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Girls Gone Green

Reed leads the Three Green Sisters to their quarters. They play with their hair, swing their hips, and ask questions about the ship that Reed has a hard time answering. Other red-stripes also have a hard time not gawking at the velvet bikinis. There's also a Charles Dickens joke in there somewhere, but I'm not sure where to -- oh, wait, Charles Dick-ens, there it is. Reed lets Chartreuse into her room and tells Puce and Lime that he'll show them their rooms in a moment. "Captain Archer has a very large ship," Chartreuse comments. "It's roomy," Reed agrees. "But everything's so functional -- there's no color," Chartreuse pouts, standing really close to Reed. Obviously she hasn't yet met T'Pol and her amazing Technicolor catsuits. Reed admits that he never thought about it. "What's your name?" Chartreuse pouts. Stinky. His sex name is "Stinky." "Lieutenant Reed. Malcolm," Reed stutters. "Pleased to meet you, Lt. Reed Malcolm," Chartreuse says, moving close again. Mystical dream-like music plays as Reed tells Chartreuse that someone will be by to show her how to use everything. I guess he's not into water games. Chartreuse pouts and wriggles on her bed as Reed leaves to show Lime and Puce their rooms. I wonder if, when you send in your headshot to be on these shows, you want to highlight how good you are at pouting and wriggling. "Yeah, I went to the Jennifer Love Hewitt School of Pouting and I studied wriggling with Nicolette Sheridan."

Quantum logs that they're on their way to the planet o' magnesite. T'Pol approaches Quantum and ventures that she's been hearing some concerns from the crew. She thinks the Three Green Sisters are becoming disruptive. "You're telling me," Quantum murmurs dazedly before he shakes himself and says that people just aren't used to having Orions on board. "It's not just that," T'Pol elaborates, "our guests visited the Mess Hall this morning and, as a result, twelve crewmen reported late for their shifts." Wow. They had quads. Quantum gets the picture. "It's primarily their attire," T'Pol continues. "Or lack of it!" Quantum leers, but comically pulls an instant serious face when T'Pol boggles at him. You know, people who live in catsuits shouldn't throw stones at naked ladies. Quantum says he'll see about assigning them some clothes. Like that's gonna happen. T'Pol has more to say: "It might also be a good idea if you had a word with them." Quantum looks at her quizzically. "They're still under the impression that they belong to you," T'Pol explains. Quantum still doesn't get it. "Unless a new policy has been instated, I believe Starfleet doesn't condone slavery," T'Pol spells out for her green ham-addled captain. Quantum says he'll speak to them first chance he has. "Thank you," T'Pol says, and leaves. It's the clipped way Blalock delivers the line that make those two words priceless. It just reminds me of everything she's had to put up with from these testosterone-y freaks for the past four years.

In the ship's gym, May-Evergreen pumps iron. Hilariously, there's a redshirt in the background doing sit-ups on one of those huge inflated balls. He's trying hard to make it seem more manly by crossing his pumped arms over his chest as he sits up, but as far as I'm concerned he's in my living room doing sit-ups on my big silver ball while Suzanne Deason tells him to tuck his bellybutton into his pubis while he breathes from his toes. Reed stalks in and gets on a treadmill. May-Evergreen greets Reed as he continues to pump what look like boom boxes. Apparently, in the future, round barbells are déclassé. "Have you seen them yet?" Reed asks. "Ran into one of them in the corridor. They're really..." May-Evergreen pants and yelps as he finishes his set. Reed starts jogging and asks him what he's trying to do. "Get them outta my HEAD!" May-Evergreen grunts. "The pain helps." He picks up larger boom boxes and suggests Reed try it. Reed, already tired from his five seconds of running, stops the treadmill and joins May-Evergreen at the boom boxes. "When I was on my parents ship, we picked up some Deltans once. Their ship was having engine trouble," May-Evergreen shares. "I don't know that species," Reed says, starting to pump boom boxes. May-Evergreen drools on, "The females are UN-believably attractive!" And bald. May-Evergreen drops his boom boxes into their holder-thingies and explains, "I was fifteen. I couldn't think straight. I could barely breathe. The only thing that got me through it was weight training with my dad." You know, if he had just stopped with "weight training," I would have been fine. Happy, even. But then he added "with my dad" and I went to the scary place. May-Evergreen laughs gaspily at the memory: "He said if I was exhausted...idle hands and all that." Yes, because idle hands are the penises' playground. Reed asks if it helped. "Helped my biceps," May-Evergreen retorts. There's a joke in there about May-Evergreen and four seasons of no sex and ripped arms, but I'm too drunk to figure it out. Reed starts to pump with his pathetically small boom boxes. "I'd go heavier," May-Evergreen recommends.

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