In an earlier conversation...

Coral: My sarcasm sensor is going off.  I wonder why that is?
Abby: I can't imagine - I expect it's a literary anomaly
Coral: Maybe it's picking up sarcasm from someone else in the house.  I'm not being remotely sarcastic.  Never am.
Abby: Well, I'm certainly not being sarcastic - I was just concerned for your welfare
Coral: I know...  this sarcasm it's detecting is a completely mystery to me!
Abby: We could send in a Class 4 probe (assuming we haven'y used them all up)
Coral: Aye, Captain.  *preps and launches a class 4*
Abby: We could configure it to detect i-rons (the source of naturally occurring Irony)
Abby: Then we could track the i-ron trail to it's source.
Lieutenant Leane picks up the remote control lying on the floor of the USS Dorset, and activates i-ron
detecting in the probe.  All around, the tense faces of the bridge crew wait.. eyes glued to their consoles...

And now the conclusion!
 

In sickbay the trusty EMH continues his search for the solvents. Only he can unglue the eyes of the bridge crew from their consoles, thus allowing them to resume their duties. Sadly he can only distinguish between the preparations by smell. At the moment he thinks he is yellow bald eagle called Gladys......
Up on the bridge, the crew are in a sticky situation.  The probe, sent out to detect i-rons, has vanished!
The air was thicker than leola root soup. In fact the air mostly was leola root soup, as Neelix had knocked the cooking pot over just as the artificial gravity went offline, and the air recycling system switched suddenly from BLOW to SUCK.
Crewmembers everywhere were dropping dead from the mere smell of leola root soup, and the EMH was
finding it hard to keep up with everything at once.  In his haste, he accidentally injected a hapless crewmember full of genetically-modified coffee beans.
Lurching from caffeine poisoned crewman the doctor samples another glue thinner of the Delta Quadrat.  His primary systems are slowly corroding. He staggers out of Sickbay singing "Show me the way to go home" slightly off key, and proposes marriage to a door to one of the Jeffries tubes.
To everyone's surprise, the door accepts, and Neelix rushes out from the turbolift (followed by a dishevelled Tuvok; decency refrains me from speculating) to perform the ceremony and throw a party.  But what of the i-ron trail?
Kathryn Janeway takes one look at Neelix and Tuvok, puts 2 and 2 together and has a nervous breakdown. Desperate for coffee, she grabs the crewman, previously injected by the doctor and begins frantically sucking on him. At ops Harry Kim is attempting to maintain a professional poise (not easy when one is covered in globs of floating leola root). Ma'am, he says, i-ron trail seems to lead directly into through that metaphor shower. You don't mean.... said Chakotay. Mmmmph.. said Janeway, through mouthfuls of crewman... Yes, said Harry - I think we're dealing with a Thesaurus....
In the corner, Seven spontaneously combusted.  The Borg had never seen the need for Thesauri, as they simply used "irrelevant" to describe everything.  Consequently, the mere thought of encountering one set up fatal errors in her subsystems -- she died regretting the day she had recommended Windows 2450 to the Borg Queen as the Operating Software Of Choice for Today's Cybernetic Collective.
Captain! came B'Elanna's voice from Engineering, there's a dangerous fluctuation in the synonym-antonym field. If we don't inject modified Borg  nano-probes into the field now I'm afraid there will be a dangerous feedback loop comprised of vicious literary criticism. Ah hell, said Janeway, sod the nano-probes, toss the whole bloody Borg bitch in. She's blown up anyway.
No one on the bridge could see B'Elanna's satisfied grin as she initiated a site to site transport, beaming the (former) Borg Drone down to the hack'n'saw department in Engineering to be transformed into Borg-b-que Briquettes for the syn-ant field.
She slapped Vorik on the back, in a comradely fashion. The Vulcan surreptitiously checked for broken ribs.
"You see," she said, "I *told* you they'd thank us one day for installing Mac systems. Thank God Tom can't cope with anything more complicated." They both watched the syn-ant field rotating in its symmetrical Apple shape.
Back on the bridge, the action was hotting up.  That is to say - when Seven had spontaneously combusted, the nearby carpet had caught fire too.  And the fire was now spreading across the rest of the bridge... nearing the hapless crewmen who still had their eyes glued to their consoles, and couldn't move!
The terrified crewman who had been injected with genetically modified coffee beans was backing away from his voracious captain. Much to his horror he was morphing into the DQ's first Starbucks franchise. Suddenly a dazed doctor emerged from the Jeffries tubes onto the bridge "Hey," he said, "these neuro-gel packs really know how to party." He poured another pint of Scruttock's Old Dirigible Solvent with Extra Twigs into a control panel. The bio-neural circuitry dispersed it around the bridge, and the crew found their eyes loosening from their consoles.
The only problem now was the rapidly spreading fire.  Already it had engulfed Ensign Xavier Pendible, and Crewman Rota Blüse was being incinerated like a Michael Voodoo Doll at a J/Cer's convention.  Nearly everyone else was piling into a turbolift - but Captain Janeway and the Starbucks Ensign were trapped on one side of the bridge, cut off from all the emergency exits!
Using the presence of mind for which she was famed, Janeway screamed out a classic order: ONE VENTI LATTE WITH SKIMMED MILK AND EXTRA FROTH. The Starbucks Ensign obliged. Grabbing the cup she ripped off the cardboard safety collar and with a fluid arm motion, that would cause the pitcher for the New York Yankees to cry in his mother's arms, she tossed the steaming drink into the flames. The hot milk froth rose up, smothering the flames, and filling the bridge with the unmistakeable smell of singed dairy product.
As the stench wafted through the upper decks, several crewmen ran to try and find the bathrooms to be sick, forgetting in their distress that the ship had been designed without any, as Starfleet thought such luxuries unnecessary.  As Chakotay threw up all over her (relatively, all things considered) clean uniform, Kathryn made a mental note to file a complaint with the Starfleet Property Department about this decision, and to sue for the resulting cleaning bill.
She mentally reviewed the list of crewmen in her mind. The doctor was crawling about on the floor, slurping whiteboard cleaner, and flickering gently. Chakotay was retching quietly, and she didn't want to *think* about what Tuvok and Neelix were doing. Tom was staring at his console trying to find the *on* switch, and even in death Seven had screwed up her day. Only Harry was there, eager as ever, uniform pristine, standing to attention in true Starfleet fashion. God she hated him. She waved an arm. Clean up this mess Mr Kim. I'll be in my ready room with the Starbucks franchise. She strode off. The hapless Ensign followed, trailing small sugar packets and plastic drink stirrers.
Harry looked around at the mess, down at his console, and back around at the mess, wondering where to start.   Hacking into his partioned hard drive that (he hoped) B'Elanna knew nothing about, he decided to start with a calming game of Tetris before settling down to the hard work.  Besides, Chakotay was still throwing up, so what was the point of cleaning up if the First Officer would only muck things up again, Kim rationalised.
Suddenly the door to the bridge opened and B'Elanna strode in. The next thing, she had slipped on a patch of warm milk and gone flying across the bridge, crashing into Tom's console. "I'm glad you're here darling" he said. "I've got some technical difficulties with the navigation." B'Elanna pulled herself up and glared at the console. "It's THAT button" she snapped, "You remember - we labelled them all so you wouldn't forget." "But it says NO," said Tom plaintively, "so I didn't press it." "It says ON," growled B'Elanna. "You've got the label upside down." Tom pressed it and the bridge was filled with a slightly stilted, bland female voice. "Welcome to SatNav v.587.3 for Mac. You are presently on course for... Earth. At the next... pulsar... you should turn... left."
"Left!"  Tom exclaimed.  "No problem.  That's this way, yeah?" he asked, pointing with his right hand, and accidentally poking B'Elanna in the eye in the process.  She glared at him through her squint, started to say something, then obviously thought better of it and simply knocked the helmsman out instead.  From his safe spot behind the Operations Console, Harry smirked to himself, until a strange beeping echoed forth from the bridge surround sound system...
His Tetris game was telling him that it needed his attention. Knowing his life depended on it, Harry dived for the console hoping to deactivate the game before B'Elanna could see what was going on. Mercifully, a higher power was watching over him. As B'Elanna was heading for his station, she tripped over a prone Chakotay, who had finally finished thowing up. "Oh for heaven's sake!" she yelled. "You do little enough up here. Do you have to get the place messy as well?" Chakotay thought hard for a moment. "Aye, Captain," he said. There was a collective groan from the bridge crew. The doctor's earlier attempts to get Chakotay to pay attention to anything going on on the bridge by using hypnosis, had had mixed results.
B'Elanna took out her frustration on a nearby crewmember, who later turned up in sickbay with 47 broken ribs, which the Doctor proclaimed a medical miracle.  In the meantime, though, the half-Klingon in question stalked across to the turbolift, forgetting all about the beeping on Harry's Tetris Game, and instead heading back to Engineering muttering choice swear words under her breath, leaving those crewmembers on the bridge still capable of breathing free to do so without fear of being torn from limb to limb.
"Shields down to 40% Captain," mumbled Chakotay from the flood, where he had been kicked by B'Elanna. "Please turn.... right at the next ... nebula," invited the SatNav chirpily. The turbolift doors opened, and Tuvok strode in, his normally impecaable appearence marred by leola root stains and some long ginger hairs scattered over his uniform. "Good pon farr, Tuvok?" asked Tom cheerily. "Indeed," replied Tuvok wearily. He had long ago realised that Tom Paris thought that sensitivity was a perfume by Calvin Klein. He surveyed the broken wreck of the First Officer in front of him. He spoke slowly. "Captain. Ready Room. Report." Chakotay looked at him gratefully. It was not often that any member of the crew gave him an independent line to say. "I'll do that now, Tuvok." He could have cried with the sheer joy of it.
Suddenly, the ship jarred to a halt.   "Will you stop fluffing around with the controls up there, Thomas Eugene Paris!" B'Elanna's voice came screeching over the commline.  "But it wasn't me!!!!" Tom protested, and Harry looked up from his Tetris game to nod his confirmation.  "Sensors register that we just bumped into a multi-coloured wall... er... ah.. that we've encountered something strange... searching the computer now... it's a 'Writer's Block', Sir," he informed Tuvok, looking puzzled.
There was silence. It was the first indication of the effect of the writers block. Normally, they would have relied on Seven to explain what what going on, how it could be dealt with, and then she and the doctor would disppear to modify a few nano-probes and all would be well. Now Seven had spontaneously combusted, and the crew were lost for ideas. Eventually, it was Chakotay who spoke. "Mr Kim, check the status of the plot devices." Everyone stared at him in surprise. Clearly, having been spared the attentions of the writers for such a long period of time, he was less lost in their absence.
"Plot devices.... plot devices..." Harry muttered, wondering where on earth they had been filed.  He tried under P, then under D, then under H (for Horatio), but he still couldn't find them, and the situation was not worsening one bit -- yet another effect of the writer's block.
"I can't seem to find them sir....." Chakotay began to pace, confidence returning at every step, now that the writers had disappeared. "Now, let me see... there's modified Borg nano-probes - don't *think* so... Doctor reprograms emitter to go undercover - he looked at the hicupping hologram... scratch THAT.... reconfiguring the something other, and rerouting emergency power to something else... that would involve B'Elanna".... the crew held its breath... "save that for later," .... the crew breathed again.... "I crash a shuttle - no, Reg Barclay sends us the answer from the Alpha Quadrant - over my dead body - Kathryn attempts to sacrifice herself to save the ship...." he glanced towards the ready room. Only faint slurping could be heard.
A wicked grin spread across his face -- thankfully, everyone else was too absorbed in their own dilemma to notice it.  If Kathryn attemtped to sacrifice herself for the ship, he could ride in and save her from herself/whomever, and look like a hero, and, on top of that, probably win her undying gratitude.  He was liking this idea more and more.  Glancing around the bridge, he wondered who was expendable enough to send in to separate Kathryn from the Coffee.
He cursed the fact that the obvious candidates had perished in the fire. That only left the main crew, with the obvious contractual problems if they ever got home. He surveyed his options - Tuvok? It seemed hard on him, seeing as he'd just found love - or something.  The same seemed to apply to Neelix, who had last been seen rather dreamily inviting someone to Live Long and Prosper. The doctor - irritating, but the alternative was Paris - a man who was at the moment carefully examining his sleeve cuffs, where B'Elanna had thoughtfully sewn L and R. If B'Elanna went someone else would have to fix the bloody syn-ant field, and his grammar frankly wasn't up to it. If Paris went - on the plus side they would spend *more* time going in the right direction. On the minus side someone else would have to sleep with B'Elanna. He winced. That only left Harry.... He turned to Harry with a beaming smile. He noted that the Ensign's uniform was *still* immaculate. "Harry... I have a *very* important job for you...."
Harry's eyes lit up at this, having obviously not followed Chakotay's train of thought.  Finally, that extra pip for his collar seemed within his grasp!  "What do I have to do, Commander?" he asked in a precise, sharp, military manner, practically snapping to attention and barely refraining from saluting.  "Do you need me to reconfigure the warp drive in ten seconds?  Pilot the ship singlehandedly?  Defrag the main disk drive?  Face down B'Elanna after she finds out about Paris sleeping with Jenny Delaney?"
"None of those Mr Ki.... JENNY DELANEY!!!!" Chakotay shook himself... that information might come in useful.... "No Mr Kim - I want you to go into the Ready Room, and bring out the Captain...."
The blood drained from Harry's face.  "Bu-bu-bu-bu-but!" he stammered, clutching the edge of his console to keep from collapsing.
"I didn't expect this reaction from someone who was prepared to reveal her husband's infidelity to B'Elanna". He raised his voice slightly to cover the noises escaping the ready room. "It's a simple mission Mr Kim. I know you're the man for the job"
Paris snorted.  "That's not a man, that's a mouse!!!"  Harry turned bright red.  "I am NOT a peripheral input device!" he yelled, and stormed off towards the Ready Room.
His fit of pique carried him through the doors, whilst the rest of the crew was trying to deal with the concept of Paris doing something helpful. They were reassured, however, when it transpired that the doctor had been trying some home programming again, and had succeeded in turning himself into a small rodent.
They all waited in tense silence for the doors to the Ready Room to open again.   Bets were placed on how many pieces Harry would reemerge in.
Suddenly there was a howl from the ready room. The crew exchanged glances. Tom sighed "Replicator rations you idiots, glances are no good." It was clear that someone else would have to go in. This was it, thought Chakotay - my chance to be a hero.
Squaring his shoulders and checking in the mirror that his fake tattoo wasn't smudged, Chakotay got onto the horse which had conveniently appeared, and chraged for the Ready Room doors.
Fortunately the horse was brighter than Chakotay. It swerved abruptly before it crashed into the doors.  Chakotay was disldoged and flew off the horse, and through the doors (which had opened a split second before). He landed at Kathryn's feet. One corner of her ready room was completely taken up with a personaised Starbucks franchise. The hapless ensign had been reduced to a barista, speaking with an impenetrable generic foreign accent. He came over to Chakotay and offered him a some ethical coffee and a small smaple of banana loaf. Chakotay waved him away. Harry was huddled in a corner in the foetal position, sobbing gently.
"Okay, Kathryn!!  The game is up!!!  I know what your secret plan is!!" Chakotay yelled, scrambling to his feet and shaking her by the shoulders -- he'd landed on his head a little harder than one would have expected.
He looked into the caffeine crazed eyes of his captain. "You're going to sacrifice yourself to save the ship!"  Kathryn looked confused. "What makes you think that?". "I've been through all the possible plot devices the ship carries - it's the only one that could possibly work." Kathryn smiled engimatically. "Actually, no, Chakotay." She turned to her monitor "Look. All captains are issued with special orders from Starfleet Command - security clearance special Ultraviolet - which we initiate in the event of encountering Writer's Block. It activates the Project Q device, which disperses writer's block immediately." Chakotay slapped his forehead, and winced. How could he have overlooked the obvious - Deus Ex Machina.
A blinding flash of light filled the Ready Room, and Chakotay passed out, crumpling at his Captain's feet for the second time in about three minutes.
The ship lurched forward, the writer's block disintegrating. "Captain," called Tom, "I think the writer's block is disintegrating." Kathryn sighed and went to the door. "Thank you Tom, I can see that. Oh, and next time, use the comm system." "Yes, ma'am". She turned and looked at her First Officer. She hoped that he wasn't going to throw up on her ready room carpet. She was going to have enough trouble with the stains left by the mutuating coffee franchise.
Maybe, she thought, jumping into her chair, leaning back, and kicking her feet up onto the desk, she should just get a Noo-Noo in to do the cleaning.  Heaven knows it suited the intellectual level of the rest of the crew.
She looked at her first officer. At least he was fairly decorative. And with training could manage a few simple phrases - although opinion was divided as to whether he acutally understood what they meant. Then again maybe she'd be better off with a parrot. Perhaps not - at least Chakotay didn't throw his food round the room, and go to the toilet on the floor of his quarters. As far as she knew. She looked at Harry Kim, still whimpering. "Mr Kim... Mr Kim... Tinky-Winky...." The shattered ensign looked tearfully at her. She smiled. "You've been *very* brave today, Now go back on to the bridge, and... um.... perform a level 5 diagnostic on the sensor array." The young man immediately snapped to attention, back in his usual area of dialogue. "Yes ma'am he said crisply, and left the ready room. Kathryn licked her lips and gazed at her first officer. Coffee did more to her than keep her alert. "Now... Chakotay, I want to check your status... and barista - more of that frothy milk, if you please...."

"That could be the end I guess *g*"