(Sorry, Keli, I was writing and missed you song! Good one, thanks!)

"Whaddya mean I hafta wear the pushup bra? I don' care what yer stinking Capt'n says, I ain't wearing no 500 year old bra and leg shields! Fervenussakes! And' I ain't no stinking warrior, neither! and, I don' care if I nevah see that 26 inch perversion agin, neitha! Ya got that? Go tell that ta yer Capt'n, Ha, sure he's a Captain and I am the Queen a'da Stinkin' Universe!" Lingerie Model No. & punctuated her words by throwing the flimsy clothing back at Cartoosh. Finally, she'd broken through the Borg-induced mind-meld with the other and gotten her own self back, albeit an adulterated version of her ancestors known as Bruchlinytes & N'Jursees. She supposed it was those damn genes kicking up again that made her crave more bagels and cream cheese, if the stupid bucket of bolts replicator would work. Billy the Trid was NOT known for keeping his ship in tiptop shape. She glared at her *sisters* and started to tap her long, red fingernails in boredom, frustration, humming a half forgotten lullaby her grandma used to sing...
Anise a payee shun
Anise a payee shun
Anise a pay shun
Is ringing me round
The posies, pockmarks full of nosies
Arsewipes, arsewipes,
We aren't in town...
She shook her head, grimacing ruefully, stupid, stinking song, doesn't even make in focking sense!