Orion Slavegirls

Making fun of my dad’s Star Trek addiction is a weekend morning family tradition in my house, and it’s one of the reasons I don’t mind staying at home while I attend university as much as I might otherwise.  The food’s the other reason.  Anyway, Dad alternates between firing back that I’m one of those scary fanfiction writers, I’m just as obsessed with fantasy as he is with scifi, and then simply saying the words “Star Wars”, thus pointing out I don’t have a leg to stand on, or infuriatingly, agreeing with me.  The first tactic usually just ends up with dad and me reciting scenes verbatim from the original Star Wars trilogy until Mom kicks us both out.  This week, though, dad tried the latter, and he did it with coquettish hand gestures.

Dad: I am normally the planetary viceroy’s slave, but tonight, Captin Kirk, I’m told I’m to be your slave.”
Fish: Um.  Dad, are you… should I call…

When I managed to get over the extremely disconcerting sight of my father posing and preening like an unpracticed adolescent girl, I managed to fire off a comeback, and terrify my father.  That isn’t that hard; I’m a daughter after all.

Fish: I’m just amazed that with all these slave girls throwing themselves at him, he never did anything kinky.
Dad: maybe he didn't like kink. Didn't, doesn't, won't... what is the tense for scifi set in the future?
Fish: And getting it on with blue and green alien ladies isn't kinky?
Dad: Tell me when he ever had sex with a blue girl
Fish: I notice you didn't argue about the green ones.

From now on I can win any argument with my father about the relative merits of fantasy and scifi with two words, Orion slavegirls.  Funnily enough, he can win the same argument with the same words.