Uncle Drago's agony column

[Drago]

Dear Uncle Drago,
I am a deeply spiritual person. Spiritual is not the precise word, but I cannot think of a better one. I meditate to empty my mind. I try to erase feelings of egotism and trivial distractions. I want to feel an empathy with all humankind, with all living beings, great and small, on earth and throughout the universe. I want to grasp the stars, to fold the vast voids of spacetime in my mind. In short I want to become one with the universe, to reach a state of Nirvana, as the eastern ascetics imperfectly put it. I think a good first step to becoming one with the universe would be to become one with Lily James, but she keeps returning my letters, and now I have had another warning from her solicitors. Do you have any tips?

Dear Weirdo,

It would seem Kevin Spacey is also deeply spiritual, and woukd like his spirit to enter you.

Or, if you prefer, you could enter the dragon, but don't let her hear you calling her that.

Sadly you have no hope with Lily. She told me so over breakfast.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Dear Uncle Drago,
Usually my job as navigator on a starship is fairly easy. Just plot a course that avoids smashing into those very bright things called stars. Just keep a few parsecs away from them to be on the safe side. But about a week ago I plotted a course that took us within the event horizon of a black hole. You can't see them. Alright I should have checked the space warping more carefully, but it's such a PITA. Well, needless to say, the First Officer found a way of using the gravitational field to sling us out and on our way, but not before we had gone back in time to allow the Captain to bump off an aspiring genocidal demagogue. When we arrived at the planet Gallerea we found a thriving culture of three billion souls, not the nuclear desert we had expected. I thought all's well that ends well. The Captain and the First Officer have more feathers in their caps. Maybe they will overlook my slip up. But no, the weapons officer mentioned something in old Pointy Ears' earshot, so now I am facing court martial. Do you know any good lawyers? I think I might argue that as I plotted a course in an alternative timeline I am not guilty in this one.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Now I am in trouble for calling him Pointy Ears. Apparently it's racist. He's a Vulcan. He doesn't feel emotions. He doesn't get upset about these things. But other people are offended on his behalf. If you have any ideas I'm listening. I have a very bad feeling about this court martial.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Result - the racism charge has been dropped. Apparently it was made by that blonde nurse who's got the hots for Pointy Ears. The one in the blue mini-dress and the nice legs (well, they've all got nice legs so that does not help much). Apparently Pointy Ears told her that if she ever wanted to find out what a blond human-vulcan quadroon looked like she should drop the allegations. That was rather white of him. Maybe this court martial won't be so bad.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Oh no, I think Pointy Ears is selling secrets to the Romulans. He wants me to take a shuttle down to the planet and leave a case under a rock. Can't use the transporters conveniently because of electro-static interference - whatever. He says if I do then the court martial might go easier. If not then there will be plenty more vacancies in the security department after six months in the brig.

 

[Drago]

Dear Uncle Drago,
Usually my job as navigator on a starship is fairly easy. Just plot a course that avoids smashing into those very bright things called stars. Just keep a few parsecs away from them to be on the safe side. But about a week ago I plotted a course that took us within the event horizon of a black hole. You can't see them. Alright I should have checked the space warping more carefully, but it's such a PITA. Well, needless to say, the First Officer found a way of using the gravitational field to sling us out and on our way, but not before we had gone back in time to allow the Captain to bump off an aspiring genocidal demagogue. When we arrived at the planet Gallerea we found a thriving culture of three billion souls, not the nuclear desert we had expected. I thought all's well that ends well. The Captain and the First Officer have more feathers in their caps. Maybe they will overlook my slip up. But no, the weapons officer mentioned something in old Pointy Ears' earshot, so now I am facing court martial. Do you know any good lawyers? I think I might argue that as I plotted a course in an alternative timeline I am not guilty in this one.

Dear Noonien Singh Khan,

It's fair to say that, despite your superior intellect, you are in the sheet. Captain Kirk won't stop even to shag a sexy blue alien until he's killed you.

Now I am in trouble for calling him Pointy Ears. Apparently it's racist. He's a Vulcan. He doesn't feel emotions. He doesn't get upset about these things. But other people are offended on his behalf. If you have any ideas I'm listening. I have a very bad feeling about this court martial.

Probably best to try and take over the ship.

Result - the racism charge has been dropped. Apparently it was made by that blonde nurse who's got the hots for Pointy Ears. The one in the blue mini-dress and the nice legs (well, they've all got nice legs so that does not help much). Apparently Pointy Ears told her that if she ever wanted to find out what a blond human-vulcan quadroon looked like she should drop the allegations. That was rather white of him. Maybe this court martial won't be so bad.

Excellent news, particularly as I hear your transfer to the security department has been confirmed. Your career as a security officer will doubtless be a very long and safe one.

Oh no, I think Pointy Ears is selling secrets to the Romulans. He wants me to take a shuttle down to the planet and leave a case under a rock. Can't use the transporters conveniently because of electro-static interference - whatever. He says if I do then the court martial might go easier. If not then there will be plenty more vacancies in the security department after six months in the brig.

Just play along and shoot him in the back the first chance you get.

 

[tyred]

Dear Drago,

I've lost my sheep and don't know where to find them.

I keep having dreams that I hear them bleating but it was a joke.

Where can I find my my sheep?

Yours faithfully,
Miss B. Peep

 

[Drago]

Dear Drago,

I've lost my sheep and don't know where to find them.

I keep having dreams that I hear them bleating but it was a joke.

Where can I find my my sheep?

Yours faithfully,
Miss B. Peep

Dear Brian,

I suspect your sheep have made their way to the local kebab shop.

The good news is you can buy them back with a serving of chips for only £5.99.

 

[Toshiba Boy]

Dear Aunty Dragophone

I never realised me aurora borealis was coloured all green and purple. It was amazing, I spent several hours looking at it the other night, and took some photos, would you like me to send you some?

What colour was yours?

Toshy Greenbum.

 

[Drago]

Dear Aunty Dragophone

I never realised me aurora borealis was coloured all green and purple. It was amazing, I spent several hours looking at it the other night, and took some photos, would you like me to send you some?

What colour was yours?

Toshy Greenbum.

Dear Blackballs,

It inded is a truly magnificent sight.

My anus borehole arsis is brown.

Kind regards,

Drago.

PS, if anyone finds my missing reading glasses please let me know.

 

[Yellow Fang]

Dear Uncle Drago,
I have admitted it to myself. I have a receding hairline. Comb-overs look ridiculous. I cannot find a toupee that looks right. I don't want to cut it short. That's what everyone else does. Therefore, I thought I'd get a Rooney aka hair transplant. The thing is they cost £30,000 and my little boy needs a life-saving operation. There is only a 1% chance that the operation would be successful, which is why the NHS refuses to fund it. That means there is a 99% chance I'd be wasting my money. My wife says she cannot believe she married such a self-centred monster. That's easy for her to say. She's not the one going bald.

 

[Ian H]

 

[Yellow Fang]

Dear Uncle Drago,
I am in the doghouse again. The captain, first officer and medical officer were making another first contact and I was on the bridge, being in control, like. Suddenly a Romulan starship appeared out of nowhere and started launching photon torpedoes. Our shields held up without too much difficulty. We were down to about 30% and suffered fifteen casualties in accounts and logistics. However, while we were under attack we were all thrown one way and then the other and then back the other way. While we were being thrown about I stuck my hand out to stop myself falling and felt something soft. Well, then the Romulan starship disappeared and we beamed up the boys, who looked a bit annoyed at missing out the fun. Then the communications officer complained to the captain that I had 'copped a feel'. Well, I explained to the captain what had happened, but he did not seem to believe it had been a simple accident. He told me that in future the only nipples I should worry about were the oil nipples on the ship's engines. He seems to regard me as some grease monkey. The engines don't need oiling. This is no ankle bone connected to the leg bone, connected to a big propellor to screw us through space arrangement. There are no moving parts. The engines work on pure energy. Well, I suppose I was a bit angrier than I should have been, and he told me that in future he might leave the navigation or weapons officer in charge when the senior officers are on planet fall making first contact. Then the communications officer piped up that she should be in charge as she had held her commission longer. What, leave a woman in charge! Particularly with her background. What if a crisis blows up? Even the captain went quiet after that.

 

[Drago]

Dear Uncle Drago,
I have admitted it to myself. I have a receding hairline. Comb-overs look ridiculous. I cannot find a toupee that looks right. I don't want to cut it short. That's what everyone else does. Therefore, I thought I'd get a Rooney aka hair transplant. The thing is they cost £30,000 and my little boy needs a life-saving operation. There is only a 1% chance that the operation would be successful, which is why the NHS refuses to fund it. That means there is a 99% chance I'd be wasting my money. My wife says she cannot believe she married such a self-centred monster. That's easy for her to say. She's not the one going bald.

Dear Chrome Dome,

As a fellow streamliner I feel your pain.

I would suggest paying for the life saving op. It's a small chance I know, but were he to survive you could harvest his scalp for your own hair transplant needs.

Dear Uncle Drago,
I am in the doghouse again. The captain, first officer and medical officer were making another first contact and I was on the bridge, being in control, like. Suddenly a Romulan starship appeared out of nowhere and started launching photon torpedoes. Our shields held up without too much difficulty. We were down to about 30% and suffered fifteen casualties in accounts and logistics. However, while we were under attack we were all thrown one way and then the other and then back the other way. While we were being thrown about I stuck my hand out to stop myself falling and felt something soft. Well, then the Romulan starship disappeared and we beamed up the boys, who looked a bit annoyed at missing out the fun. Then the communications officer complained to the captain that I had 'copped a feel'. Well, I explained to the captain what had happened, but he did not seem to believe it had been a simple accident. He told me that in future the only nipples I should worry about were the oil nipples on the ship's engines. He seems to regard me as some grease monkey. The engines don't need oiling. This is no ankle bone connected to the leg bone, connected to a big propellor to screw us through space arrangement. There are no moving parts. The engines work on pure energy. Well, I suppose I was a bit angrier than I should have been, and he told me that in future he might leave the navigation or weapons officer in charge when the senior officers are on planet fall making first contact. Then the communications officer piped up that she should be in charge as she had held her commission longer. What, leave a woman in charge! Particularly with her background. What if a crisis blows up? Even the captain went quiet after that.

Dear Phaser Fodder,

I am given to understand that Ensign Chekov was communications officer that day. I told Starfleet Command that giving Kevin Spacey a job and sending him off in a ship full of men in tight fitting 60s Sci fi uniforms was going to end badly but no, Admiral Schofield woukd have none of it.

 

[tyred]

Dear Drago,

I had a bit of an accident recently and I am wondering if I should look for some compensation.

You see, I sat on a wall, and I had great fall and broke a few things. There was no warning signs telling me it was dangerous to sit on the wall. Surely, that is a bit negligent?

Furthermore, when I went to get medical treatment for my injuries, I found myself being treated by all the King's horses and all the King's men and they couldn't put me together again.

Surely that is medical incompetence and why are there no doctors and nurses in the hospital? Why am I being treated by horses in the first place? Surely I have a case against the hospital for such negligence as employing horses rather than trained medical staff. Although, I must admit the horses seem more intelligent than the King's men, but their bedside manner is a little unpredictable.

Do you think I would have a good case? Can you recommend a suitable solicitor?

Yours faithfully,
Mr. H. Dumpty