Captain’s log, sup-… sup-… -lemental. OK, had a drink or two with Scotty and Bones while we watched the returns. Played a drinking game: every time you saw Wolf “359” Blitzer get excited about a result with fewer than 1% of the votes counted, you took a shot. We were hammered before the polls closed on Altair VI.
My gut told me it was going to be a huge sweep for Jonathan Archer Jr. (and forget that third party guy – it’ll be a cold day in hell before an Efrosian becomes president!) But in waltzes Spock with his, his, all his charts and graphs saying “Logic dictates a decisive defeat for Archer” and we just laughed.
So now it’s six hours later and my gut’s telling me something different, mainly that the Denebian burrito I had was a bad idea, and Scotty and Bones and I just lost three standard months’ salary in the election pool. And Spock’s just insufferable about it, saying he’d be happy to walk me through the algorithm in a simplified way that humans can understand.
But what he doesn’t (burp) – ‘scuse me – what he doesn’t get is that my gut was right. If it wasn’t for that ion storm that hit sector V-5, which totally killed Archer’s momentum, it’d be Spock pawning his communicator to Harry Mudd, and me booking two weeks in a beachside cabana on Risa. Also, Andorians and Vulcans reeeeaallly love to vote against the human, y’ever notice that?
‘kay. Little tired now. Jus’ gonna lie down for a…