Whatever jokes

WORF: Captain, there are three Romulan warships uncloaking dead ahead.
PICARD: On screen. [The main viewing screen changes to a pattern of horizontal lines, each only a single pixel wide.]
PICARD: Data, what's wrong here?
DATA: Captain, the main viewscreen does not have sufficient video memory to display an image of this size. May I suggest that you select a lower resolution?
PICARD: Make it so. [The screen blanks, and then an image appears, with big, blocky square pixels. Three objects appear in the center, which could be Romulan warbirds, but which actually look more like the aliens in Space Invaders.]
PICARD: Data, open a hailing channel to the Romulans.
DATA: Aye, sir. [Data picks up an hourglass from the floor beside him, turns it over, and places it on the console in front of him. He punches some buttons on the console and sits motionless for several seconds. A flash of light blossoms from one of the Romulan ships on the viewscreen.]
WORF: Incoming plasma torpedo, Captain!
PICARD: Shields up!
DATA: I'm sorry, Captain, but I am still attempting to complete your last instruction. I must ask you to wait until I have finished before you issue your next command.
PICARD: What on earth do you mean? Data, this is *important*! I want those shields up *right now.*
DATA: I'm sorry, Captain, but I am still attempting to complete your last instruction. I must ask you to wait until I have finished before you issue your next command.
LAFORGE: Allow me, captain. [to Data] Control-alt-delete, Data. [Data removes the hourglass from the console, and returns it to the floor.]
DATA: The Romulans are not responding to my hails. Press my nose to cancel and return to Windows. Pull my left ear to close this communications channel which is not responding. You will lose any information sent by the Romulans. [LaForge pulls Data's left ear.]
PICARD: Shields... [There is a tremendous explosion. The bridge shakes violently, and all the crew members are thrown to the floor. A shower of sparks erupts from Wesley Crusher's station at the helm, throwing Wesley back away from the console.]
PICARD: Up, Data!
DATA: Aye, sir.
RIKER: All decks, damage report!
WORF: Captain, Ensign Crusher is injured. He appears to be unconscious. [Data picks up the hourglass again, places it on his console, and punches some more buttons. He waits a few seconds, then puts the hourglass back on the floor.]
DATA: Shields are now up, captain.
PICARD: And not a moment too soon. Worf, lock all phasers on the lead Romulan ship.
WORF: Aye, sir. [He punches buttons on the weapons console.]
PICARD: Mr. Data, take the helm, and prepare for evasive action.
DATA: I am sorry, sir, but I do not have the proper device driver installed for that console.
PICARD: Well, damn it, install the right one.
DATA: Please insert Setup Implant #1 in my right nostril.
PICARD: Number One, where do we keep Data's setup implants?
RIKER: I left them with Geordi.
LAFORGE: What!!? I thought you still had them!
PICARD: Data, don't you have device drivers stored in your internal memory?
DATA: Not found, sir. Please insert Setup Implant #1 in my right nostril.
PICARD: Data, I don't *have* Setup Implant #1.
DATA: Not ready reading right nostril. Abort, Retry, Fail?
PICARD: Abort!
DATA: Not ready reading right nostril. Abort, Retry, Fail?
PICARD: Well, fail, then!
DATA: Current nose is no longer valid. [Data walks over to the helm, and presses several buttons. The ship lurches, the images of the Romulan warships suddenly shift to one side of the viewscreen, and a high-pitched whining noise is heard coming from somewhere else in the ship.]
LAFORGE: [alarmed] Data, what the hell are you doing?
PICARD: Number One, do we have a customer service number for Data?
RIKER: Yes sir, but last time I tried to call them, I got put on hold for two hours before I was able to talk to anyone. And that person wasn't knowledgeable about androids of Data's model. She specialized in industrial control robots. [Suddenly, the lights all go out, the viewscreen goes blank, and all the usual noise of fans, motors, and so on whines to a halt. After a few seconds, the red emergency lights come on. Data is standing by the console, absolutely motionless.]
PICARD: What's going on?
LAFORGE: [checking the helm console] Lieutenant Data has caused a General Protection Violation in the warp engine core.
PICARD: These androids look really sharp, but you can't really do anything with them. [The shimmer of the transporter effect appears, and six Romulans in full battle dress materialize on the bridge. A seventh figure, a Ferengi, appears moments later.]
FERENGI: [with a mercenary grin] Can I interest you in a Macintosh, Captain?

Proof That Jewish Was Jewish:

1. He went into his father's business.
2. He lived at home until the age of 33.
3. He was sure his mother was a virgin, and his mother was sure he was God.

Proof That Jewish Was Irish:

1. He never got married.
2. He was always telling stories.
3. He loved green pastures.

Proof That Jesus Was Puerto Rican:

1. His first name was Jesus.
2. He was bilingual.
3. He was always being harassed by the authorities.

Proof That Jesus Was Italian:

1. He talked with his hands.
2. He had wine with every meal.
3. He worked in the building trades.

Proof that Jesus Was a Californian:

1. He never cut his hair.
2. He walked around barefoot.
3. He invented a new religion and finally

Proof that Jesus Was Black:

1. He called everybody brother.
2. He liked Gospel.
3. He couldn't get a fair trial.

So he could run his fingers through his hair!

Dear __________________________,

I regret to inform you that you have been eliminated from further contention as Mr. Right. As you are probably aware, the competition was exceedingly tough and dozens of well-qualified candidates such as yourself also failed to make the final cut. I will, however, keep your name on file should an opening come available. So that you may find better success in your future romantic endeavors, please allow me to offer the following reason(s) you were disqualified from the competition: (Check those that apply)

__ Your last name is objectionable. I can't imagine taking it, hyphenating it, or subjecting my children to it.

__ Your first name is objectionable. It's just not something I can picture myself yelling out in a fit of passion.

__ The fact that our finest dining experience to date has been at McDonald's reveals a thriftiness that I find unappealing.

__ Your inadvertent admission that you "buy condoms by the truckload" indicates that you may be interested in me for something other than my personality.

__ You failed the 20 Question Rule, i.e., I asked you 20 questions about yourself before you asked me more than one about myself.

__ Your breasts are bigger than mine.

__ Your legs are skinnier than mine. If you can FIT into my pants, then you can't GET into my pants.

__ You're too short. Any son that we produced would inevitably be beaten up repeatedly at recess. AMEN!

__ You're too tall. I'm developing a chronic neck condition from trying to kiss you.

__ The fact that your apartment has been condemned reveals an inherent slovenliness that I fear is unbreakable.

__ Although I do enjoy the X-Files, I find your wardrobe of Star Trek uniforms a little disconcerting.

__ Your frequent references to your ex-girlfriend lead me to suspect that you are some sort of psychotic stalker.

__ Your ability to belch the alphabet is not a trait that I am seeking in a long term partner.

__ Your height is out of proportion to your weight. If you should, however, happen to gain the necessary 17 vertical inches, please resubmit your application.

__ The fact that you categorize the ProBowler's Tour as 'Must See TV' demonstrated that you do not meet my intelligence requirements.

__ Somehow I doubt those condoms that I found in your overnight bag were really necessary for a successful business trip.

__ I am out of your league; set your sights lower next time.

Sincerely,