The age-old debate "which came first, the chicken or the egg", is still raging in scientific circles. In a recent symposium, we invited together a ramshackle collection of scientists, Starfleet officers, Congressmen, a smattering of civilians and a priest. It was agreed that the symposium should take place aboard the U.S.S.Enterprise, after Captain Picard quite correctly pointed out that his ship's on-going mission could not boldly grind-to-a-halt simply for a debate, however fascinating. We took the debate a step further and elected to put our volunteers on the spot by posing the following problem:-

     Imagine a Noah's Ark scenario. In the event of needing to evacuate Planet Earth at great speed, which portable items would you grab (apart from The Bible, Shakespeare, and your "Ol Yellow Eyes" C.D.)? For example, with livestock you would be forced to decide between the chicken or the egg. The wrong choice could mean no more Full English Breakfasts! As we are all aware, replicator food never tastes the same.


  I just love scanning for life forms. Life forms, you tiny little life forms. You precious little life forms where are you? Cha cha cha - - - - -
Yes, THANK YOU Mr Data! Suggestions please.
It's no use asking me. Since I shaved my beard off my cognitive array has been seriously impaired. It's all her fault.
That's not what he said in the hot-tub! Er, this egg - - - would it be chocolate-covered?
Oh boy, oh boy! The chicken or the egg. Now comes the really icky part. The chicken is not all that dissimilar from us; breathes oxygen, comparable tolerances to heat, cold. Their bodies are just as frail as ours. Oh boy, oh boy, think I would prefer to establish contact with the egg. No tentacles. Heh heh!
If Claude's in his rage, he'll murder the chicken with two or three shots - - - - - -
That's plumb sacrilegious.
Trust me, Rev - I know Claude. If his glasses are steamed up he won't notice the egg. I have a friend who will loan us a pick-up. We can get the egg to a safe haven.
I have been processing this hypothetical dilemma whilst reconfiguring the warp-field parameters, analysing the collected works of Charles Dickens, examining the causes of my failure with Jenna and considering a new baby-food supplement for Spot's kittens.
What did you come up with, Data? Any conclusions?
Negative, Geordi - insufficient data. My sub-processors require more input. For instance, to procreate the species in order to provide Full English Breakfasts, it seems reasonable to assume that one would need at least two chickens of opposite genders. Similarly, if one saved the egg, the resulting hatchling would need to mate at some stage. You are my best friend, Geordi. I need your advice before I seek the help of Counselor Troi.
Oh Lord, Data. Does it really matter? Shields are down to 70/%, hull integrity is approaching critical, we have a warp-core breach in progress and there are five Romulan Warbirds and a Borg Cube circling the Enterprise. Can we take a rain-check on the chicken?
Affirmative, Geordi. Although the atmospheric conditions on Earth appear to be quite stable at the moment.
RED ALERT. All hands to battle stations.
Speaking as a Frenchman, I am quite partial to the Full English Breakfast. What do you say, Number One?
Save the egg! Save the egg! SM-O-O-TH as an android's bottom!
Number One, report to Sick Bay. Give Beverly my regards.
Obviously I would be able to rescue both life forms because I'm a hero and a legend in my own lifetimes. How about it, Bones? Shall we pluck them from the jaws of certain death?
I'm a doctor, not a chicken-plucker.
Illogical. Doctor, I understood that your mission was to save life.
That's rich, coming from a pointy-eared Vulcan with green blood and a heart of solid stone.
Fascinating! I believe Dr. McCoy is becoming emotional again, Jim. Perhaps Mr. Scott would prove to be more dependable in a crisis situation.
Nay, laddie - I canna help ye. Last time we rescued one of those little varmints it wouldna stay in its quarters. I got chicken-shit all over ma beautiful engines.
Gentlemen, I am convinced that we should protect the egg at all costs and by - - - - by physical force if necessary. It's our duty. It's our duty, damn it! May I remind you, the eagle inside belongs to us.
Johnny, they won't listen to you. You're obnoxious and disliked you know.
John, John - is that you carrying on? Hurry home, John. Don't stop writing, it's all I have. The chickens and geese have died, and the apples never survived the late frost.
Winters are softer on the Enterprise, Madam. Good GOD! What in hell are we waiting for?
W-what d-did he mean about an eagle? I-I- d-don't think I understand.
Try not to worry, Reg. Concentrate on your breathing exercises.
Chickens are just human-generated waste. You have to hit 'em over the head with a sledge-hammer to get their attention. Eggs? 'Fraid not! All that yucky yellow stuff. What is that crap anyway? Each of us survives in our own way, so I say let's kill both the b*!?*!?* A Full English Breakfast and a chicken dinner.
I agree with the Professor. Waste the chicken and scramble the egg!
No Lore, I cannot allow that. It would be wrong.
You should work on your sense of humour, little brother.
Ignore him, Lore. He's no fun at all, you know that.
If the chicken dies, its ever-lasting soul is on the wing. Free as a bird. Flyin', straight up. Right into the arms of the Lord. The egg is a fine young sprout and should be nutured. We must trust in the power of prayer.
Captain, it's powerful warm in here. I feel hotter than a boiled owl! Do you have any "refreshments"?
Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.
Oh! Well never mind.
Shucks, ev'rythang's so danged confusin'. Ah thenk me an' mah Sweet Pertata will jus' stick to pumpkin pah. Anyways, got no tahm fer poultry. Gotta assist at another birthin'. Aunt Tilly's plannin' a Wang-Dang.
Oh wonderful! Welcome to Hillbilly Heaven!
I do not think you should descent to sarcasm, brother. It is most unbecoming in an android.
If you want my advice - - - - -
We do NOT. I don't recall that you were invited.
Oh come, Jean-Luc. You know you love me really. You're just jealous because I'm omnipotent. And I only want to help. It may surprise you to know that the chicken does not need your pathetic little rescue attempt. It is Q.
Is this another of your sick jokes, Q?
Alas Mon Capitain, you rend my heart. How can you treat me so vilely after all I have done for you?
Go away Q.
Captain, your permission to throw him in the brig - - - Aaargh! Where did he go?
This is getting us nowhere. When you all reach a decision I'll be in my Ready Room hailing Voyager.
Sorry Captain, I have enough on my plate without chicken. It's hardly a bed of roses in the Delta Quadrant you know.
Sir, does Captain Janeway wish me to access all the Class M planets capable of supporting a bed of roses?
Not now, Data.
Roses - what roses? Please state the nature of the medical emergency.
There is no emergency, Doctor. The poultry will be assimilated. I am Borg. Resistance is Futile.
That is exactly what I said to the Queen, just before her unfortunate demise. I think I may be experiencing an emotion, Geordi - - - - - -
HALLELUJAH!
- - - - - - In spite of everything, she was snoggable.
What did you say, Data? She was WHAT?
"Snoggable". Accessing. Accessing. A term coined on 20th Century Earth to denote the onset of passion between humans. It involves the joining of lips. I have always found it - - - - intriguing. Apparently Geordi, some humanoids exhibit a tendency to open their mouths whilst - - - -
Yes, yes Data. I know. My friend, I think you should run a Level 1 self-diagnostic immediately.
May I be of assistance?



NO!
Good God! I must hurry back to Philadelphia. I had no idea the Queen was dead. Pity it wasn't her husband! For ten years, King George and his Parliament have gulled, cullied and diddled these colonies with their illegal - - - -
Sit down, John. You're getting yourself in a state again.
He's such a bore! Small wonder that pleasant fellow Rutledge can't abide him.
And if you want my opinion, Mr Lore, robots are getting too big for their britches these days.
On the contrary, Sir, my brother is an android. He can adjust his size to accommodate any aperture within recognisable parameters.
COMMANDER DATA!!! Button it!
O-o-oh Shit! I am sorry, Captain. I did not realise that Lore had arrived improperly dressed.
Thanks, Bruv. I owe you one.
Why is everyone ignoring me? Have you any idea how difficult it is to find an apartment in New York, let alone a chicken-coop? You'll be asking me to house a pig next! It's just not kosher.
Mr Worf, assign quarters to Mr. Junger on the rent-controlled deck. Make it so! Number One, are you quite sure you don't want your own command? Because I'm thinking of taking early retirement on health grounds.
Gentlemen, all this is fascinating, but I think we are straying from the point. Captains, I have a suggestion. The small, round alien may not be willing to sacrifice its parent in order to save its own shell. A Vulcan mind-meld may provide the answer.
You will hear the scratch, scratch, scratch of that tiny little feller.
Absolutely no way, Spock - it's too dangerous. You might end up with egg on your face. Erm - - - - that was a joke, Mr. Spock.
If you say so, Captain.
Humour! I LOVE it!
Ah, I can see I arrived just in time. Mr. Homn, bring my bags. Greetings, Jean-Luc. HEL-LO, Will! I can't help noticing you're clean-shaven again - I'd forgotten how very cute you look.
Oh HELL!
  Mother! Not now, PLEASE.
You're looking very peaky, Little One. Pop along to Ten-Forward and ask Guinan for a nice double-chocolate fudge sundae. Leave the chicken problem to me. I have a particular interest in reproduction, so I recommend we acquire a big, healthy cock.
Mrs. Troi, I am programmed in multiple techniques, a broad variety of pleasuring - - - - -
That will be all, Mr. Data.
Aye, Captain.
Captain, we are being hailed. It is a message from your homeworld. Qu'vatlh! It is from - - - - THE WHITE HOUSE!!!
Wow! Oh boy, oh boy. The big Tamale!
I do not understand why the absence of colour in the person's domicile should be of any significance. Perhaps it is - - - - - -
Shush, Data.
On screen. Good Day, Pr. President. This is indeed a great honour. What can I do for you?
Hi there, Captain Picard. I have been following your lively debate with great interest. Although I do wish you wouldn't move around quite so much. I can't seem to pick you up on Sky1. I told them not to install the 2-for-the-price-of-1 satellite dishes. Nobody ever listens to me.
Sub-space frequencies are notoriously erratic, Mr. President, Sir.
Good Afternoon, Mr. Riker. I'm glad to see you've gotten rid of that beard at last. It never suited you.
Uh-oh! Look Deanna, Will's gone the same shade as his uniform. He's going to be a foul temper during the poker game tonight.
Good. I will beat him to a pulp. Er, metaphorically speaking, Commander.
Ha ha ha. Fowl! I just got it, Geordi.
I can see you're all on tenterhooks, so here's an update on the situation in Washington. We're having a temporary respite; the Mothership has moved off, and is currently hovering over Houston, Texas.
Neh!?! Oh ('Bleep'), What a ('Bleep'-ing 'Bleep') up! I have to leave immediately, Commander.
Well, that was enough to scare the ever-lovin' piss out of him, for some reason.
Mr. Barclay, escort the Unidentified Civilian to Transporter Room 3.
Oh n-no! N-not the transporter. I c-c-can't.
Mr. O'Brien will hold your hand. That's an order, Lieutenant.
Aye, Sir.
He is a wimp! You can tell he's not Klingon.
Well ladies and gentlemen, duty calls. And besides this transmission is probably costing me The Earth. Keep me informed, Captain. I have to remain impartial where eggs are concerned, but the First Lady says "Let's snook the bastards." President out.
She's a plucky wee lassie.
Attention please, everyone. Opening for myself, I have to make it clear that I don't give a damn about chickens - or their offspring. I am a cruise director. My minions handle poultry matters. In fact, I shall just hand the chicken over to our chef. He can cook it for the Old Bag's dinner.
I can sense negative emotions in you, Mr. Godwyn. I am half-Betazoid - - - -
We all have our problems, dearie. For me, it's a full-time job just keeping the little shits on their toes.
Let's feed him to Mrs. Troi. I shall enjoy watching him stagger out of her quarters on his hands and knees.
Mr Worf! He is a guest on the flagship of the Federation and should be treated with courtesy. Besides, we must not interfere. It's the er - - - - the ER - - -
Prime Directive, Sir.
Dr. Crusher, may I interest you in a position on my ship? Two of my dance hosts require rigorous training, and the rest of the old crocks could use a physician.
Thank you, Mr. Godwyn, but this is a seminar not a Job Center. And besides, last time I ventured onto the ocean somebody chucked me overboard.
Oops!
It wasn't your fault, Son. You are not less perfect than Lore. I should have installed the Emotion Chip when I first created you, but I lost my bottle.
Chip in a Bottle! Ha ha.
Yes, very witty, little brother! What you meant to say was 'Often-Wrong Soong blows it again'.
Lore, please do not speak of father in that disrespectful manner.
Oh, SHUT UP!!
   
Regrettably, at this juncture the symposium degenerated into total chaos.
Captains KIRK and PICARD decided to use up their accumulated leave for an extended vacation in The Nexus, where Kirk owns a small property and a few acres. They went off to their respective quarters to pack.
WILL RIKER, having emerged unscathed from the latest Romulan and Borg offensive, found himself obliged to return to Sickbay with a head-would after another skirmish with Spot. He fainted in BEVERLY's arms and had to be revived with the hypospray
THE REV also collapsed, presumably from heat-stroke. Bones checked his vital signs and announced, "He's dead, Jim". (This was merely a reflex action, as Jim was in his quarters doing his packing.) To Dr. McCoy's great annoyance, E.M.H. was able to revive THE REV with an intravenous shot of Aldebaran Whiskey. Guinan keeps it under the counter for emergencies.
DEANNA ate five chocolate-cream gateaux and retired to her quarters to be sick.
COMMANDER MADDOX chased LIEUTENANT COMMANDER DATA as far as the Jefferies tube on Deck 14 and then lost him.
GEORDI and SCOTTY fled back to Engineering and barricaded themselves in behind a force-field.
MRS. TROI decided that Mr. SPOCK was really rather attractive - - - - -
SPOCK made his escape in a runabout and tinkered with the notion of becoming an ambassador for Romulan/Vulcan re-unification.
REG BARCLAY repaired to the Holodeck and created a new program in which he smashed up every transporter system in the Alpha Quadrant.
Newly-promoted to 'Lieutenant Commander' because it was his turn, MR. WORF returned to D.S.9. He joined forces with Odo in the latter's life-long mission to beat the shit out of Quark.
Still elated by her recent sex-change, FELIS CATUS produced yet another litter. It was believed to be an Immaculate Conception. WILL RIKER checked on his Federation pension rights.
Q stayed out of the way, feeling unloved and unwanted. Once again, the humans were making a splendid hash of things all by themselves and his intervention was redundant.
JOHN ADAMS opted to become obnoxious and disliked in the cause of Exocomp Independence, and LORE promised a Borg back-up force if things turned nasty. Sighing heavily, Mr. Jefferson went off down the stationer's and purchased a new quill-pen. [NOTE = Johnny continued to write to Abigail on a daily basis. We understand that he has not yet succeeded in locating a mail box, although a sexy guy in a baseball cap did offer him a mobile phone.]
Attempting to order a kosher pizza with "50% extra free", LEONARD JUNGER encountered BOB WHEELER in Ten-Forward. They had a fairly one-sided whinge about the cost of living, and Bob asked Guinan why the replicator in his quarters had never heard of Pumpkin Pah.
On a neighbouring table, BRACKISH and PROFESSOR DAVIS assessed the chances of de-programming the aliens and transforming them into household pets.
GIL GODWYN cornered BEVERLY in the turbolift and attempted to show her his credentials. Beverly remained unimpressed.
CHIEF O'BRIEN discovered JIM STEVENS in Shuttlebay 2. He appeared to be washing the interior of the shuttlecraft with soap and water, and muttered distractedly, "I've been sick". Remembering his recent trauma with Reg, Miles rejected the idea of giving Jim a cuddle. He went off to consult with Counselor Troi.
DR. SOONG realised he was dying and created an android version to replace himself. Juliana helped him. LORE pretended to be seriously dis-chuffed, but DATA did not believe him. It was a Family matter.
MR. WESLEY CRUSHER was re-called from THE ACADEMY by Vice-Admiral Nechayev and assigned to the post of Acting Captain of the Enterprise. His annoying brilliance and smug expression caused ill-feeling between himself and the officers under his command.
The crew of U.S.S. Voyager held a ship-wide referendum and voted not to return home.
THE PRESIDENT of THE UNITED STATES became a fighter pilot, and took up arms in the battle against the aliens. He succeeded in saving Houston on Independence Day and received congratulatory telegrams from JOHN ADAMS and Unidentified Civilian.
Sadly, both the chicken and the egg (and Lwaxana's proposed cock) were completely forgotten in the ensuing debacle.
 

Miaow!
I HATE that cat. It is REVOLTING!!!