“Captain, the shields are down to seventy-three percent!”
“Damn it, engineer, quit wasting time typing out full number words for shield percentages or I’ll drink your secret scotch supply you think I don’t know about and sleep with all your alien wenches on your next shore leave!”
“You were going to do that anyway, Captain.”
“The engineer has a point,” the pointy-eared, green-blooded Vulcan interjected. “Also, I believe it is illogical to type this conversation over IRC when we’re all on the bridge.”
The captain kicked the Vulcan from the channel.
“Who gave the captain OP?!” The doctor shouted.
“I’m werry sorry, doctor. It von’t happen again.”
“CHEKOV!” The bridge crew exclaimed.