Long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away, a randy band of space travelers partied through the cosmos in a warp-propelled love boat known as the Enterprise. A devilish lot — one even had pointy ears — they cha-cha'd with green-skinned Orion slave girls and taught exotic Romulan bedroom techniques to busty alien chicks in tinfoil bikinis. They had a prime directive all right — but it sure wasn't noninterference.
Flash-forward a few decades. The Enterprise still zipped through the galaxy, but the party was clearly over. No more miniskirted yeomen. No more all-night tranya keggers. No more horny fem-bots from Planet Foreplay. Suddenly, life aboard a starship appeared about as sexy as a semester at Antioch College. The Next Generation, it seemed, was also a prudish one.