The folks over at Sadly, No! have a special place in their hearts for raging dumbfuck/pisspoor sci-fi writer Dafydd ab Hugh (and rightly so), but one particular line in
this post is borderline genius but also one of the most disturbing mental images imaginable:
Naturally, Dafydd’s idea of the truth here bears about as much relation to reality as his description of the mating rituals of the Straqnothlvorians (which, it would appear, could only have been dreamed up by a man whose entire sexual repertory is limited to self-gratification with the inside of an empty Snickers wrapper)Words positively fail me but I wish to hell I'd thought that one up. They also posted a
bit of one of his dreadful DS9 novels that really must be read to be believed:
Elsewhere on the planet, the Cardassian prisoner, Gul Ragat, walked in front of Julian Bashir like a man already dead whose legs had not yet gotten the message. Jadzia Dax followed somewhere far behind and to the side, so that she and Julian would not drift dose enough to make a single target. I wish we could talk, thought the doctor. But speech would have informed the prisoner that they were Federation, and Dax wanted to hold that information in reserve.
The Gul had recovered somewhat. The doctor quietly scanned him while he rested and determined that Ragat had no serious injuries — minor burns and abrasions, smoke inhalation, bruises, and other blunt-force trauma, but nothing life-threatening. The diagnosis was a relief. Had Gul Ragat required medical treatment, not all the wild splitheads on Sierra-Bravo 112-II could have stopped Bashir from doing his medical duty, and their cover as “Natives” would have been blown, Ragat would then realize that Starfleet officers had infiltrated the Cardassian/Drek’la occupation. That is seriously published fiction that somebody (may the gods have mercy on their poor souls) actually paid money for. Again, not well mocked fanfic, actual published fiction. Think on that and be dismayed.