By Cosmo Garvin

Borg Kitty is malfunctioning. Once a normal, happy cat, she was caught and assimilated by the aggressive race of cyborgs that combs space enslaving other species in the psychic prison of the Borg’s group mind. The miniature black battle gear looks quite smart on her, but assimilation has not been kind to Borg Kitty’s tiny feline brain.

Whenever Borg Kitty moves, her head-mounted laser causes a red dot to skitter across the ground in front of her. Borg Kitty sees the dot and then flips out and tries to pounce on it, but the dot moves away while she is in motion. Borg Kitty is going into full meltdown mode, her head swooping around in violent circles.

Sentient observers, seeing Borg Kitty’s spooky dance, are filled with conflicting emotions. Captain Kirk walks up and laughs at Borg Kitty, as he slugs from his beer. He has what appears to be a blond rabbit’s pelt, nearly the same color as his Federation shirt, spirit-gummed to his otherwise bald head. He takes a second look at Borg Kitty and has a change of heart. “Oh no!” he moans, stumbling away.

Off Kirk goes, greeting friends and admirers, shaking hands with the men and kissing the women. “Thanks for coming. I’m so glad you’re here.” Then, he’s kissing the men. “I love you, man.” It will be hours before Kirk takes the stage, and he’s already pretty buzzed. “Whenever I put on the Federation uniform, I feel drunk ... with power!” he says.

This, the crowd in the parking lot knows, is promising.

Marooned in this hot, humid, backwater town on an insignificant planet, the Klingon Capt. pInluH approaches the cluster of puny humans who are taking in the action. The captain is nearly 7 feet tall, his left arm is amputated at the elbow--lost in what must have been one glorious battle--and his gut hangs pendulously over his belt. He’s an aging warrior, but he’s bad news to be sure. He swaggers up to the earthlings, humans and some Vulcans, steadily swigging from cans of Old Milwaukee.

pInluH queries, “Are you ready to rock?”

rest here;
http://www.newsreview.com/issues/Sacto/2003-08-21/cover.asp

czech out those pics, would ya?