chair.”
“Yes,” Kirk says, cackling with glee. “The comfy chair!”
Spock just hustles the diplomat into a comfortable looking armchair.
“Captain, I do not believe this will be an effective torture device. Also, torture is forbidden under Starfleet regulation 876b subsection 12a.”
“This is stupid,” Bones says, wandering over to a table to steal someone’s drink.
“Shut up, Bones,” Kirk yells, before moving towards the diplomat menacingly. “Now, old woman…”
The diplomat interrupts. “I’m not an old woman. I’m a man.”
“Whatever. Old woman, you are accused of heresy on three counts, heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed and heresy by actions. Four, four counts. How do you plead!”
“I don’t understand what I’m accused of,” the diplomat whines.
Kirk leaps at him, wielding a soft cushion. “You said my dick was tiny and that I was bad in bed! You told people on four planets! I can’t get laid because of you.” Kirk pokes the diplomat with the cushion in impotent fury. “Confess! Confess! And tell people that there is nothing wrong with my dick! Confess!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the diplomat say, settling further into the comfy chair.
Spock taps the Captain on the shoulder. “You are aware, Captain that the diplomat who has spread these rumors isn’t at this party.”
Kirk blinks and looks around. “Really? I thought for sure he’d be here. He’s usually around whenever there’s negotiations and huge tracts of lands involved.”
Spock shakes his head. Kirk frowns, and goes to grab Bones from the bar. He pulls the protesting doctor away, mumbling about how they’d find him, and when they do, he’s going to regret it. Next time, they’d bring the rack!
Spock just shuts the door behind them as they leave, muttering about illogical humans.
Then a Knight rides by and cuts off the writer's head.
*
end
Rating: C for crazy and talk of Kirk's cock.
Warnings: My own insanity.
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't mine. I don't own Star Trek, nor am I a member of Monty Python.
Notes: Blatent ripoff of the Spanish Inquisition sketch written for this prompt at the kink meme. Written in aproximately fifteen minutes - adjust expectations accordingly.
“Sorry I’m late. We’re still having trouble settling all the Vulcan refugees.”
“What kind of trouble,” his wife asks.
“Well, there have been some problems finding them a planet.”
“Why? There’s plenty of them around.”
“Well, we can’t just give them any old planet, can we?”
“Why not?”
“Well, there’s factors to take into account. Factors, issues, delicate negotiations, climate research, swallow migrations to calculate,” the diplomat huffs.
“What does that even mean,” his wife says, blinking at him in confusion.
The diplomat frowns at this line of questioning. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Kirk bursts into the room with Spock and Bones following closely behind him. The alien band on the stage stops abruptly, before playing a quick dramatic theme.
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Kirk yells, kicking the hem of his crimson robe behind him. The guests at the diplomatic event are stunned speechless, which is convenient. Kirk wants everyone to be able to hear him
“Our chief weapon is surprise, surprise and luck, luck and surprise. Our two weapons are surprise and luck…and a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan.” Kirk frowns. “Our three weapons are surprise, luck and a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan…and an almost fanatical devotion to Starfleet. Our four. Wait, no. Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as surprise, luck.” He trails off. “Damnit, I’ll come in again.”
He, Spock and Bones go back out, and wait for the diplomat to say his line. The diplomat is not being very cooperative, so after a moment Bones ducks his head in.
“Say your line damnit. We don’t have all day.”
The diplomat exchanges a confused look with his wife. “I didn’t expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Kirk, Spock and Bones leap back into the room. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquistion,” Kirk cries. “Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as surprise, luck, a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan, an almost fanatical devotion to Starfleet, and dozens of nice Red Shirts whose deaths we don’t care about. Damn!”
Kirk leans over to Spock. “I can’t say it. You’ll have to do it.”
Spock blinks at Kirk impassively. “That would be illogical.”
“No, I can’t say it, so you’ll have to say the bit about ‘Our chief weapons are…’”
Spock looks vaguely constipated before nodding slightly in agreement. He leads the way back out of the hall, and the diplomat doesn’t even hesitate this time.
“I didn’t expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.”
Spock, Kirk and Bones enter again. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Spock says in monotone.
Kirk elbows him in the stomach, and Spock sighs before continuing.
“Amongst our diverse weaponry are surprise, luck, a ruthlessly efficient Vulcan, a fanatical devotion to Starfleet, and dozens of Red Shirts whose deaths we don’t care about.” He turns to Bones. “Please read the charges.”
Bones rolls his eyes. “You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy by making claims that Captain Kirk was incompetent and also bad in bed.”
Kirk nods. “Yeah, you tell ‘em Bones.”
“Jim, this is ridiculous,” Bones grumbles. Kirk just kicks him in the shin and points at the bewildered diplomat.
“Fine. How do you plead?”
The diplomat blinks. “Innocent,” he says.
Kirk laughs maniacally. “We’ll soon change your mind about that! Spock, put him in…” Kirk pauses for dramatic effect. “The comfy chair!”
A murmur goes through the crowd. “No, not the comfy chair.”
“Yes,” Kirk says, cackling with glee. “The comfy chair!”
Spock just hustles the diplomat into a comfortable looking armchair.
“Captain, I do not believe this will be an effective torture device. Also, torture is forbidden under Starfleet regulation 876b subsection 12a.”
“This is stupid,” Bones says, wandering over to a table to steal someone’s drink.
“Shut up, Bones,” Kirk yells, before moving towards the diplomat menacingly. “Now, old woman…”
The diplomat interrupts. “I’m not an old woman. I’m a man.”
“Whatever. Old woman, you are accused of heresy on three counts, heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed and heresy by actions. Four, four counts. How do you plead!”
“I don’t understand what I’m accused of,” the diplomat whines.
Kirk leaps at him, wielding a soft cushion. “You said my dick was tiny and that I was bad in bed! You told people on four planets! I can’t get laid because of you.” Kirk pokes the diplomat with the cushion in impotent fury. “Confess! Confess! And tell people that there is nothing wrong with my dick! Confess!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the diplomat say, settling further into the comfy chair.
Spock taps the Captain on the shoulder. “You are aware, Captain that the diplomat who has spread these rumors isn’t at this party.”
Kirk blinks and looks around. “Really? I thought for sure he’d be here. He’s usually around whenever there’s negotiations and huge tracts of lands involved.”
Spock shakes his head. Kirk frowns, and goes to grab Bones from the bar. He pulls the protesting doctor away, mumbling about how they’d find him, and when they do, he’s going to regret it. Next time, they’d bring the rack!
Spock just shuts the door behind them as they leave, muttering about illogical humans.
Then a Knight rides by and cuts off the writer's head.
*
end