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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!


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*)