I was born Feb. 16, 2335 in the African Confederation on Earth. I suppose I had a typical childhood, the same as any other child in the African Confederation, doing African Confederation things. My life was pretty uneventful, except that I was either born or became blind at some point. That wasn't so much fun. Luckily, some friendly historical break dancing recreation enthusiasts suggested that their sunglasses might cure my condition. Before you could shout "FRESH," I could see perfectly (except when it was plot-convenient...I mean if my life had been scripted).
I attended Starfleet Academy from 2353-2357, when I graduated. I did some other bullshit in Starfleet, you know, gatting evil aliens, understanding good aliens, transporting places, beaming up people, bitching about the reactor core--the normal stuff. Then I was assigned to the Enterprise under Jean-Luc-Picard.
Life on the Enterprise is ok. We get to blast a lot of aliens, transport a lot of places, beam up shit, fuck around with the reactor, fly shuttles, yell at people on the giant view screen, all the things that people do when they are in space. And I don't want for female companionship as long as I have the holodeck, if you know what I mean. But I am getting tired of finding peaceful, closure-filled solutions to other people's problems. Less talking, more phasing--know what I'm saying? I mean I'm stuck on this damn tug with a friggin' yellow robot who wants to be human! Who the hell designs these things?! Wouldn't it be more practical to make him into a badass killing machine or stiff-moving brass colored translator (you know, to handle protocol), or something? Nope; we've been stuck with this gay-assed positronic philosopher who wastes everyone's time by asking why all the time. We've got Klingons, Borg, Romulans, Yeti, and all kinds of other aliens (all strangely human-looking-and-speaking-and-feeling) trying to screw us over, and the geniuses give us the equilivelent of a five-year-old child ("Why, Daddy? Why Daddy?") to throw at them! I've got a better idea; give the android to the enemy and let him fuck them up with his shenanigans; then give us a superweapon of mass destruction to blow all their philosophical asses to hell!! And why the hell can’t they design a goddamn reactor that doesn’t go straight to hell the minute the enemy sneezes on us? We’ve got an android that has enough processing power to want to be human, but our reactor may as well be made of porcelain. Every stinking time somebody shoots at us, the heap starts spewing steam and throwing people’s asses (well at least the people I haven’t addressed by name or been in the same frame—if my life were somehow filmed—with that day) all over hell, flying around like confetti. Then I have to fix the damn thing, like the little Dutch boy, and always just before hull integrity is breached. Can’t we get a backup system, maybe some batteries, hook a steam engine or bicycle to it or build the thing stronger? I’ve got a robot who wants to cry but can’t, a badge that lets me talk to exactly the person I want to talk to (without me even telling it who), phasers that magically know how to stun ten billion different forms of life (without killing them), a friggin’ psychic on board, flashlights that cure grave injuries by being held in proximity to the problem area, but we can’t keep the blessed lights on in the middle of a firefight!! And another thing: if we can cure my blindness, why the hell can’t we grow Picard some damn hair?!! If I can see, he should be able to grow an Afro one hundred times the size of anything the 20th century ever dreamed of!!! What the hell!!!
But I digress.
Anyway, I'm satisfied with my life, but I think I'm just about ready to move on. I've been studying ancient Earth history, and I think I'd like try my hand at show business. Since temporal warps seem to be really easy to find, I think I'd like to go back to the 20th century and try it out. First, I think I'll try television, maybe a miniseries, maybe children’s...I'll figure it out when I get there. Next, I want to give something back to those nice break dancing recreation enthusiasts who fixed my sight. Maybe I'll get around to the 1980's and "bust a few moves." Then I think I'll try the music industry. I've read about something called "American Idol." It seems tragic that such a seemingly innocuous form of entertainment could have led to such a catastrophic global nuclear holocaust, but if people of that era had read Nostradamus more closely, they would have realized that Paula Abdul was indeed the Anti-Christ. It's all so obvious now. So sad. Or maybe I'll join a band in East Lansing, playing guitar....
