naDevvo’ yIghoS!*

I just went outside for my just-before-bed cigarette to find a Klingon passed out on my front steps.

He was moaning and occasionally mumbling phrases (in English) like “got to get…” and “no man don’t do that…” before rolling over. He was on his side, so I don’t think he was in danger of doing a Jimi Hendrix. I’d like to help the guy, but I don’t know whether to call a cab or a transporter.

No teddy bears were involved.

*Go away!

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