The Talosian, that nutty alien species with an ass for a head, shoved the graduated cylinder full of its own cum under Captain Pike's nose.
"It will consume the nourishment," it barked, its blue pleasure-vein pulsating rapidly.
"Not exactly what I would call a 5-star meal," Pike grumbled, "Say from the table of the Count of Monte Cristo, of 18th century French fiction, the Four Seasons of 20th century New York, or the Brown Dwarf Cafe, of Rigel XII."
"The nourishment will take any form you find pleasing," the Talosin replied, undaunted.
"Okay, then, I want it to be the disembodied vagges of all three of Mudd's women."
"Boi-oi-oi-oi-oing," went a sound effect.
Pike set into the prime space poonage with gusto.
"Dude," whispered the Talosian to his buddy, "He's eating my jizz!"
Fact is, this is what the short short is all about. Brief, wacky, and fucking funny. If you can't do this, you can't write a short. Period. End of story. This is not just my opinion, but objective fact. I am a platonic Super Man. Make that Super Duper Man. Platonic, not in the sense that I don't "do it", but in the philosophical sense as relates to absolute truth. Fuckers.