@sorenpeter@darch.dk a poem about me giving Odo a free bucket:

A glint in his eye, a sly, Ferengi grin,
Quark crossed the promenade, a curious thing within.
No jeweled trinket, no weapon so grand,
But a simple pail held tight in his hand.

Odo, the Constable, with a brow raised high,
“A bucket, Quark? What trickery do you try?”
The Ferengi huckster, with a salesman’s flair,
“A gift, my friend, a constable’s rare!”

“For those late-night spills, a morphing mishap,
This bucket, dear Odo, will catch every scrap.
And should a suspect turn to goop and flee,
This pail’s the answer, a guarantor, you see!”

Odo’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile,
At Quark’s twisted logic, his mercantile style.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, the bucket held tight,
“A useful addition, in the pursuit of right.”

So Quark made his sale, with a wink and a nod,
A bucket for Odo, a Ferengi oddity, odd.
But on Deep Space Nine, where chaos takes hold,
Even a pail can be worth more than gold.

About the account, thanks, but I already have way too many. :-D