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What is this "spam" kernezelda keeps telling me about?

Hello from Dragon*Con!

Warning: There will be no substance in this post- just a lot of squeeing, particularly since...



He is a DOLL. Possibly the nicest star I've ever met. When I told him I flew down from Virginia, he gave me a second autograph for free for "coming all this way."

I'm in Kerne's room now preparing to watch some FS season four. Will report back later.


PS: I also have the biggest girl crush on Paul Goddard now. He's as cute as a button.

PPS: I want to be spammed!


*spams you, obediently*
Agh! You lucky fiend, you. Jealousy aside, this vicarious swooning is fun. You will give all the details on the character development panel, right?
So, your icon is reminding me of Brotherhood of the Wolf, but I'm not sure why it would. What's it from?
I found it somewhere, and don't remember where (other than "the internet"). It had the file name "pact des loups," so that explains the resemblance. Sorry I can't be more specific. I like it because of the costuming, especially that costuming on a woman.
Oh! Then it is in fact from Brotherhood of the Wolf. That's the French title. Weird, I didn't even remember that character from the movie.
OMG! That's so awesome!

Spam, Spam, Spam!

I'm thrilled to death for you and totally envious, dollface!
You met Stark's alter-ego! Yay!

I was also delighted to find this year that my Vila was played by an absolute darling of a guy too.
Like everyone else, I am both pleased for you and jealous *g*. And spamming you.
I want to meet Paul Goddard! Waaaah!

Ask for spam, and ye shall receive...

The thronesled puttered along the gentle curves of Moya's corridors. All three of Rygel's stomachs grumbled. He hadn't had a meal for four long arns and he intended to see to it that the oversight was corrected.

In the center chamber, which mercifully was empty of that lunatic Human, the overbearing Luxan and Aeryn (who scared the hezmana out of him), Rygel cast a wary look about before heading to the pantry. There was no sign of Chiana or Noranti, either, although the odor in the room indicated the Traskan had been there recently.

No matter. Rygel patted his abdomen fondly. It was time for a snack.

He maneuvered the thronesled up high in the pantry, sneezing a bit from the dust that covered the cleverly hidden shelf he'd cajoled the DRDs to construct. He stretched one stubby arm, rummaging, frustrated when he could just feel the object of his search at the end of his fingers, but couldn't grasp it. Muttering Hynerian epithets, he sneezed once more.

A voice from below curled the hair of his earbrows. "Whatcha doin' up there, Sparky?"

Frell. It was Crichton.
"Nothing," Rygel grunted, straining his reach and nearly falling face-first from the thronesled. "It's not any of your concern, Crichton, so frell off."

Below him came rattling and thumping, and suddenly the Human's head was nearly level with his own. "Now why would I do that? Looks like you could use a little help." Crichton extended his arm, fingers waggling.

Rygel ignored the mocking grin. Perhaps Crichton could be of some use. "There is a tin, near the back of the shelf..."

But the Human didn't move. "So, if I'm hearing you right--you're asking for my help?"

Rygel eyed him with extreme distaste and said nothing.

Crichton tilted his head, considering. "Well. This doesn't happen every day, Ryge, so I've gotta ask. What's in it for me?"

Frelling Human. But if he thought he could get the better of Rygel through any sort of negotiations, he'd soon find out just how deficient and inferior he was. Certainly no match for any Dominar of Hyneria.

Rygel settled back in his thronesled, hands folded over his stomach. "Ten percent, and not a tinkot more."
A short time later--with Crichton having stubbornly held out for an outrageous fifty-fifty split of the goods--a deal was struck. If Rygel was disgruntled that the Human had ignored any and all proper protocols of the sophisticated art of negotiation, he comforted himself with the knowledge that Crichton wasn't half as clever as he might think.

This wasn't Rygel's only secret stash, of course.

The Human groped around, arm outstretched overhead and sending up puffs of dust. With one mighty sneeze, he found what Rygel had been seeking.

Crichton stared at the cheerful yellow lettering on the bright blue tin, at the pink-toned illustration. "This is what you smuggled on board? What you've been hoarding all to your greedy little self?"

"Give me that," Rygel snatched at the tin, but Crichton easily fended him off with one hand.

"Oh no, nooooo," Crichton laughed. "This is just too good to be true." He jumped down from the crate he'd been standing on and retreated into the center chamber, tin in hand.
"We made a deal, Crichton," Rygel growled.

The Human ignored him, whistling cheerfully as he popped the top from the tin, upending it. A pinkish rectangular lump plopped wetly onto the chopping board. "Ryge, my man, this stuff--in the hands of an amateur--can be dangerous. Trust me. I know exactly what to do."

Slightly mollified, Rygel hovered closely as Crichton sliced thick slabs of the delicacy and set water to heat. When steam rose from the cookpot, he hauled Rygel back to the pantry and returned with a small sack of whitish grains. "What is that?" Rygel demanded, sniffing suspiciously.

"Manna from heaven, Buckwheat," Crichton grinned, tossing a generous handful into the water and stirring briskly. Then he turned his attention to the frying pan. Rygel shuddered as he remembered the last time Crichton had been trusted with it. Who in their right frelling mind would try to cook a dentic...?

This time, however, a delicious scent wafted through the air as the pink meat began sizzling. Rygel could barely stand the wait.

Finally, Crichton handed him a plate. "Dig in, Sparky, and tell me if that isn't the best spam-and-grits you've ever tasted."

Rygel was too busy inhaling his food to respond.

"Oh yeah," Crichton mumbled around his own mouthful. "And if I know you, my little porky pilferer, where there's one can, there's more. We haven't even scratched the surface! Spam fried rice, spam and eggs, spam kabobs, fettucine and spam, sweet and sour spam, kung pao spam..."

THE END. (Aren't you glad? *g*)
I'm dying of jealousy! :) Glad to hear the Con's going well.
[Monty Python]Spam, spam, spam, spam, Lovely spammmmmmmmmmmmmmm![/monty python]


The things I miss when I take a vacation from "livejournaling." Congratulations on meeting Peter Jurasik!