The Flutterby - Shipping News and Sundry and Divers Notes of Interest

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All the News That Fits, We Print.

Shuttle launchInquiring Minds Want to Know...

Whether Cpl Sam Larris is tired of watching Mariposa Reality TV, and whether Sgt Jack Adams will ever stop dropping the ball.

Why there always seems to be so much dog dirt in the Arbo, when the marines are constantly policing the area.

Where Billy Carter will be assigned next. (And is there a job outside the ship?

Whether the Captain has found a use for his Reda souvenirs yet, and if those uses involve Gaels.

If that eyesore in the shuttle bay (you know which eyesore we’re talking about) runs on chocolate, or just bad taste.

How many marines it takes to operate a ski lift?

New Contest

Announcing a new Flutterby contest:

Who is your favourite person aboard the Mariposa? Tell us why, in 50 words or less.

The writer of the best essay will receive a PC 50,00 gift certificate redeemable in any Starfleet duty-free shop – and the crew member who gets the most votes will receive the same.

Entries should be posted by the usual double-blind method - send an emessage to the Communications Office, internally addressed to the Flutterby, and Rory will see that we get it, bless his little heart.

Note to senior officers: It is considered unsporting to ask a Gael directly who is editing this smeg. Have a heart, Cap'n Sharpe.

’Now, that’ll set the cat among the pigeons,’
- The Ship’s Curmudgeon.

Thought for the Stardate

A woman is only a woman...but a good piece of hemp is a rope.

A Pome

Roses are red,

Cinnamon is, too,

Why can’t the Gaels

Smell like the rest of the crew?


Last week’s tsunami was brought to you courtesy of an FCE, whatever the smeg that is. Ditto the exciting meningitis outbreak aboard ship. What we need around here is a moratorium on spatial phenomena.

We demand the outer space we were promised in science fiction – you know, the blank one, with rocks in.

Definition of the Week

Metal Sergeant:

Senior noncom recognisable by the gold in his teeth, the silver in his hair, and the lead in his trousers.

Groucho Marx.

The foregoing has not been passed by the Starfleet censors.

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