From the Further Adventures of Captain William 'Kiss My Ass' Riker: Riker and the Terrible Ennui
Riker had definitely come down from the initial excitement over the J'naii assignment. To Riker the problem was clear - Starfleet was being run by a bunch of squares, and the squares had given their most exciting Captain a jag-off assignment. To make everything worse, Riker was almost certain that he had slept with one or more of the J'naii during his last assignment there. This, in Riker's experience, could lead to awkwardness, and awkwardness could lead to a general all around bring-down. God how he hated bring-downs! Riker finished his doobie and chugged a luke warm can of Bud Light. He finally had the Captain's chair and was it worth it? It seemed like he spent most of the U.S.S. Nancy Pelosi's time shuttling diplomats to and fro. Goddamnit! the Nancy Pelosi was fully decked out and ready for war!
Riker stumbled out of his ready room and almost directly into Worf.
"Captain, Ensign Jordan has detected a temporal anomaly off the starboard bow."
Riker patted Worf on the shoulder.
"Fine, fine, I know you can handle it."
"But sir..." Worf sputtered.
"I know, son, but the Captain's gotta get his drink on." said Riker as he headed to the turbo lift. "Ten Forward if you need me and when in doubt...be aggressive. But you knew that right? You're Klingon and all."
"Ten Forward!" barked Riker to the turbolift and rested his forehead on the wall of the lift. He just needed to clear his head with some Ten Forward air and a good martini.
"What the fuck are you doing?" cried Riker.
"Replicating a martini." said the Benzite barkeep.
Clearly Riker had failed. He had failed to stock Ten Forward with competent bartenders. How was the USS Nancy Pelosi supposed to complete her missions with a band of cocktail replicating idiots on board?
"There is a vat of Gordon's in the corner. Use that." said Riker. He kept the Plymouth in his ready room. Of course.
"Goddamit Motherfucker!" Riker cried as the barkeep began to shake the cocktail. "You're bruising it! Throw that bullshit out and this time stir it! And put some vermouth it in this time!"
The Benzite barkeep dutifully followed Riker's instructions and this time Riker tossed back the fresh martini with aplomb.
"Perfect. Three more of these, and be ready to stroke the ol' Bone."
By Bone, Riker meant his trombone, an instrument that he pulled out at the slightest provocation. He insisted on calling in his "Bone" because he thought that women found it funny when in reality most of them just found it weird and awkward. Riker was a competent trombonist, but his performances in Ten Forward tended to devolve into spittle drenched shrieks after too many cocktails.
"So what's your handle?" asked Riker, gesturing towards the barkeep with his glassware.
"I'm sorry sir, but the human tongue cannot form the sounds which make up my native name."
"I'm game. Lay it on me."
"Wendor."
Riker nodded, pondered the Benzite barkeep's name carefully, and then said, "Wendor?"
"Exactly. The 'wuh' sound in particular is what is so difficult for your species."
"What are you talking about? My first name starts with a 'wuh'."
"And so, Captain Riker, that's why no one uses your first name!"
Riker held up his empty glass. "Just give me another."
Three more martinis later and Riker was slumped over the bar, his chin hovering just a few inches above the bartop.
"I had it hard for that girl. You know? I was ready to give up blow for that woman. She was brunette, she had smokey eyes, she told me all about Nicorette, she loved jazz, man, do you know how many people love jazz? Here in the future?
"Not many. Mosty pseudo-intellectuals and hipsters." said Wendor the Benzite.
Precisely. Precisely! Nobody! Oh man, I'll never find another woman like that." he moaned.
"What happened?"
Riker sat up straight and belched.
"Min? Oh yeah, turned out she was hologram."
"Hate it when that happens."
"Yep, a computer generated fantasy that some seriously funky-looking androgynous midgets cooked up for me."
"So your greatest love was a hologram. Let me guess, your second greatest love was a blow-up sex doll."
"You know what? I am feeling right!" said Riker. "I think it's time to whip out the Bone!"
As Riker made his through bridge, he paused before his ready room door.
"Worf, where is Ensign Jordan?"
"The temporal anamoly that we detected earlier? It turned out to be a Douwd, a god-like being with unfathomable powers."
"Uh huh."
"Well, yes, it turned Ensign Jordan into a toddler and then disappeared. Ensign Jordan is in the nursery now."
Riker firmly grasped Worf's shoulder. "Don't sweat it. Ensign Jordan's in a better place now, playing with his alphabet blocks and drooling on his bibi or whatever you call it. GLBs happen."
At this, having dispensed his hard won bit of wisdom, Riker steadied himself on the door frame and then marched into his ready room in search of his Bone.