Raging Data Boner

Data was the fun-loving and adventurous robot on Star Trek: The Next Generation. He was one of my favorite characters because of his logic, feats of strength and charming personality. As a robot, Data was unexcited by events, situations, sensations, etcetera that would arouse humans. Instead of reaction based on emotion, Data responded to external stimuli with rationality and practicality.

Because of Data's thought process, it can be assumed that he would never pop a raging robot boner from intimate encounters, raunchy daydreams, or morning wood. His robot upbringing would lead to a ferocious Data boner from robot activities.

Number crunching. Coding. Programming. Analysis. All create opportunity for a raging Data boner.

Sadly, *spoiler alert*, they killed Data off.

However, my weekend festivities ran me straight into an individual of seemingly similar trait. A logical thinker. A numbers guy. A real stuporous personality. Stuporous and sponged.

Roughly six feet in height and weighing upwards of nineteen stone, the plump and inebriated man stumbled his way towards our table. His hair was thin on the sides and bald on top. He wore a large pair of rimless glasses. Wardrobe was not dawned to impress. The facial hair: a chimo 'stache, not long, not short, hued a slight tinge of red.

As if Data was back, yet, had let himself go.

The thick-bodied, drunkard announced his intention to join our party of two by stumble-stepping his way over, sloshing his beer as he set the pint glass down, and pulling a chair from the adjacent table to rest his fat arse. Clearly boozed and further faded than either of us, he drunkenly sipped his brew as we hurriedly finished our conversation.

Drunk Data was not demanding attention with his actions but commanding it with his presence, so as the conversation reached an uncomfortable point of "who the fuck is this guy," we turned to him seeking the answer.

In a response that can only be described as a naturally reserved man, fueled on liquid courage, and attempting to play coy, drunk Data began interrogating us. Do we live in the area? What do we do for a living? Would anyone notice if we went missing?

We humored him with dribble dialogue.

At some point he mumbled about programming, the state of the economy, Linux, and the Romulan Star Empire.

Both parties soon tired. We sat there in silence.

The bar was dead and the tenders were preparing for close. As my friend and I had already squared, we had no obligation to hang around. Not wanting to get phasered, we patiently waited for drunk Data to make the first move.

"There are girls," he said, dramatically pausing, possibly for effect or possibly from a buzzed tongue, "over there!"

We sat blinking.

He continued his thought, "We...should go talk to them!"

Drunk raging Data boner had targeted a table of women out of eyesight but clearly on his robot radar. Alcohol had changed Data's body chemistry to crave more than numbers. Logic had escaped him. Determined, drunk Data staggered from his chair to his feet and sloshed more beer to the floor. He turned his back to us and headed towards the women.

We slammed our drinks and ninja vanished.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf