Title: The Trouble With Quimmies

Authors: T'Guess and Saavant

Contact: kmkcanada @ yahoo . com (or) saavaant @ yahoo . com

Series: TOS

Rating: [Explicit]

Codes: K, S, U, C, Sc, other crew members, and some little furry aliens.

Part: 1/1

Summary: Parody of "The Trouble With Tribbles"

Archive: If T'Guess ok's it, it's fine with me

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom own all things Trek. No infringement intended, no money being made.


With little else to do, Spock had joined the captain in the briefing room, in a game of taunting Mr. Chekov's inability to speak comprehensible standard English. They did this on occassion when they got bored with playing chess.

"It's a widdle joke," Chekov pleaded, giving a weak smile, sweat beading on his forehead.

"A very widdle joke, Ensign," Spock arched an eyebrow. "Now, if you please, recite all the v words in the dictionary starting with vagina..."

Suddenly, Kirk received a priority A-1 distress call from the K-Y lube station. An A-1 signal either meant that the station was under attack, or they were out of their favorite steak sauce! Either way, it was a disaster.

The Enterprise immediately changed course, increased speed to Warp 6, expecting to find trouble with the Klingons or group of angry barbecuers. Instead, they discovered that Mr. Neils Bareass, the Federation Undersecretary for Agricultural Affairs, had ordered them to this quadrant.

In Commander Blurry's quarters, Kirk was fuming.

"I wouldn't expect you or Mr. Spock to know about Quadrophina. It is not weed, Captain, it is..."

Spock interjected; "Quadrophina is a high-yield hybrid of marijuana and a narcotic derivative of the opium poppy, commonly referred to as heroin, white death, junk, Aunt Hazel, Big H, Bombino, Brown Sugar, Charlie Horse, and dreck. A hydroponic, also, if I'm not mistaken. The root plant traces its ancestry back to twenty-century England, in particular the personal experiments conducted by Keith Moon and The Who."

"Who?" inquired Kirk.


"Yes what, Spock?"

"Not what--Who."



Kirk looked puzzled. Abbott & Costello briefly crossed his mind.

"And it is the only Earth plant that will grow on Bobby Sherman's planet," Blurry continued. "We have a warehouse of it here on the station. It is very important that the dope reaches the planet safely-- Mr. Bareass thinks that Klingon agents may try to steal it."

"We all know that Klingons are junkies but what do you expect me to do about it? Open a rehab center?"

"The drug must be protected. We have our own pop-heads to think about," Mr. Bareass demanded.

"So you issued a priority one distress call for that! Have you been smoking your own cargo!?"

"Kirk, you are outrageous," bellowed Mr. Bareass. "You have no sense of what is at stake here. With that attitude, you will either end up in a penal colony or contract a detestable disease."

"That, Mr. Bareass," Kirk replied, "will depend on whether I decide to fuck with your mind or your mistress."

Bareass's mouth dropped open, flabbergasted.

"Mr. Bareass is the Official Undersecretary for Agricultural Affairs!" stated his assistant, Mr. Darvin.

"...And that gives him the authority," Spock softly concurred, pulling Jim away. "Sherman's planet is important to the Federation. If we can not develop it, it will join the Klingon Empire."

"I see. You're suggesting diplomacy, Mr. Spock?"

"Diplomacy, as I have learned from my father, is the art of saying "nice doggy" until you can find a big rock."

Kirk grinned then finally agreed to beam down two and only two security guards. Mr. Bareass was not amused.

"Captain, I suggest we return to the ship immediately."

"Why, Spock?"

"If you care to look out the window, you will see that the ship has stopped moving and is dead in space. Most peculiar."

"No more peculiar then McCoy fucking a horta or semi-nude women stealing your brain..."

"You have a point, Jim..."

As they were leaving, the captain pulled Spock aside. "Mr. Spock, does everyone know about Quadrophina but me?"

"Have you not observed that the crew walks around with piss in little cups jammed down their uniforms before mandatory drug testing by Dr. McCoy? Mr. Sulu has been dealing shit on the side for years."

"Good shit?"

"The best," Spock said, raising a slight eyebrow, but the Vulcan didn't elaborate.


As Kirk and Spock left the recreation area of K-Y, just as Uhura and Chekov were going in.

"I see you didn't waste any time getting here," Kirk said, smiling.

"And how often do I get shore leave? I thought I'd come down to the bar and drink a white Russian. I hear they are delicious but I've never had one before..."

"Lieutenant," Mr. Spock corrected, "I believe you mean a black Russian-- a Terran mix of the grain alcohol vodka and the liqueur, Kaula."

"Do I?" Uhura said innocently, then glanced seductively at Chekov.

"Ah," said Chekov, eyeing the vial in Mr. Spock's hand. "Quadrophina! It was inwented in Russia by a widdle old lady who regularly sucked off Lenin..."

"Like who didn't," Uhura grinned.


By the time the communications officer arrived back on the Enterprise, she cuddled a little ball of fur in her hands. "It's called a quimmy," she said. "Isn't it adorable! Syphilis Jones said it was the sweetest creature known to man." The next day in the recreation room aboard the Enterprise, Kirk, McCoy and Spock found Uhura showing off a plethora of tiny quimmies. She held the mother in her lap.

"How long have you had that furry little thing, Lieutenant?" McCoy questioned .

"Since puberty."

"No, Uhura-- the other furry little thing..."

"Oh, only since yesterday. This morning I found out that he, I mean she had had babies." Spock picked up one of the quimmies and began to stroke it absentmindedly.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk asked, "are you running a nursery?"

"I hadn't intended to-- but the quimmy had other ideas."

"They won't bite, will they?" asked a crew member.

"Quimmies have no teeth," Uhura smiled.

"A most curious creature, Captain," Spock said. "Its quivering and purring would seem to have an erotic effect on the male nervous system. It also seems to have a strong attachment to my middle finger."

"I'd say you got a bargain, Uhura," McCoy picked up one and examined it closely. "Hummm..."

Spock continued to try to disengage the quimmy from his digit. He yanked and pulled-- and began look perplexed.

"You got it from the space station?" McCoy asked.

"Syphilis Jones is selling them," she said.

"Most disturbing Captain. It has locked on and will not let go. It seems to be making a most unusual sucking motion..." Spock tried harder to release the creature's grip.

"Lieutenant," McCoy said, "do you mind if I take one of these things down to the lab to find out what makes it tick?"

Spock began furiously shaking his hand, pacing back and forth, little bits of fur flying everywhere.

"It's all right with me but if you're planning to dissect it, I don't want to know about it."

"I won't harm a hair on its head," McCoy said.

Spock was now collapsed on the floor, desperately attempting to pry off the quimmy with his teeth. He poured every ounce of Vulcan strength into it, to no avail. Suddenly, he gasped, and every eye turned at once to the first officer. The quimmy had jumped from his finger to latch onto his dick, which had begun to protrude from his trousers, and it looked like Spock had unexpectedly sprouted a thatch of white pubic hair.

"Captain," Spock grunted. "I believe we may have a dangerous animal on our hands."

"By the looks of it, Mr. Spock, it's not your hands I'd be concerned about..." McCoy observed.

Suddenly Spock's face spasmed and he made low guttural moan. The quimmy on his dick tripled in size.

"What happened?" McCoy stuttered, "It just gained about two pounds!"

"I assume it is withholding evidence, Doctor," was all Spock could reply.

"Say, Lieutenant, if you're giving them away, could I have one too?" asked a crew member. Suddenly, everyone was grabbing a quimmy and running at neck-breaking speeds for their quarters.


Kirk swung into his chair, the Enterprise on yellow alert.

"Mr. Blurry, you have a Klingon warship 100 kilometers off the space station. Those fucking ass-wipes, I can smell the skid marks in their skivvies from here!"

"Er, Captain..." Mr. Blurry began.

"We'll blast those dumb mother-fuckers back to where they came from!"

"That won't be necessary, Captain Kirk."

"Why not?"

The camera viewer screen panned back, revealing two Klingons sitting in Mr. Blurry's office.

"Damn," Kirk muttered at Spock. "When the hell did they get a pan-scan viewer? Hey, wait a minute...That's no Klingon Captain! It's Trelane-- that spoiled brat who called himself the "Squire of Gothos! Is this some kind of sick Klingon joke?"

"Indeed. It looks like, as humans would say, that the stool has certainly collided with the oscillating propeller..."


Scotty , Chekov and Mr. Smith sat at a table in the recreation room on K-Y. They were fully aware that a group of Klingons sat at the next table. Kirk had permitted small groups of Klingons to visit the station, after being confronted in Blurry's office with their request. Kirk didn't like it, but it seemed he had no choice under the current peace agreement. Of course, Mr. Bareass was furious, but Kirk could care less.

Syphilis Jones approached the sullen group. "Friend Klingon, may I offer you a charming little quimmy?"

But the quimmy suddenly hissed and reared up, spitting at the Klingon with a violent shaking.

"I suggest you remove your miserable hide and that horrible parasite!"

"It's only a little..."

"Take it AWAY!"

Then the Klingon eyed the humans. His face looked like a condom full of walnuts. He announced to everyone within ear-shot, "I never liked Earthers. I think the Captain of the Enterprise is a fudge- packing faggot. Kirk's ass is so fat, you could dock a space ship in its shadow. The last time I saw a face like his, it had a hook in its mouth."

Chekov began to push himself away from the table, fury in his eyes. "Cossack cocksucker," Chekov mumbled.

"Take it easy, Lad," Scotty warned.

"But Mr. Scott! They insulted the captain!"

"Don't do it Mister. He's as entertaining as piss on a hot rock," Scott cautioned. "Now, drink your drink."

The Klingon rose. "I wouldn't screw Kirk if he was the last piece of arse in the quadrant. It would be as much fun as pushing a marshmallow into a slot machine. He fucks like he is throwing up-- a heaving mass of quivering jelly. And the Vulcan, Spock, looks like he was weaned on a pickle."

"Can I borrow your face for a few days? My ass is going on holiday," muttered Chekov.

"Nice girly wig!" laughed the Klingon. "You look like a dwarf that's been dipped in a bucket of pubic hair. Did you steal it from Kirk?"

Chekov straightened his hair piece, and tossed down his drink down in one miserable gulp.

"And the Enterprise," the Klingon continued, "oughta have a bumper sticker on it saying "If you don't like my navigating-- relocate to another planet.""

"Mr. Scott!" Chekov pleaded.

"We're big enough to take a few insults," Scott said evenly.

The Klingon took a slip of his drink and spit it out. "And this Terran Lagavulin scotch tastes like a whore's pap-smear..."

Mr. Scott slowly rose to his feet and bashed the Klingon in the face. The bar erupted in a brawl, bodies flying over tables, blood spattering the walls.


Kirk stared hard at his chief engineer.

"You threw the first punch?"

"Aye, Sir."


"Is this off the record, sir?"

"No, it will become part of the blooper reel for the annual Christmas party."

"They called you a fudge-packing faggot whos ass is big enough..."

"Stop tape!" Kirk scowled. "And that's when you hit him..."

"No, Captain. I don't strike a man for telling the truth."

"THEN why did you hit him?"

"He said my favorite Scotch tasted like a whore's pap-smear. It was a matter of pride, Captain. I know for a fact that my great, great grandmother was a pimp, not a whore!"


Kirk found McCoy in sick bay. The one quimmy had turned into a dozen. He had them locked up in a glass container.

"I thought Uhura gave you only one of those things, Bones?"

"She did. The nearest thing I can figure out is that they are all female, and consist of little more than a set of reproductive organs. Alien pussy, Jim. And like beaver all over the galaxy, this is a bona fide man-trap. They're bisexual, but prefer males over females, seeing as we produce more fluids at orgasm. All they need to activate their self-impregnating mechanism is a good meal of cum, from any species."

"Is that possible?"

"You bet. I've been sucked off three times this morning and I haven't even had breakfast yet."

"Three times," Kirk sputtered, then composed himself. "This is almost akin to bestiality, Bones, like fucking a gerbil. It's sickening, repulsive! As Captain, it's my responsibility to insure the safety of this ship. If these things are dangerous, I have to know. Have a box-load sent over to my cabin immediately."

Kirk moved to the com. "Bridge, Mr. Sulu. Kirk here."

"Oh, God! Yes...yes!"

"Mr. Sulu!?"

"Oh baby....you're the best... These things could suck the color out of a marble."

"Damnit," Kirk slammed the com off, then activated it again.

"...my eyes are flame...my heart is flame..."

"Spock, is that you?"

"...Captain," Spock's voice was low and raspy. "My experiment is at the critical stage...this is...a most fascinating creature. I am currently observing three of them...simultaneously..."

"Spock, how could you?!"

"They are...rather tenacious, Jim."

Spock suddenly grunted and moaned; "Th'yla! Parted and never parted...."

Kirk slammed the com off again.

"Bones, meet me on the bridge in an hour. Until then, I'll be in my quarters...."

Bones started thoughtfully at the little balls of fur, equipped only with a toothless, quivering orifice that now held the Enterprise hostage to their sexual demands. The love muffins were mindless fucking and eating machines.

A quimmy didn't need flowers or a romantic dinner and you didn't have to promise that you'd still respect it in the morning. It never had PMS or a head-ache, and it never asked if you thought it was getting fat. Your jaw never got tired from pleasuring it, and there were no complains if you belched and scratched your nuts. You could be as rude, crude, lewd and selfish as you wanted and it would still suck you till the cows came home. It was the answer to every man's fantasies.

McCoy pondered if he could rig up some little black garters and a tiny corset...

McCoy unlocked the box and reclined with a smile. Breakfast could wait...man did not live on bread alone.


Three hours later, Kirk appeared on the bridge. He staggered off the turbo-lift, his legs like gelatin, his eyes a little dazed. Spock sat at his science station and glanced up sheepishly.

Kirk stumbled to his chair and sat down-- on a quimmy.

"Get this fur-ball outta my ass!" Kirk commanded, jamming his hands down his pants.
"Lieutenant, how did all of these quimmies get onto the bridge?"

"Through the ventilator ducts, I expect, Captain. They seem to be all over the ship," Uhura sighed.

"Spock, how many are there on the ship?"

"Assuming one creature has a litter of ten," Spock said, "every twelve hours--the third generation will total one thousand, three hundred and thirty one. The fourth generation will total fourteen thousand, six hundred and forty-one. The fifth generation will..."

"I get the picture, Mr. Spock. I want these quimmies off my ship! Every last one of them," Kirk sputtered.

"A logical decision," Spock said. "Although perhaps I should keep one or two of them for purely scientific purposes..."

"All of them, Sir?" interjected Uhura.

"Yes Lieutenant. All. And that includes you, Mr. Spock. If fact, especially you. And I order you to remove that 40-pound patch of quivering fur you have in your lap."

"Very well, Captain. They consume our food and returning nothing-- but intense, unprecedented, overwhelming sexual gratification. Fortunately, I am not affected."

The quimmy in the first officer's lap burped.

An uproar of giggles from the bridge crew was quickly surpressed.

"Syphilis Jones says that a quimmy is the only love money can buy," Uhura said.

"Lieutenant," Kirk said, "too much of anything--even pussy--is not necessarily a good thing."

Sulu almost fell out of his chair, he was laughing so hard. Chekov furiously gripped the console as he choked on his guffaw.

"Maybe we don't deserve unlimited, incredible sex on demand," Kirk pondered thoughtfully. "Maybe we're meant to flatter and cajole, struggle through first dates, lie about having vasectomies, make stupid promises we have no intention of keeping. Maybe we can't stroll to the music of Sade, we must march to the sound of Bolero..."

Spock was momentarily tempted to cram a quimmy down Kirk's throat, but his Vulcan restraint held.

"I do concur, Sir, that these are very dangerous creatures. Since copulating with them only makes them breed, one need only imagine what would happen to civilization should they go unchecked. All work would stop, marriages would fail, condom sales would plummet, phone calls would go unanswered and no one would rotate their tires. It would be chaos. In primitive societies, sexually exhausted humanoids may never have the opportunity to invent the wheel. And if they ever got into the food storage areas..."

Kirk stared at Spock, thunderstruck! "Storage areas-- the space station!"


"It won't open, Sir," stated the guard.

Kirk moved to the upper hatch, put the magnetic key on the lock, and suddenly the door slid open. Hundreds and hundreds of quimmies fell from the containment chamber, burying Kirk under a mass of wriggling, writhing, sucking pussies.

Kirk moaned uncontrollably--

"Spock, do something!" yelled McCoy.

"What would you suggest, Doctor? Shall I offer him a cigarette when they are through?"

Spock picked up a couple of quimmies. "This one is dead...and this..."

Bones ran his tricoder over the pile of fur. "The Quadrophina has been poisoned."

The Klingon captain, Syphilis Jones, and Mr. Darvin, Mr. Bareass's assistant, appeared. A quimmy in Spock's hand hissed and reared back.

"They don't like Klingons," Syphilis said flatly.

"I hypothesize," Spock interjected, "that being the gentle, helpless creatures they are, and having no natural defense other than their rapid procreation, they are scared of rough sex."

"But they do like Vulcans," said McCoy, observing Spock's quimmy as it began to crawl down the first officer's pants. "Mr. Spock, I didn't know you had it in you."

Spock spasmed and gasped the way he had in the rec room, and the creature in his trousers swelled up suddenly, making him look even more well-endowed than he was. "Indeed, I appear not to," he commented, looking down. "At least, not any more."

Kirk crawled slowly out from under the huge mound. He pulled a dying quimmy from his dick.

"Who put the quimmies in this quadrant's Quadrophina?" Kirk said, then walked slowly towards Mr. Darvin. The quimmy screamed.

"She doesn't like you, Mr. Darvin. I wonder why? Bones," Kirk barked, "check this man."

"McCoy ran the tricorder. "Heartbeat all wrong, body temperature...This man is a Klingon!"

"All right, get that fucking twat away from me!" protested Darvin. "I've never seen one before and I hope to never see one of these furry cunts again in my life. I infected the grain, I admit it! Just don't let that thing touch me!"

"Captain," Spock said. "The Quadrophina has been impregnated with a virus. The quimmies can fuck forever, and still not achieve orgasm."

"You mean that the quimmies died of blue-balls?"

"Affirmative. Total sexual exhaustion without achieving climax. The same thing would have happened if the dope had been grown, harvested and smoked by junkies."

Kirk turned to Syphilis Jones.

"Mr. Jones. Do you know what the penalty is for transporting an animal that is proven dangerous to human life? It is twenty years."

"Dangerous Captain? No! I've discovered, like most females, if you give them a credit card and allow them to go shopping, they leave you alone...Surely we can come to some form of understanding?" Syphilis pleaded.

"I will talk to Mr. Blurry and have your space ship returned if you clean this entire space station of quimmies."

"That will take years!"

"Seventeen point nine years," confirmed Mr. Spock. "That is if you survive it. I calculate there is a 5.78 to 1 chance you will be sucked to death in less then three hours..."

"Oh well," said Syphilis. "I can think of worse ways to go...."


Back on the ship, Kirk was relieved to find every quimmy gone. He turned to Bones.

"What happened to the quimmies?"

"I can't take the credit, Jim. It was Mr. Spock's suggestion."

"Well, Mr. Spock?"

"It was Mr. Scott who performed that actual engineering."

"Gentlemen! What happened to the quimmies!"

"I used the transporter, Captain," Scott began sheepishly.

"You didn't beam them out into space?!" Kirk began.

"No, I transported the whole kit and caboodle to the Klingon's crew quarters."

Suddenly, the main viewer showed the Klingon ship, shaking violently, then exploding! A massive gush of thick, milky liquid hit the Enterprise and covered it with its sticky essence.

"That must be a galaxy record for the greatest blow job in history!" Kirk gasped.

Spock raised a curious eyebrow.

"Indeed, Captain. Where no man has come before..."






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