It's a quiet evening tonight.  The sun is slowly reddening,
sinking gracefully towards a tree-lined horizon, the crickets are
chirping...the smog is drifting in another direction...  That garlic
smothered pizza you ate for dinner isn't giving you an ulcer yet, so you
sit down in front of the TV to watch another Dirty Pair episode from the
tape Zen just sent you.

	It wasn't meant to last, though.  No sooner is the tape in the
machine and the TV on, when you hear a stattaco (sp?) knock on the front
door.  Grumbling and setting aside that 48 oz tumbler of Jolt you'd
bought for the occasion, you ooze out of your Lazy Boy and thump over to
open the door, ready to castrate the fool crazy enough to interrupt your
otaku pursuits.
	You open the door slowly, saving any violence for the mauling to
come.  And then you crack an evil smile at the stupidly grinning door-
to-door salesman standing there with an open catalog.
	"Oh, hello hello hello and what a wonderful evening it is, isn't
it!" he says, letting the words tumble out in a flood of gooey gab aimed
at snagging a sale or a boot to the head in short order.  "I couldn't
help but notice the larger-than-life-size Ryo-ohki plushy sitting in
your bedroom window, and I think I have something to offer you that you
simply can't refuse!"
	You hesitate for just a moment, repressing the urge to hammer
this lamer into orbit with your personalized, Takahashi-autographed
Akane "baka" mallet.  Something you, as an otaku of otakus, might be
interested in?  You dab at a hint of drool before it can meander onto
your chin, and listen.
	Seeing your reaction, he smiles even more stupidly.  "Oh, yes!"
he wheedles.  "It's the *perfect* vacation get-away, to take your mind
off of all of life's little hang-ups, and it's just the thing for any
TRUE otaku, such as yourself."  You nod eagerly, despite yourself, as he
rambles on.  "Right here," and he pulls out a neon green piece of
plastic with some strange lettering in Japanese on it, "I have a
brochure and ticket to the land of Spamalot, just the place for an otaku
to try his hand at living the life of his favorite anime character.
Naturally, some restrictions apply, you must be an otaku to enter, bring
your own superpowers, yada yada yada, but I can see by the look on your
face that you're ready to buy.  And that's wonderful, 'cause I'm going
to make you a very special, trial offer:  just take this ticket and
visit any time you want, free of charge!  Of course, the right to use
your likeness and any comments you'd care to share about your
experiences in Spamalot are some of the incidentals I'm obligated to
inform you about before I send you on your way, but that's not a
problem, is it?  And I can see it isn't."
	Dazed by his suave performance, you gaze suspiciously at the
piece of plastic he's waving in front of your nose.  "Sounds great," you
mutter, "but what's the catch?"  "Only an abundance of spam, and you
expected that, right?" he smoothly replies.

	Right.  Looks like that Dirty Pair episode will have to wait,
you think to yourself as you grab the ticket and sign on the infamous
dotted line...

				* * * * * * * * * *

Yep.  I'm back, and I'm feelin' real good.  8)  All spamfic-ers are
invited to send their processed-pork--product to the FFML.d.  Just send
a message with "subscribe ffml-d" in the body to
ffml-d-request@universal-net.com.  I dunno about you all, but I have
this sudden urge to do the FFML-no-fanfic type
thing...ifyuhknowwhatuhmean.  :)

Word from White Wolf - he doesn't want a multi-author mess like the
Poker Game on the FFML, so that's why I'm advertising the spam list for
it.

Damon Casale, damoo@universal-net.com
Spam, spam!  WONDERFUL spam!  ^_^

PS.  Let the spamfics BEGIN!  Let the otaku REIGN!  Let the anvils ring!
     Err...you get the picture.  ^_-