"Okay," said Riker, to the crowd upstairs, "here's one: 
Suppose you were stranded on a desert island on a planet somewhere
in the Theta quadrant..."
     "Theta quadrant?" said Young Wesley, "that makes no sense. 
Even our die-hard fans won't--"
     "Enough, Ensign.  You're stranded in the Theta quadrant.  You
are allowed to bring just one item with you, for all eternity, just
one item..."
     "Cherry Pez," said Wesley, "No question.  Cherry Pez."
     "Shut up, Wesley," said Wesley's mother.
     "One item from between the following two:  Either Counselor
Troi..."
     Deanna smiled.
     "...or Geordi's visor."
     "The visor."
     "Visor."
     "Visor."
     "The visor.  And cherry Pez."
     Deanna frowned.  
     Riker tried to console her but she turned away.  "A visor!  A
lifeless, dumb-looking hunk of metal.  You'd choose *this* over a
former porn star--"
     "So you *did* do porn."
     "Read the FAQ."
     "Counselor, with just some minor modifications to the output
pods of Geordi's visor, one could fashion a neutrino beacon or
transmit a sub-space pulse directly into Federation space."
     "*And* play Pong!"
     "Theoretically," said Geordi, "but what could you use as a
flux inhibitor?"
     Young Wesley boy genius asked, "Do we have our communicator
badges on this island, Commander?"
     Troi's lower lip began to quiver and her eyes welled up. 
"You're serious.  What about your emotional needs?  What about
love?  What about sex?  What about safe sex??"
     "If it's safe," said Riker, "it ain't sex."
     "Up top," said Worf, high-fiving the Commander.
     "Deanna," said Dr. Crusher, "Be sensible.  You'd want to be
rescued, you know it."
     "You idiot.  All of you!"

     Hollystone looked up.  "You tell 'em, sisterwoman!  They can
all go to the hell."
     Ludwig Plutonium said, "Maybe we shouldn't rush things,
Holly."
     "Wavelet," said Holly.  "Have they reprogrammed the
connectionism in your human brain (poooz)?!"
     "Holly, listen to me.  HADRON THE BRIDE, PLU. TO. NI. UM."
"GLUON........"
     
     Marilyn said, "All right, you've got three doors--"
     "Marilyn," said Smullyan.  "Shut up."
     "Watch it, old man--"
     He said, "I have read your tedious column, Marilyn, your
recycled puzzles, your ill-conceived FLT book and, with all due
respect, you're a dumb shit."
     "I've read your books, Raymond.  I know your knights and
knaves routine.  Greasy kids' stuff.  C'mon, stump me.  Go ahead,
make my day."
     "All right," he said, "suppose you're made two offers by two
different people, A and B.  Here's A's offer:  You are to make a
statement.  If the statement is true, A promises to give you
exactly $10.  If the statement is false, A will not give you $10,
but some amount, either more or less--could be nothing, could be a
grand.  
     Here's B's offer:  You make a statement.  Regardless of
whether the statement is true or false, B promises to pay you more
than $10.  That's B's offer.  Now which of these offers would you
prefer to accept."
     "All right," said Marilyn, "Lemme think.  The principle of
expected utility tells me to take B's offer."
     "Expect futility," whispered young Wesley.
     "But I know your style, Raymond.  You want me to take B
because it's so obvious.  And just because you want me to do that,
I'm gonna surprise you and say I *would* take B's offer."
     "All right, Marilyn.  Fair enough.  Since you prefer B's
offer, I tell you what.  If you make me A's offer, I'll give you
$11 in advance.  Is that fair?"
     She thought for a moment and said, "Sure.  What's ten bucks?
I'll make you A's offer."
     "Okay," said Raymond.  "So I now owe you $11.  And then I can
make a statement.  If the statement is true, you've got to give me
back $10 and keep $1.  If the statement is *false*, you've got to
choose what to give me back since it can't be exactly $10.  That's
fair enough, eh?"
     "You're on."
     "Okay.  Here's my statement.  You will neither give me exactly
$10 nor exactly $1 million.  Think about it as you write out your
check to me for the million."
     There were a few assorted snickers and a few dumb looks.  
     Data said, "Raymond, good show.  But you wouldn't really take
a check from someone named 'vos Savant', now, would you?"
     "A certified check, Marilyn.  No rush."
     "Wait, this is bullshit."
     "Not at all.  In fact, if you really *had* read all my books,
you'd have seen that one coming a mile away, especially since I
published it in '88."
     "Excuse me," said Hollystone.  "I think I missed something."
     "Data?"
     "If Raymond's statement were true, Marilyn would have to give
him exactly $10.  This would be in contradiction to the statement. 
The statement must therefore be false.  And Marilyn thus has to
give him exactly $1 million.  Neat."
     "I'm starved," said Marilyn, unfazed by the loss.  "Anyone for
pancakes?"
     
     "Computer," said Barclay, "freeze program,"
     "What's wrong?" said Deanna.
     "If they're gonna eat, someone's gotta cook.  Computer,
recreate a late 20th century kitchen, over to the left of the
table.  And stock it with whatever is needed to make pancakes."
     "Computer, continue program."
     
     LP stood up and said, "Holly, could you give me a hand?
     "Sure."
     "Great.  Start cracking some eggs into that bowl.  Looks like
I got me some dishes to clean.  He surveyed the scene before him. 
Unwashed dishes on the right.  Single sink in the middle, drying
rack on the left.  
     "Wait one minute!" he said.  "How can I WORK under these
conDITIONS!  State law requires TWO sinks--one for SOAPING and one
for RINSING.  I can't work like this!"  His eyes were ablaze.

     "Computer, freeze program.  Give Mr. Plutonium his two-sink
kitchen.  Continue program."

     "Great," said Ludwig.  "Two sinks, treated water, empty drying
rack...like candy from a baby."  He rolled up his shirt sleeves,
put on a pair of rubber gloves and, like a man who had truly found
his vocation, announced, with a forefinger raised "It's showtime!" 
     Within minutes all the dishes were spotless.



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