Please, stick with it, I have a point, really I do... if your not
willing to dredge through your normally scheduled parrotal spamage, just
go down to the star denoted paragraphs, pointed out for your ML weary
pleasure.

            A Thought or Two...

    The room was less building and more sound stage, obviously sliced in
two to allow both a camera, some mood abiding architecture and
something... more behind a massive silk curtain. Half the room was
filled with the cozy interior of a fire place lighted study, beside
which a chair of such comfyiness to set the most unexpected of
inquisitive quests drooling as they reached for the soft cushions, sat.
Beside the chair, a young man stands, he has all the beauty one would
expect of a self inserted persona. One could hypothesize at the
appearance of the actual otaku this individual reflected on... being
inversely proportional, either this fan had an impossibly low opinion of
himself, or there was truth to the rumors of a coupling between the
Three Tenors and the Vienna Boy's Choir. At any rate, the subject was
wearing a slightly sooted smoking jacket and sipping on a wine glass,
apparently filled with Jolt cola. The fez was a nice touch.

    "No mother, don't make me do the bad things, she's not as pretty as
you, and didn't you say running around with sharp implements would lead
to monocular vision?" He directed his queries to the portrait above the
mantel. "<sniffle> Fine then, see if I care, didn't need crummy ole
depth perception anyways... Hmmm? Oh, hi there." The silver haired
madman turned from his precious copy of Dogs Playing Poker and smiled to
the gathered list.

    "My name is Keener, sometimes known as the Parrot King, the Mad Bad
Bishonen Lad, and... if you have the cash, Mother Mistress of the
Leather Loofa... but enough about me." Sitting down, Keener smiled and
folded his arms dramatically and for no more effect then to fill up a
paragraph. "I've taken time out of my busy work a day Revenge's End and
suicidal fic schedule and my own little... special project," he reached
behind him, carefully pulling up the red curtain that dominated the rest
of the household furnishings. From underneath, sounds of carpentry,
tunatry, and even a bit of what the hallibutry made their way about the
hall. "To talk to you guys about... your friend and mine, Gubby."

*    "My friends," slowly, and with much over use of posteration, he
placed a pair of glasses upon his face, Gendoed his fingers together in
front of his line of vision and then looked to the waiting audience.
"You've been had, you've been took! We didn't land under the bridge, the
bridge landed under us. Think for a moment boys and girls. Think, just
what if the critiquer formally known as snuckums was NOT a troll, was
not a C&Cer, but was in fact... merely a fic writer."

    Standing beside the chair, he keep himself steady with one hand as
another wiped an errant tear from his face. "Not all of us can stand on
our Laurels, Hardy or no. Not all of us have the wonderful wit or scope
of the Lawson, or Biles... and even had we the talent, it's still takes
allot to get a fic noticed in this world. I've been online for a couple
of years now, spamming off and on, the odd humor bit, and LOTS of fics.
Still, my readership consists of little more then ten, counting my
prereaders. For us, we need a hook, a bit of freshly hewed fish carcass
to get the masses mouths awatering."

    "To that end, I have created the third annual Blast-A-Thon. That's
right, a week of reposting, spamfics, the opening of Author's Retreat
Reviews, and of course, the Suicide Blast saga, including the newly
finished part three." Turning, eye's a blaze, he held up his hand. " I
plan to increase my readership by..." His palm up, he released his
digits to the heavens. "FOUR! Mwahahahah <gasp> ahahahhahah <wheeze>
ahhah <choke> heh heh... ahem."

*    "Now then, how many of you think you'll be reading Always, the real
thing, Man's fic? Be honest... I'm standing on top of the world with the
heady thoughts of fourteen readers, our favorite critic can guarantee
himself ten times that number." Keener shrugged and popped a fudgie
wudgie down his throat. "See what I mean? If you've been reviewed,
you'll read it for some payback. People who hate, people who like and
even those staunch in there apathy will be reading this sucker when it
gets posted. You can't BUY publicity like this people. There's some mad
genius at work here, not since Oscar B Wyld has this much interest been
generated by a currently nonexistent fic."

    "Oh well, I hope it all turns for the best. As for me, Mister
Always, Super Genius, Gubby, whatever... I cordially invite you to read
and review my fic. I assure you you'll hate every minute of it and have
more then enough fodder for any and all rants you find yourself unable
to excuse. In fact, if your willing, I'd like to make you one of the
guests of honor at the festivities, an honor... okay, not so much an
honor as a way to waste some time... offered to very few people.
Especially being you'll be one of the few to have been asked who has
never read one of my fics."

    "Your choice of course, effigies not withstanding."

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

(And the Moon was as blood, the Storms crashed and the Seas BOILED!)
(Typical, thought the Lobsters)
      /
 Oo
(~, )
 V