Love me some shitty star trek art

Star fleet doesn’t allow starting an open combat, but Worf finds his way.

Worf: I can’t undo years of injustice on Palestinia-3. These wounds left by zionism and islamism need generations to heal.

Worf: As an acting officer, I’m limited in what I can do, and that lack of power is painful to a klingon, yet…

Worf: I feel like teleporting Bibi to Defiant and making him stay there due to a bureaucratic hell for a year or two can make a difference.

I thought you were the God of Lemmy.

That’s a tough cookie.

Without an unnecessary dive into the history of studying living bodies’ interconnectiveness and telepathic conversations that could take us into some dark places, I want to tell you about a little pet shop right around the corner. Organized like a small and comfy co-op, they are giving off pet mice to everyone interested. They do so for free, but before they give it to you, they make you know the rules, and they are as follows:

1. Everyone can adopt their own Lemmy and pet someone’s else.
2. Someone, even a stranger, can feed them and make them thrive, and that’s the only right way to control them.
3. No one can stop them from eventually congregating, staying on their two feet and sharing thought in someone’s backyard.

(The untold forth rule is killing one exact mouse on sight, but that’s probably obvious.)

The sacrifice though is time. Just like their meowing arch enemies, they want your attention and care on their own terms, terms sometimes defined by other mice in their hivemind. That may be confusing at first, but this pet demigod would show you the way how to nail it.

You are welcome.

Bold of you to assume we have credit cards