[ WP ] These are the adventures of a starship where every crew member embodies the worst stereotypes of their home country .

Captain Ron Donaldson sat in deep contemplation in his cushy captain's chair. 
 
 In his right hand he held a scotch on the rocks, keeping it stable on his protruding gut. Receding blonde-turning-grey hair sat atop a forehead beaded with sweat. The rugged features of a farmboy made good were twisted in a thought provoked grimace. 
 
 He half-acknowledged a report about something completely worthless from his science officer and second in command, Commander Kolichyen. Something about space dust being denser in this quadrant. 
 
 `` Thank you, Commander. Helm, increase sensor range to 40 kilometers. Ahead, full impulse.'' 
 
 `` Aye, sir,'' responded Ensign Hernandez. 
 
 Fucker, thought Captain Donaldson. I bet I caught you in a nap. 
 
 He took a swig of the scotch, knowing full well it was against Space Fleet policy to drink on the bridge. Fuck them, he thought. They're not out here in the ass end of space surrounded by Russians, Mexicans, and the Yellow Peril. 
 
 As if reading his mind, Tactical officer Yeung spoke up. 
 
 `` Captain-uh Donardson-uh. We have many communication coming from sectoh foe-foe-sevoon, in the Rigeerion consterration.'' 
 
 Goddam chinks. Still ca n't speeky Engrish even in the twenty-fourth century. Fine. 
 
 `` Thank you Mister Yeung. Put it onscreen please.'' 
 
 Mr Yeung nodded emphatically in a half bow that disgusted his commanding officer. While entertaining thoughts of watching Mister Yeung commit ritual suicide before blowing his carcass out an airlock, the Captain turned his attention to the main viewer. 
 
 An elderly black man appeared, sweating and obviously under duress. Sparks flew all around his viewer and the consoles behind him. In the distance, explosions could be made out. The muffled thump thump of what sounded like disrupters. 
 
 `` This is Captain Donaldson of the USS Conquistador. How can we assist? ``, besides replicating you some chicken and watermelon, he thought to himself in repulsion. 
 
 `` Muthufucka, y'all needa git yo star hoppin cracka asses out heeyah, some space aliens is invadin' n shit!'' 
 
 `` What is your location, sir?'' The good Captain asked. 
 
 `` You retahded nigga? I'm in yo viewscreen, y'all cai n't see me?'' 
 
 `` No, I mean what station are you currently at? What is your status?'' 
 
 `` NIGGA I JUST TODE YOU WE GETTIN SHOT AT BY SOME ALIENS!'' 
 
 Captain Donaldson put his head in the hand not holding the only beverage in the known universe that gave him peace. 
 
 `` Tactical, can you give me a reading on where this message is coming from?'' 
 
 `` Yes, Keptin. It originates from star station zeedo four siven, Sair. Eet iss r'doughly en hour out, Sair.'' 
 
 `` Sir, who is firing on you? And for what reason?'' 
 
 The main view almost cracked apart by the black mans head movement. Captain Donaldson was reminded of a great Snowy Owl, only blacker and less well spoken. 
 
 `` I TODE YOU AIDEY, NOW GIT CHO STOOPIT WHITE ASSES OVAH HEAH! ITS SOME ALIENS AN SHIT!'' 
 
 The Captain leaned back and sighed. 
 
 `` Set a course, Helm. Shields up, ready weapons.''
