Stardate 2012.210: While transporting the leading GOP presidential candidate to Babel, a horrific transporter accident on Alfa 177 has caused him to split into not just two but a whole pack of duplicates.
Several were non-viable from the start and died right there on the transporter pad -- most notably the female version with the strange taste in fey men and a decidedly unhinged reality view, and another one that seemed permanently intoxicated, but this was actually due to the fact he was missing approximately 90% of his brain.
A second female version appeared to attempt to materialize, but changed her mind at the last second and said, "Gosh-darnit, I'm just goin' for the money, you betcha!" -- and vanished without a trace. Well, except for when her image suddenly appears at random times on the ship monitors screaming, "Redjack! Redjack!" -- which most of the crew have learned to ignore.
This leaves us with four duplicates running amok on the ship, each claiming to be the inevitable GOP presidential candidate nominee. I fear we shall never reach Babel...
The oldest one is popular among the least disciplined of our crew members, as he advocates reprogramming all the replicators to dispense free narcotics and holographic prostitutes. Unfortunately, the "humans first/airlock all the aliens" contingent also likes him, as do those irrational crew members who insist the ship not only doesn't need a command structure, but can function just fine without a computer or life support. Some of us have tried to explain to his followers that is just isn't practical to replace a Federation-wide credits-based economy with gold-pressed latinum bars, but they just turn sullen and start muttering about stockpiling phasers and rations.
Then there's another old pudgy one who has decorated his quarters to resemble an Orion slave harem, complete with flamegems and blood-diamonds. He has a favorite female Number One, but this changes weekly whenever the previous one gets sick. He's also announced a plan to replace the ship's computer with his own brain, but that's unlikely to happen because he just annoys the hell out of everyone else with his know-it-all paternalistic crap. On the plus side, our ongoing Tribble infestation has finally been eliminated because he's eaten all of them.
This leaves two GOP candi-dupes who are having it out down on the recreation deck. One of them appeared at first to be completely non-viable, especially when he announced that crew uniforms are to be replaced with sweater-vests and all female crew-members would be required to resign from Starfleet, marry planet-side husbands and begin popping out babies -- but I suspect some of the crew is siding with him simply because they dislike the one who seemed all along to be the leading contender.
Unfortunately, he's the least popular of the sad bunch, and even those who say they prefer him over the other duplicates have admitted they don't particularly like him anyway. His main problem is he'll say absolutely anything he thinks the crew wants to hear, except for those odd times when he says things like, "I don't really care about the ensigns and ship service personnel." Or, "I'm a red-shirted security lieutenant just like the rest of you." Or, "Dilithium crystals are people, too," whatever the hell that means.
Another thing we cannot fathom is why he also answers to the name "Norman."
In discussions with other crew members, we've concluded he isn't a duplicate at all, but a malfunctioning android. Despite this, he's the odd-on favorite in the ship's pool to be the last one standing.
We are so doomed. This is the U.S.S. Republica, signing off.