Scene: The USS Social Conscience is on patrol on what looks like an ordinary day when the ship's radar picks up a blip on its screen.
"Bridge, radar... got a spook."
"Radar contact, Captain," says the First Officer.
"Get on the plot, Missy!" the Captain shouts back.
"Captain, spook is fifty yards from position Sierra, Echo, Alpha, Romeo, Sierra," replies the radar operator.
"Oh, she's in front of the Sears Store," the Captain says with a sigh. "Head for the target. Full speed ahead."
"Yes, Ma'am. Engineering estimates we can get 1.5 miles per hour in low heels. Target is moving at a slower pace. Probably has three inch heels."
"Quartermaster, this is the Captain. What do you make of the Target?"
"Well, Ma'am, it could be a female member of the World Wrestling Association, the East German Volleyball Team, or... well, Captain, it could be a transvestite." The Captain looks back angrily. "That's `crossdresser' sailor. This ship practices politically correct speech."
"Visual contact, Captain!" the First Officer shouts.
"Get me Jane's" the Captain barks.
"Jane's what?"
"You know, Jane's Book of Crossdresser Silhouettes," the Captain replies.
"Aye, Ma'am."
"Oh, is my mascara smeared?" the Captain asks.
"No (that's sailor-talk for `yes'). Here's the book."
"Yes, just as I thought. `Target has considerable bulk, wobbles on her heels, and makeup is uneven.' I'd say we're tracking a Tri-Ess type crossdresser. Go to battle stations."
"Battle stations!" shouts the F.O.
"Adolescent Girls-armed and ready," says a voice from the ship's loudspeaker. "Gawking Black Women-armed and ready. Lesbians and Gay Men-armed and ready." "All battle stations armed and ready, Ma'am,"
"Good," the Captain says, "We'll attack with a pattern of Gawking Black Women first and see if we can force her into the ladies' room where we'll finish her off with a group of Adolescent Girls."
"Target changing course, Ma'am. She's taking refuge behind those mall actors doing pantomime."
"You mean...;"
"Yes, we've chased her into a Mime field."
"You had to say that, didn't you, Number One?"
"Sorry, Ma'am. Are we going in after her?"
"Full Stop," the Captain orders. "We'll wait her out."
"Bridge, radar... I've got two male escorts dressed like Chicago gangsters coming alongside the target."
"No!" the Captain says. "She wouldn't dare attack with torpedoes... I want all officers in the Ward Room now."
"Ladies, we are at a disadvantage here. We can't attack while she is in the mime field, so I suggest we wait until five o'clock. She will have to surface then or risk having her beard show through her makeup."
"Captain, she's going deeper," the Quartermaster says.
"You mean..."
"Yes, the bargain basement," the F.O. replies.
"Well, now she's made her first mistake," the Captain says. "If she tries shopping down there during Remnant Days, those real women will tear her apart."
"Captain, sonar shows her heading for the Juniors Lingerie Department. She's trying on foundation garments."
"Can she stand that much pressure on her bulkheads?" the Captain asks. "We must bring her to the surface."
"I know what to do Ma'am," says the F.O. "I only hope she has her listening devices on."
A minute later a voice is heard over the ship's loudspeaker, "Attention shoppers, for the next half hour there will be a fifty-percent-off sale in ladies better quality shoes on the first floor. Sixty percent off on sizes 10 and up."
"Good thinking, Number One."
"It's working, Captain. She's coming up the escalator."
"Come left to course one eight zero," the Captain orders. "We'll attack with one pattern of Adolescent Girls, then block the mall exit with some Gawking Black Women."
"Ready to attack, Ma'am!" the F.O. shouts.
"Launch AGs"
"AGs launched," replies the F.O.
A minute later news is heard from the lookout, "Mascara slick off the port bow."
"We've hit her, Number One," the elated Captain shouts. "Keep tracking her."
"Target coming to course one three five," the F.O. reports. "She's heading for the mall exit."
"Plot an intercept course," the Captain says.
"Recommend course one five seven, Ma'am. Intercept in eighty-five seconds, " the F.O. says.
"Good, make it so," the Captain orders.
The mall is suddenly quiet again. No evidence of any gender anomalies, when a lookout shouts, "Debris off the starboard bow!" Closer inspection reveals it is the heel from a ladies high heel shoe.
"Confirmed sinking, Captain," the F.O. says. "Her crushed ego will never let her come in this mall again."
"Pity," says the Captain. "She did look cute in her Halston suit... but this is war!"
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