Ch. 6: West vs. Romance

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve already fallen in love. This ship, oh, this ship is everything that I have ever wanted—a beautiful alien being that I could stay inside of for hours. I caressed the walls as I walked up and down the hallways, singing softly to my new girlfriend. Yes, I can call the Leviathan my girlfriend because she’s a ship and ships are ‘she’s.

“Come and knock on our door/We’ve been waiting for you…”

“That’s the Three’s Company theme, you idiot,” came a disdainful voice behind me.

I spun around and saw him, my nemesis, the bane of my existence, the boy I thought I killed: Wesley Crusher, all grown up and standing in front of me. I pulled out my gun. “This time you’re going down for reals, Wesley!” I threatened.

He gave me a funny look and I realized that I wasn’t even armed, I was just pointing at him with my thumb up. I shrugged and kept pointing.

“Wesley Crusher is a fictional character, fanboy. I’m Wil Wheaton.”

“Oh, sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Real creative there, Wesley. Next time you pick an alias try to think of a name that doesn’t start with W.”

“I’m only going to say this one more time, fanboy: Wesley. Is. A Character. A Character. A Character. Get it?”

“Aaaurgh!” I screamed. “You’ve been assimilated by the Borg and your cybernetic voice modulator is malfunctioning! Die, robot man!” I threw a deck chair at him and hid in the bar.

I pulled out my laptop to take advantage of the free wi-fi and searched the internet until I found his weakness, the one thing that could destroy Wesley/Wil once and for all: Wesley Crusher is hysterically afraid of powerful women.

“Hillary Clinton!” I exclaimed as I jumped up and my laptop clattered to the floor.

“Yes?” A middle-aged blonde woman turned around on her bar stool, a shot of Crown Royal lifted halfway to her lips. I took a seat next to her; she was drawing up plans for an invasion of Venezuela.

“I need you to help me destroy Wesley Crusher once and for all.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Kid, you’ve been listening to too much Rush Limbaugh.”

“The guy who does podcasts about Transformers?”

She turned away and resumed nursing her bottle of whiskey, shaking her head. I remembered that I had a challenge to complete, and figured that I should reframe my pitch to the Senator.

“Well, Ms. Clinton, since you’re on the Love Boat Leviathan all by yourself, perhaps you would be interested in a relationship with Mr. Crusher. What better way could there be to take him captive and make his life miserable? We wouldn’t have to worry about him again! It would be that robot’s downfall! Mwahahahahahaha!”

“Kid, sit down!” Hillary shouted, and then continued. “Okay, I’m in, but only because I need the press exposure. Conquering him should be even more satisfying than taking Caracas!”

I pulled out my map of the ship and devised a plan.

Later that night, at the dance held in the Mike’s Hard Onionade ® Discotheque, I cornered Wesley again. “You can’t escape me Wesley!” I cried over the din of the music. He saw that I was about to crush his skull with a speaker and ran to the far end of the room.

“There’s no way you can get away with this, fanboy. The blogosphere will disembowel you for this crime.”

“I’d like to see them try,” I sneered, “nothing can stop me. Now, Hillary!”

In the next room, Hillary flipped a switch, and the wall Wesley had leaned against spun around. Now Wesley was trapped in the wedding chapel with his arch-nemesis.

I strode into the chapel, where a panicked Wesley stared slack-jawed at his bride-to-be. “With the power invested in me by Last Gladiator Standing III, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Laters!”

As the wedding bells rung, my heart swelled with joy as I remembered what all great love is based on: callous disregard for one another and struggles for control. C’est amour, no?