Personal Log Ensign Michael Burrows Helm/Operations Officer USS Banshee It was a busy day for me today. Not only do I fly and navigate this ship with a skill unmatched by any of my fellow officers, I do it with modesty and forebearance. I also had the golden opportunity of realigning Captain Morrigan's (hereunder read: 'Hardass') personal replicator in her ready room. Captain, how could you have been so blind? 'Carpe Diem' as they said in ancient Rome and I did. Not only will the Captain be drinking those vile Margarita's, she'll be enjoying 3 times the amount of synthahol Tequila. Something tells me that Hardass will be more amenable under the influence and that is something this crew could really do with. Bottoms up, Hardass. It may also cause the Captain some distress to know that I replaced her dress uniform with a Klingon tunic and grass skirt. Ah, the beauty of replicators. I'll be banned from using them in the end. At least she will be more inclined to leave her ready-room and desist her constant beration of the junior officers who actually run this ship. I will most likely be found out in the end and brought before her Ladyship for a series of brow-beatings and reprimands. This dosen't really scare me very much. After all, I'm two years older than the Captain is. Hardass is half Bajoran and dosen't even know that I fought in the Maquis before joining Star Fleet at the tender age of 30. I should have a bigger chip on my shoulder than she does, yet I have only my Ensign's pip to bear. What's your excuse Hardass? Why does she irritate me so? Why do I lie here in my quarters thinking about her? Why do I keep pulling stunts that will surely bring Hardass' wrath upon me like a ton of latinum bars? I am afraid of how I will answer that. I can't face that now. It's ridiculous and impossible. I'm going to the Holodeck for a game of Paressi Squares. I need the workout to take my mind off that insufferable woman. Yes, Ma'am, no Ma'am, three bags full Ma'am. Damn it!