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Hey, everybody, Jack Merlot here,

It takes me a minute to build up some steam but I guarantee there may be Quincest involved here.

So I keep having this dream, right? Where I'm in Canadian Starfleet, and I'm at the Academy, right? And for whatever reason, this is the part I find weird:

At about Oh Five Hundred hours or whatnot, oh, no, wait. Also you should know that there is this loudspeaker above my bunk, which is fine most of the time. But at Oh Five Hundred hours, anyway, every morning, the loudspeaker suddenly crackles to life, & the Eighties classic, "Who Can It Be, Now" by Men At Work, blares into my room as the first harbinger of doom I am to hear that day.

This segues directly into ( it is the same every morning ) a pastiche of ten second clips of Bruce Hornsby's "Mandolin Rain", Heart's "Crazy on You", and a couple others I'm hesitant to admit I've grown to enjoy.

The ten-second clips are all spliced neatly in between the sound of somebody adjusting an analog radio knob.

After the medley is complete, the dulcet tones of Rear Admiral Tegan R. Quin come crackling over the airwaves. Except it is not just Admiral Quin's regular voice we are treated to.

It's Tegan's best / most annoying French schoolmarm / robot voice, which it turns out is about [9.2-11.4]% ( plus or minus one percent ) more annoying than Sara K. Quin's most annoying robot voice.

Now, before you hate me, please understand that I am just relating my dream here, and of course, I personally don't ever think of their melodious harmonies as annoying, French, or, for that matter, robotic.

Nevertheless, there it is, and the most worst aspect of it is that they leave the loudspeaker & microphone ( wherever the hell she is ) hooked up for the duration, and this is the best part right here:

Rear Admiral Tegan R. Quin quickly wraps up the routine morning rituals such as roll call & basecamp errata, and launches, BRIGHT & EARLY, into teaching some bastardized form of computer "science" that is apparently taught to unsuspecting Starfleet cadets such as my self, that involve Admiral Tegan commanding the computer, through some kind of speech recognition, to do a bunch of bizarrely constructed, though somewhat informational, processes.

"COM-PYEW-TER", she says, "INSERT VALUES ( 'goodbye, goodbye', 'now Im all messed up', 'like O, like H' ) INTO::INTO razor.shrapnel.giant.robot.pencil_sharpener WHERE 'pencil' EQUALS EQUALS 'mechanical'." And then you can kind of hear here in the background warbling some kind of congratulation to herself.

Now, I have yet to learn how to program even minor-league software from this, but I just wanted to point out that my dreams appear to indicate that Tegan & Sara have now sufficiently permeated my consciousness that I believe they have warped into the twenty-third century via means of quantum 7-inch single, they have also infused themselves into the Canadian Starfleet space opera rather seamlessly, & they have also proven themselves masters of indie guerilla marketing strategies in the process.

What can I do to quiet their obviously ravenous appetite for multi-dimensional spenditude? What does this mean for those of us who can't or won't evolve to these new standards of excellence? Plebians such as myself can't be expected to work under these conditions.

Sincerely,

Petty Supply Officer Jack Merlot
supplicant reprogramming specialist
currently landlocked in Halifax, Nova Scotia
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8/16/16
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Tegan and Sara
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Tegan and Sara
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Tegan and Sara Celebrate LGBT Pride Month with Coke Music Spotify Playlist

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Look at Tegan going to take a drink of water, but COMPLETELY miss her mouth, the fucking dork. XD (This is how we talk about them on tumblr.)
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Its cold outside, be sure to wear appropriate dress lol
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