Seventh Messenger wrote:

Just wondering . . . Do you guys all set your mailers to delete all
messages with the tag [SPAM] in the title?

    If so, mayhaps Spamfic shall make it through. Hi guys, been a LONG
while. I'm currently working on seven Max Alerts and a liter of Jolt Cola so
I'm a bit on the off side of my brain. Still, I figured this whole thing
needed some kind of explanation from me as well as an apology. If you want
to cut to the chase, flashforward to the last paragraph with the star. If
you want, nay DEMAD that absolution be earned through a hopefully humerous,
barely coherent spamfic, then read on. Those familiar with my work on RRML
will know of Author's Retreat, for the rest of the FFML, hope you enjoy
somewhat. I've got work on fics to do... Revenge's End, your next!

    OtakuNXS presents...

        A Mad Bad Bishonen Lad Production...

            Author's Retreat 5... or 6, kinda lost cout... Or How the Parrot
King Got His Groove Back

    There's a place where everyone knows your nick. Self insertion here is
less a matter of do it yourself godhood and bademagnetics and more one of
escape. Here, one can hide from the daily bombardment of slings, arrows,
outrageous wheels of fortune, Shelly Long, air conditioners that don't work,
Alabama, felines named annoying customers, Barracuda's and any restrictions
to the length of rant lists. The place is called Author's Retreat, home to
more keger parties then Kappa Beta Belushi... provided your kegers are
filled with caffeine and creme filling.

    A lone mobile home stood witness to the sole permanent resident of this
Miltonesque keep of lost dreams and found fan subs. This was where the
Parrot King made his home. Out of said structure, a young man walked,
humming to himself, his stylishly ridiculous cape fluttering in the wind and
his bandanna marking him as Count P-chan. He was odd mixture of Bela
Legousi, and Ryouga, whose existence had been determined late one night when
the supreme ruler of talkative air fowl had... quote... nothing else better
to do.

     "Dum de dum de dum..." and odd diddy to be batted around by a blood
sucking depository of necrostrobic energies and bad goth poetry, still it
fitted the Count's current mood as he made his way to the mail box. He
reached inside the unassuming... though one wonders, being on the receiving
end of stuffage with enough Dear Johns, belated birthdays, Ed Mcmans and
John Deer's, why it wouldn't at least come to the conclusion that it was
much better just to be the messenger and not the messangee, regardless of
the odd gunshot wound... at any rate, the vampiric mockery of an amalgamic
personage and Bill Ni gone terribly wrong, took the mail from the box and
began the arduous task of sorting.

    "Lessee, ah! Spam... delete." The Count tossed the offending post into
the trash. "More spam, delete. Spam, spam, spam, troll, and spam, delete.
Spam, spam, fic, bake beans, valid commentary on fanfiction and vhere it's
going today, and spam, delete. Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, Tybalt, and
spam, delete. Spam, spam, fic, G. U. B, lemon, and spam, delete." Sighing,
the creation from a not so much heat as humidity oppressed brain looked to
the small viking chorus that had assembled.

    Well, not precisely vikings, actually, more like marshmallows wearing
pointy hats. There were no norse here, just Mokonators, but goddess love
them, they try. The Count bared his rather prodigious fangs, though the
effect was less Lost Boys and more Snaggle Puss, and sent the little balls
of kawaii fleeing for safety and meat by products. Satisfied at his ability
to terrify CLAMP offshoots, the only known pork that refused to feed on
muslims turned his attention back to the task at hand.

    "Oh no, not another one." The Count crumpled the paper in hand, the
worst of all possibilities, barring his creator posting a fic. "A fic
request..." It was definitely an ill omen. If someone requested a fic, they
might read it, if they read it, they might, goddess forbid, like it... there
were people that twisted, he knew... if they C&Ced it, Keener might just
write something else. Oh to have the fiction community scarred by such
tragedy, and even worse, to think that his goddess might be tarnished by
simple brief contact.

    "Kun-chan..." Looking to the sky, he watched, tear eyed as clouds formed
her face. A being beyond mortal fic writers, a being of wit and lemons whose
presence he was unfit to share, a being who was currently being placed in a
spamfic without her permission. Humph, there'd be hell to pay on that one,
he was sure. Still, there was something more important then possible
liabilities. Yes, his mission was clear, he must destroy the accursed thing,
just as the others before it.

    "Whatcha doing Count?" Krudd, the half-breed of Dragon Ball Z warrior
and fiercesome wabbit tamer walked toward his companion. Looking to the
heavens, he noticed the rather stunning fanboy imagery. "Ah, wowshipping
Cawowine Sea... mulph!" He was cut short as the gag of paper and spam was
shoved in his mouth.

    "Fool! Do you vant to get us sued for liable?"

    "Mulph mumph snorgle..." the bald young man answered.

    "Vhat?"

    Krudd removed the wadded papyrus. "Ahem, I said don't wowwy about it. My
speech impediment is good for at weast one thing. As wong as the author's
have an L or R sound in thewe name, I can't say it cowwectwy enough to get
us in twouble. Obsewve, Gawy Kweppe, Wichawd Wawson, Nikhowas F. Towedo,
Bawwy Cadwigan, Awpha Centawi, Waoh, Wonny, JD Fawber... see?" Smiling to
himself, he unfolded the post and read silently to himself.

    "Um, pay no attention to that, just some spam."

    "This is a fic wequest... for one of Keener's fics... how is that
possibwe?" Krudd shook his head.

    "You think that's vierd, this is the second time the thing's been posted
to the list." Count P-chan shrugged... then noted his partner's silent
stare. "Vhat?"

    "Posted to the wist? Second one?" Krudd gave the vampire Ryouga a
disapproving glare. "Tybawt's going to go bawwistic. Hmmmm, Chad Yang, why
is that name famiwer?"

    "I believe he's also the one vho had requested the first two parts of
Suicide Blast. You know, the one that got lost in the Emailer breakdown of
July 98." Both characters held their heads low in respect. Many fic and
multiple idea posts had died a hard death that day.

    "Wook, we gotta give this to him." The wabbit wrangler allowed his open
palm to field any objections. "I know how you feel about this, but think
about it. He's awweady spammed the wist twice and it's our fauwt. Do you
want to be wesponsibwe for Cawowine not getting her fics because the wist
went down from excessive spamage?"

    "Okay, okay, I get your point. Let's get it over vith." The Count
conceded.

    "I just hope this is a good time to bother him, he's been writing all
day." Krudd sighed, opening the door and holding it for his friend.

    "Humph, sitting in your room, vearing a kimono and saying... 'Revenge's
End... Suicide Blast, I vould date with BOTH of you!"... is not what I
consider fic vriting. Not that I'm complaining mind you. It's better then
him vorking on Logs N Love or something of that nature." Both shared a
communal shudder at the notion as they approached the Parrot King's door.

    Krudd had barely gotten a single knock before it flung over. "How many
times do I have to tell you guys? Do NOT interrupt me when I'm watching
anime. Do you know how hard it was to find the original Super Hyper Mega
Bloody Ultra Cosmos Death Extravaganza X-23?" The mad, bad, bishonen lad was
everything a self inserted character should be. Incredibly handsome, almost
beautiful, enough phenomenal cosmic power to force an anime spiky haired
Martial Artist to learn a new technique lest his manliness be threatened,
and of course, cherry blossoms where ever he went, it was all there. He had
always figured, if your going to self insert... do it up right.

    "I'm sure Mister Lather vill get over it," the Count shrugged.

    "Hewe, this is for you." Krudd handed over the note.

    Keener sighed, shutting off the vcr just as Dr. Slump's Arale beat the
stuffing out of an imperial AT-AT. Taking the message, he scanned it's
contents, shock his head, then reread. "This... this is a fic request."

    "Very good, those electro-shocks are vorking vonders."

    "But I NEVER get fic requests... wait a sec, this was posted to the
list." He reread the passage a tenth time. "Wait a sec! This is his second
post to the list... and he's requested privately TWICE?" Silver eye's
flashed to onyx as he looked to a suddenly rather small and pale vampire
pig. "Count..."

    "Ye..." squeaked, then a bit stronger "Yes?"

    "Here, preread this while I apologize to the list at large and too
Mister Yang." With that he tossed a notebook to the guilty nosferatu. Then
he turned to his computer and began typing.

    The Count read silently to himself. "Oh Azaka don't ever leaf me, I
never knew what love was till..." Vampires really can't get that much paler,
cheeks being rather devoid of the necessary blood vessels. Instead, he
turned several distinct and odd shades of puce.


*    ...Gomen to the list in general and to you Seventh Messenger in
particular. I'll be sure to send you along the fic presently. My only real
excuse is my current intolerable job position and the thread bare nature of
my time and money. Add that with a computer whose only real function in life
seems to be eating E-mail, and mayhaps you can understand my position. BTW,
what is it about Of Bullets and Birds that caught your attention? Was it the
Crow, or something else. I canna remember what the synopsis consisted of but
I have other fics in similar veins, including a Tottorro Crow fic. As a side
note, the fic's title was changed to Mousse's Murder and is not yet, though
is nearing... completion.

Revenge's End Mad Bishonen Boy
Caretaker of the Dark and Lonely Place (COR Deaconate)
The Parrot King

(Opinions are like Dimensional Mallets, everybodies got one, they're just
rarely lethal until someone gets Glomped!)
      /
 Oo
(~, )
 V