In a keynote speech at the New York Television Festival, Ron Moore explained that the writers on Star Trek: The Next Generation would generally leave scientific terms out of their scripts, even if a certain technology was being held up as a solution to the episode's problems. The writers would use the word "tech" in lieu of actual terminology, and rely on the show's science consultants to fill in the blanks. The scripts the science consultants received would look something like this:

La Forge: "Captain, the tech is overteching."

Picard: "Well, route the auxiliary tech to the tech, Mr. La Forge."

La Forge: "No, Captain. Captain, I've tried to tech the tech, and it won't
work."

Picard: "Well, then we're doomed."

"And then Data pops up and says, 'Captain, there is a theory that if you tech the other tech ... '" Moore said. "It's a rhythm and it's a structure, and the words are meaningless. It's not about anything except just sort of going through this dance of how they tech their way out of it."

And that, Stross notes, is precisely what is wrong with so much science fiction. In fact, he says, it's anathema to what science fiction is really about. Science fiction is about observing the human condition when circumstances and technologies change. For example, how would world civilizations cope with an impending asteroid strike? How do convenient new gadgets and gizmos alter our daily lives and the way humans interact with one another? The drama of science fiction, he argues, come from those changes of circumstance. But when a show like Star Trek treats technologies as interchangeable, the science fiction is reduced to mere set dressing:

Star Trek and its ilk are approaching the dramatic stage from the opposite direction: the situation is irrelevant, it's background for a story which is all about the interpersonal relationships among the cast. You could strip out the 25th century tech in Star Trek and replace it with 18th century tech - make the Enterprise a man o'war (with a particularly eccentric crew) at large upon the seven seas during the age of sail - without changing the scripts significantly. (The only casualty would be the eyeball candy - big gunpowder explosions be damned, modern audiences want squids in space, with added lasers!)

In the end, Stross says, Trek delivers characters that are no different from the characters that have inhabited television since its inception. They may have wondrous technologies and travel to alien worlds, but they are strangely unchanged by the experience. He suspects that if Trek had treated technology as integral to the story rather than as an afterthought, the series would have created more alien — and more interesting — characters.

Why I hate Star Trek [Charlie's Diary]

There's an ancient prophecy about the Urn of Apollonia, which must be taken to the Temple of Vanity by Sheila E... or we're all doomed.
Score: Minus 10 points
Drinking game: Take at least three swigs of vodka, gin or Southern Comfort, and then attempt to give yourself a swirlie in the kitchen sink.

The hero is the chosen one, who's more special than anybody else ever.
Score: Minus 100 points.
Drinking game: Attempt to drink your own urine.

Characters share useful information with each other, instead of having wacky misunderstandings designed to move the plot forward. Bonus points if they ask each other smart questions.
Score: Plus 70 points.
Drinking game: Have a beer with a sake chaser.

The hero has a miraculous gadget (which may rhyme with ironic brew diver) allowing him to get out of literally any difficult situation with no hassle.
Score: Minus 10 points.
Drinking game: Make yourself a sonic screwdriver out of orange juice, vodka and ultrasonic vibrations. Drink the whole thing in one go.

The main characters are real people, with believable flaws and non over-the-top personal issues. Which they don't resolve in the course of an hour.
Score: Plus 20 points.
Drinking game: Have a shot of the good whiskey. You know, the 20-year-old single malt stuff.

Someone has a superpower that totally defies the laws of physics. Like shapeshifting, which allows him/her to go from being a tiny human to a buick-sized monster by pulling extra mass out of somewhere.
Score: Minus 5 points.
Drinking game: Pour a shot of tequila into your eyes and pretend you're melting into a shape-shifting puddle of goo, which can change its size and mass.

Aliens are genuinely alien, and don't resemble a race or nationality from Earth.
Score: Plus 20 points.
Drinking game: Mix every alcoholic beverage you've got into a bowl, and stick your head into it.

There's a space god, who wears a tunic or toga and talks all mythic, while warping reality.
Score: Minus 1,000 points.
Drinking game: Make a ceremonial libation to the space god, with some sangria, preferably an entire pitcher's worth. Drink the whole thing, while chanting, "What does God need with a starship?"

Events have real consequences, that aren't undone via "reset button" or silly trickery. Bonus points if characters get mortally injured and don't run around for 20 minutes afterwards.
Score: Plus 10 points.
Drinking game: Pour everclear on your hands and light them on fire.

Techno-babble and crazy jargon that makes no sense. Or, if you're reading a book, a description of how a spaceship works that goes on for more than two printed pages.
Score: Minus 5 points.
Drinking game: Hook your blender up to your microwave, using a multiphasic ion-shielding photon decoder. Make a daiquiri, and nuke it in the microwave. If there's anything left, drink it.

Can you suggest any more entries to make this the perfect get-drunk system, erm we mean evaluation tool?