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Spork Awards

Annetta Fotopoulos stared blankly at the half-written page, her eyes flickering towards the screen above her where Internet Explorer sat, impatiently calling to her, yearning to surf to Dragonmount. No, must not succumb to evil…too much work to do, must concentrate. She went back to staring at her paper dumbly. Compulsively, she moved her mouse towards the IE window and clicked on the bar. No, must not…

“Ah, what the hell! I never had any discipline anyway.” Her hands leaped to the keys and began typing “” at lightning speed. The swirling void of silliness we call DM reached out gleefully and pulled her in. “No, not another silly story!”

Taimandred Eronaile sat around the campfire giddily, surrounded by a drunken Hawkwing and numerous other drunken Asha’man and Deds. “Man, how can you guys drink disgusting beer? Come on, drink some of the real manly stuff!” Taimandred produced a 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and began chugging away, happily cooing amongst burps and gurgles. Taimandred was not one for politeness. An insane, Dew-addicted Joram charged in, maddened by the smell of Dew. With savage-like lust, he snatched the Mountain Dew from Taimandred’s grasp and began chugging himself, grunting with delight. Taimandred glared at him and produced another bottle. Soon they were both cooing and grunting in a very graphic sense. It was most disconcerting. Not meant for minors indeed.

Meanwhile Hawkwing, next to him, was talking drunkenly. “You dun like beer? No way. hic. Ya’know, hic, I gotta story tu tella ‘bout dat. hic.” And so it was that he began to relate his story, Taimandred and Joram fighting over the last few drops Dew like rabid wolves in the background. The sounds they were making were not much different either. Once again, the author hopes no minors are reading this. “T’wus back in da days when Dark Blight wush aroun’, still a prou’ ash’man in DM…”

Skechid, the politest Dedicated in the Black Tower, on the other side of the fire, frowned slightly at the guy next to him and continued to stir his pot of stew. “Err, excuse me, sir, if it pleases you, but I believe you’re spilling beer into my stew. I would greatly appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from such intercourse.” Skechid wondered what he was doing in such a madhouse with such madmen. But this was where they had decided to make their camp... He winced as another particularly huge dollop of beer went into his pot. “Look, good chappy. No beer, pleeeaaassse. Which part of that didn’t you understand? N-o b-e-e-r p-l-e-e-e-a-a-a-s-s-s-e. It doesn’t go well with the herbs in the stew. I am sorry for the inconveniences.” “Wha?” Said the man drunkenly. “Oooh, stew… lemme hava bite…” He reached towards the stirring spoon, grunting and cooing periodically. Skechid began to wonder if the grunting and cooing was caused by something in the air. He suddenly realized the man was tipping a spoonful of stew into his mouth, while dropping another dollop of beer into his stew. Skechid winced. “Err, um, sir, please don’t…”

The man ignored him, took another spoonful and shoved it into his mouth. “Light! Thish shtuff ish goo!” He began gorging happily, beer forgotten and dripping into the pot of stew. The grunts and cooing were still quite present however. Skechid wondered if he should clear the air. On second thoughts, perhaps he ought to get out for some fresh air. He cooed at the thought of fresh air and stopped abruptly, his eyes widening.

Skechid sighed miserably. “Err, um, sir… errr..please…err…coo…Oh no!” He took and deep breath and looked away from his stew.

Hawkwing continued. “Now, mesh and Dark Blight wush like peash and carrotsh, which is tu say, we buth really like’d beer. So hesh bet me that hesh culd drink more dan me, silly aussie…”

Annetta rolled up the ends of her too-long, baggy pants and frowned slightly. Something was wrong…I don’t have a character anymore! I’m…normal! How can this be? The very idea horrified her so. She sat in quiet contemplation for a while then grinned suddenly. “I’m sure Lanny won’t mind if I, errr.. borrow her looks for a while. And if she does…well, I’ve always been one for a fight.” Smiling Lanfearishly, she suddenly turned into her former self, the most beautiful, smartest, best, most evil woman in the world. “Mwahaha, I’m a hot chick again!” she said, grinning wickedly, “not that I wasn’t before…but, hey!” She strode purposefully towards Shayol Ghul, grinning as evilly as she ever had as Lanny. She wondered if her Sporks were still around. She began to coo at the thought of her Sporks.

Taimandred scowled at Joram and pulled the precious Dew away from him. “Mine! Uregh.” A miata-sized hand came up and delivered a hardy smack upside his head. His bottle of Dew was quickly seized and consumed. “Gimme back my Dew! Ungh. Wus wrong wit you, man?“ demanded the poor, oppressed Taimandred furiously in between grunts and coos.

“You see,” answered Joram, “Coo, I have a unique psychological Dew addiction involving the chemicals in my brain and their reaction to the drifting molecules wafting from Dew. Ungh. When any amount of this substance comes in direct or indirect contact with any of my five senses, I am immediately compelled to quaff the beverage abruptly and without warning. Urgh. Because of such a disorder and any natural allure, any attempt to withhold or prevent Dew from my consumption thereof may, and often does, result in violence and excessive pain on the part of the executor of such an attempt.”

“Wha? Coo…” asked Taimandred.

“I’m damn addicted to Dew and if you try to take it from me I’ll beat the livin’ crap outta you, ungh.” Joram explained.

“Oh.” Said Taimandred, beginning to get a minimal understanding. “In that case…ungh.”

Lanfear…well, Veteran Lanfear entered her quarters… well, Lanfear’s quarters. C’mon, they have to still be there…they just have to! She grabbed ahold of Saidar--such a silly thing Saidar was after having experienced the Chicken Power--and tested for her weave. Yes, still there. Very cautiously she began unweaving it and cooing as she went. The illusion disappeared and she cooed happily. Her eyes gliittered with pure exhilaration as she exultingly brandished a paper bag

Skechid stared miserably as his stew went from delicious to badly spiked. He could never understand his colleagues’ perverted obsessions with Dew, or beer for that matter, not to mention all that grunting and cooing. He stared forlornly into his pot of bubbling stew and dumped the spoon in with disgust, grunting as he did so. Yes, he definitely needed to get out of there. “It’s the air. It must be the air. Ungh.” His eyes widened and promptly stood up.

“Alright, pig heads…err…I mean Asha'man, sirs. Please refrain from touching me pot of stew till I return. Ungh. I mean it pig heads…err…I mean Ashaman, sirs, there’s too much alcohol. Urgh” He looked thoughtfully at them. “You do realize that alcohol is bad for you don’t you. It ruins your liver. Coo…It turns it into stone. Someday, you might want to consider living longer and…Hey! What are you laughing at? Stop it! I said stop it! Urgh. ” Skechid frowned then pouted. Something he never did in real life and thought the worst of. But since he was in character anyhoo. A pout or two never did anyone and evil. Well, maybe a bit. But anyway…

He sulked, walked out of the clearing and glared at a tree, oblivious of the two Asha’man who were cautiously approaching his pot. “Mmm… thish ISH goo’ stuffsh!”

“Another bluthy Dedictesh. Hic. Them shilly thinsh can’t do none thing right. Hic.” Hawkwing frowned, looked at his hands and giggled. “Hey, look, I’ve got funny fingersh. Hic. Theysh all sho funnysh. Hic. I thinksh I’m drunksh. What do you thinksh, Taishmanshdredsh.” Hawkwing giggled again.

Taimandred, grunted in disgust at the way Hawkwing had massacred his name and frowned, then grunted again. Joram was very quietly digging in his pockets, his nose having sensed more Dew around. Taimandred grunted, turned around and froze for a very tense second as Joram wrapped his Ogier fingers around HIS Dew. “NOOOOO…ugrrhh NOT MY coo DEWWW!!!” Swiftly and cruelly he wove flows of air, snatching the Dew from Joram’s fingers and creating a dome around Joram, sealing him off from the rest of the world… and precious Dew. Joram began beating wildly on the dome, his mouth shouting out muted grunts and coos. He pounded his head against it a few times in utter desperation and was knocked out cold for his efforts.

Meanwhile, the whole room was communicating in a mass of grunts, coos and altogether weird noises.

Hawkwing, ignoring the scandal happening beside him, continued, “…Anywaysh, urggh Dark Blightsh and ugghh I’sh wentsh to a bar andsh gott ourshelves shum coo beersh… goo’ shtuff thash beer…”

There were now ten black-coated men gathered around the stew-pot and more coming.

Skechid walked around, suppressing his need to grunt and coo. “The air. It’s just the air. Must be them alcohol evaporating again.” He grunted, widened his eyes and tried desperately not to breathe. It didn’t work. All it did was get his face all red and make him feel giddy. “It’s just the air.” He tried to convince himself.

He frowned. There seemed to be a lot of dried wood around. And he had his pot. A wide grin appeared on his face. “Stew time.”

Readying his herbs and meant and drawing Water from the air with a quick weave. He had his pot soon filled. Then he frowned. “Dang, forgot the matches. Bloody bloody dried ashes and meat!” He swore. Trying desperately to get angry. Desperation was how he managed to channel Fire, and desperate was he getting. His grunting had increased.

Soon he had a bubbly pot of stew going. He grinned and looked around. No alcohol. This stew was all for himself. He smiled and stirred his stew happily, whilst softly cooing to himself subconsciously. It took very little to make the politest Dedicated in the Black Tower happy.

Callandor frowned at his huge pile of rubbish he had swept. His Cuendillar broom had been particularly annoying today, not wanting to sweep and making odd noises everytime it touched rubbish. Callandor could almost swear it was cooing. Of course Callndor had never heard personally what cooing was. But it had communicated through his bond. Novam often cooed at books. So he knew.

He grunted at a particularly offensive piece of litter. They never let poor Callandor go to their parties. Noo, Callandor, you cannot come. You still have litter to clean. No drinking and sweeping. Accidents might happen. Callandor grunted angrily. He wanted to go. He felt like whining. Strangely, it all came out in one weird noise instead. It sounded like “Lofeoklfpefoeiflepofie.” Callandor grunted. “Must be the dust.” He muttered darkly to himself. “Too much bloody dust.” He sniffed, well ‘snortgaglehintle’ was more of the sound that came out and returned to his sweeping. All in all, he was getting quite annoyed at the odd noises. He grunted, wishing the dust would go away. Of course, him being the worst male channeler and all, wishing was all he could do. He grunted in disgust.

Veteran Lanfear walked around happily, merrily cooing an off-key tune. The paper bag was clutched tightly in her hands. She stopped and frowned, seeing a strikingly beautiful Aran’gar walk by. She glared, “What? Not even gonna stop and talk to your old mistress?” Aran’gar stopped, frowned and nodded cordially to her. VeteranLanfear ripped open the paper bag , snatching one of the Sporks inside and brandishing it threateningly. Aran’gar eyes went wide and she turned towards VeteranLanny. “Lanny? The other Lanny? Sporkmistress?” Shadowspawn stopped in their places and turned to greet her. She grinned evilly and gestured with her Spork for silence. “I have a plan to carry out… and you guys are going to help me.” She turned a venemous gaze throughout the crowd. Some of the DF’s were unable to suppress their shivers. They had heard about her… her and her…Spork. The very word was enough to make them grovel in fear.

Back in the Waste, a mass of channeling Wise Ones were gathered in groups trying desperately to beat the grunting and weird noises out of each other.

Poledra frowned and marched up to one of these groups. What had gotten into these channeling Wise Ones. “What do you mean ‘floopagingle’? she demanded of one of them, I’ll give you ‘floopagingle’ you mangy sun dog!”

She angrily screamed at another naked Wise One who was grunting bravely away. “You’re not getting another apprentice till you stop that floopagingle rubbish,” Poledra frowned. What was wrong with them? They had all been grunting, cooing and making odd noises nonstop. She thought it must be the water, those bloody Water Seekers had blundered. She nodded. Yep, they would have to do something about them.

“Take that!” An old Wise One screamed unhappily, as she whipped a younger lady. “ ‘Flipeporpoe’ this, you woman, you! Urgh!”

“Coo…your husband looked nice in the sweat tents.” Another Wise One was saying to a younger Wise One. “Coo…good legs too. Fpofpffl” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. She fell to her knees, offering the other woman her belt knife. “Such noises…I have no Ji! Please urght allow me to meet my coo Toh to you.”

Poledra ground her teeth and disgust and announced that all channeling Wise Ones must meet their toh by remaining silent and not drinking water until something could be done about the noises escaping from their mouths. Embarrassed groups of channeling Wise Ones nodded in agreement.

Despite the heat, all of the channeling Wise Ones refused water that day, baffling Mandein and the rest of the Aiel. What baffled him more were the Wise Ones themselves. The vast majority, including his wife, Sealdre, had a hand clamped over her mouth and refused to say anything. It must be one of the woman things…

Kathana Justinia Trevelaer was busy grunting over some pudding, trying her best to drown her headache with it. It had been a terrible morning. The Novices and Accepted had suddenly fallen ill with some odd noise disease. The whole Tower had “pffpfolpo”s and “opffpfpf”s and “dipoilpipoilpii”s all running amok everywhere. It was quite sickening. Not to mention all the grunting and cooing from the Aes Sedai and Gaidin. Something was definitely wrong.

They had had a case of weird noises before. The Aes Sedai had suppressed it quickly, hoping no such scandal got out. The gossip still ran amok. And now it was back. The Amyrlin Seat sat on her Amyrlin Seat sadly eating away her pudding. It’s the bloody pigeon feathers. It must be. I recognise the symptoms of pigeonetis fetherisis anywhere. Now if I can just find the bloody cure. Maybe I can get Sathinar. He’ll be good. Yes, Sathy’s good. If only I could get him to just swallow the bloody feathers alone and leave the pigeons for the messages. Kathana frowned. There was something wrong with her logic. She didn’t care. She had her pudding. She was happy. She just wished she could stop grunting and cooing so much.

She tore off a little yellow sticky pad and began to write: 1) Must call Sathinar to get him to *grunt* eat pigeon feathers. 2) Must see if *coo* I can get the *grunt* cooks to get new recipes for *coo* pigeon feathers. 3) Must stop *coo* cooing and *grunt* grunting.

She frowned, read through her sticky pad and grunted. It was the best she could do. She cooed softly to her pudding, smiled, picked up her spoon and began to gorge down the remaining pudding. She had things to do and her pudding only got in her way. She tried her best to cover her ears to block out the noise of her grunting Keeper outside. Even then she could not help hearing the giggling and “fiflfoif”-ing Novices outside the window. She grunted. She felt very, very odd.

Skechid pouted as he sat surrounded by a whole jumble of cooing, grunting and Light-knows-what Soldiers. They had suddenly appeared out of no where and were now busy gorging down his stew through grunts and Light-knows-whats.

Well, at least they aren’t drinking. He grunted. He had long since gotten tired of trying to stop breathing. He had almost fainted on the last count, only to awake to a whole cagoogahah of grunts jumping out of his lips. He could only grunt at the memory. He was starting to have second thoughts about suffocating himself.

“Hey, Dedicated. This stuff is, urgh, good.” One of the tall Soldiers grunted happily, cooing with delight. “Why don’t you, coo, get a bowl, urnghr, too? We have, phhooihph, to share, ungh, you know?”

Skechid grunted back disgustedly and could only coo forlornly at his rapidly diminishing stew. I need my own kitchen. No one noticed as he sat, grunting and cooing to himself happily. Yes, a kitchen.

Lanfear, mighty Lady of the Night, Queen of Evil and Persona of Beauty, cooed happily at her plans. Her plans were going just as she had planned. Happily she cooed and pointed her Spork at a Darkfriend working too slowly for her taste. “Hurry up with that stage, you, or I’ll have your head on a Spork!” He jumped in fear and increased his efforts tenfold. That was better. Lanfear abruptly got to her feet. While the others were seeing to the rapid creation of her stage, she might as well get some work done herself… Grinning she shouted a menacing warning to her workers and wove a gateway. She grinned with mad glee as she stepped through.

Callandor gave up. The broom’s noises was getting on his nerves. He was also tired of grunting. He sounded like a pig. A very noisy pig. He didn’t like it. Grunting in frustration and frowning at his brooms cooing, he tried weaving some sieve or something to get rid of the dust.

It’s bloody not working. Bloody things. He grunted. He felt odd. Kind of light headed and terribly awful. He had tried changing brooms and moving to another area, hoping the air would be clearer elsewhere. It didn’t work. He ended up grunting even more from climbing up the bloody staircases. We need an Ai’r Fil’ter that’s what we need. One of those ter’angreals. Yes we do. He cooed at the thought, thinking of ways to trick Hawkwing into buying him one. Beer, I’ll need lots of beer. Maybe a drop of vod’ka or two. Yes, definitely. If only I could get him to drink the bloody things. Then he thought of Skechid. Stew, yes. Get him addicted to Skechid’s stew. That’s it! I am such a genius. He grunted happily. Then frowned.

How am I to get Skechid to put alcohol in his stew. He shuddered at the memory of having tried once. I’m going to have to find something to get Skechid interesting in our venture. Maybe if I promised to clean his room more often. Lick his boots, that kinda thing…He smiled. He was a genius indeed. Then frowned. He needed it fast. Very fast. He was starting to sweat from all the grunting. Not good. Then Lanfear entered. He frowned. Things weren’t getting any better. “Err, hi Lanfear,” he said, giving her his best grin. She frowned at him. “Gimme your broom.”


“You play urgh too many MUDs so you’re never on icq anymore, so I’m gonna take the coo cuendillar broom to get my uggh revenge. Pretty coo evil huh? MWAHAHAHAHA!”

Callandor stared at her in bewilderment. “Uh yeah…ugghh very evil…heh.” Hah, let her take the filthy broom with its coos and squeaks! He grunted and surrendered his broom, trying not to grin too broadly.

She frowned at him and snatched it up. Cooing with delight, she opened a gateway back out, coo-laughing evilly as she stepped through.

Callandor stepped into the campfire clearing. “Oh urgh damn, Lanfear stole my broom. I guess I’ll have to abandon my sweeping and party with you guys.” A few Deds grunted at him. He shrugged

Hawkwing continued. “…Sos urngh Dark Blight and I’sha drinksh and drinksh. Hesh getsh to 1999 mugsh and falsh over, but I’sha urgh get to 2000 mugsh coo, shos I’sh win. Sho hes’sh waks out cryin and hesh shays ‘I’sa not comin back tilsh I coo‘an drink moresh beer dan yoush, Hawkwing.’ Sho, thash why Dark Blight ishn’t ‘round ‘nymore coo and I’sha shtill here…” Hawkwing looked around suddenly. Unghh “Ay! Shn’t anyone lishnin’?”

It was then that he first became aware of the milling swarm of Asha’man grunting and cooing around a pot of spiked stew.

“Heysh! Gimme somma dat!” Hawkwing yelled and jumped in. Callandor grinned broadly. “Hey Hawkwing, how about you get me an Ai’r Fil’ter ter’angreal?

“Ungh.” Hawkwing said, gorging away.

Taimandred looked at the fainted Joram beneath the Dome, frowning in consternation. “Maybe I was coo too hard on the guy.” Grunting and pulling out three more 2-liter bottles of Dew, he neatly tucked them beneath the dome and cooed. He looked around suddenly, aware that the grunting and cooing had all gone to the other side of the room. “Hey, coo what’s urngh wallophejah going on over there?” Bottle of Dew in either hand, he rushed to investigate, trying to drink Dew and run at the same time in a combination of coos and grunts.

“Serafelle, urngh,” The Amrylin Seat grunted from her Amyrlin Seat. “Get me Sathinar, snortfunklewinfle, now! Urngh! We need, urghgng, aaaah, now!” Kathana Justinia Trevelaer was trembling at her effort to keep her grunting under control. “Serafelle! Burn you! Urngh! Hurry!” The Amyrlin Seat waited and waited and then gave up. Nothing seemed to be happening outside her door. She got up slowly, cooing as she did and waddled over to the door and stared with wide eyes.

Her Keeper, Serafelle Ismene al'Cormiere, sat cooing at a picture of her darling Warder, Ben. In between grunts of happiness and funny odd noises, she tugged subconsciously at her thin stole of the Keeper. “SERAFELLE!!” Kathana screamed and grunted. “GET ME SATHI, urgh, NAR, NOW! UNGH! UNGH! UNGH!” She screamed in frustration and covered her mouth hurriedly with her hands. Muffled grunts could be heard quite clearly. Serafelle looked at her shocked and then fell in to a fit of giggles, well, in her case, more of “puokupulkikup”s. Then she stood up with a grunt, grabbed her staff and hurried out of the door. Must be the dang pudding fumes. Must be. I must see if I can get the bloody cooks to remedy their recipes. Yes, just the pudding fumes. That is one f**ked up Amyrlin.

Serafelle cooed happily and returned to thoughts of her darling Ben Gaidin.

Clusters of Wise Ones had fainted from dehydration. Strangely enough, none of them even went near water. In fact, all the Water Seekers got from their efforts were beatings. The Water Seekers spent their days sullenly refusing to speak to anyone. Some even went so far as to pout.

What was amazing was the funny noises that continued to emit from the Wise Ones’ mouths. They no longer could keep track of the Toh, relying instead on debt cancellation. If one Wise One made a funny noise at another, the other Wise One had to make one back. That way they were even. Not that they could avoid it anyway. The grunt and cooing and generally all weird noises emitting from the nursing tents of the Aiel Wise Ones made it sound almost like a zoo. It was quite disgusting to say the least.

Poledra had given up on any attempt to suppress the noise, instead going back into recluse with her Aiel character and concentrating on Veteran Lanny.

Veteran Lanfear, the Holder of Too Many Titles for The Author To Type, stood proudly upon the stage, cooing and grunting away while getting drunk on champagne. “All right, now, hit it!” She said. Some generic New Year’s music began to play and fireworks sprang up, exploding, masses of Aes Sedai flesh falling to the ground. “All right,” she said, gesturing grandly with her Spork to the spectators below the stage. “The top Ten most influential people to Lanfear in writing this silly story this millenium will now be named.” She frowned as the cuendillar broom squeaked at her. There was polite clapping and grunting and squeaking from the over-worked Shadowsworn below. “First off,” She said, “Ladria, for always being on icq!” VeteranLanfear tried to ignored the cooing of the broom and grinned presenting her with a Spork from the ripped paper bag. “Thanks for the fireworks,” She whispered, winking. Ladria frowned slightly and wondered where the rest of her Aes Sedai escort had gone. Her concerned grunts and coos were drowned out by the crowd’s clapping.

Veteran Lanfear cooed and grunted and waved her Spork for silence once again.

“Next prize goes to…”*squeak*”(Shut up, you damn broom!)…Skechid for writing about half this story!” Skechid cooed and grunted his way through the crowd, muttering “excuse me,” and “pardon me,” between coos and grunts as he went by. VeteranLanfear presented him with a Spork and whispered, “Now you can stir your stew and jab the little buggers who try to eat it all in one swipe.” Skechid smiled and thanked her politely. The crowd clapped politely in turn. The cuendillar broom squeaked again. “Dammit!” Veteran Lanny kicked the broom of the stage.

She once again silenced the crowd and held up another Spork. The next award goes to…Lanfear, for inspiring me to look so damn good.” She winked at her twin who was ascending the stage and stopped. “Since she already has a Spork, I thought I’d improvise.” Trying to look very sweet and innocent, she handed Lanfear a Big-@$$ Sa’angreal. Lanfear grinned at her and snatched it up quickly. The crowd grunted nervously. Suddenly, a mighty woman came briskly trotting up the stage. “I don’t think so, hun,” said Drea, “That would be unrealistic role play, babe.” VeteranLanfear grinned at her sweetly and said, “That reminds me… the next award goes to Drea, for being a damn cool RP Admin.” Drea frowned and grunted at her. “Now don’t try to change the subject, hun…ooh, a Spork…” The unrealistic act was soon forgotten in light of this new device. Lanfear quietly sneaked offstage, happily carrying her Big-@$$ Sa’angreal VeteranLanfear grinned and pretended not to notice an irritated Blackie biting her lip with impatience. “The next award goes to Dark Blight for being lost in some bar somwhere and getting outdrunk by a Scottish!”

There was a low grunting from some of the Australians in the crowd. A grunting and cooing drunk Hawkwing gatewayed onto the stage and turned to Veteran Lanfear. “In brother Dark Blight’sh absencshe, hic, I will take hish award for him and plashe it in m’ own coo shafe-keeshping until he’sh return.

VeteranLanfear grinned in amusement at the “safe keeping” bit and handed him the Spork. Grunting triumphantly, he gatewayed back to the camp to brag about it to his brother Asha’man. “Hey, Taim, look whacht your shish gave me!”

So anxious was poor Blackie to go upstage that she had started to massacre her subordinates. VeteranLanfear smiled sweetly. “The next prize goes to Blackie, just cuz she likes Sporks so much.” Blackie came running up the stage to eagerly snatch the Spork from her hand. “Mwahahahahahaha! I finally gotta Spork! Oh yeah!” She departed as rapidly as she had come, laughing in pure, unspoiled glee.

Lanfear retrieved another Spork from the bag and stood looking around for a minute. OOC: “pssst, Nick, who should get the next award?”

“How should I know? Me!”

“Hee, yeah right, now, who really?”

The crowd started to grunt loudly. “What’s taking so long.”

Veteran Lanfear frowned slightly. “Errr… the whole DM was a lot of influence for this story! Yeah, that’s it, that’s who gets the award. Group hug!” There was a tremor of grunts and coos as everyone rushed to be part of the group hug. “Eww, Darks,” someone said, “You need a shower!”

Back in heaven, the Creator was swearing and sweating. He was having troubles with Saidin and Saidar. The stupid computer that was in charge of keeping track of weaves and Talents and such was giving lots of trouble. All manners of squeaks, grunts and weird cooing noises were admitted from it.


Annetta Fotopoulos giggled at her silly story. All in all it was coming out quite nicely. She liked the grunts and hiccups and cooing, especially all those funny noises. Very satisfied, she began to save her work. Then suddenly her brother burst into the room.








*grunt* *urgh* *ungh* *ooofpfopf* *coo* *poupupoiypo*



Annetta Fotopoulos grinned evilly at her brother, an evil idea forming in her mind…

Taimandred suddenly found himself in a room full of Mountain Dew bottles. His eyes went wide. He was in heaven! He smiled then reached out for the first bottle of Dew, cooing in delight. His hand went right through it, it wasn’t real! He grunted angrily and reached for another one. Another illusion. And another. And another. He began to feel frustrated after the fiftieth illusion. Now, grunting like a stuck pig, he began to suspect that perhaps none of the Dews were real. Taimandred had never been one to catch on quickly.

“ANNETT!” He grunted angrily in an OOC voice. “YOU GET ME OUT OF HERE THIS INSTANT!” His grunts mixed with funny noises. Making him sound very terrible indeed.

Then he sat down and began grunting nonstop. All this Mountain Dew, and none of them real. No! there must be at least one! No!!!!


“Now, where’re our urnghh Sporks?” Someone demanded of VeteranLanfear, shaking her out of her evil thoughts. “Err, um...” VeteranLanfear said lamely. Damn…I don’t have that many Sporks! This is a good time to go home, I think… No one seemed to notice as she crept out of the group hug, ran across SG, rolled down the Black Hills and made a cool triple-flip into the void leading to the real world.

“Woah, I looked really cool!” Annett cooed. Nick shook his head, “Yeah, whatever, Little Girl!” He took a swig of Mountain Dew.


Happy New Year everyone!