War XI Quote List

These quotes are all taken from my first read through of the War as it dropped. I basically cut and pasted whatever I thought was funny or striking. No authors or post titles have been attributed, and they're in vaguely correct order. (At least as correct as the order in which the War posts were dropped!)

'Internet for Dummies Underground For Seven Years'

"Let moi be yar guide tew yarself fer Oi'm the Nightsquawker."

"Great, I'm herding cats before I even get to Toronto"

Janette was singing the 'Beer Barrel Polka'.

"I borrowed an old school bus from a friend of mine," she said. "Very discreet form of transportation, and great for hauling a crowd around."

"I'm Marci," she said, "Keeper of the Satin Sheets."

"Did they give you a title yet?"
"Keeper of the Scooby Snacks," Jeanette replied proudly.

She had never "met" Attitude, only knew that it was white with red eyes and close to 7 feet long. That was about 6-1/2 feet too long in her opinion.

"I hereby dedicate these moose to all Nick&Natpack warriors - those who are with us now and those who will be with us in the future. Most importantly, to those who, over the years, whether gradually or without warning, were mercilessly taken from us by that most insidious of evils - Real Life."

"Don't worry, Fiber Girl," Shele said, patting Bons on the shoulder. "No matter how you may be embarrassed or abused in the future, I'll always be there to laugh at your misfortune and mock your pain. Consider it my gift to you."

"Now we know Bonnie wears 'Powerpuff Girls' underwear. Personally, I could have done without that information."

"That's gotta be cursed," Patt noted, matter-of-factly. "LaCroix wouldn't have shipped it here unless it was cursed."

"There will be no coronation, no ordination, no consolation because there'll be no Scribing Priestess taking office."

"Everyone stop everything! You have to listen to me! I'M NOT YOUR LEADER!!"

To make matters worse, the plane had not served any Australian beer.

[Whine, whine]

To her surprise, though, before she reached Screed's abode, an unconscious McLisa dropped through a manhole cover and nearly creamed her.

Libster gagged and hugged the Ratsie Wot Kilt Screed tightly ta 'er bosom (kin we mention bosoms in a War, she pondered)

"M-my name is McLisa and I am... I am a RatPacker."

Pink-Out[tm](Rather like White-Out, but on another wavelength. Fumes known to make Evil Cousin Tiff dance naughty jig at parties. A handy tool.)

"Ick! Old dead thing! What would LaCroix want with that?!" (Old dead thing - rather a description of the Nunkster, himself, if one was feeling uncharitable.)

"But, Bons is a Barbarian," Patt countered. "If you wanted this coronation to have her style, then you should have Viking ships and Teutonic forests everywhere."

"I wonder if there will be another movie shoot in Toronto anytime soon?" (Are there stars in Hollywood? Does the sun rise in the east? Do Ratpackers collect pretty, shiny things???)

"The altar can stay, but only if it doubles as a buffet bar."

"I am NOT Screed."
"Wasn't tha' a book by that pointed ear droog?"

Mortal life as a sailor followed by more than three hundred years with Vachon's crew had given Screed a lot of experience with drunks, from the mildly squiffed to those who actually tried to ride their pink elephants.

"She h'used big words!"

"We need to go to Natalie Lambert's apartment. Where? Oh you know - it's in the Apartment Building of the Damned. Do you know where that is? Oh, good!"

"It's the 21st century. We were promised flying cars. Where are the flying cars? I WANT MY FLYING CARS!!!"

"Greg? Woman, I may not be myself today but I am certainly NOT anyone called 'Greg'. What a pedestrian name if I've ever heard one."

McLisa, however, although definitely fishy, was not in search of sushi.

According to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, the spell had approximately the same chance of working as a snowflake on the fender of hell.

"Momma, why did you put a soldering iron in the suitcase?"
"Have to be prepared."

Tok sat there in stunned disbelief, even worse than when she'd seen the rendition of "Like A Virgin" in Moulin Rouge.

You'd think a city that has experienced a rain of evil pink Jell-O would never see anything new. You'd be wrong.

"Look...his bottles of blood! They're....*organized*!"

By: many dark perks
Time: Thursday July 5th
Places: ones that hold dark perks

"There's no way you can refuse a battle yak."

They were just glad that they'd been able to get a hold of it on such short notice; after all, without the yak, the whole scheme would go pear-shaped.

All four of them were sobered by the thought of missing out on their one chance to achieve legendary status through the Wickedest, Most Fiendishly Clever, Most Brilliantly Evil Attack Ever Devised. After everything they had gone through to prepare--getting their hands on the stealth equipment, finding manual eggbeaters, ordering the brown shag carpet, renting the portable pottery wheels, not to mention all the other deals they'd struck and sacrifices they'd made--it would be a crime *not* to be able to go through with the plan.

"Woof, woof!" Perry wagged his tail with relief. *Finally* this dim bulb was getting it.
"Nick and Lacroix fell down the old well!?"
Perry's tail ceased its happy wave.
"Nick and Lacroix are trapped in the abandoned mine!?"
Perry sat with a plop on the sidewalk, lowering his head with a soft whine. Perhaps he had a migraine coming on.

When Les mentioned that his transiting Pluto was quincunx to Mercury while it was running retrograde, so he needed to stop and get a tattoo at the Trophy Girl parlor in Toronto, they wisely placed Kathy in the lead. Everyone knew Mercury wasn't retrograde.

"IGC..?" queried Dawn.
"Impacted Guilt Condition," Lorin supplied.

"This closet and its contents, namely my non-sensible shoes, are the sole (no pun intended) property of Bonnie Rutledge. No one else is authorized to enter this closet...and THIS MEANS YOU, CHRISTY!!
P.S. I changed the locks and they're titanium. Neener!!"

"Did the scary lady with the cheese balls go away?"

*Must think leaderly thoughts. Must think leaderly thoughts.*

"Weird weird," Christy yelped. "Bump in the night and don't-go-through-that-door-there's-an-axe-murderer weird."

"What was that crack about cheeseballs?"

There she stood examining the ends of her hair as if they'd been encoded with some secret message like "Hot oil, it's not just for playtime!"

Snixco Nunk-A-Boo Adhesive Bandages! Nunk-A-Boo: Anti-septic, flexible, adhesive bandages - For when you're sorry and are pretty sure it won't happen again! Now available in Nunkies' Kiss and Nunkies' Rose fun shapes!!

I am Jean-Pierre Nicholas de Brabant, but you can call me Monsieur Nickie!

"The chickens are sad, brooding all the live long day, 'No eggs for the Scribe!'"

At this point Allexxis used a good deal of unpretty words which are not permitted in a PG war. The basic summary of what she said came down to this: Sammy is bad, that was a bad thing Sammy did, bad things will happen to Sammy in the imminent future.

Just killing a mime for the war effort. Nothing to see here folks. Move right along.

If you feel surreptitious, you ARE surreptitious!

"It's uh, right over there. Under the sign marking his -cherry- parking space. Uh-huh!"

"Shh! For Pete's sake, whoever Pete is, shh!"

He didn't stick around to listen to much more than that -- he was allergic to second-hand perkiness.

Bonnie had been walking the streets for hours -- no, NOT in *that* sense -- but to no avail.

"The mind is immaterial and immaculate, with radiant awareness. Neither coming nor going, it pervades all time; neither inside nor outside, it permeates all space."

"Nick," Patt confirmed, staring at the blonde detective. "But, look at the way he's walking. He has a . . . swish."

They were greeted with the sight of Vachon, wearing a frilly purple apron, and making headless bunny pancakes.

"The Grand High Poobah, who is Laurie, is Goddess. Do what she wants, or she will use the VOICE, sing, or sing with the VOICE. She's also good with newspapers."

Amazing, Transcendental Motorbikes are rather a pisser to steal. That may not stop Tiff from trying, though. Repeatedly.

"I hate to be the flat tire on your tour bus, but that idea sounds more than a little farfetched."

"Yes, Nicholas, please. Believe me, life is worth a lot more than committing suicide by walking out of Wal-Mart, of all the places."

"Oops." Marci blushed as she realized her hand had been in a place where only a moose urologist's hand should be. "Sorry Nicky."

There were certain truths to being a NN-pack and being late was one of the them. Chocolate, Coffee, Aliens, and Love and Faith rounded out the top five.

Four-hundred-odd years were far too much time to spend with the likes of Screed and his Ratpack. Note to self: if decision to live forever affirmative, find new friends for the duration!!

"Do you know who you are?" one said.
"Uh-huh. Do you know who you are?" the other said.

Living forever may be the best revenge, but we only have two weeks here...

LaCroix watched from underneath the awning of The Peach as Cloud roared away like a Meatloaf album.

Paul shook his head. "There were five whole shelves of herbal gunk that's supposed to make a person happier, sleepier, calmer, smarter, thinner, more alert, less hyper, and popular with the opposite sex," he said, "but nothing to make a person evil."
Anne sighed. "Yeah, I'd heard that was a much-neglected field in the herbal industry."

"She's cocky like a prize-fightin' rooster! She's smart-assed like a pack mule from the ranges of hell! She's an arrogant worm with an ego the size of Vesuvius!"

"But...the antichrist isn't *nice*!!"

"Trust me, you love coffee...it's good for you!"

"Don't act like a fishwife. It's bad for your complexion."

It would appear that someone has done something to a few of the Vaqueras' motorcycles during the party at the Raven... People are such savages.

Drinking was one thing, watching a dead, old guy bathe was another.

"Wake up in there," a muffled voice came through the glass of the truck's window. "You're sleeping through the WAR. Look what you let happen."

Evil Dead Dude tried to bury Tattooed Desert Dude.

"Oh, and please don't touch anything! You never know when you might start some sort of chain reaction." (Not that it seemed to hurt Keanu Reeves' career, but one can't be too careful.)

In the corner stood a giant moose.

"Huh? Ya ne'er h'asked me which Bonnie," Johnsie protested. "Oi jest said 'there's a Bonnie!' Gew back ta the foirst o' this post n' see!"

Bonnie blinked a few times, coming to consciously. She looked down at her cotton ball covered body, then at all the little ratsies, then at the Ratpackers. "Am I... Am I a ... Am I a LLAMA?"

How do we know vampires don't trade personas every so often? It's not like we know a lot about them, really. Heck, we don't even know if they go to the bathroom.

Do you or someone you love suffer from sudden, major,
and complete personality shifts?

Does it seem as if they suddenly become someone else??

Do they believe they are someone else for a time???

Are you searching in vain for a cure for this special

If so, then your search is over!!! New research into
nutrition and vitamins has turned up some exciting
results in the field of personality shifting disorder
(PSD). Click HERE to find out more!

And amazingly enough, Uppity did stop.
Rather suddenly.
And Kyer rather belatedly realized her wish to fly.

"I've climbed to the top of Diamond Head on Oahu in Hawaii; as well as to the top of the Cape May Lighthouse in Jersey, and I've even ridden in a car years ago with one of my husband's friends nicknamed 'Crash', as well as having ridden The Cyclone in Coney Island, but I've never been really and truly scared until I rode in a vehicle Susan was driving."

"F. Hugh, what do you think of adding a group of dancing police officers?"

"Thy got to find the lady before she does something odd." Wolfy scanned the crowd for the blonde detective.
"Like not washing her hair, dressing all in black, insisting she's not Tracy, buying a motorcycle, and leaving us without a word?" Valerie remarked sarcastically. "Something odd like that?"

Mildred spotted Christy and joined her in the booth. (Let's face it, it was hard *not* to spot someone wearing mouse ears in public. The good people of Toronto were just too polite to point and stare.)

From the "FK War Can Be Fun… and Educational!" chapter of "FK War for Dummies":
"The Reverend William Archibald Spooner was renowned for his amusing verbal slips, so much so that today such linguistic accidents are known as Spoonerisms."

Ironically, I can finally get into Sanctuary, only to find out that it's closed down now. I think they changed it over into an old age home."

"Hey, yourself! If one member of Cerberus is Cerberi, what are two members of Cerberus?"
"Weirded out and annoyed, mostly."

"Sunlight or not! You have lipstick on my face!"

"Where on earth did you obtain a hedgehog??? And *why* on earth did you bring it HERE?"

"Well, it was Vachon . . . but in body only. Nice body, too."

"I've seen dogs matted as bad as Supaige, and they all required being clipped naked.

"The Elvis clone got his foot stomped by a Birkenstock and then ate most of the medicine cabinet. But, he was a lot of fun and sang "In the Ghetto" for me." Jan suddenly frowned. "Wonder why he chose that song?"

"Jess," Tok said lowly, "perhaps you should go organize post-it notes. Please add a few stating clearly that water has *nothing* to do with this predicament."

"Schedulitis," Tok declared. "Inflamation of the organizational gland."

"Don't do anything that might hurt LaCroix's body. It's not yours. You're borrowing it without permission,"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry -- I guess they haven't told you: I don't do descriptive writing. I do dialogue. You can write the descriptions of the clothing, vehicles, and animals, if you'd like," Julia replied with an evil evil smile.

Now here she was, with her comrades in arms, plus a gaggle of slightly psycho CotK's, looking for some ancient shirt. Nonsense.

"Haven't y'all ever given someone something or done something for someone that made you feel good?" Each of them thought it over. "I gave a pervert a black eye once," Anne offered

"Uh-uh! I'm far too young and handsome to catch a flesh-eating disease down here!"

Place: Somewhere else in the vast, vast, vast RP tunnels. Vast.

They were lost. And they weren't just any lost, either. They were one of those good, solid, "God, we're doomed" kinds of lost. This is a lost you can be proud of!

"She's already sustained a severe head trauma, and you hit her on the head with a *sledgehammer* for no good reason? Are you nuts? Are you insane? Are you suddenly a Merc?"

Alarm bells went off in her head. Fireworks started three days late. The moon crashed into the sea. Goodbye sanity. Hello Mary Sueville.

From the "Friendship vs. Factions!" chapter of "FK War for Dummies":
"You should be aware that sometimes the people you think are your good, true friends are actually screwing with your mind. This phenomenon is most prevalent in the various Cousinly factions."

"I do NOT want to go down the Raven's alley! Honkin' weird *things* from freakin' *hell* live down that alley!"

"You rotten Pythagorean theorem! You nasty little isoscelean triangle, you!"

"I *must* be with Allah," he smiled, his eyes only partially focused. "First I was with a princess, then a desert flower and now with . . ." he looked unsteadily at Patt, "the finest camel imaginable."

I'm a *vampbear*. I don't *do* religion.


Nick said quickly, "Hopefully we'll be back to normal before it's dinnertime." This time he crossed his toes. Schanke was remarkably prehensile.

Schanke poked a finger at Nick. "Now here're MY rules. Rule Number One---no fooling around with Myra! She's a hot babe, and she's MY hot babe. Rule Number Two---don't get me in trouble! If you act like you, I'll be in hot water faster than you can say 'souvlaki.' And Rule Number Three---" He floundered for a bit, "---Rule Number Three is, no fooling around with Myra!"

Picture, if you will, Gentle Readers, our two brave but mismatched detectives endlessly circling the vast metropolis of Toronto on the 401 beltway. Picture Nick, in the corporeal aspect of Donald G. Schanke, trying to divert his hapless partner from discovering the more unusual properties of his borrowed body. Picture Schanke, in the corporeal aspect of Nicholas B. Knight, finally getting to sit in the driver's seat, glorying in his unusually acute night vision, more-than-adequate hair, and occasionally bothered by odd thumping noises and snatches of conversations in passing vehicles.

"Come ta the cabaret, me droogies! Come ta the ca-ba-rayyyy! (Me singin' teacher'd be so proud)," Libby sniffed as all the little ratsies clapped at her artsy-fartsy performance.

"What's a Rutledge?"

"Where did you get this unhealthy-looking thing-from-hell?" Cousine Celeste said conversationally. "Oh, look. I just answered my own question."

"I just thought you'd want to hear my report," Christy said.
"Give me the Reader's Digest Condensed Version [tm]," snapped her superior.
"Okay...." Christy began. "Boat leaked. Called repairman back. No leak. Found Dee. No money. He stayed. Scary noises. People coming in. Ratpacker tunnels. Majorly lost. Found Erik. Found Glennis. Found Tiff and company. Traded Nay for Beverley and Jan. Jan lost. Madame Kiki's found. Buff Slave Boys found. Kewl party clothes. Raven party. Strange vamp behavior. New Merc candy. Dreamy dance. Erik had theory. Went back to Madame's place. Went to meet Mildred. No Bons. Tromped around Toronto. Called you. Came back. Showered. Dressed. Woke you up." She considered for a moment. "Yep. I think that about covers it."

"Egads, she's assimilated Barry Manilow!"

"Attackers? Oh, no, I'm an UFfer. Les picked me up on his way across the US, but I was wearing gray at the time and got lost in the upholstery."

Cleaning is boring. Yes, there are people who get off on it, even use it as a sort of meditation technique. But this post is not going there and we are making the temporal leap to the time when all the paint is off the walls and the Febreze detailers have done their thing...

Vachon examined all the possibilities in the penthouse, settling first on the stereo. He hit "power", intending to listen to his favorite radio station (CERK -- not!).

"They may have to restrain him to prevent it, of course -- I mean, what wouldn't a guy (especially one like Screed) do in possession of a beautiful, tall, blonde body completely incapable of defending herself?"

"I WANNA GO FOR A RIDE IN THE CADDIE!" McLisa screamed, hating to be out done by anyone, especially when she hadn't figured out where to put her life-sized moose yet. The Caddie had a lot of truck space, but not THAT much!

Bonnie just sighed, thankful for the wellies which she'd found, shrink-wrapped, near the secret opening to this portion of the tunnels.

Tracy hauled boo-tay down the passageway, with the Ratpacker -- sans the moose who was too big to fit and now stood staring after them, obviously wondering if they were coming back or if he was expected to crawl out of the sewers all by himself as his great ancestors once had. What? Why do you think the plural of both moose and mouse is meece? Coincidence? I think not!!

Not to mention the staking incident -- I thought I told you NOT to mention that! I didn't. Yes, you did. When? Just now? What? The staking incident. Don't mention that!!! Okay! Okay!!

Suddenly, Tracy was no longer Screed, she was Wayne Gretzky and she was playing Vachon's tonsils like a hockey puck!

And all Bonnie could think was, thank goodness the moose wasn't here to witness THIS!

"What is somebody doing with all that blood? Bathing?"

"Well, no, I'm not really into being stamped with a heated iron identification device," Patt said, waving her handkerchief at Miklos.

"Oh man, this is terrible! Looks like we got Tracy Vetter--AND Emeril Lagasse!".

"No way did I come all the way to Toronto to get stuck in what looks like a nightclub decorated by Barney!"

"My mind is finally going. I can swear I just heard Roberto Benigni call my name."

"You've heard necessity is the Mother of Invention?" The Vaqs nodded.
"Well it's also the Mother of Frustrated-Mothers-of-9-year-old-Diva-Wannabes-who-lock-themselves-in-bathrooms."

"I do not eat green eggs and spam. I will not eat them helter-skelter. I will not eat them in a bomb shelter. I do not like reconstituted eggs and spam. I do not like them Tiff I am."

"Then I guess it's a safe bet that Wolfram and Hart aren't responsible,"

"Well, it's not easy, you know--the Egyptian written language has no--" she broke off again, this time searching for a good approximation for 'vowels'. Her linguistic skills were proving woefully inadequate to the task at hand. "Look," she said finally, "I'm the best they could do on short notice." 'On short notice' came out more like 'in abeyance of the seasons of the Nile', but the creature's thoughtful nod suggested that Eve was finally getting the hang of the rhetorical style.

"Here you go, Marci. This kirtle and sideless surcoat are perfect for you. They're so 1228! "

"You all realize what we haven't done yet, don't you?" asked Katrinka. She smiled wickedly. Most of the other Knighties started to grin. "Puppy pile!" she yelled.

V. bad song in poor Spanish accent mentioned in post available for download at http://bons.50megs.com

Am LLAMA. Does mental state require elaboration?

Lovely day save for imminent nephritic collapse. Witnessed 3 run-by spittings. Appreciate extroverted species embracing hocking loogies as accepted form of social expression.

The bathroom did prove useful for scaring the cud off of a pair of leather pants.

Great speed was achieved. Very few traffic laws were obeyed. Madness ensued.

Cigarettes: 0 (have forsaken in Epiphany), Alcoholic units: 0 (am treating body as temple in Epiphany), cud units: 6 (am Llama, to be expected), moving violations: 21 (apparently), bathroom stops: 3 (facilities in jail cell = too tempting)

Preen screening
Feather flocking fingers
Lips no
Eggs Pecking Order?

In battle, the first duty of any good soldier is to ensure the completion of his or her mission to the fullest. However, Eve was not a good soldier. She was a government employee, and a Merc--two species whose prime directive was self-preservation.

chaos: (n) 1. a state of utter confusion 2. a congregation of Cousins (a herd of deer, an unkindness of Raven(ette)s, a chaos of Cousins)

All three hastily sped away from the Raven, having left glued to the wall, for all the world to see, a colourful painting entitled, "Teletubbie in Repose with Pink Tribbles".

"CERK all day and night. Home of the Nightcrawler and the HOouuuunnndds of Hell. This is Jess, your Cousinly receptionist speaking. How may I help you?"

The lie censures said that they had to check me out to make sure I hadn't mated with a container, or something like that. (I'm a vampbear. Why would I mate with a (*container*?)

"Because you kept the Pepsi from us," Tiff began. "We decided to get even. We secretly substituted the fine coffee you usually drink with Folgers' Crystals."
"Decaf Folgers' Crystals," Nay emphasized.

FLASHBACK (Hey, everyone else had one. Now it's my turn!)

"Every Addict has a breaking point," Christy said to herself, not believing what she was thinking of doing. "Christy Stillman has obviously reached hers, and she has gone insane."

She glanced around the store furtively. No one was in sight. It could be done, but it had to be done quickly. Voices sounded inside her head. Helicopter rotors thwupped and Wagner blared.

"Hello in there. Who are you?"
"I'm Bonns," a muted voice replied.
"Bons, who?"
"Bonns . . . not Bons . . . Bonns."

"Our dear Nunkies is so adrift. He needs his High Priestess to anchor him, to sooth his brow. Since Bons ran off, or was kidnapped, or both, he's been a lonely, lonely vampire."
"If you'll quit stroking my tarped head, I'll do it," Pardoe said suddenly.

The self-proclaimed Society Intent on Destroying the Natpack's Evil & Yuckiness (SIDNEY) entered the NatPack HQ via the fire escape.

The call from the NA about a meeting at the University of Toronto sounded suspicious but during a war everything anybody says, even something on the level of 'would you like fries with that?' sounds suspicious. But the promise of a solution to all of the odd character switches going around was too tempting an offer. And anyway, at a place like the University of Toronto in broad daylight, how dangerous could it be? No, don't answer that.

"We're late," Debra said glumly, eyeing her Winnie the Pooh watch. (What? It was special ordered and has my name on it!)

Katrinka picked up a cooking chopstick. "There's only one thing we can do. Stake the bear!"

*Puppy pile?* thought LaCroix. Every Knightie in the room launched herself at him. He slipped to the mat, buried by the women, who were all pushing in to give him a huge hug. The display of Knightie affection left him speechless and thoughtless.

Cousin Tserisa burst into the lobby, flailing about like an octopus on a turntable.

Nick turned.
Jess thrust a rounded plastic skeleton in his face.
And squeeked it.
"Argh!" Nick exclaimed, staggering backwards. "It burns!"
"Ah ha!" Jess said, cradling the Spooky Squeeky Toy [TM]. "It really does have Patented Holy Squeek Technology!" She then turned and headed back to the lobby.

"Hiiiii!" Jess called, waving from the desk. She grinned ([Insanely, maniacally, absurdly,] Nick thought.). "Welcome to CERK! Can I take your order?"

"And this," Celeste said, "is the padded cell."

The Inca made one of those unintelligible male noises, the kind that could mean anything between 'Nothing' and 'I'm peeved because my llama stole the DeVille, and I had to bail her out of jail.'

Vachon rolled his eyes and started digging in his pockets for a comb. While Tracy had occupied his body, she'd tucked them everywhere. "What the hell," he said aloud and proceeded to chase her down, thereby proving Bonnie's theory that a Spaniard who would pets rats would be easy prey for a flirtatious llama with political objectives.

Am being petted by Vachon. Feel niggles (of conscience) that am behaving v. badly. Know Patt and Christy would lecture. Should not allow grooming by Senior Senor of rival faction. Am threatening integrity of Geneva Convention, or Syndicon Convention, or some other v. v. important Conventional-Rule-Thingy, am certain of it.

Have concluded all concerns over Conventional-Rule-Thingy v. silly. Worry over deception of rival group is so much factionwittage. Am SUPPOSED to be sneaky around Vaqueras. Am SUPPOSED to lie to Vachon. Am doing MY JOB!!! (llama counterintelligence) Will never find out. (Gawd, hope not) Will never tell. Will have back rubbed and measure Vachon's inside leg instead (34).

"She's a friendly thing." The llama bumped him some more, and he glanced at Tracy Sue ruefully. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say she was molesting me on purpose."

Triumph (emotional) beamed from Marilyn's eyes.

Revenge is a dish best served like Baked Alaska," Tracy Sue said cryptically. "Cold and from a distance."

I still feel fuzzy. Maybe I'm turning into a llama. Naw. That's just the pain shot making me feel weird....and it wouldn't be an original idea!

"Oh, Libster needed this thingee fer a goodluck charm. Hat first Oi'd brung 'er sateenee pumps an' rilly 'igh 'igh 'eels but she thunked me and sed she wanted 'orseshoes not 'ores shoes. 'oodathunkit?"

Maybe all the vampires and mortals who have been affected simply have to gather together and stand still for the appropriate period of time." "Or perhaps they all need to get together and bounce on a monster sized trampoline,"

"Okay, does anyone have any idea *why* she was trying to walk around in hip waders?"

"Souvlaki in the bloodstream *is* a pretty dangerous condition"

A large moose with a face like LaCroix sat upon the CN tower, sucking on a microphone-shaped hookah pipe and blowing pastel-colored smoke in Bonnie's face. "Moo R U, Vaquero?"

How doth the great and clever LaCroix
Improve his cousinly horde
To gather in close those in awe
And encourage others onboard?

How cunning is his spoken word
Oh, most sweetly does he say
In the back of her mind he's heard
Tempting ardent Vaqueros astray.

Bonnie awoke very confused. Who was she indeed? A Bonnie who is not a Rutledge. A Ratpacker who does not say "wot?" A Vaquero beholden to LaCroix...

"Sleep is for turtles!"

Oh, gawd...the Grand High Poohbah had even crashed in. (Or had she been invited? Laurie MercBard's connection with the deepest roots of Nunkies Anonymous was a disturbing thing.)

"Well, I was just thinking that it would be really nice if we had an excuse to jump on LaCroix," Anne mumbled.
"Yes," Caren said. "Nice picture until the tag scene where we're all drained, and LaCroix says, 'Puppy piles are for breakfast, and only in the worst of times.' I'm not gonna try it. You gonna try it?"
"I'm not gonna try it," Tiff said.
Nay peeped at LaCroix, who was still frowning at the lot of them as though they were very, very naughty. "Get Anne to try it. She'll try anything!"

The force of the glare he sent the heap of feel-good, buddy-buddy niceness writhing on the floor promptly destroyed the universe. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but the universe *was* very, very sore the next morning.

"It is not their true nature to puppy pile!"

"You're not Nunkies! You're NICKIES!!!!"

The orchestra keyed into the music of Chopsticks just as she began bounding from one set of trampolines to another.

She'd already collected dossiers on the kidnap victims, the UF, Raggedy Andy, and above all (pardon the pun) the CN Tower.

"Orry say, no eacken spay gyptian Eay."

"We're ... we're management consultants hired by the Tower to study potential ... marketing tie-ins," Julia blathered. "As you may know, the RCMP signed a merchandising agreement with the Disney organization a few years ago. So the CN Tower has us researching various options."
"OK, but ... what's with the handcuffs?" asked a skeptical man.
"Oh, these? I forgot about these," Julia said, truthfully. "We just completed a pilot study for the Toronto police force, comparing the comfort of traditional restraints with the plastic strips that police in the States are now using. You can see," Julia smiled as ingratiatingly as she knew how, "that the traditional restraints came out well ahead of the alternative."

"Sure. You be One of Two and I'll be Two of Two."
"I thought crossovers weren't allowed."
"Who the heck has the time to read these posts and notice anyway?"

The mysterious figure shifted in the Vaqmadre's direction. Stare. Stare. Stare. (Ice Queen of Death Shooting Frosty Arrows of Psychic Punishment.)

Tracy Sue looked right back, refusing to crumble. Stubborn. Stubborn. Stubborn. (Laid-Back Queen of Slackers Not Particularly Caring.)

All at once, the stranger elegantly lifted one hand (the Ravenettes present immediately recognized her manicure had been done in 'Tear Your Heart Out Red'), and slowly drew back her veil. There was a collective gasp. "JULES!!!!!"

The MercBard almost couldn't have calculated the mayhem any better herself. She began to sing 'Hey, Hey We're The Nunkies' under her breath, then crowed, (non-Russell) "I get my way...Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!" This sound, ripped from the bowels of Purgatory, of course, increased everyone's terror (except for a few vampires and Vaqueras who didn't care because their hearing was recovering from recent enjoyment of Def Leppard at maximum volume.)

"*This* is not Bonnie!"
The entire audience chorused, "YES, IT IS!!!!"
"No, it's not!" Jules snipped.
The audience would not be swayed. "YES, IT IS!!!!!"
The other ex-veiled woman tapped Jules on the arm. "Technically, they're right. I am Bonnie. Your startling revelation needs more qualifiers if you want to achieve the proper element of climax."

The horde of Natpackers fell onto the Shrine like a group of goths onto an autographed Cure album.

"Can I get a refund?" Laurie MercBard shouted. "This party is not what it was advertised to be; an embarrassing situation that we could rub the Nunkie noses in at future wars."

"'E h'is God's gift ta h'us h'all!" Libby corrected the newest Ratpacker. "Ya did no ferget ta send 'im h'a thankyouverymuch card, now didya?" Libby asked and McLista had to hang her head in shame.
'Note to self,' Lisa thought, 'buy biggest thank you card in existence to send to God. Call 1-800-ASK-USPS for zip-plus-four code in Heaven.'

Screed was going commando, so this would be a quick maneuver, one which the Ratpackers, all huddled together whispering, would never have to know about. He hooked his thumb into his waistband, then pulled the pant-material as far out from his waist as he could. Then he looked down his trousers.
"Oh my goodness!!" he declared. The fanfic descriptions hadn't even come close. No wonder Nick and LaCroix were always putting him down -- they were jealous!!

Little buttons on telephone v. speciesist!

Used pen in mouth to dial number for Merc Central. Asked for Mildred. Avoided Poohbah like plague. Grand High Factionwittage would roast packie fanny over open flame if knew of transformational epiphany from pesky Scribble into cute, loveable llama. Am not into that.

Lingered brainlessly over diary confessions thereby allowing ringing contraption to repeat highly counter-Inca-sleeping sound. Stupidly answered phone in breathy voice. Was Vachon asking for brotherly-type-person.

V. bad of Spaniard. Is vampire. Huh. S/b tucked under snazzy red covers w/ visions of slackers dancing in luxuriously long-haired head, not reaching out and touching said brotherly-type-person and mucking up plans of llama counterintelligence. Assumed Unavailable Ice Llama voice. Told Spaniard was v. disagreeable timing for Incan chit-chat activities.

Vachon said voice sounded familiar. Requested identification. (Factionwittage!!!!!)

Vaqs like name 'Llani' as is llama-esque-female-type-form-of-address. Inca argued sounded like Greek-New-Age-male-musician-type-form-of-address or sleepy-dwarf-type-form-of-address.

Saw Battle Yak.

Gazed into Battle Yak's eyes. Felt lure.

Am complete.

Explained to Merc demands of job. Require organization of kaleidoscopic event t/b held Saturday at Metro TO Zoo. Represents new organization (Battle Yak and I - IN LOVE!) called Animals Stopping Speciesism (ASS, for short). ASS Rally w/b ultimate non-speciesist party. Will offend no one. Will invite everyone. Will cover all walks (paddles, bobs, swims, swings, swooshes, clomps, clatters, floats, slinks, slithers, hops, as well as pseudopodias) of life and unlife, except perhaps pigeons. Is OK if pigeons remain oppressed.

Will provide reserved parking for all species, even for non-handicapped singletons without children. Will be multi-cultural. Will serve only artificial food (i.e. snow cones w/ simulated flavorings), not byproducts of species labor or sacrifice. Everyone will get along. Will have puppet show. Will give out commemorative rocks. Will be fantastic party expressing new world where love between cute llama and Battle Yak can dare speak its name.

Presented Merc with means of revenue and bargaining power (ta-da!). New prototypes of line to add w/ Nunkies pops, Nicksicles, Janette Jellies, and Tracy Tarts: VACHON SNACKYCAKES!!!

Mildred asked if cream-filled. Spit at Mildred, as is v. intimate question. Vaq-association obviously taking toll, for am defending Spanish honor.

Psst! Are cream-filled. (Am naughty llama!)

Am not Forever Cute like some people. Feel attractiveness dissipating at increasing velocity. Am becoming llama crone. Soon will only inspire desire to comb in trolls that live under bridges. Am tragic fairy tale deleted from children's books b/c gives nightmares and dyspepsia. Will continue rapid decay into repulsiveness immediately.

Am being brushed by Inca. Is pity brushing, know it!


Tracy Sue smiled at me. Playing mind games w/ gullible, trusting llama patsy. (diabolical!)

Am now v. paranoid. (Always room for paranoia - is like Jello) Am surrounded by strangeness. Shele is now Chicken Woman. Supaige is bouncy assimilation device. Patt and Christy have disappeared. Nick is v. scary looking. LaCroix is angsting. Still not forsaken by Vaqs. Understand nothing.

Source of unexpected deliverance comes in form of Bonnie. No, not me. (Am saved) Other Bonnie. The Pardoe is doomed in my stead. (V. v. nice of her)

JULES IS HERE!!!! (Is veiled, but has manicure of authority)

Must pause and pass out from shock.

Life is piece of cake - all layered and gooey and booby trapped with nuts.

WAR: DP/FoD: A Post Without A Clever Title.

Things will be okay. I hope. They'll be CLEAN, anyway.

Revenge comes first. Revenge *always* comes first!

"Mommy! Mommy! That lady stole Mr. Snigglebottom!"

"Really, Mumsy? Do think there's also enough money to buy churros at the park?" (Oh, please! Like the rest of the story is soooo believable!)

A squad flamingos followed the duo, pink feathers symbolizing their Creatures Against Criminality And Obscurantism(CACAO) oath. The crowd, initially angry at the birds' escape, cheered when they recognized Stephen Etienne Stepka Winthropington-Smith, III, was leading the squad, for he was (say it with me) the crème de CACAO!

The Battle Yak continued to stare. After a moment, Tser interrupted and said, "Sorry, I didn't catch that last bit - could you repeat that?"

"The Battle Yak says," Tser finished, "'This rally is officially underway! Everybody try the snow cones!'"

She scribbled long and hard, trying not to let the fountain pen blotch -- and failing miserably, causing her to crumple up the page and begin anew, as her friend Nick did each time his attempt at mortality or redemption was thwarted.

"Rat? I just drank RAT?! E-ewwww!"

How do I love thee, let me count the ways:
One two, we'd bill and coo
Three four, I'd beg for more
Five six, we'd have some kicks
Seven eight, we'd go on a date
Nine ten, we'd do it all again!

It was enough to make her want to grab a stake and cross, and find him, whatever body the old coot happened to be in, and do a Buffy, even if they don't allow crossovers.

But Felicia had brought Tracy Sue for the intimidation factor. The Vaquera kept fingering her Llama-chewed wiffle bat, and stared at the receptionist with an evil glare of her own. She'd survived the coronation last night, and after seeing the pigeons flock the VaqLlama like a Hitchcock movie, she wasn't scared of ANYTHING.

"Warning! This disk contains a lethal virus! Downloading onto your computer will shut down all systems and play the 'hampsterdance' on continuous loop." Cursing under her breath, Emma continued to search while her team jittered. Kathy and Dona Angel started up a boisterous game of Paper Scissors Rock.

[[[The JELLO HAS A COLD!!!!]]]

"No one has mentioned the personality fairy, a voodoo curse, the tellytubbies or ghosts yet"

The Vaqs wouldn't care too much - unless Vachon's hairstyle was threatened

She didn't have the broadest vocabulary by any means, being a young bird, but she impressed them all by singing the Batman theme ("Nanananana wooo!"). Batman was a non-speciesist hero.

Tired and full of snow cones, clutching their commemorative rocks, they returned home to their almost-plaid free room and quickly fell asleep (except Nick's cactus, because cacti don't sleep).

Eve decided she may as well go for a little jog since she was up, and was doing a few calf stretches by the front door when she encountered Ezmee. ('Encounter' in its more obscure form, meaning, 'to be run over or trampled by'.)

Eve shook her head and opened the door to depart. "You're a strange little--oof!"
"Oof?" repeated Ezmee skeptically. "I've been called a lot of things before, but never--oof!"

Ever since that last attack, the UF was determined not to let its collective guard down for a minute. Of course, there was no law that said you couldn't be dead drunk and have your guard up at the same time.

"Look, Nancy, if you want to play in the next War as a Nunkies Addict, that's fine, but can we keep on task here? I'm talking about characterization--what makes it apparent that the person you are reading about is or is not Lacroix? Just look at this," she went on. "Here's a story where Lacroix is adopting children, yet in this piece," Kathy reached over and picked up another stack of papers, "he's killing them. Who is the real Lacroix? It's impossible to tell from reading fanfic."

"*What*, Schanke?"
"Nick." He gulped. "When you're ... yourself, are ... you ..." Schanke blurted out the rest, "attracted to me? You know, in ...*that* way?"

Schanke sometimes came across like a Canadian Archie Bunker, but he stuck by a friend like a tick on a dog.

"Figures," Anne said wryly to Caren. "We've been cleaning for hours, and now we get to pretend to clean some more."

Christy had managed to clear all the assembled Addicts of guilt in the disappearance of her shoes. She was reasonably certain that this was the punishment that the Not-As-Old-And-Dead-As-He-Was-Rumored-To-Be Guy had chosen to inflict upon her. It certainly ranked very high on her list of worst fears.

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll turn out to be a cross-dresser"

Aiming the water this way, then that, Shele wondered if manning the Sacred Firetruck made her some kind of Canadian hoser.

Soon, very soon, these members of Chickens Helping Elvis End Kaos (CHEEK) would be face to face with the King! The only question left on their minds was whether this silly, puppet-hat-wearing human should come with them.

What providence! Shele looked around. Inside, Addicts were hard at work cleaning up the Shrine. Outside, there was Fireman Ted, the Chickens and a big peach colored fire truck. Choices, choices.

End - Teddy Grahams(R) Are Really Quite Tasty (really more of a comment than a title, but that's the way things go sometimes)

"If anyone had told me," Grace soliloquized to no one in particular, "last week, or anytime in the past, for that matter, that I'd be in a foreign country, involved in a war with my favorite FK faction, and at a zoo watching aliens play cards, I definitely would have suggested they seek immediate psychiatric help. But here we are; here I am. This Canada - what a country!"

"Oi'm so bored," Johnsie said when no one else spoke, "fat Oi fink Oi'll take Screedie's h'old Snapple II compu-ta wif da 5600 bp modem h'an' try ta log h'onto h'ay-o-h'ell."

"What would Brian Boitano do?"

And Johnsie just happened to be wearing his coat with the seemingly infinite number of pockets -- one day he'd show the fizzy-ist Alan and let him ponder the ramifications on the known universe. Johnsie pulled a long piece of string from his pocket -- the one McLista had put there earlier in the war when he (and this writer) weren't looking -- and wondered what the fizzy-ist would make of *this* Super String Theory! Bwahahahaha!

"Shouldn't you be doing that with atoms or quarks or something?"
"Well, yeah, but, for some reason, the city of Toronto refuses to let me turn the downtown subway tube into a cyclotron."

Amie knew she was taking a chance letting Susan anywhere near food (she had heard it said that Susan was to cooking what Sweeney Todd was to barbering), but everyone else was busy doing other things in the Hive to prepare for the party.

"That's the beauty of Susan's cooking," Julia mused, "it teaches patience and Zen-like forbearance. Even to those of us who are most intolerant as a general principle."

(At the same time, Julia was being actively dissuaded from putting on the Raggedy Andy costume and makeup. "Sometimes," thought Les, "Julia can be downright ... tactless.")

"Well ... we were out of flour after ... well... it's been a busy day, baking-wise, in the kitchen, so, instead of flour, I used beeswax for the layers!" Susan explained, proud of her ingenuity and resourcefulness. "Clever, huh? I figured Lora would love it, since she's the Hive beekeeper and all! And it's healthy, full of honey!"
"Yeah Susan, but it's also inedible, like eating candles, you know?" whispered Jules.
"Oh, like I'm supposed to think of everything!" Susan replied.

While the human denizens of the Hive celebrated Lora's birthday in the bar, the cake batter, in the four largest vessels available, sat on the kitchen counter and grew. The biochemical processes at work are unimportant. But Susan had managed to produce an FCCR (fruit cake chain reaction). In one second the batter went from one slight little bubble of carbon dioxide to a roiling, tumbling, foaming mass. It overspilled its various separate containers and melded together like a fruit-and-leavening-filled mold spore. The effect was similar to that of a car's air bag deploying. Only bigger. What was worse was, that it didn't deflate. It just kept on, climbing down the legs of the counter, sweeping across the tile floor, obeying only one law of nature--gravity.

Tser was walking around CERK snickering to herself occasionally, carrying a can of paint thinner, paint brush, and seam ripper. One would, at first glance, assume she was insane

"She looked at my clothes!" Tser whimpered. "She probably thinks I'm a slob! Look! Blue black and red black! I never should've worn this skirt."

Half an hour later, Jen, Jennie, Robyn and Judy were ready and waiting on the Sidewalk of the Damned right in front of the Apartment Building of the Damned for Meg and Debra to return.

An hour later, the Caddy as looking like a slightly smaller version of the Partridge Family bus - just with better tunes playing on the radio. The aqua blue-green teal whatever color was replaced with a pink and fuschia undercoat topped with swirls, flowers, stars and peace symbols. The words 'Flower Power' were written across the hood and 'Give Peace A Chance' was emblazoned on the trunk. The right side of the car read in day-glo yellow 'Nick loves Nat' and the left side announced in purple "Undercover Police Car" followed by a big smiley face.

Gemsong tried again. "But Knighties are nice, good, and ..."
"Doormats!" finished Kat.

A thick cloud of angst hung over the loft, and for once it wasn't emanating from the resident vampire, although said vampire was not exactly leaping about with joy either.

"Isn't it amazing what is regulated, and the sheer amount of verbiage that been expended on an event one would think would be too ridiculous ever to occur. I mean, why would *anyone* smuggle skunks into Canada?"

Although Ratpackers never knew exactly what they were doing mechanically, as usual, they managed to create the world's most spiffy-keen Superpowered Ratpacker Jet Driven Moose [tm]. (Never mind it was the world's ONLY such device)

"his that deli takehout?!?" Libs asked
"Nah, hits PIZZA! Heven THEY bin husin' R tunnels! No wunner hit honly took thirty minutes!"

CONTINUED IN: Fruitcakes Never Die, They Just ... and other posts coming soon to an FK war near you

Have been dumped!! Have been thrown over by cad Battle Yak for cold-blooded, glaring iguanan goddess. (Cousine Moses!!!)
Battle Yak says am too needy. Battle Yak says am too high maintenance. Says llama girlfriend requires too much brushing. Says am too wordy. Says llama girlfriend cannot compete with new yak love.
New yak love is detached. (Is Cousine) New yak love requires no brushing at all. (Is iguana) New yak love speaks feelings with eyes not vocal chords. (Is glarer.)
Hate her. Hate her. HATE HER. Velociraptan slut! Scaly temptress! Trampy stealer of yak boyfriends! Skin-shedding Salome! Flicky-tongued hussy! Hate her. Hate her. Hate her!

Am distraught. Have realized horrific degree of own wordiness. Cad Battle Yak accusations of overactive vocabulary and complex phrasings confirmed!!! No wonder have been dumped by cad Battle Yak and remain continually unlovable! Am faulted! Am flawed! Have failed One-Minute Rule! Have Compulsive Utterance Disorder (CUD)!!! Will ask Inca for drive to vet to have verbiage examined. Perhaps miracle drug or microchip implant exists to transform repugnant walkie-talkie llama into serene non-communicative llama.

As per Incan logic, was destined for disaster for fell in love with yak. What did expect? Yaks renowned as cads in affairs of the heart. Informed Inca could have told me earlier. Inca argued did, but wordy llama was too busy moaning about forbidden love to listen attentively. Huh. Inca also informed me common ground most solid basis for success between entities in any relationship. Sticking to own species most helpful in that area. (Easy for him to say - all good llamas taken!) Argued that Incan speciesist romantic philosophies all fine and dandy, but maintained that old-fashioned hormonal attraction and bonking like bunnies accomplishes superior headway in established sharing. Inca replied, yes, if female. Suspect Juan really yak in Incan disguise.

Romantic disaster makes perfect sense now! Have examined living area using ancient materialistic principles of 'Feng Shoe For Dummies' and have discovered life-altering arrangement of environment!

1) No longer have shoes. As hoofed-type-person, was doomed from start.
2) Have dictionary and law library in my 'Communication Zone' No wonder am so wordy!
And most grievous tragedy of all...
3) Have communal dung pile in my 'Relationship Paddock'!!!!! (!!!!!!!)

Factionwittage! Feng Shoe examination of 'Social Area' led to kitchen, which featured invitation to Hive party tonight!! Did RSVP affirmative for party during perky and human phase of existence. Too late to report cannot attend as have been cursed by Old, Dead Guy into llamadom. (Have already used said excuse to avoid UF honey-tasting previous Spring)

Am llama floosy! Rolled on rug with doggie stranger in middle of party! Have been de-bowed! Influenced by Merlot pilfered from Julia-birthday-type-person, am certain. (Am llush)

Ah, Julia thought, a talking llama. She took another lick off the Valium salt lick followed by another swig of Merlot. "Working up to specifications," Julia replied, for if she was going to have a nice hallucination of a talking llama, she might as well get a decent party conversation out of it, as well.

While Nick is a nice guy, he mixes with most Vaqueras like oil and water. For one thing, he subscribes to the LaCroix theory of 'intimidate the younger vamp' when dealing with Vachon. For another thing, he thinks that 'motorcycle' is another word for 'big paperweight that decorates the corner of my loft.' Small wonder his scoot isn't amazing and transcendental.

"Bravo! Way to brood!"

The Adventures of Nick Slacker: Biker Private Eye (01/03?)

VOICEOVER (Slacker):
"She was a beautiful bike - a Triumph. Chromed out and squeaky clean. And as far as anyone in this Loft of Solitude could remember, she had not been run in six, or was it eight, years. And that was a terrible crime. It looked like Nick Slacker, Biker Private Eye, had arrived just in time. You just can't let a fine machine like this one, a Knightrider special, sit there and gather dust. Nothin' and I mean *noth-thin*, can compare to this bike."

[blink blink]

"I feel sorry for these Knighties, with their heads buried in their books looking for klews, their salted corners, multi-colored candles and red sweaters to ward off the Big Evil One."
"Well maybe not the red sweaters."

VOICEOVER: (Slacker)
"Ah-ha. I've hit the mother-lode. This is what I am talking about. Rock star tight black leather pants. Black leather jackets and duster coats. Some sensible black boots. [?]

"I found a theory, at least part of one, I think. I don't know, but at least it's Something. Other than that I found a lot of Nothing, which is probably significant in itself, but I haven't a clue what of."

At that very moment in her pre-writing, Patt got mail!

"If they were at the Raven party, I think they're Cousins of the Knight."
"And if they weren't at the Raven party?"
"I still think they're Cousins of the Knight."

The problem came about in that McLisa only THINKS she is a Ratpacker due to a knock over her noggin. Currently, she's walking like a Ratpacker, traveling beneath Toronto outside of the subway system like a Ratpacker, even at times talking like a Ratpacker. But the very fact she paused in her cake eating to push the big red button on the Moose demonstrates, clearly, that she has yet to truly become a Ratpacker.

I'm going to the bathroom," Julia announced.
"Is there something wrong with your bladder, or is just an age thing?" Jan asked innocently

"Aacccckkk!" Laurie hollered before realizing she was the GHP and GHP's don't *Aacccckkk!*

Some sort of supernatural good fortune caused the woman to glance up the bar, where she saw the fluorescent Gozer, evil in his yellow reptilian eyes, stalking her like he was a lion, and she, a gazelle at a watering hole. A gazelle with a broken leg and a big sign saying "Eat Me" taped to its heaving sides. "Gleep!"

"Oh come on, TS," Juan lost his patience. "Do you really think that any one being could pursue Vachon for 400 years? Alone? No body has that kind of single-minded determination."

Chairs broke. Bottles broke. Fists flew. The sky turned dark as sackcloth. The seas ran dry. Plague. Pestilence. Cats and dogs sleeping together . . . Oops! Wrong story!

"Please guys!" Nick-in-Vachon jumped up on the bar, blood tears in his eyes. "Can't we all just get along?" He was silenced as all the saloon patrons turned as one, and hurled their glasses at him, forcing him to duck for cover underneath the bar.

"Time to prod buttock."

NA: RABID (Rogue Addict Blathering Incoherent Drivel)

"ASS Rally? Whatever." Under her breath she added, "Probably looking for their big chance to meet with the King. That'd be sweet, an ASS-CHEEK Rally. Wouldn't fly though. I mean, who decides what defines evil or kaos? Limiting either could possibly be considered speciesist. Besides, I thought Elvis was trying to be low-key these days."

It seemed like a friendly crowd, but she didn't want to spark a debate on whether the chickens wanted to leave the eggs where they'd fallen (and she was violating their rights by picking them up), if they wanted the eggs moved to their nests (and she was violating their rights by not picking them up), or if they wanted the eggs at all (she was violating everybody else's rights by not providing chickens with adequate means or knowledge of control methods).

That's my point! There will be hunger and, unless you've got a hat full of money under that chicken you're wearing, we have no way of sating that hunger."
She didn't care much for his tone, but she cared even less for the validity of his statement. "I *had* a hat full of money...."
"Yeah? Well, living the present now!"

She carefully de-nested the maimed chicken and really looked at it for the first time. Fake fur. Button eyes. Felt coxcomb. (<--- AAlmost nnaughty llama ddouble eentendre)

Deflated, but not as much as the Scribe in previous Wars, Shele sunk to the ground.

Available for parties
and riots

Patt couldn't help being fixated on the llama.

Unbeknownst to the carousing fighters, there is a law of Fanfic causality that states that when a bar fight occurs, and certain conditions and plot points are met, it is possible for the fight to move beyond strange and go out the other side to downright wonky. This was unknown partially because the factors for this rule have never even come close to being met. I mean, what are the odds that a fight will break out in a bar involving the convergence of identical vampire plot devices, Elvis impersonators and a Llama? This is enough to stretch the fabric of time and space to it's breaking point. The fight was already experiencing those stretch marks before the song started to play. However, the addition of Hank Williams Jr. was just one plot point too many. The whole of the space/time fiction reality rippled. When the ripples subsided, the Vaqueras found themselves at the epicenter of a giant crater where the bar used to be, missing approximately four hours of time.

Bar fights were all well and good, but they had plot advancement to worry about before they could enjoy the drive-by fruitings.

Then, she had a flash of brilliance so bright she was surprised it didn't illuminate the entire room and cause the undead portion of the clientele to implode.

"After all, there's nothing wrong with chaos that a little order can't set to rights."

"Let me put it this way," Christy said frankly. "If you don't take the job, LaCroix will be *unhappy.* It all works out. Nunkies may never become chipper enough to take me to Disneyland, but you can certainly do your part toward turning his frowns upside-down by becoming the Cousinly-Receptionist-In-Training!"

Christy had removed her mouse ears and had thrown them chakram-style, causing them to ricochet off each of the Nick & Natpackers' heads before zip-i-dee-doo-dah-ing back into her grip.

Pink and chrome? What kind of colour scheme is that?"

"Oh yes 'cause I, I am subscribed
Oh, as long as I know how to type I'll send out diatribes
I've got three seasons of vamps, I've got stories, poems and camp
And I'm subscribed. I am subscribed! Hey, hey!..."

"Now, Tracy didn't know about Nick being a vampire, but she did know about vampires in *general*, thanks to Javier Vachon--yes, like the snack cakes--who wasn't playing dead when he should've been and was caught walking around minus a hand one night when Tracy got snoopy. "

"I've never seen this part of you, this--this person who MC's cage matches and goes after people with sledgehammers and makes plans involving eggbeaters and Battle Yaks!"

"When you called and asked me to come visit you, I thought we'd spend some time, I don't know, sightseeing through Toronto. Going to Canada's Wonderland, or Ontario Place, or the CN Tower--I thought we'd spend an afternoon wandering through the York University campus so you could show me where your classes were last year and where you'll be living this year. I didn't think I'd find out that you've been playing Little Criminals with a bunch of *vampires*!

"War sticks it to the Man!"

"It's the NA!" Molly exclaimed. "They'd confuse anyone! They confuse themselves! The--the Chicken Woman, and Supaige assimilating things, and the missing Bons and Qa'ra the mummy, and the mysterious boat repairman, and--"

The UF party was going very well. Even Julia had to admit it. There had been a hallucinatory interview with a llama, but Julia decided that would be one of the six impossible things she was prepared to believe in on any given War day.

"God knows, I'm the first to complain when Nick shows up as a whining baby or Dagwood Bumstead, and I'd love to blame all our woes on bad characterization. But could this actually affect reality? Well... War reality?"

"Speciesist Bartending Fool!" Tser cried, setting the skunk defiantly (yet gently) upon the counter. "Your finest vodka for me, and a spoonful of peanut butter and molasses for my mustelid friend!"

"Fine," Tser said, straightening. "I'll walk back. In the dark. Just *ignore* the fact I'm always *attacked* in the dark when I walk the streets of Toronto. Fine. I'm leaving now."

"That's ME," the Receptionist chirped. "I'm the Ever-Squeeky Jess." Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed. "Welcome to my lair. Bwa ha ha ha!"

It was a set-up. She knew it. And Tok *wanted* her to get attacked. Or kidnapped. Or tickled.

"Here's one suggestion," Nick said coolly. "Quit talking about your life in the third person, and maybe you'll seem more real."

"A bar fight scene with no Vaqueras. What's the point of having a bar fight scene without Vaqueras?"

"And you've been pumping me to talk about myself like I'm some gullible idiot!" She was insulted.
"Well, you are the new Cousinly-Receptionist-In-Training..." Like that and gullible idiocy strolled hand in hand.

The crowd fighting in the bar stopped what they were doing. After all, Nick and an ex-Vaquera-Independent-Ratpacker-By-Association-Cousinly-Receptionist-In-Training were kissing beneath one of the tables. Christy checked her Mickey Mouse watch. Kissing for a long time, too.

"Easy, Nunkwrangler," Caren soothed. "Let the prey come to you before pouncing."

"You see here a very interesting example of 'tourista Nunkia flattica.' Usually found in the southern United States, this particular species is known to range northward into Canada, when in search of food, shelter and mating possibilities."

"That's right, I said MATTRESS DANCIN'."

Eventually all the bar patrons were singing along with 'Bye Bye Miss American Pie,' (which doesn't violate the fanfic causality law, but just might be the longest song known to man, therefore essential to the plot in that it kept all the party goers occupied so that no one noticed when McLisa and her moose, Celeste, Janette-in-LaCroix, 50 Mounties in bright red uniforms, the Detroit Lions, the Harlem Boys' Choir, Ringling Bros' Barnum and Bailey Circus, and a partridge in a pear tree walked in the door. (Hey, it's a non-speciest bar fight.))

To say that the tension in the bar was thick would be an understatement. Patt's presence in the bar was the proverbial match in the ammunition dump. All it would take would be a spark (non-vampiric arc welder).

"Gullible idiocy, hmph! I'll show him gullible idiocy!"

She glanced at the post-its. Most seemed to be every day messages: "order analgesics"; "Tser -- Meet Bonnie (not the Rutledge) at 2pm"; various phone numbers. A lot of them seemed to be references to the personality switching problem ("LC/Vachon -- Hot & Cold Water Ineffective! Try Lukewarm!"). Some were downright strange... "lizard glaring, yak staring", "doom doom de doom doom" and a shakily scrawled "My toes, my poor TOES!" in bold black Sharpie.

Tser would give Bonnie the job if she had never encountered a computer in her life and answered the phones by burping God Save the Queen.

Jess was utterly mad and the Receptionist's chair was empty, aside from a post-it note that said "Sit Here".

"Factional slippage!!!" Nancy exclaimed. "It sounds like some problem with undergarments."

"Such perfidy!!!" Beverley exclaimed (which proved she really did work in a research library and had access to those big ol' dictionaries that will cripple you for life if they fall on your toes).

In the middle of the room, Jayne was engaged in mortal combat with a strawberry. "Evil seed-studded demon!" sneered Jayne as she pulled at the strawberry's leaves.

"I just barely missed getting hosed by Shele."

Julia walked by, obviously headed for the loo. She and Sue Clark locked eyes, both wary. Julia looked at the authors of this arc and whispered, "Thank You."

Stools flew, a spittoon bounced off the wall and landed in Bonnie Rutledge's writing.

The peach lacquer of the Sacred Fire Truck could be seen out front. Shele was standing on top of the vehicle clasping her trusty hose in an authoritative (but gentle) grip. Her hair was still a bouffant nest, but her clothing had acquired a strong 'Mad-Max-Cuddling-Buckaroo-Banzai' quality.

"I love the smell of minor flesh wounds in the morning!"

"I go out and have a good time and all I get are whispered accusations and intimations of mental instability"

(Tracy Sue tradition: snogging the NPCs!)

"Honey," Tracy Sue said as she reached across the bar for a new Corona, "I'm too much woman for any man to handle."

"Stop grinning," LaCroix said, displeased. "I am vexed with you."


"Free Tickets to Ira Rook Concert to Benefit Psychologically Disturbed Cattle."

"My moose never read Alice in Wonderland," McLisa said. "Plastic, you know."

*Wiffle!* *DOOM* *Crack!* *Splash-Dribble-Dribble*

All at once, a spittoon fell onto the scene from the 'Muddy Waters' bar fight post, rimmed Christy's head (It pays to wear the mouse ears, baby!), then plopped upended upon Patt's noggin.

"That's it!" Patt yelped, yanking the spittoon off her head and tossing it away. (It landed later in Tracy Sue Morris' writing.) "Barfight over! I'm headed back to the Shrine for a shower and a good night's sleep!"

End Of Bar Fight
Go Home
Nothing To Read Here

She might be a vampire but that didn't mean she had to sink to cannibalism!

Nat sensed that they were quickly getting off the subject, like the impending derailment of a freight train containing tons of toxic waste!

"Well, let me tell you something, having a fling with a sailor is just about the least permanent thing a woman can do!"

"I didn't know if I would be able to eat want was on the menu or not tonight... So I brought my delicious Banana and Chili Blender Delight. Would you like to try it?"

"Don't worry," Tser reassured her, "she's just our *last* Cousinly Receptionist."

For once, Val was glad she had piled her clothes in the middle of the room in her haste to get ready for the Raven party last week. And she was also very glad she hadn't written a post cleaning it up.

"Murder is a task best done unobserved"

To spew or not to spew.

"I thought they were Cousins at heart."
"Oh- they've moved far beyond that. They're into a karma, kind of state of acceptance state right now. The flower children of the war"

"NA functions usually aren't like that...well, they are, minus the creepy guy doing scary stuff."

"Psst, here." Nicole threw a pack of frozen peas for Lisa to rest on her eye.

"Nothing terrible happened," Jules said with nerves of steel. "I am the High Priestess, and I insist that Patt is merely in absentia as a plot device! She will reappear when it is appropriate to do so and not a moment before! It won't necessarily be in this War, but I refuse to hear one more lurid speculation of doom! Patt is too mature and powerful to be doomed. I have spoken!"

"I can't believe we've been uninsured since November 1999," Supaige mused. "What if we'd had a disaster?"

"Maybe LaCroix will give us the money. Old, Dead Guy's Old and Dead again - that's got to be worth a Sacred Patio, at least."

Between them, they'd managed to dress (if not dress up, at least their socks matched), and to find a suitable present (If you consider hip waders suitable).

"She'll be back. Wonce h'a Ratpacker h'always h'a Ratpacker! We'll jus' 'ave ta bonk 'er h'on da 'ead iffn she fergits." The pair would have giggled, laughed, and rolled around on the floor like sex-starved llamas, but they were too tired.

Between her, Alan, and the very tired Ratpackers who really weren't much help at all in their present state, they managed to hoist the container of Jell-O up high enough for Screed-in-Nat's-body to scoop it into the prepared 55-gallon, polyethylene container. When he paused for a moment to stick his finger into it and give it a taste, they all yelled, "Hey! Don'tcontaminatethereactionmedium/ Iwantsometoo/ Nofairnofairnofair/Youcanhaveasmuchasyouwantwhenweredone!"

"Cor!" Screed complained, looking over to his Ratpackers for support. "More Ratpacker H'oppreshion, h'ain't it?" he asked and they bobbed their heads in ready agreement. Of course, he could have said, "Looks loike h'it's gonna snow h'in 'ere," and he would have gotten the same response.

Alan sighed with failure -- this just wasn't his war!

"All right, then which one of you met your favorite actor because a friend dreamed she introduced you to him in a bathroom in a theatre in Vancouver?"
Me, Libby's mind shouted. "Me! ME! ME!!!" Libby's body yelled as it jumped up and down.
Johnsie's body just stood there. Johnsie's mind just went, wotev'r.

"Just as I suspected," Nat concluded, turning to Alan again. "Sympathy switching."

Someone had dropped a dime about the bar fight - I just wished that they had kept it in their pocket instead of donating it to Bell Canada. Telco's have already had their share of dimes. But enough about corporate greed - I'm getting off topic.

A small, one-bulb, lamppost stands at the end of the dock. Slacker leans against the post, hooks his thumbs over the waist of his pants, and lights up a Tiparillo. (Yeah, I know - neither Vachon nor Knight smoke, but well, this is film noir, and I needed some uplighting on his face so that he could see his reflection in the Lake.) It stares mournfully back at him. The spiky, windblown hair, soiled shirt, and rock star-tight black leather jeans seem to mock him. He sees Knight-man's face staring back at him. Slacker tosses a dime (Canadian) at the reflection and watches in satisfaction as the ripples consume it.]

OVERVOICE: (Slacker)
I've got to stop having these angsty moments. These edgy scenes where you can almost hear the music, low in the background, and played in a minor key, [cue music - swell to angsty crescendo] and where the lighting makes sharp contrasts. I am Nick Slacker, Biker Private Eye, and I don't do angst and I don't do edgy. That's Knight-man's specialty. I was bred, born and raised a Slacker. And I shall continue to be a Slacker. And what do Slacker's do when they come across an impossible task? They slack!

The Loft lift's doors open and Slacker steps out. Thirty-four eyes follow his path from the elevator to the refrigerator and watch as he tosses the wet and wrinkled duster coat over the back of a kitchen chair; takes out and chugs down an entire bottle of blood. He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Seventeen mouths make little "O" shapes and thirty-four lungs make the sound of a sharp intake of air. Slacker looks around at all the Knighties trying to catch flies with their mouths open.

[Spreads arms wide, bottle still in right hand] What? It was already dirty!

[Slacker puts down the bottle and pulls the shirt over his head. Several Knighties faint.]

Oh the pain. The Pain. The Pain. The repetition......better move on.

The horror! The Shrine is now....rubble. It's ruined .... wrecked.... demolished... annihilated.... razed....gutted....ravaged....totally un-shrine-like. Mostly it's just....gone. No more sacred cold pond. No more busts of Nunkies. No tapestries. No candles. No, no, no.....no more words of doom!! (So sayeth the HP....so it was written....so it shall be.) Oh the pain. (oops...more repetition. Must be the pain) The sorrow. The Angst. (whoops...I'm not a Knightie. Just a ....sad, Shrineless Addict!).

The War may have pushed some of us over the edge a bit....but, at least the old pain-in-the-keester-not-so-dead mummy-guy-who's name is not to be said, is toast.....with Marmite spread side DOWN.

So...*taking off bowler hat in respect* "A toast to Third Cousin Patt....she came, she wrote, she warred, she wrangled, she ordered (more than one beer!).....bottom's up!" *klinks bottles together*

"Woo hoo! Kathy sussed the Premise! Kathy sussed the Premise!"

April reached into the bag. Now ... April really should know better by now, doncha think? But this is War, so, she doesn't.

Susan leapt up from the couch and extradited her *son* from April's hand and ran behind a nearby table. (Gentle reader, can you discern which UFfer wrote the sentence above? Good ....)

It was such a practical and logical solution, it didn't even sound Cousinly or War-like.

"Reality is subjective. Facts are subjective. Real wars have been fought over something as little as a football game. No man's an island."

"Everyone must know their ABC's to survive."

"Just ask the Cousins. A receptionist's job is to shovel the . . ." He paused, searching for a word that could be used in a PG-13 post. " . . . Dung."

However, we have sneaked a look at the War players list, and feel this is *very* speciest - all players mentioned are human - though our human says one of them is actually vampire. This is despite the fact that there are *lots* of kitty cousins, the cousinly critters, horses, skunks, llama, Battle Yak, chickens, rats, vampire, carouche and other species involved in war - not a single one of whom appears to have signed a permission slip. This is despite fact that many of them have been not only been active players, but have been kidnapped, misused, name-called and otherwise abused by other players in war!

What's a biosphere? [Knighties glare] Oh, Ok, I'll go look it up.

"Who knew that Vachon liked Fernando?"

"To angst is to live!"

At that point, Schanke and Tracy ran into the ballroom and caused an impressive caffuffle . . .

She sat back and rubbed her eyes as a bunch of her fellow Knighties crowded down the stairs in their new finery, a jingling squeaking mass of silk and leather. *They look like a full set of Biker Barbies*

"Yeah, but when Fate hands you a little free moxie, you don't want to spit in it's eye"

"Can't we just copy off another faction's paper?" inquired Nay. "Riddles give me headaches."

"No, we can't do that. In this sort of situation, we need to abandon our normal love of silliness and try to think (she shuddered involuntarily) seriously."

"How come Oi did no git h'any h'ice cream?!"

"With me? With me?! You're the Cousin! What's the matter with you?? I could understand this, maybe, MAYBE, if it was LaCroix you'd kissed under that table in the bar the other night, instead of Nick----"
"Wait, you know about that?"
"Yeah, I know about that! The perks of being a wartime physicist! So?"

Dammit, Vachon! You probably knew this was gonna happen! You cocky son-of-a-bicherio!

This isn't over, Vachon, she warned silently, wishing she had a Post-It Note so she could write herself a reminder.

"Bonnie, did you write a post about ice cream cones intersecting in my physics lab?"
"Ah, sort of. I was trying to explain to Bonnie--"
"Ya was talkin' ta yerselfishness?" Screed-in-Nat's-body asked.
"No, of course not. I was talking to Bonnie, Bonnie Rutledge -- there ARE two of us, you know!" They all nodded, though Nat and Alan were both pretty skeptical, which was their scientific nature.

All the GHP had to see was the writing in the book that had said that the Mercs had given away chocolate, for *free*. In the Merc way of looking at things, that was an X-rated word in a PG-war-world.

Laurie MercBard was annoyed. She was annoyed because she'd spent most of the war locked in her office, under the influence of an evil fan fic fairy, rather than being out and about playing a major, highly visible, ultra important role in the storyline.


"Hello, CERK, Cousinly Receptionist speaking," Bonnie answered. "Oh... you poor thing," said the caller.

There was no time for Bonns to scream. She was knocked from her swiveling office chair and dragged through a heavy oak door, into the candlelit recesses of the dungeon.

"Could be worse," Tok told her. "At least you're not glued into a cow suit."

"You touched Spooky. You will pay," the voice said lowly, and the eyes narrowed. "Post-it Noting Matron of Repugnance."

Bonnie backed away and sighed. It was no use negotiating with mad people.

"The world was created in a flutter of post-it notes and tofu souvlaki. A great squeek rent the day from the night and Spooky was unleashed upon the earth! And you, you gullible non-Cousin Cousinly Receptionist, you *touched* *him*!"

"Hey, look, it's Moses!" Tser said and went over to say hi to the wayward she-iguana. "Where've you been?" she asked the lizard. "The Battle Yak has been staring for you."

They crouched behind the stone wall, peering around the corner at the ex-Cousinly Receptionist, who was pacing and squeeking Spooky occasionally, muttering about butter, spurs and the social infrastruction of Tajikistan.

"Great way to instill trust, Lacroix.," Carrie muttered. "Kill a nun."

"What's this?" She asked Marilyn.
"It's Nick's bike." The VaqShaman replied. "While Vachon was in Nick's body, he cared for it. His love made it Amazing and Transcendental. So it followed him home."

The spittoon from the ending of Patt's bar fight post sailed into view. It landed on the road, bounced twice, and drifted away like the feather at the end of Forrest Gump (no crossovers!)

Johnsie overheard and waited for Libby to get flattened by the drag queen's ample handbag, but fortunately the not too well groomed transvestite's attention had been distracted.

Screed stood on the Moose's back in all his glory (or at least wearing nothing but his once white well-worn boxer shorts with the Forever Knight Logo cross stitched across the backside by the carouche himselfish along with his combat boots) dancing to the music, which, at that point, was CUBAN PETE.

"OK, because I didn't bring my asbestos undies along."

Help, however unnecessary, was on the way!

The Moose was finally perfected. Spiffed up. Souped up. Pizza-ed up. Duct taped up. Even coloured up with left over flags from the Ratpack Pride Parade.

But just how DID one send an e-mail to outer space?

"What can we do to the Vaqueras that's worse than letting them have a lunatic faction-hopping DieHard with dreams of getting Vachon sopping wet?"

Wiggy was bouncing on one of the striped skunks' heads. Boing boing boing.

Eowyn would have done her traditional Rubber-Legs/Melt-In-A-Puddle thingee if Roz hadn't poked her in the side and whispered that it would be more dignified to remain standing.

"So, what was your affiliation before CERK?" Shelley asked.
"I was a Ratpacker, by association."
"Oh," Shelley snickered, "so you *used* to give a Rat's Ass, but now you don't?"

"Oh, bad Cousin. No biscuit."

"We've decided to form a Union," she told them. "The Irritated Non-Speciesist And Nefarious Employees. To counter the Cousinly Evil Relegated Knowingly Upon Subordinates,"

The problem with being a structure is that you can't actually *do* anything. Oh sure, you can react. You can tremble and shake with every insult done to your vulnerable load-bearing struts, every besmirchment of your paint job, every upset of the plumbing of your bowels. But you can't effectively deal with uppity outbuildings that snicker behind their copings at the indignities you suffer. And you certainly can't do anything meaningful about your denizens. You can only endure the infestation.

The stable pouted. Nothing dire or depraved had occurred within its walls this War, except for a cheesy mercantile exchange with a disreputable rodent person.


"Janette Does Jamaica," Don read, scowling at the title. "Not PG-13," he said, before leafing through a couple of pages. "Definitely not PG-13." That book went into a "keep" pile with a big red sign on it marked "ADULT. 21 or over only."

"Metaphysicists believe such was the manner in which our own Universe was born from the Cosmic Egg of poorly-written fiction, and why there are so many inconsistencies and continuity gaps in what we consider to be sacred writings..."

"We have created more proscenium-breaking fiction; we've miswritten the characters more; we've created more characters to miswrite; we've created a new, misinterpreted Forever Knight universe in which anything can happen -- talking animals, people changing into llamas, vamp teddy bears becoming 'real'...."

With the sucking sound of singularity, Brenda and the Vampbear were taken from their computer in Queens and drawn back through the spinning, whirling singularity into Mary Sue's Forever Knight Universe, conveniently leaving a plot hole the size of the Virgo Supercluster.

It was Dusk. Not the dog, but the time of day.

As Caren sat down, Jayne felt emotion broiling within her. she thought.

Dee blinked back her tears as she told of her fondest memory of Patt. "Last war, Patt had GROUT come renovate the Shrine. It was such an incredibly humanitarian act...filling our beloved Shrine with so many incredibly built male bodies. It was so moving . . ."

Julia, the mature UFfer, kicked at some of the surrounding rubble. Yes, she mourned Patt, but her real concern was who she'd have to suck up to, next War, to get written into the Bar Fight again.

"Droogs an' Nunkie-sorts, we gatter 'ere ta-day ta mem-orizin' h'one malinky fiesty wench... H'or she wuz fiesty when she wuz fiesty. She wuz fiesty h'alot. Loik when she wollaped ol' Libs wit' a newzpaper wot fer puttin' the lil' ratsie h'on a dinna plate h'in the cabinet. But the lil' ratsie jest wanted a nice, cozy place ta take a bit o' shut h'eye! She wollaped me wot fer takin' 'er shiney pretties down ta the swap meet. Oi wuz jest doin' 'er a favor! She jest 'ad 'im shoved h'in a locked drawer loik she didna wont 'em inny more. An' she wollaped me when..."

"You know something," Caren said, turning and looking at the rubble one more time. "I can't help but think of those last scenes from *Carrie.* I keep expecting this hand to reach up out of the ground and grab an ankle or something.

I felt it was like living on a volcano and you might open a tap to brush your teeth and have lava come out.

"But if I had never lived in Natalie's body I never would have known what it is to never, ever be able to ..." Roz caught her breath at his words, "... to reach the top shelf."

Let me just say that you'll be hearing about all of the following: Nick, Nat, LaCroix, Tracy, Vachon, Jeanette, Schanke and Screed all switching bodies/personalities; the coronation of a High Priestess that didn't occur; the fury of a Mummy that *did* occur; a trip to an observatory that yielded a missing file which was later recovered through an alien contact that was met at an Anti-Speciesism Rally; a whole bunch of Elvii on motorcycles; cryptic radio broadcasts on CERK; Raggedy Anne and Andy's appearance at the top of the CN Tower; skunks in Canada; ooh, and I actually touched - get this!! - the script for AMPH, when I picked it up from Don (of the DH/I faction) at the Deli and then later returned it to the museum; the story of Bonnie the Llama (at least the girl with cotton who thought she was a llama - I think); the anniversary party for the Schankes; and all sorts of stuff like that. But the best part had to be last night when our faction hosted a dinner and movie for Nick and Nat and we got to meet them in person, and together!! Wow!!!

Named names. (Mine). Blame assigned. (--- > me)
V. g. am not me, but newly trampy and loveable llama-type-person. Otherwise, w/b in big trouble.
Will go hide under Inca now.

End Of Quote List