From the Starfleet Rule Book
by Cybermum
When on a Star Ship in outer space
And your libido starts to race
When you've had an encounter of the Alien sort
Of the feminine gender in another space-port.
When your hormones start to jump and rush
And your skin begins to feel flush
When your stomach rolls and feels chaotic
And you're acting just a touch neurotic
When you can't recall the Prime Directive
And reading up is ineffective
When your gut is tied up all in knots:
You've got a bad case of 'the hots'.
Our orders in this case are clear
If you value your Starfleet career.
You must inform your ship's First Mate
Of your wish to copulate.
He in turn will notify
The Doctor who will then apply
A battery of standard tests
(Included in his manifest).
Which when complete will help determine
That there are no spatial vermin
Lurking just beneath the tip
Of your Alien lover's lip.
The Medic has his obligation
To act befitting to his station
He must inform your Captain of
Your request to fall in love.
Your Captain, pending current mood
(Is she a liberal or a prude?)
Should then insist upon conduction
Of lectures on alien reproduction.
Your sweetheart also must checked
For anything that might infect
Your shipmates or her world below
And make your skin begin to glow.
Now when this work is all complete
And forms filled out in triplicate,
You've had approval, which we doubt
That's what these rules are all about.
The object of your heart's desire
The one who's set your loins afire
Should by now have disappeared
That's how these rules were engineered.
We would suggest you look elsewhere
To conduct a sexual affair.
In fact we'd even understand
If you did take yourself in hand.
