At the same time, about 1000 light-years away...

"What a gay statue," said Kirk, looking at the statue. It was on a pedestal behind a metal mesh screen in Spock's quarters. He didn't like it. It looked like a weird looking demon with armor on. "That sword is a totally obvious phallic symbol."

Bored, he moved on. Spock's quarters were kind of dull. There weren't any interesting Playboy calendars or funny comic books like in his cabin. Just stupid boring antique Vulcan relics. Anyone who collected antiques was obviously gay. He felt a shiver of anxiety, hoping gayness wasn't contagious.

"Hey, where's the lily-watering station?" he wondered, looking around. There were no doors and the only furniture was standard Starfleet issue. "Where does he go when he has to go wee in the night? What does he do when he drinks too much and has to throw up til the wee hours of the morning?"

Kirk often had to go wee late at night because he had an enlarged prostate. Kirk didn't mind, because prostates had something to do with his nether regions and anything that involved enlarging and nether regions was fine by him. McCoy told him he was going to end up in diapers someday if he didn't take his medicine but Kirk didn't believe him. McCoy wanted to shrink his prostate because he was just jealous and because Kirk once slept with his wife. He wondered if she had noticed his enlarged prostate. He also wasn't worried because he loved his prostate just the way it was, like he loved all parts of himself. Kirk ambled over the bed in search of Spock's diary. It reminded him of his own, except that Kirk's sheets were twisted into a filthy nest because he often ate barbecued ribs in bed.

"There's only one pillow on this bed..." he realized aloud, shocked. "That must be really uncomfortable when there's more than three women in there." Kirk stuck his foot under the bed and tried to tip it over.

"Whoa! And this bed is actually bolted to the floor, just like it says it has to be in regulations! How does he hide under there when the husbands of the married women he seduces burst in to give him a roughing up?" He bent down and measured it with his hands. "Hmm. Then again, he's pretty skinny. He could probably fit under there."

Kirk had just begun to go through Spock's underwear drawer when his communicator beeped, signaling he was wanted on the bridge. He hastily shoved his science officer's clothing back and hurried to the bridge. He would be back, and he would find that journal.

AT THE SAME TIME, JUST A FEW BLOCKS AWAY...

Two metal-heads sat on the steps in front of Classic Pizza III. They considered themselves quite the badasses, even though they were only fourteen years old. One of them had a gross-looking scattering of hair on his upper lip that was sticky with grape soda. The other had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks and was picking at crusted Alfredo sauce that was decorating the hem of his "Offspring of Bordom" shirt that he had bought at Hot Topic.

"You know, I don't smoke or do drugs not because I'm a chicken-shit faggot but because I am concerned about the health risks." said the slightly-mustachioed one. The crusty one nodded his greasy locks sympathetically.

"I understand your feelings but remain unmoved in my opinion of you being a chicken-shit faggot."

"I heard smoking weed makes your wang shrink."

"Really?" the other metalhead asked anxiously. "Shit!"

"Oh, no, I mean real weed. Not weeds from the lawn."

"Oh. Good. Because my wang is really big and I wouldn't want it to be...uh...un-really big."

Mustachio didn't answer. He was staring at an alien that was pedaling awkwardly around in circles in front of the high school.