If Shakespeare Wrote Star Trek

Enter Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Uhura.

KIRK

Odd’s blood! ‘Twas villainy most treacherous

That seized our hapless ship in its cruel grasp,

Transporting us to this forsaken spot

Where now our evil captors will appear.

SPOCK

From yonder valley comes the savage cry

Of wild beasts in search of tasty prey;

‘Tis logical that we shall all be eaten.

UHURA

A fate most fell! O Captain, I am vex’d!

Enter a Buxom Harlot.

HARLOT

Know this, strangers, that you have been here brought

To be devoured as a sacrifice

Required by the god whom all must serve.

KIRK

Indeed, and if thou art th’ devouring beast,

No man could count himself more fortunate.

I shall bravely essay to tame thee, wench!

SPOCK

A most unwise attempt, I must protest.

HARLOT

Behold! This is the heav’nly lord and king

To whom we owe our lives and loyalty.

Bow down before the fearsome pow’r so great!

KIRK

Madam, ’tis nothing but a vegetable!

HARLOT

Let not such vile blasphemy be heard;

This holy vine doth bear a fruit so pure

That any man who eats of it is healed

Of all his ailments and shall never die.

What better subject for our worshipping?

Yet if it be not fed with blood and bones

From strangers such as you, the vine will die.

McCOY

Indeed, the vine appears to suffer from

A lack of fertilizer in the soil.

Its leaves are turning brown, and no fruit grows.

SPOCK (to Kirk)

O, slay the foul wench, I do beseech.

She is a strumpet whose affections hold

Deception and a cruel, gory death.

KIRK (kissing Harlot)

What man would show such lack of chivalry?

All we must do is feed the vine, forsooth.

Any organic matter will suffice.

McCOY

This perilous adventure hath loos’ned my bowels;

I shall provide the needed excrement.

(McCoy drops his pants and squats over the holy vine)

UHURA

How now? What stench from yonder garden drifts?

My delicate lungs cannot bear th’ affront!

O, I die!

(Uhura swoons)

SPOCK

Doctor, I knew thou wert full of manure,

But this exceeds the bounds of all logic.

McCOY

What sayest thou? Dost thine own shit not stink?

Be off, thou villainous pointy-eared knave!

KIRK

Perhaps a farmer is thy proper calling?

McCOY

Nay, Jim, I am a doctor in all sooth,

And call me not a farmer, I implore.

KIRK (kissing Harlot again)

Do look, Madam, the vine hath now recover’d.

No sacrifice or tending doth it need,

And you may tend to me, my dear, instead.

Exit Kirk and Harlot.

SPOCK

Doctor, one favor must I ask of you;

When you go where no man has gone before,

I pray you, give me time to get upwind.

Exeunt.