Ask Dayton 46 – Dr. Phil Kenobi
How exactly do I go about telling someone, you know, a certain … alien … that our relationship won’t work? This isn’t the first relationship I’ve ever been in, but to be honest with you I’ve avoided crossing the species line for most of my life.
It’s not that I’m close minded, you know; it’s actually about satisfaction. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been approached by a Vulcan who wanted to engage in a relationship (ok fine, a roll in the pon farr pit), and the only thing I could think to say is, “All right, but where’s the other three?” I have needs, after all.
And of course their culture is so different: you don’t realize how hypocritical they are with their whole “infinite diversity in infinite combinations” bull until you suggest “Hey, lets try out some combinations! You don’t mind sharing, do you?” and all of a sudden you’re no longer on speaking terms!
This new guy is very needy too. He’s always wearing his heart on his sleeve, complaining about texts and tweets … listen, I’m fine with being in an emotional relationship but I can’t be on call 24/7. I have duties to do! Planetary systems to chart! Do you know the amount of times I’m interrupted on the bridge by him chirping my comm badge looking for emotional support? He’s not a bad guy but I can’t take this forever! I need breathing room!
Anyway, any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated. Spirits be with you!
-Helnayana (Ensign Helna)
Dump his ass.
What, you wanted something more nuanced? Look, it’s Sunday, football’s coming in a little while, and I’ve got steaks marinating. I don’t have time for this sort of namby-pamby, “Help me, Dr. Phil Kenobi, you’re my only hope!” confab bullshit, and neither do you. While you’re sitting at your console on the bridge weeping and wailing over what to do with this Pezhead, your starship is liable to plow itself into a planet, or get eaten by a giant single-celled alien with a raging case of intergalactic munchies. Priorities, Ensign!
Dump his ass. Do it now.
From this letter, you seem like you’re pretty smart and sure of yourself, so why would you bother wasting time and energy on some emo loser who sounds like he’s treading the oh-so very thin line between adoration and stalking? What do you want to bet he’s told the ship’s computer to track your comm badge, so he knows where you are every second of every day?
Yeah, there’s a little something creepy to think about when you’re trying to go to sleep tonight, right? Well, hold on…I can do better.
What do you want to bet he’s crafted a customized holodeck program with you as the star, and your computer-generated doppelganger does all the really freaky shit even you won’t do, and after all that updating of the captain’s log, your holographic twin makes him a damned sammich?
Yeah, dump his ass.
Do you really want to be worried about this guy if you’re ever both on the same away team? He’s going to be gushing all over you, and whining to the captain to let him go with you when you head off to explore the area. You won’t be watching what you’re doing when you’re walking around and he’s blubbering in your ear about how you never pay him enough attention, and the next thing you know, you’re the one stepping on the exploding rock, or getting a spear in your back from one of the local inhabitants, and why? Because while lover boy was professing his undying devotion to you, he didn’t see the readings on his tricorder warning you both that you were about to wander through some kind of holy burial site or alien minefield or whatever.
Imagine how fucking lame that bio will read in those little pamphlets they’d be handing out at your funeral.
Dump. His. Ass.
Life’s too short, and the galaxy too filled with interesting potential companions, at least a few of whom won’t go all Sleeping With the Enemy on you because you want some space, or the freedom to take a vacay with your gal pals every once in a while. So, go. Tell this guy to take a long walk out a short shuttle bay, and go to Risa for the weekend. Get your dilithium crystals re-aligned in your articulation frame, if you know what I mean. Just promise me you’ll do me one solid before you go.
Dump his ass.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got steaks to which I must attend before kick off.
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He is the co-owner of Busy Little Beaver Productions and is the producer and co-host for G & T Show and Gates of Sto’vo’kor. He’s directed voice actors, and produced and edited audio podcasts and dramas because he doesn’t have the face for video. He plays well with others and is always on the look out for the next project, the next thing, the next next. If he wasn’t working on something with a half dozen other projects waiting in the wings, somebody please check to make sure he’s still breathing.
During the day, he’s a mild-mannered computer repair man who dabbles in web design in his small, rural, Central California community. He lives with his lovingly dysfunctional family and loyal canine companion and spends most of his time in the closet concocting some hair-brained scheme or another. He’s got an unhealthy obsession with Lego video games, Klingons, and Star Trek Online that borders on the neurotic.
Despite all this, he still finds the time to write the words. Find out what he's doing here.