From the Further Adventures of Captain William 'Kiss My Ass' Riker: Ten Forward
It must be said the difficulties of hosting a party are universally underrated. Finding the perfect caterer. Inviting the right mix of guests. Gracefully moving back and forth between the islands of people, insuring that noone feels neglected while keeping the conversation light and free of religion, politics, and sex. Not an easy job, but noone made it look as effortless as Calvin Hutchinson. His little get-togethers were so popular that many captains would use any excuse in the book to bring their ships to the Remmler Array ahead of schedule. All for the chance to indulge in conversations about Arkaria's wildlife and those delicious cucumber sandwiches.
Naturally, there was one captain immune to old Hutch's charms that would be Riker's former superior Jean-Luc Picard. The last time the Enterprise was in dry dock at the Remmler Array Picard skipped the party for a bout of horseback riding, one of Picard's euphemisms for snorting cocaine in the ready room and then ranting for hours on end about who in star fleet was possessed by a super intelligent space trilobite. God how Riker missed Picard! His dedication to duty and his paranoia were infectious. So much so that having a good time at the Remmler Array was unthinkable. Members of Picard's crew competed with each other to see who could throw the biggest eye roll Hutchinson's way.
So great was Picard's dedication, he practically lived in his ready room, just a few feet from the bridge he camped out his desk with a candy jar full of methamphetamine at his left elbow, bottles of Xanax and marijuana treats at his right (in case he needed to take the edge off), and a phaser in his lap. The ready room was not Riker's style. The bridge was not really his style either. "Worf is perfectly capable of blowing up anything that needs to be blown up." he would often say while ignoring a red alert. No Riker was more of a ten forward captain. "Ten Forward is the main artery of any ship." And by "main artery" Riker meant a place to get hammered and leer at the female members of this crew.
"Ale," said Riker.
"Vulcan Ale, sir?" asked the bartender.
"Vulcan? What? God no, just fucking ale ale!" sputtered Riker."My God, Vulcan tea, Vulcan ale. Tell me what is Vulcan for Vulcan brandy?"
"Vulcan Brandy?"
"Yeah.
"Vulcan Brandy."
"No damnit. What do they call it in their own language?"
"Vulcan Brandy. By an astonishing coincidence, the words sound exactly the same."
"Next you're going to tell me they have Vulcan pickles."
"Now that you mention it, I have a holographic space commercial right here."
The bartender activated a tiny holographic figure of an elderly Vulcan.
You've dined on pickles. But have you feasted on a Vulcan pickle?
Longer.
Firmer.
Mmmm so salty, and just a bit sour.
I know what you want to do.
You want to put it in your mouth.
Go ahead.
Enjoy a pickle.
Enjoy a Vulcan pickle.
"Only a Vulcan could be that fucking clueless." Said Riker and sipped his ale. "And how the hell did they get Ambassador Spock?"
"Times are tough."