The great triumph of Cardassian nationalism was midwifed by a Bajoran terrorist working for the Federation. It’s that kind of complexity that makes DS9 amazing.

Ye have no blooody idea how haaaarrd et was fer me ta sit in that feckin transporter room an' naught smack those naive, self-righteous do-gooders… none of THEM had a blooody Cardy disintegrate roight in frooont of 'em….!

Feck me swinging,' Ol' Ronny Boy es a blooody GANGSTER, an' Oy loove tha Bahstard fer it.

Oy'll go get ye a multitronic engramatic interpreter….

That's the most realistic part of da hour…

Oy joost spit me Jamaican Blend all over da room in a combination of hilarity an' disgust. Well Doon!

Oy fall asleep every noyght to a Breen ASMR binaural whisperer.

Busy winning galactic wars against existential threats & defeating evil gods.

The Sisko begs to differ…

Incidentally, "Blown Up, den Sucked Down the Corridor" is de name o'me chart-topping autobiographical Oyrish Punk song about de best night Oy ever had on'de station, when a couple of Cardassian scientists came fer a visit, an' one of'em wanted her a piece o'the ol' Chief…

Nope. Dey'll NEVER stoop usin' 'at clip. As long as d'ere be klingon sheps explodin' from now 'til rapture, dat poor bastard is gonna be gettin' blown up, den sucked down the corridor.

T'ankya, Darlin'! …Oy t'ink.

Oy was only speakin' fer me'self, Buckaroo, m'lad!

If Oy didn't live en a mooneyless society, Oy'd chep en a moonth's salary!

Now there's an image Oy'm naught entirely comfortable with how naught-entirely-uncomfortable Oy am with…

'at's part o'it, Oy won't lie…

Moy sincere apologies, madam. Oy s'pose ye joost inspire me mind t'set course for unseemly places…

Tubers an' cereal grains, m'dear. COMPLETELY different.

Better be WELL-COOKED Taspar…. those buggers 'er moighty oogly live….

Whaddabout High-functioning alcoholics an' descendants of heads o'state (High Kings o'Ireland count, royght?)