Worf Just Watched a Lobejob
We’re watching an episode where Dr. Beverly Crusher is on some hush-hush, definitely-not-a-regular-starfleet-field-trip secret mission. The kind where everyone speaks in careful, clipped sentences like they’re trying not to wake the ship. There’s tension, intrigue, and just enough dramatic lighting to make you feel like you should whisper in your own living room.
And then the negotiations happen.
Beverly needs passage. The Ferengi needs… incentives. And if you’ve watched enough Star Trek, you know exactly where this is headed because the camera starts doing that thing where it treats a character’s face like a courtroom exhibit.
Cut to Worf.
Worf is standing there with the kind of expression that says:
- he has seen battle,
- he has faced death,
- he has stared into the abyss,
…and somehow this is worse.
I’m watching his reaction like it’s an important plot point.
My spouse goes, “That’s a weird look to have.”
And without missing a beat, I said:
“Well, he did just see the doctor give a lobejob. I’d be a little uncomfortable too.”
There was a pause.
The kind of pause where the universe briefly considers folding in on itself.
Then we both lost it.
Because here’s the thing: Worf’s entire deal is honor. Protocol. Discipline. A strict moral code. He probably has a laminated checklist for how to feel during sensitive missions.
And now he’s stuck in a hallway watching Starfleet’s finest medical officer attempt to barter with…
Checks notes:
…Ferengi pleasure-lobes.
You can’t train for that at the Academy.
There’s no holodeck simulation called:
“Negotiation Tactics: When Your Colleague Starts Massaging an Alien’s Ear Like It’s a Diplomatic Currency Exchange.”
Worf didn’t look angry.
Worf didn’t look confused.
Worf looked like he wanted to file an official incident report titled:
“Today, I Learned Too Much.”
Anyway, we finished the episode and I’m pretty sure the secret mission succeeded.
But spiritually?
Worf never recovered.