Petrified Peeps

Chekov gaped in horror when he saw the dessert cart.

“It’s a Midwestern tradition,” Kirk explained. “Back in Iowa, they’ll put anything in lime jello, from pineapple chunks to succotash.”

The ensign ventured another look at the ghastly sight. With their tiny sugary beaks twisted as if in a final agonized scream, several half-melted Peeps lay entombed in their gelatinous final resting place. Like a Pompeii in miniature, Chekov thought, overtaken by a deluge of lime green lava.

“Marshmallows and jello go quite well together.”

“But, sir — for Klingon diplomats?”

Kirk grinned. “They’ll think it’s a dish fit for warriors.”