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The Golden StarDestroyer Fanfic Awards Ceremony

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:22am
by Dalton
Massive props to Crayz and Spyder, who helped me out. This has taken a long time, but I feel it's well worth it. I hope you enjoy the ceremony.




THE GOLDEN STARDESTROYER FANFIC AWARDS CEREMONY

Code: Select all

[A house in the Midwestern United States]

*click*

VO: Tonight on the Spice Channel...

*click*

VO: Tonight on Star Trek: Excelsior...

*click*

[A dark room. There is the low murmur of conversation and a hint of glitter. With a 
flourish, the room lights up and a graphic appears on screen.]

ANNOUNCER: Welcome to the Third Annual Golden StarDestroyer Fanfic Awards! Tonight-
-

*click*

CHUCK: Shit!!!!

[A door slams. Tires screech, then are silent.]

*click*

VOICE: HARDER!!



[A curtain rises, a staircase dollying in from stage rear. A large man in a bad-
fitting tux walks down the stairs, trips, rolls and lands face-first in front of 
the podium. In blatant violation of all known physical and biological laws, since 
he is writing the fucking story, he is not injured.]

DALTON: Uh...welcome all to the third annual Golden StarDestroyer Fanfic Awards, 
where we honor the best and brightest in our fan fiction world.  As I'm sure you're 
aware, my name is Rob Dalton, and...uh...Chuck doesn't seem to be here--

VOICE: Wait!

[A FIGURE runs up on stage. He is out of breath and in his skivvies, struggling 
with a bowtie.]

CHUCK:  Hello...*huff huff*...my name is...*huff*...Chuck Sonnenburg.  Welcome all 
to the third---

DALTON: I already said that.

CHUCK: Alright...so where are we?

DALTON: I was about to introduce the evening's sideshow, but since you're here you 
can do it.  Where the hell were you?

CHUCK: Never mind. Right...here we go. Lieutenant Hit-Man, if you please...

[The lights dim. A STORMTROOPER in scarred, blackened and thoroughly weathered 
white armor walks in from stage right, dragging a struggling...what could 
potentially be called a man by the hair. They are both silhouettes.  He reaches 
stage center and stands the sorry form up.]

DALTON: Ladies and gentlemen, we present for your viewing pleasure...

[Dramatic pause. Spots full on LT.HIT-MAN and other figure.]

CHUCK: Scooter!

[Silence. LT.Hit-Man, being a Sith after all, steps back well out of the way. 
Scooter blinks stupidly in the bright lights. He is wearing the uniform of a 
Federation officer, complete with pants so tight one can tell the religion of the 
wearer.  Between his legs the uniform is oddly concave.  He looks at the spotlights 
and grins.]

SCOOTER: "THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!" Captain Jean-Luc Picard, TNG episode "Chain of 
Command" Part II--- 

[A ROTTEN TOMATO hits SCOOTER full in the mouth. This precipitates a shower of 
rotten fruit, rotten eggs and, in one or two cases, well-stained underwear.]

SCOOTER: STOP MARGINALIZING ME!!!

[Hit-Man stomps back up, grips SCOOTER'S greasy hair and drags him backstage. 
SCOOTER is babbling like a child the whole way. We hear a vicious crack, followed 
by screaming.]

CHUCK: Alright, el-tee...save some for later.

[A broken bat comes spinning out from behind the curtain.]

CHUCK: [staring somewhat nervously at broken bat] Tonight Scooter will attempt to 
stop the proceedings, and we will see how badly he fails.  More of that later... we 
hope. Rob?

DALTON: Tonight we give out twenty-two awards for various accomplishments in fan 
fiction.  Before that, though, we present to you something new and necessary in 
this, the third annual awards ceremony.  Tonight, we have one of our intrepid 
crewmen standing by the experimental and highly dangerous device we have 
called...the Idiom Switch! Joe, flip the switch...let's see how this works!

[JOE is standing by a hulking, sparking heap of machinery. Wires trail everywhere 
and it smokes and sputters with pent-up energy. JOE grasps a heavy lever and pulls 
it toward him--]

	With a grunt of effort, Joe finishes pulling the switch into the "story" 
position.  He stands off to the side, wiping a grease-stained arm across his 
forehead which only serves to get his temples dirty.

	"This is the Idiom Switch," Dalton says. "I'm sure you can see the 
difference. We had to install one of these tonight upon seeing many of our 
nominees' acceptance speeches, since I apparently forgot to clarify "script 
format".  Are you all familiar with it? Good.  Joe?"

	Joe grasps the lever again, turning it back to the original position, which 
is marked "script"--

[JOE finishes pulling and again stands by the machine.]

DALTON: There we go. Anyway, we have a great show for you tonight, so stay tuned!

[FADE TO: Commercial]

[A series of film clips.]

VO:  Coming...this winter...the long-awaited latest addition to the most successful 
franchise in history...where loyalties will be tested-- ah, fuck it. Just watch 
Star Trek Eleven: The Undiscovered Insurrection Nemesis Contact. Coming out 
December 12...five days before Return of the King...is this right?

BONES: It's dead, Jim.

[CROSSFADE TO: Cover shot of audience. Graphic fades in, fades out]

ANNOUNCER: Welcome back to the third annual GSDA fanfic awards! Presenting the 
Darth Vader "The Force is Strong in this One" Award for Best Character Development 
are tonight's hosts, Chuck Sonnenburg and Rob Dalton!

CHUCK: Welcome back to the...uh...snow? [squinting]  Uhm... Carrots... er... what? 
Oh. Characters are off... uh... excuse me.  There's a rather strong glare coming 
off the teleprompter...

VOICE [from behind]: AHAH! See?! FOUR LIGHTS, just like I said! Concession 
accepted, you Rabid Warsie Fuckwit!  Ah--oh, fuck.

[SCOOTER runs off, dropping the lights with an expensive-sounding tinkle. ASST. 
ASST. LT. CMDR. SMI chases him with a cattle prod.]

CHUCK:  Thank you. Anyway...perhaps the most important parts of any story are the 
characters. And as most of you know, in any good story the characters must grow and 
change to adapt to their surroundings.  Tonight we present the award for Best 
Character Development.  Rob?

DALTON: First off is Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg, for the continual growth 
and change exhibited in both already well-established characters, as well as some 
new ones, including Sebastian Skywalker; StarCrossed, by Stravo, where we get an 
inside look at what Luke Skywalker would be as a Sith; Manifest Destiny, by Mark S; 
The Life of LT.Hit-Man, by LT.Hit-Man, which details the life and times 
of...LT.Hit-Man; and Past Imperfect, by Aron Kerkhof, about the life and career of 
a young force-sensitive pilot named Corbin Solaris, as well as the different lives 
led by Han Solo and Wedge Antilles in an alternate reality.

DALTON: And the winner is...StarCrossed, by Stravo!  Stravo, come on up here!

[Heavy applause. A large man bounds up to the podium, full of energy.]

STRAVO:  It's not easy writing a character and having him grow, particularly in a 
fanfic when most characters have their personalities set for you before you even 
start.  But it is a testament to the characters created by Gene and George that 
despite all the shows and movies their characters still have flexibility and room 
to grow.  This is as much an award for their characters as it is for my handling 
them.

[STRAVO leaves the stage to more heavy applause.]

DALTON: Very well spoken, Stravo, and thanks for keeping it short.  As a reminder 
to our winners, we have Rob Wilson up in the balcony, his sniper rifle loaded and 
ready to tranquilize your babbling ass...so watch out.  Now, to present The Grand 
Moff Tarkin "Evacuate? In our Moment of Triumph?" Award for Best Ending is the king 
of bad endings himself, Michael January!

[An exceedingly tall, large black man walks onto stage. He has cybernetic 
enhancements replacing nearly half his body.]

MIKEJ: Well, screw you Dalton. Anyway, a satisfying story always needs a satisfying 
ending.  Without further ado, I present the nominees for Best Ending. First off is 
Paradise Lost Act I, by Chuck Sonnenburg.

		"A person of some influence requested the Emperor provide 
	him and his aide with a ship to help him in his own personal search
	for the Vong. No one will miss one single star destroyer that has
	only just been returned to active service."
		"I understand," Naomi said, even though she didn't.  This wasn't
	the Imperial Taxi Service.  "Who is it that has this kind of
	influence?"
		"I can't say for security reasons," he replied.  "But it's
	important that you understand that this is his mission, and he has 
	final say.  Not exactly the way you wanted to cut your teeth on a Star 
	Destroyer, but there it is."
		Naomi's guts were telling her that her good fortune may not have
	been as good as it looked.  "I'm not sure I like the thought of a 
	civilian giving orders-"
		"He's only in charge of the overall mission," Kormain said.
	"And he's ex-military himself.  Sort of," he added.
		Naomi couldn't help herself.  "Who is it?" she practically 
	demanded.
		Kormain thought it over.  "He is only to be referred to as The
	Emperor's Hand."

MIKEJ: Next is Mailed Fist, a one-off original story by Colonel Falkenhorst.

		"The Starfleet ships were taken by surprise as the four Confederate
	destroyers dropped their cloaks directly aft, and unleashed a spread of
	torpedoes. The missiles rocketed in, their warheads detonating in close
	proximity to the Starfleet ships. Space was filled with coruscating blue
	fire for several instants, and the Starfleet vessels seemed to be caught
	in the grip of the hand of God. One of the Galaxy-class starships appeared
	through the crackling energy, it's shields gone, hull wreathed in sparks as
	it's running lights flickered and died. One of the /Excelsiors/ suffered the
	same fate, it's systems blown by the tremendous EMP discharge. Just then, 
	the 2nd squadron of fighters appeared, accelerating towards the enemy at 
	full thrust, with fresh loads of antiship missiles. The remaining Federation 
	ships turned and fled to warp."

MIKEJ: And the winner is...Chuck Sonnenburg, for Paradise Lost Act 1!

[CHUCK steps out from backstage, wearing a DAZZLING SMILE. He steps up to the mic.]

CHUCK:  I'd like to thank everyone who settled for the lesser of two evils.  [CHUCK 
smiles broadly.]  It's always hard saying goodbye, and for a writer that extends 
into the rather ridiculous position of saying goodbye to people who never existed.  
I guess that's why most of my work ends with the hope that things will be even 
better for the participants, whether it's on a galactic scale or for a single 
individual.  It's a very simple theme, but I'd like to think it works.  I hope that 
as things continue throughout this series Paradise Lost will continue to earn your 
support, and I'll do my best to make it a fun ride.  Now, before we present our 
next award, let's check in and see how Scooter is doing!

[Two LARGE SCREENS on either side of the stage light up, showing a rather 
DISTURBING SCENE.]

CHUCK: Joe, hit that switch, would you?

[JOE pulls the lever again, or at least tries to. There is an ELECTRICAL ARC that 
shocks JOE, who FALLS to the floor and CONVULSES.]

CHUCK: Somebody get a medic!

[On the screens, SCOOTER faces off with LT.HIT-MAN. As a testament to his tendency 
of "monkey see, monkey do," he wields a loaf of FRENCH BREAD, emulating PAUL 
JACQUES and the stunt that was pulled two years before. He is covered in his own 
FILTH.]

CHUCK: How goes, Hit-Man?

[HIT-MAN’s chill VOICE echoes off the speakers in the AUDITORIUM.]

LT.HIT-MAN: (V.O.) The little shitkicker's been flinging crap at the load-bearing 
beams.

CHUCK: Well, what about trying to stop the ceremony?

LT.HIT-MAN: I think he is.

SCOOTER: (looking straight at CAMERA) It is logical.  If logs can destroy an 
Imperial walker, then it follows that I am more than capable to destroy an 
auditorium full of Rabid Warsie Fuckwits--unarmored--with my own logs!

DALTON: I don’t think that will work...

SCOOTER: Ah, another Rabid Warsie Fuckwit... of course, you have no evidence, as 
usual.  Concession accepted!" 

[SCOOTER resumes FLINGING his own feces at the ornate column. It hits with wet 
SPLATS and squelches, SLIDING DOWN into an ever-growing pile.]

CHUCK: (glaring at the screen) Enough of that. [He turns toward the IDIOM SWITCH, 
where the medics have finally arrived] Um... how’s Joe?

JOE: (weakly) I’m still alive...

DALTON: Anyhow, on with the next group of victims—er, nominees.  As is traditional, 
the next two awards will be presented simultaneously.  For The General Veers "You 
May Start Your Landing" Award for Best Ground Combat and The Lando Calrissian 
"We'll Last Longer Than We Will Against That Death Star!" Award for Best Space 
Battle, please welcome Greg Burnett and Sea Skimmer, respectively of ASVS and 
StarDestroyer.net!

[Applause]

GREG:  War is a fact of life.  As long as one culture exists, other cultures will 
actively try to destroy them.  This happens in the form of war, war which is 
usually fought on two fronts, one on the ground by the Army, and the other in the 
Sea, or Space in this case, by the Navy.  The nominees for Best Ground Combat 
are... The Division and Phoenix Company, both by Ryan Crierie; I'm sure I don't 
need to provide an example here! De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary...

		"Corporal Kragg continued to grimly fire, his gunsight bringing alive
	each and every target with a simple perfection through the night. The range
	was still over two hundred meters, but that might as well have been point-
	blank as the aimed fire continued and the servitors fell to the overpowered
	bolts of the heavy blaster rifles the Guard carried -- Those shots often
	hitting the unarmoured spots on these slave warriors of the Vong and killing
	them outright; and otherwise having the sheer power against that less 
	sophisticated armour to leave them in hideous and burned agony on the field.
		Then there was a blur of light and a rush of heat; by an instinct older 
	than culture he threw himself into the trench as the detonation of the plasma 
	erupted near enough to sear at his hair. In the noise and heat of the moment, 
	the Vong armour had had a chance under the fire of the legionary artillery to 
	re-engage them. There were screams, oh yes, from there, and even among the 
	mightiest warriors, there certainly were. He picked himself up, leaning 
	against the wall of the trench as the fire continued; and then there was a 
	sound overhead, faintly audible, barely registered. He paid it little heed, 
	but several minutes later the barrage of the divisional artillery intensified 
	once more and a series of secondary explosions, instead of just a few, could 
	be heard -- And the armour did not trouble the regiment again.  Corporal 
	Kragg was back on the firing parapet, though. His scope was out of action, 
	but he still had the iron battle-peep sights, the effort of using them at 
	night aided by the iridium inlaid into them, the faintly glowing green and 
	red highlighting the distantly onrushing figures at which he fired again, and 
	gain, pausing only to replacing magazines."

GREG: And StarCrossed, by Stravo:

		"Fire in the hole!"  Kirk exclaimed as he beamed another canister. 
	The target Walker kept on firing as the canister materialized several
	meters to the east of it and exploded.
		"Hey!  What happened?"  Kirk asked looking back at Artoo.  Kirk had
	single handedly just knocked four Walkers out of commission and
	watched with glee as the Imperial advance seemed to be faltering as
	the Flyers had knocked out another two.
		Artoo whistled a long plaintive string.
		"Okay, now I'm lost."
		"He said, sir, that the Imperial forces are jamming his sensors, he
	has to try and make his best guess."  Threepio interjected.
		"Well, my little friend, try to guess better."  Kirk said with a nod.
		A long explosion ripped through the area, throwing Kirk and the rest
	to the floor.  Kirk felt hot shrapnel pelting him.  He slowly looked
	up and saw a sight he never thought he would see.  Starfleet command
	was in ruins, the main building had been leveled by the monster blast
	that had passed over them.  The building that had stood since the dawn
	of the Federation was gone.

GREG:  And the winner is...StarCrossed, by Stravo!

[STRAVO again walks up to the podium.]

STRAVO: Many writers want to know how to approach ground combat. My one bit of 
advice is when you watch movies and the big battle scenes come up, you know what 
you like and what you don’t like and more importantly what you want to see and 
never get a chance to.  Well, as a writer you now have the chance to put down 
everything you always wanted to see in battle.  Chances are other people want to 
see that too. Thanks!

[He steps down again.]

SEA SKIMMER:  There's nothing better than a big-ass space battle.  Watching the 
might of the Imperial Navy crushing the pitiful Federation fleet brings joy to my 
heart! The nominees for Best Space Asskicking-- excuse me, Battle, are... 
StarCrossed, by Stravo:

		"-ARE THE BORG, YOUR TECHONOLOGICAL AND BIOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS 
	WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN.  LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND PREPARE TO BE 
	ASSIMILATED."
		"It seems we have our answer." Nemesis stated evenly.  
		"Open a channel to Captain Tarsi."  
		"Tarsi here Admiral.  I'm standing by on all weapons.  We're picking
	up energy spikes on all these cube ships.  Something happened a moment
	ago, seems they were trying to beam some form of energy to us, we've
	picked up multiple impacts along our shield grid."  Tarsi reported
	smartly. "Orders?"
		"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE."
		Kittaine paused at the ridiculous statement.
		"Captain, show these would be conquerors that the Empire always 
	resists."  
		Tarsi smiled coldly, nodded and the holoimage disappeared.  
		A heartbeat later, the Adjudicator suddenly fired all her weapons at  
	the cubes.  Half of them disappeared into exploding debris and hot  
	gasses.  The other cubes, huge gaping holes and gashes in the armored  
	hull slowly rotated and released a storm of green torpedoes.  They  
	impacted against the Adjudicator.  Green flashes of energy splashed  
	along the ship's entire hull.  
		Without having to be ordered to, the Inexorable and the Executioner  
	opened fire on the remaining cubes.  They exploded under the new  
	onslaught.  Within a few moments, the cubes were gone and the space  
	they occupied was littered with debris."

SEA SKIMMER: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary:

		A moment later: "Admiral, our analysis indicates the Borg are 
	probably going to..."
  		"Exactly."
		Then: "Order all ships to be prepared for suicide-ramming 
	attempts by Borg Cubes; evasive manoeuvres may be undertaken at all 
	captains' discretion."
		The Cubes raced in, the salvoes pelting them, 15,000 torpedoes 
	from each sphere every minute now. But the torpedo spheres didn't have 
	a minute. _Well, Nurai my love, I certainly hope you are doing better 
	out there than I am here,_ Rano thought idly and tensely as he watched the
	massive image of a cube swell towards his flagship on the plot. But to his 
	quiet and internal relief the image was removed; the cube destroyed by the 
	rapid-fire salvos and hammering turbolasers, electronics disrupted into 
	vulnerability by the ion cannon fire.
		So we shall yet see each other again, he thought with inward relief 
	still extant; for there was nothing to instill nervousness in even a veteran 
	of the most intense naval combats as to observe a spacecraft far larger than 
	your own closing at high velocity to you on a ramming course and to within a 
	few thousand klicks. 
		And all around the scene was repeated, as the Borg Cubes attempted to 
	close and were blown apart. Or connected with their targets in a sickening 
	display of energy - Something that happened several times, enough to remind 
	Inaras that his fleet was suffering as the Borg methodically executed their 
	ruthless and simple form of attack. Sometimes even a few of the torpedo 
	spheres evaded; the affair looking like two beached whales rolling about, but 
	sometimes that was all it took in space, where an inch might become a 
	thousand miles.

SEA SKIMMER: And Manifest Destiny, by Mark S:

		"It looks like the sensors on the torpedoes are having trouble as 
	well," the captain replied. "Reprogram them for straight trajectory and 
	manually target them as well."   
		Twelve more specks of light rushed toward the Star Destroyer on the 
	right as its counterpart's shields flashed with energy impacts from both the 
	Klingons and the Federation. Trying to minimize the potential impact of the 
	Klingon torpedoes, the Destroyer opened fire on the nearing dots. One quantum 
	explosion detonated after the next as the projectiles were picked off. Not 
	all however. Two made it through the barrage to collide against the forward 
	shields with brilliant reaction.   
		"Again! Torpedoes fire!"   
		By this time the Lo'Cha was passing over the enemy ship as it fired, 
	crossing paths with its Federation brother who was doing the same. Explosions
	began rippling across the embattled Star Destroyer bringing a cheer to the 
	throats of two different crews. Cheers that were cut decidedly short. Dead 
	short.
		The monstrous vessel was still there. There had been no visible effect. 
	The torpedoes had impacted harmlessly on the shields.

SEA SKIMMER:  And the winner is... Is this right? Well, better call him back. The 
winner is StarCrossed, by Stravo.

[STRAVO has a shocked look on his face as he begins to sit. He gets up and walks 
back to the podium.]

STRAVO:  I am particularly happy about this award simply because Starcrossed for me 
sprang from a desire to see vast fleets of starships going up against Imperial 
fleets in desperate battles.  I’m pretty sure I captured that spirit in my work.  
Thank you for recognizing that.

CHUCK: Well, looks like it's three for four in Stravo's favor. We'll be right back 
after these words from our sponsors.

[FADE TO: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT]

[Footage of various... people wearing Starfleet uniforms]

VO: Every day, helpless Trekkies are forced out of their parent's basements to get 
jobs because they don't have enough money to buy the latest Star Trek merchandise. 
Please, join the "Crap for Losers" program... help promising young nerds like 
Trek_Fan_1701 stay in those dank cellars, eating macaroni and cheese and wanking 
off to pictures of Counselor Troi.  With your help, we can stop these dweebs from 
coming out into public.

TREK_FAN_1701:  The yellow face, it burns usss, preciousss!

VO: Give today. Call 1-800-TREKKIE. 

[FADE TO: WS Audience, graphic]

ANNOUNCER:  We are back! Presenting for The Master Yoda "Judge Me By My Size, Do 
You?" Award for Best Duel is Graeme Dice!

[A KNIGHT in FULL ARMOR clanks up to the podium. He has an EXTREMELY LARGE SWORD. 
Blood drips from several points along the blade.]

GRAEME: Greetings. I am Lord Graeme of Dice, Tamer of Dragons, Defeater of the Boyd 
Legions. Let me send a "shout-out" to all my "homeys" aboard my Worldship, which is 
currently several light-years from here as I have no wish to accidentally drag 
Earth along with me to the next galactic supercluster. Getting on with it... there 
is nothing nobler than the Duel, the Fight between two, or even more, people. 
Whether with swords, knives or fists, it is the most personal and honorable battle 
there is. The nominees for Best Duel are... Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg:

		The injured Vong soldier, refusing to allow the loss of a limb to
	interfere in a death duel, took up his amphistaff with his other hand and 
	rejoined the fight.
		They surrounded Sebastian and, as one, they swung.  The air echoed with 
	the sound as irresistible forces met a man who refused to be moved.
		They stood locked for several seconds.  Sebastian held his saber to his 
	right, both blades pressing against the amphistaff of a Vong.  His left hand 
	was up, the third staff held against a thick armored plate that had emerged 
	on the back of his hand.  Sebastian turned and looked in the face of the lead 
	Vong, causing the alien to freeze.  The Jedi's eyes... He'd expected hatred, 
	anger, maybe even fear.	There was none.  At first the Vong thought he saw 
	madness in those eyes, but what chilled him to the bone was the realization 
	that those eyes reflected a mind too sane for its own good. Behind those eyes 
	was frost and clockwork; the antithesis of the Vong.  The Vong could see 
	Sebastian knew he was going to win, but there was no trace of smugness or 
	self-confidence.  They'd tried to surprise him, to overwhelm him, and to 
	terrify him, but that was impossible, pointless...
		Futile.

GRAEME: Death Dancer, by Colin Brian Witz:

		He moved with skill and precision of one who knew that he had reach 
	And mass however, he didn’t even think of her advantages, the cool 
	air washed over them neutralizing their pheromone abilities, however 
	she could still feel his aggression, and desire, mixed together.  
	Feeling the tempo of the room, and his movements she made some exaggerated 
	dodges, letting him press the initial attack.  Soon, she isolated 
	his rhythm from the rest of the room, the skills of a man trained as a 
	warrior for his whole life came down to notes, she danced in harmony 
	with his movements evading his every thrust like water or wind.  He 
	swung strong at mid level figuring that she would have to drop to 
	avoid it and be caught by a sudden reverse, his swing however was 
	overdone, taking too long to recover as she leaped above him. Her 
	crescent shaped blades scored deeply into his legs from behind.  The 
	Warrior, found himself unable to support and fighting on his knees, 
	bleeding as he was he raised the blade in a defensive posture, however 
	she evaded his movements and sliced into his arms.  With him lying 
	there she took a short bow to the direction of the lights before removing 
	his head.

GRAEME:  And StarCrossed, by Stravo:

		"Nemesis had finished stretching when the hundred warriors 
	materialized around him in a semi circle.  many of them locked eyes with him
	and  shifted their weapons eagerly.  Nemesis slowly stood up straight and 
	began to grow angry, angry that this race of warriors had disrupted his 
	plans so far, angry that they would not bow to the inevitability  of 
	their loss, furious that they had forced him to vaporize a planet, expending
	valuable resources for a cause that had failed. This anger burned in him 
	like an inferno and in one smooth motion he drew his lightsaber and 
	activated it with a snap hiss. 
		The first warriors roared and charged, bat’leths swinging, eager 
	to take his head. The second line of warriors fanned out to close the area 
	around him. 
		Nemesis did not care.  He smiled at them as they closed the distance 
	and suddenly crimson flashes of light whipped around him. Bat’leths exploded 
	into a cloud of sparks and molten metal as the lightsaber cut through the
	bladed weapons. Many of the warriors stared dumbfounded at their weapons, 
	most cut in half, each end a useless fused metal lump.
		Nemesis waded into them, his lightsaber flashing around him like 
	lightning strikes, each stroke took a Klingon warrior's limb or head. The 
	screaming warriors fell away from him as he moved among them like a stalking
	panther, black tunic stained with the cold gray soil of the crater. His 
	crimson blade was constantly moving around him, striking anyone that came 
	near.
		He brought his blade back, stabbing it backward under his left arm and 
	to his rear and it burned through a warrior coming up behind him. Meanwhile, 
	with a snap move of his free hand he held out a fist and a  pair of charging 
	warriors were suddenly thrown back as if they had  been shot.  They landed 
	twitching as their internal organs burst from  the pressure wave of the force 
	push."  

GRAEME: And the winner is... StarCrossed, again! Stravo?

[STRAVO huffs up to the podium, struggling with his previous three awards.]

STRAVO: Ah, another one...wow! I never thought...whoo...how the hell am I gonna 
carry all these?

[CHUCK comes up from behind with a wheelbarrow, nods and winks at STRAVO, then 
walks off to the side. STRAVO loads it up and wheels it down a CONVENIENT RAMP.]

CHUCK: Get used to it, kid.  Next up!  Scooter!  Let's see what the little assclown 
is up to! Hit-Man?

[CUT TO: The outside of the auditorium. Scooter is spraying graffiti on the walls.]

HIT-MAN: Well Chuck, it looks like Scooter's spraying shit on the walls.

CHUCK: Really? Shit?

HIT-MAN: Genuine shit.

CHUCK: What's it say?

HIT-MAN: Well, mostly "WONG IS WRONG", "OSSUS IS A LIAR" and "I AM THE LAST BASTION 
OF TREK".  Wait--yes, he is now spraying "RABID WARSIE FUCKWIT ZONE" on the doors.

CHUCK: ... why?

SCOOTER: Logically, if I inform the innocent populace of the deceit of Wong, nobody 
will come to your little wankfest ceremony!

[A beat]

CHUCK: The theater's packed. Standing room only.

SCOOTER: I don't know what version of reality you subscribe to, fuckwit, but I see 
a totally empty theater! You damn Warsies, always twisting reality to suit your 
illusions...

CHUCK: Whatever, kid. Have fun. Next up, we have the Darth Vader "Luke... I am your 
Father" Award for Most Unexpected Plot Twist! Presenting this award is 
StarDestroyer.net Supermod and raving lunatic Mr. Bean!

[Applause. MR BEAN steps up to the podium, which PROMPTLY FALLS APART. He looks 
dismayed, then attempts to rebuild it, FAILING MISERABLY.]

DALTON: I had a bad feeling... New podium, please.

[A STAGEHAND wheels in a new podium and shoves what’s left of the old one out.]

MR BEAN: ...Bean.

[As he says his name the PODIUM begins to tilt to the side; he tilts with it.]

MR BEAN: Er... a crucial element in many stories, whether humorous or serious, is 
the plot twist, sometimes known as the reversal.  Authors have to think bendy 
instead of straight to achieve maximum effect with plot twists so-- [The podium is 
leaning at an extremely acute angle. MR BEAN falls on his ear. DALTON and CHUCK 
shake their heads.]

DALTON: Just finish from where you are, Mr Bean.

MR BEAN: [voice somewhat muffled as he is on the floor] Er...the nominees for Best 
Plot Twist are... [he struggles to read the list] ... Paradise Lost, by Chuck 
Sonnenburg...

            'So do you understand now?  I wasn't trying to- I didn't mean
	for this to happen.  I just wanted to make things better.  Don't you
	understand?  I just wanted....   Can you grasp what it's like to have 
	the welfare of countless beings resting on you, only to fail?'
		She withdrew her connection from Sebastian's temple as the young
	man fell back in his chair.  She leaned forward, her fingertips pushed
	together on her lips as she looked at him, pondering.  "Yes, Sebastian,"
	the Borg Queen said, "I do."

MR BEAN: StarCrossed, by Stravo:

		"You are quick on the uptake. Your answer will be leading the tour."
		The door behind him hissed open and someone stepped in.  Picard
	turned and his eyes widened.
		"Data?!"
		Data stood in the doorway, wearing an all black jumpsuit. It
	resembled a Starfleet uniform, but it had a harsher edge to it, more
	militaristic and intimidating.  He cocked his head in that strange way
	Data used to do when he first came on board the Enterprise.
		"R-7 reporting for duty as ordered, Captain Durant." The android said 
	in Data's voice.
		Durant nodded to Picard as he looked back at him in surprise and
	confusion.
		"Not quite, captain Picard.  Not quite."

MR BEAN: Third Ground Kings, by Spyder:

		A lone life pod emerged from hyperspace. The computer of the 
	now obliterated vessel that the life pod was attached to had a simple 
	procedure to perform when it came to the life pods. In the event that 
	something goes wrong and the order is given to abandon ship, start 
	flinging the pods into hyperspace in random directions as a means of 
	escaping the ensuing blast. A subroutine to make sure the pods had 
	people in them before launch was added in the first patch release. 
	A second patch release was due out the next month to introduce pre-
	programmed coordinates so that there was a greater then a one in a 
	thousand chance that the pods would ever be recovered.

MR BEAN: Manifest Destiny, by Mark S:

		"That would be great Rolland. And please, it's just Luke. I 
	never liked being called Master, even by droids." Luke rose from his 
	seat quite smoothly for his age and shook the other man's offered hand. 
	That was when the Force told him it was time. The reason he had insisted 
	on handling this mission himself, the reason he had come with only the 
	droid, all flashed through his mind. This was where the Force had led 
	him. He could hear it at that moment, comforting him. It was all exactly 
	as he had foreseen it.  
		Two seconds later the Plato, and everyone on her, exploded in a 
	flash of expanding gas and a cloud of debris.  
		"OH... MY... GOD!" Jean-Luc Picard's words blasted through the 
	communicator to echo around the bridge and hang in the air like a bad smell. 
	Two teenagers walking past his quarters looked from the door to each other 
	and quickened their pace. "I'm coming right up, Number One. Have the 
	Admiralty and the other Starfleet Captains on screen when I get there. Try to 
	get a hold of the Republic ship and convey our shock and sympathy."

MR BEAN: And the winner is... er... oh my... the winner, once again, is Stravo, for 
StarCrossed!

[MR BEAN picks up the award, cuts his finger on the sharp point, and promptly DROPS 
THE AWARD ON HIS FOOT. It rolls off the stage, into STRAVO'S wheelbarrow. MR BEAN 
is led off stage by SEVERAL HOT CHICKS, TRIPPING TWICE over his own feet.]

CHUCK [sotto voce, to STRAVO]: Smile and nod for now. You can make more speeches 
later. As I'm sure you will. [Speaking to audience] Ah, now for the presentation of 
the Princess Leia "I'd Just as Soon Kiss a Wookiee!" Award for Best Romance, we 
have a special guest: from everyone's favorite game, where you steal cars and kill 
many, many people in Las Vegas, is Fernando Martinez from Grand Theft Auto: Vice 
City!

[FERNANDO sidles up to the podium. He is wearing a WHITE TUXEDO with a ROSE IN THE 
BUTTONHOLE and has a SHIT-EATING GRIN.]

FERNANDO: We all, deep down inside, crave the good fanfic.  A good fanfic iz like a 
fine lover.  It grabs you by the crotch and it does nah leh you go, filling you 
wi'the passion, the groaning and the moaning of the making love, and best of all, 
it's not jealous if you only love it the once.  And when you add in a little 
romance, it gets even better, you know?  Or perhaps you don know.  Perhaps you are 
alone at home wi'the ugly girlfriend, all fat all oogly, like a big fat porpoise 
too oogly for children to clap for, and you read the fanfic and you say, "I do not 
know this feeling.  What is it?"  And I, Fernando, say to you, "It iz the miracle 
of de passion.  You feel it, you want it, you muz hold it."  And you would say "Who 
are you?" and I would say "I, am Fernando Martinez, and I know the thing you are 
missing."  And you, senors, are truly missing it if you are missing out on dis 
years nominees for Best Romance.  They are... 

ANNOUNCER: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg.

		Jorri was really quiet, and Sebastian left her to her thoughts
	as they continued along the trail.  "How do you live like that?" she 
	asked finally.
		Sebastian just dismissed it.  "You go to bed at night, you get
	up the next day, and you do what needs to be done.  Just do, and 
	forget the worrying."
		"I don't think I could do that," Jorri said.
		"You'd be surprised," Sebastian said, not looking at her. "'Grant me
	the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,'" he quoted. "In the end, 
	we all adapt; a Borg even more so."
		"Jorri!" Brian shouted from somewhere off the path.  Must've cut
	across the woods, Sebastian thought.
		Jorri waved, then turned back to Sebastian.  "It's been great
	talking again.  I'm glad you could come."  She gave him a quick embrace.

VOICE: (O.S.) Shit, I hope that was the right romance...

DALTON: (O.S.) Shh. It’ll do.

ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed, by Stravo

		But then Mara looked into those eyes and the rage was gone, the 
	fires that burned in her cooled for she felt the power from him 
	and the presence of command.  He was born to rule and she could see 
	that.	Power came quickly to him and he had a way with people, a gift 
	of making others follow him.  Even Kittaine, an admiral that had 
	been chosen for this duty particularly because he was recognized 
	as a man that would never take any unnecessary risks and as such 
	would never turn on the Emperor had embraced him as a new emperor, 
	he had fallen under the young Sith lord's spell.
		She realized something else as well and it disturbed her to 
	the core.
		She recognized that as she looked at him there were other 
	things stirring within her, emotions that were not part of her 
	training. Emotions that she was trained to induce in men but never 
	to feel in herself.
		She wanted Nemesis.
		She could not allow herself to feel this way but there was 
	no denying it.

ANNOUNCER: Perversions of the Force, by Kelly Antilles and IG-88E

		"Y-" Lusankya cut herself off. She looked at Stravo and a 
	soft smile crossed her lips. He was so handsome, even in all those 
	clothes. She looked him up and down, looking at his black hair, silver 
	eyes, and lean body. "Not just yet," she said. She leaned towards him and 
	kissed him on the lips. His eyes widened in surprise then closed as he 
	returned her kiss. Finally, she broke off and rolled onto her back, 
	letting her head lay on the snow. 
 		"What if we get caught?"
		"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," she said. She crooked a 
	finger, beckoning him to her. He chuckled and moved on top of her. 
	Their lips met in a passionate embrace. "I'm so glad I met you."
		He reached out to brush a stray lock of her hair from her face. 
	His hand slid down to cup her cheek. "So am I," he replied quietly, 
	looking deep in her eyes.
		She had to blink, breaking the gaze. "But, sometimes I can't 
	stand when you get serious." She slapped at him playfully, tossing a 
	bit of snow at him."

FERNANDO: And ze winners be...Kelly Antilles and IG-88E for Perversions of the 
Force! Joe, ze svitch, please!

[*flip!*]

	Kelly stood up alongside the cheers of the crowd. Briefly glancing at the 
empty seat beside her, she took a deep breath, smiled, and walked up to the stage, 
her red dress flowing along behind her. The cheers intensified the closer she got 
and by the time she reached the podium, some people were positively roaring. Kelly 
blushed deeply and pressed one hand to her chest in embarrassment. She waved for 
silence. The catcalls kept coming. She finally rolled her eyes and yelled, "SHUT 
UP!"  
 
	Once the crowd settled she began to speak. "Um, wow, thanks," she said. "I 
didn't know if the story even had a chance, considering the competition it was up 
against, but I guess I underestimated myself. A lot." There were a few scattered 
cheers then people settled down again. "I started Perversions when a thread was 
started wondering where all the porn fanfic was. Well, that sounded like a 
challenge to me." She grinned broadly.  
 
	"I took part of a story I'd started a long time ago that was just taking up 
room on my hard drive and added to it. I can't remember what made me start putting 
SD.net denizens in it." She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "IG came around 
and helped make it better. But then, I suppose when you work really hard on 
something, you can really turn it into an epic." The corners of her smile trembled 
at bit as she looked down at the Award in her hand. "Um, I really don't deserve to 
accept this on my own. I really wish I knew where IG was. Maybe he had something 
better to do."  
 
	"No! Wait!" yelled a voice in the back. Everybody turned to face the sea of 
reporters and cameramen standing in the rear of the auditorium. "Excuse me, pardon 
me, coming through, MOVE IT, PEOPLE!" the voice continued. A form burst out from 
between two reporters and ran towards the stage. It was IG-88E, dressed up in a 
black tuxedo, good shirt and shoes... and a Three Stooges tie. Kelly sighed. The 
bullet-headed assassin droid scrambled up onto the stage and ran over to the 
podium.  
 
	Kelly covered the mic with one hand. "Where the hell have you been?" she 
hissed. Up in the rafters, Rob Wilson cocked his rifle and aimed carefully. 
 
	"You try finding a Tuxedo shop that'll cater to a 6-foot-2 assassin droid," 
he shot back. Kelly rolled her eyes and took a step back. He took the podium. "Ah, 
sorry I'm late, ladies and gentlemen. Anyway, when Perversions started, I was just 
another reader. Then, Kelly was gracious enough to put me in a supporting roll. 
Well, when she announced that she'd run out of ideas, I started making suggestions. 
I even wrote a few passages. Well, it all built up from there, and pretty soon, 
we'd ended up co-authoring. I gotta say, it's been a lot of fun. Thank you!" He 
stepped back and took Kelly's hand, then lifted it into the air, both of them 
holding up the Star Destroyer. Kelly smiled, and the crowd burst into cheers again. 
They stood there waving for a moment, then returned to their seats. Wilson relaxed 
the grip on his rifle, slowly uncocking it.

	Dalton finished applauding, and went back up to the podium. He stood there 
for a moment, then cleared his throat, glancing meaningfully at Joe.
	"Joe, the switch please?" Dalton said.
	Joe was tugging hard at the lever on the Idiom Switch. "Nothing, boss," he 
said. "The damn thing's stuck. That last short probably damaged it."
	Dalton shook his head. "Fuck. Now we're gonna run longer than the Oscars. We 
can't go to commercial like this!"
	Suddenly, Joe noticed something jammed in the mechanism.  He pried it out 
carefully; it was a standard Federation-issue Starfleet authentic fake commbadge, 
gear-Mark S on either side. It was also rather blackened, apparently being the 
source of the earlier short. "Found the problem, boss..." He handed the thing over.
	Dalton swore feelingly. "Chuck, Scooter almost fucked us up this time.  Man, 
good thing that even the grunts can ruin his nefarious plots!" Joe grinned the grin 
of a man who knew he was more intelligent than his boss but chose not to show it.
	"Throw it, Joe." And so he did--

[THE SWITCH breaks off in JOE'S HAND]

DALTON: Oh well. I don't think we'll be using it anymore anyways--

[As if to punctuate that, the IDIOM SWITCH smokes, sputters and EXPLODES MIGHTILY, 
taking JOE with it. Fortunately nobody else is hurt as it is behind a MASSIVE PLOT 
DEVICE.]

DALTON: Fuck it.

[DALTON spins the badge in the air like a coin. Suddenly, there is a LAUGH from 
underneath, sounding eerily akin to that of SNIDELY WHIPLASH.]

SCOOTER: I will not be silenced! I am the Last Bastion of Trek! I will fight the 
Rabid Warsie Fuckwits! I--

[A SCREAM]

AALCS:  Got 'im! No! Shit!

TED: He's over there! After him!

[A naked... man... streaks across the stage. He is followed by a cadre of security 
guards.]

CHUCK: We're gonna be in for an interesting night here... [beeper goes off] Well, 
there we are. Excuse me, I must be going.

DALTON: What the fuck? We're not even half done here!

CHUCK: I know...just get someone to fill in for me, would you?  [bounds off 
quickly]

DALTON: Fine...right. Crayz! Crayz9000! Get over here!

[A slightly disheveled man in a Half-Life HEV suit RUNS up from backstage. He is 
holding a CROWBAR, which is slightly BLOOD-STAINED. The HEV’s front has a thin 
layer of SHIT on it.]

CRAYZ9000: (annoyed) I have a name, you know...

DALTON: [aside, holding NOSE] John, make sure you get that thing washed off 
pronto...

JOHN: I was on my way to the cleaning room when you called me up!

DALTON: [Still holding nose] Just get the fuck over here and announce the next 
presenter before things get even more clusterfucked.

JOHN: As you will! For the Grand Admiral Thrawn "When You Understand a Species' 
Art, You Understand that Species" Award for Most Creative Tactic, please welcome 
the one... the only... Grand Admiral Thrawn!

[A HUMANOID with blue skin and black hair steps up to the podium. He is wearing a 
bright white uniform with not a speck of dirt anywhere on it. He receives a 
standing ovation until the audience realizes this is not the Chiss they think it 
is.]

GAT: Er, hello. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn.

[Murmuring and some catcalls from the audience.]

GAT: That is, the supermod from StarDestroyer.net... Thrawn in name only...?

[Several "oh yeahs" and other SOUNDS OF RECOGNITION emanate from the audience. 
Applause.]

GAT:  Much better.  Anyway, as our militarily-inclined readers will tell you, a 
good fanfic battle isn't much without good tactics...and a really good tactic can 
take a story in a direction it's never, ever been.  The nominees for Most Creative 
Tactic are...

ANNOUNCER: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary

		Every single maneuver of the first part of the battle had been planned 
	and calculated for the sole purpose of getting as many possible Missile Boats 
	in range to deliver their Heavy Space Bombs into those Vong capships, and 
	even as the Missile Boats recharged their SLAMs for the final run in and 
	continued to approach the body of that fleet, those twelve Strike-class 
	cruisers were completing their firing solutions on the light, anti-fighter 
	ships of the Vong fleet. 
		On the bridge of the Cuirass Mystrela was watching as the subspace 
	sensor plots abruptly flicked from a dozen locations in the system, and eight 
	dots were proffered from each of those locations. At supralight velocities, 
	ninety-six ASMs raced in against the Vong light ships. Their Dovin Basals 
	could not intercept targets traveling at FTL velocities except by a direct 
	interposition between the Dovin Basal and the missile, and that was a matter 
	of luck.
		There was no violence, no action on the display. There were just the 
	indicators for four corvette and gunship analogues vanishing from the 
	displays as they were destroyed by the supralight ASMs when those high-
	penetration warheads detonated against effectively unshielded hulls. Mystrela 
	smiled slightly; It looked like it was going to work. The Strikes fired 
	another salvo. 


ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed, by Stravo

		Kirk hit a button on his command chair.  The Enterprise lurched 
	to the left, suddenly pivoting in space to face its true target.
		"Now Mr. Scott."
		Scotty without hesitation hit the warp drive controls and
	simultaneously faded from the bridge.  Kirk took one last look around.
		"No beach to walk on."  He whispered and he disappeared in a 
	column of light.

		The Enterprise lanced forward, driven at speeds exceeding 
	light by many hundreds of times.  It screamed straight at the 
	Stardestroyer Relentless. Traveling at nearly Warp 8, it crossed 
	the distance in nanoseconds.  The Enterprise struck the bridge 
	tower with a thunderous explosion, the tricobalt devices stolen 
	from the Starfleet arsenal by the Sagan detonated simultaneously 
	on impact as well as the Enterprise's entire photon torpedo payload.  
	The explosion tore through the Imperial stardestroyer's shields and 
	vaporized portions of the bridge tower in moments, debris tore 
	through the upper portions of the tower and ripped through the 
	bridge itself.

ANNOUNCER: A Prelude to War, by Crayz9000

		The man was relieved to see that the warships did not open fire on 
	the comet, but what they did startled him, to say the least. Every one 
	of the ships locked tractor beams on the comet, and they began to drag 
	it out of orbit, slowly but surely. The man glanced up and scratched 
	his head; what anyone would want with a comet, besides water, was 
	beyond him.
		He didn't bother to think of its hyperspace shadow until he'd blacked 
	out again.

	[...]

		The feeling didn't last forever, he noted thankfully as he landed 
	hard on the deck of the crew pit and began running, again without wanting 
	to. Someone else shouted in a barely intelligible voice--he heard 
	something about _comet_ and _mass shadow_--but his hands were already 
	flying over the terminal's keyboard. Belatedly, he realized that it was 
	a navicomputer he was apparently working at, and suddenly it clicked; 
	that was why the warships had moved the comet, to interdict a passing ship.

GAT: Much as I like anything dealing with the obliteration of the Outbound Flight, 
the voters have decided that the winner is... [He looks at the paper] well... 
again, it's StarCrossed, by Stravo!

[Applause. STRAVO wheels up, collects the award, and sits back down. People in 
nearby seats STARE at him. He GRINS weakly.]

JOHN: We'll be right back with more! [He runs for the cleaning room]

[CROSSFADE TO: Commercial]

HULK HOGAN: Hey Alf, knock knock!

ALF: Who's there?

HOGAN: Ten-ten.

ALF: Ten-ten who?

HOGAN: Ten-ten-two-twenty!

HULK: KNOCK KNOCK.

HOGAN: Uh... who's there?

HULK: HULK.

HOGAN: ...Hulk who?

HULK: HULK SMASH!!!!

[A scene of UNIMAGINABLE VIOLENCE.]

VO: The Hulk. Be smashed on June 20th.

[CROSSFADE TO: Roof of the auditorium]

SCOOTER: I AM THE LAST BASTION OF TREK!! HAHAHA!!!! MY WORD IS LAW!!

[Back on stage]

DALTON: Well folks, looks like Scooter's officially lost it...

JOHN: It was only a matter of time. You think he'll try anything else?

DALTON: I hope so. We need SOMETHING to break up the monotony around this place. 
Especially with this next category...The Lt.Cmdr. Data "Quantum Tetryon Actuator" 
Award for Best Use of Technobabble.  Presenting this award is Chris O'Farrell!

[CHRIS walks up to much applause and a few cat calls.]

CHRIS: I know who you are, so shut the fuck up.  Anyway, any narrative that 
utilizes the paradigm of Star Trek, or even science fiction in general, will make 
considerable use of technobabble in one of perhaps many particular varieties. In 
other words, ya gotta bullshit.  So, tonight I'm presenting the award for Best Use 
of Technobabble! The nominees are...

ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed by Stravo

		Wesley nodded with a smile.
	"Yes sir.  See, the Excalibur was on automatic controls when 
	you encountered her.  The technical records indicate that the 
	energy baffle at the mouth of the device was malfunctioning.
	The baffle prevented back flow of energy into the more 
	sensitive parts of the craft when digesting raw materials for 
	fuel conversion. The Constellation blew up in here without the 
	baffles in place to shunt the energy away.  The resulting 
	explosion caused those crystals," he pointed to the enormous 
	building size crystalline structures interspersed throughout the 
	maw of the ship.  "to experience an antiproton surge this 
	initiated a plasma scattering cascade that interrupted the ionic 
	flow through the hypermatter processors. This disrupted the 
	energy couplings that ran throughout the ship causing rapid loss 
	of power and control.  The plasma scattering field also 
	generated a pretty powerful EMP pulse that finished off any 
	droids that happened to be working near the maw disabling some 
	of the core features of the self repair systems on this vessel. 
	In order to avoid a general tetriyon surge in the crystalline 
	matrixes that such an event would inevitably cause the vessel 
	committed an emergency blow of all available power and simply 
	shut down."

ANNOUNCER: Paradise Lost by Chuck Sonnenburg

            "He's dead," Janeway said without the slightest hint of regret.
            Garak furrowed his brow as he came over.  "Maybe you just lost
him."
            "No, he's dead," she repeated.  "He's integrated in the
timestream now; I can't even bring back his corpse."
            Garak tried to think but this wasn't his area.  "I don't recall
there being a Sebastian Skywalker running around at this time.  He shouldn't
be part of the timestream.  Could you lock onto him?"
            "It would be difficult," she said.  "Finding his approximate
location isn't easy; pinpointing him precisely enough to pull him back would
be next to impossible."
            "He has been a worthy opponent," the lead Vong remarked.
Apparently they were taking the death of their comrade rather well, Garak
thought.  "But we need him.  Bring him here."
            "You're talking about pinpointing one individual out of an
infinite number of possible realities each containing its own universe,"
Janeway said.  "I can't guarantee success."
            "Bring him here," the Vong repeated, as if just saying the words
was enough to make it reality.
            "I wouldn't advise this," Janeway said.  Her voice was somehow
absent of concern, almost as if she was saying it solely for the point of
ticking it off her list.

ANNOUNCER: Manifest Destiny by Mark S

		Voyager's captain regrouped and would not be daunted. 
	"Perhaps if we were to find the frequency of their shield harmonics," 
	she offered, beginning to find new excitement in the thought process.  
		"Their shields don't have harmonics," Captain Johannas countered. 
	He had straightened up in his chair as if sitting on trial. It was his 
	classic position for technical debate.  
		"Maybe if we were to get through their shields in one small 
	location we could beam in an explosive device..."  
		"No. Their hull material contains too much deuterium to beam 
	through. I though we were all given the intelligence reports?"
		"Ok, what if we reconfigured our main deflector arrays to emit 
	bursts of quantum particles..."

CHRIS: And the winner is... Jesus... again... StarCrossed, by Stravo! No, don't get 
up! Go long!

STRAVO: ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!? THAT'S FUCKING SHARP!!!

[CHRIS flings it with all his might, but it stops inches away from STRAVO]

LT.HIT-MAN: Chris, my old pal...you of all people should know not to steal from me! 
Especially the opportunity to deal out pain and death!  [STRAVO stares wide-eyed 
and open-mouthed at the HULKING FORM of the SITH LORD]  Don't worry there Stravo, 
another day, huh? [The award lowers into the wheelbarrow. STRAVO sits down, but 
apparently not by will of his brain.]

JOHN: Exciting shit, folks. You usually gotta pay for this kind of entertainment!  
[DALTON whispers in his ear] Oh, so you have paid. With hours of work. MUHAHAHHA!!

DALTON: Alright John, enough of that. Settle down.  Anyway, here to present the 
George Lucas "Better than 'Attack of the Clones'" Award for Best Title is 2000AD, 
from StarDestroyer.net!

[2000AD walks up among clapping and cheers]

2000AD: Can you say...irony? Indeed. I have not yet thought up a name for my 
fanfic, but these fine folks have, and they are all very good names indeed. Which 
title is best? The nominees are...

StarCrossed, from Stravo - a name that drips with meaning! It has the crossover 
built in! 
Manifest Destiny, from Mark S - based off a defunct presidential declaration, it 
has many layers of potential meaning!  
De Imperatoribus Galacticis, from Marina O'Leary - which translates to "On the 
Galactic Emperors!" A note from Marina: "It's in Latin - And, considering the word 
Galacticis is really not a Latin word but rather one created using the proper 
ending, it would be appropriate to say that it is in the Latin Vulgate."  How 
fascinating!
Third Ground Kings, from Spyderizer - a name which has nothing whatsoever to do 
with the story! Random, just like Spyder likes it!  
Dark Dawns, from WeeMadAndo - mysterious! Evil-sounding! It fits its material well!  
Paradise Lost, from Chuck Sonnenburg - an oldie but a goodie, but more than 
appropriate!  
And Perversions of the Force, from Kelly Antilles and IG-88E - one hell of a name 
for this adult fanfic!

[He pauses for breath.]

2000AD: And the winner is... StarCros---no, wait, it's someone else this time! It's 
Perversions of the Force, by Kelly and Iggy! Joe, the switch!

DALTON: (O.S.) Joe’s dead, and the switch is broke, remember?

2000AD: Shit. Where’s the U.S.S. Voyager when you need it?

JOHN: Wait, found it. [Presses the TREK RESET BUTTON™]

[BLUE SMOKE is sucked back into the IDIOM SWITCH. JOE stands up again, and THE 
SWITCH flies back to its proper place.]

JOE: Oh, my FUCKING HEAD!

2000AD: Joe, the switch...

JOE: Are you fucking nuts? I’m not going to touch that thing again! I’m not even 
wearing a red shirt, and I’m getting killed and shocked like crazy! What, do you 
think my name is Kenny or something?

[JOE is BACKING UP toward THE SWITCH.]

JOE: I’m serious. I’ve worked in this place for twenty years, and I’m supposed to 
retire—

[JOE smacks into THE SWITCH--]

	"...tomorrow..." Joe barely finished before falling into the orchestra pit. A 
loud clash of cymbals followed him, gradually diminishing in volume as the entire 
ensemble fell down a conveniently placed bottomless shaft.

	Meanwhile, in the audience, Kelly whooped and gave her droid partner a quick 
hug before they started up the aisle. Accepting the award, she waved to the crowd, 
while he shook the announcer's hand and headed to the podium. "Ahem," he said to 
get the crowd's attention. "As Kelly told you, when this fanfic was started, it had 
no title. When I really started to spend serious time on it, Kelly asked me if I 
had any ideas. Being the brilliant, witty, and handsome droid that I am... I had 
nothing."  
	The crowd snickered. "So, we put it to the crowd to come up with a name. The 
result was the suggestion that got us this award. And we both owe one man for 
thinking it up for us. Mike Wong, take a bow!" The droid gestured to a man seated 
near the center of the auditorium. Mike Wong stood, grinned, and waved to the 
crowd, who gave him a round of applause. "Thanks Mike," IG said. "We owe you one."  
	Kelly leaned in. "And Mike, feel free to drop by the Dungeon anytime." She 
winked, and the crowd burst into another round of cheers. Mike bowed and sat back 
down. They moved back to their seats. "Wow," Kelly said softly. "Two awards? I 
never would've guessed."  
	"I would," IG said. One red photoreceptor blinked off, then on again in a 
wink.  
	Kelly just rolled her eyes. "That'll teach me to argue with an assassin 
droid."  
	"You got that right." They clutched their awards and sat back to watch the 
rest of the show.

	And a nameless ensign flipped the switch—

[ENSIGN is killed by a random FALLING ANVIL]

DALTON: Good work you two! Before we continue, let's see how Scooter is doing.

[CUT TO: Roof]

SCOOTER: I AM A GOLDEN GOD!!!

(to be continued, next post!)

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:26am
by Dalton

Code: Select all

[CUT TO: Stage]

DALTON:  The ego-meter's at four Strowbridges, folks.  Right! The next award is the 
Jean-Luc Picard "THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!" Award for Best Torture! And as usual, the 
presenter is--

[DALTON is cut off as his windpipe constricts slightly, informing him that the 
presenter is there.]

LT.HIT-MAN: Heheh! Pain and death is my forté, as I'm sure you have guessed. So now 
I'll present the nominees for Best Torture.  Not necessary in any fanfic, but a 
great way to get something off your chest... or to get something's chest off. 
Heheh!!! The nominees are... well, well, well! The first nominee consists of my 
fanfic reviews! Are you surprised?

		"FOR LOVE OF THE GODS HELP ME!" 80 Knight screamed as he 
	ran towards the seven road crewers who at the sight of the 
	slightly blood drenched man with a pack of snarling, rabid and 
	pain and hunger maddened wolves bearing down on him tried to 
	restart the asphalt layer in order to escape from that 
	nightmarish sight. 
		But alas it was too late from them all as the wolves 
	lunged at the screaming 80 Knight who was slammed into the hot 
	asphalt that seared his face as the starving wolves began to 
	rip him into bloody gobbets of dying meat starting with his 
	legs at the knees that where ripped from his body in a spray of 
	blood that smoked and sizzled as it hit the hot asphalt as the 
	dying troll tried to drag himself along the hot asphalt however 
	his dying struggles where ended as the alpha male of the pack 
	grabbed 80 Knight by the throat and with a mighty pull of it's 
	jaws tore 80 Knight's head clean off.

LT.HIT-MAN: And the other nominees are... Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg:

		The creature bore a passing resemblence to a squid, in 
	the same way that a shark bore a passing resemblance to a goldfish.
	It towered above the gathered crowd of the Vong, and over Sebastian 
	as well.  It's long tentacles slithered in every direction along 
	the icy walls.  Its horrible face was growing, its bulbous eyes, 
	gaping maw, and terrifying tooth filling the young Jedi with fear.
	They called it the yammosk, the war coordinator.  The simpler word 
	was the most accurate, the one that stayed with everyone despite 
	their years from visions of childhood: monster.
		He was powerless in its grip.  His mind was battered with 
	its own, amplifying his fear until the terror saturated his body.  
	Its mouth was open, jaw already working to consume him.  He 
	couldn't look away, and his body was paralyzed.  He saw the maw 
	grow until blackness overcame him, but not unconsciousness.  He 
	could feel his head was in its mouth, just about to bite it off 
	like a grisly animal cracker.  Then he was pulled back out and 
	turned around. Feet first. The idea slipped into his mind from 
	the yammosk; let him be alive for the ordeal.  He didn't deserve 
	a quick death. He was unworthy.
		His legs slid into the mouth up to his knees.  Primal 
	instincts caused him to kick violently, but the mouth closed, the 
	great tooth pinning them in place.  It gave him a moment to 
	anticipate; just a little more pressure to scissor them off, and 
	the tasty treats would be its.  Then onward up the legs, then the 
	arms, one at a time, each succulent one enjoyed before moving on 
	to the next tasty part.  Only then, when he had been picked apart 
	would it finish the job, when it would finally just devour the 
	rest. A fine treat for the war coordinator, filling Sebastian's 
	only useful purpose in life. There was no other fate he deserved.

LT.HIT-MAN: He’s certainly got the right idea, heheheh! And on to the next victim, 
StarCrossed, by Stravo!

		"Perhaps we did not make ourselves clear earlier, hmmm?" 
	the young man gestured with a finger and one of the small 
	attachments suddenly came to life, it buzzed like a drill and 
	slowly swung over to his arm. Ochoa's eyes widened and he stared 
	at it.
		"Pain is such a terrible thing to have to endure."  The 
	drill bit into his flesh and he threw back his head against the 
	metal frame of the bed and screamed.  There was no blood, only 
	pain.  He could feel it, tearing through his flesh but his 
	uniform remained untouched.
		"The phase needle is just one of the many implements I 
	have at my disposal. There are more... invasive methods I could 
	apply.  Perhaps you would like to have a look at your insides, 
	Captain? There are drugs I can give you that would keep you 
	awake and completely lucid even as I slowly extracted your 
	intestines and handed them to you."
		Ochoa's screams stopped as the needle buzzed back away 
	from his arm. The young man leaned in closer.
		"You do want to talk don't you?"  He touched his forehead.  
	His skin was dry and cool, Ochoa's hot and damp with perspiration.
	Ochoa began to nod and stopped himself suddenly.  Something within 
	him wanted to respond to the young man, wanted to tell him 
	everything but he grit his teeth and centered himself.
		"Why endure this?"  He asked seriously.
		"Ricardo... Ernesto... Ochoa... Captain... USS Thunderchild... 
	United... Federation... of... Planets, Service... Number...  
	44AA9885." Ochoa replied, ignoring the dimming of his sight.
		"I can take so much from you, Captain.  Not just your 
	sight."
		Ochoa found himself plunged in darkness.  He struggled 
	vainly. He could not see and it panicked him.  He had never 
	liked darkness, ever since his father lost his sight in an 
	engineering accident he had been afraid of blindness. To 
	live in a world of darkness was greater than any pain.

LT.HIT-MAN: Yes... feel the pain! And the next victim is Third Ground Kings, by 
Spyder!

		Harry extinguished the saber and watched as the transparent 
	emergency doors closed, sealing the entire engineering crew in 
	with the plasma coolant that was flooding the entire room. 
	B'Elanna ran to the door and banged her fist against it.
		"Ensign! Open the door." She screamed. "Harry, please!"
		The cloud of plasma coolant spread throughout the entire 
	engineering compartment, knocking B'Elanna to her knees. She 
	screamed in agony as the coolant washed over her body, searing 
	her flesh on contact. In a process that took mere seconds, 
	to the chief engineer it seemed to take an eternity. Wave 
	after wave of indescribable pain washed over her, until finally 
	there was nothing left. 

LT.HIT-MAN: And another one of Voyager’s crew bites the dust, heheh! But the next 
nominee is Phoenix Company, by Ryan Crierie!

		The moment Sheppard stepped into the sound-dampening 
	field, he heard the pitiful moans of a beaten person. Turning 
	his head, he saw a sight that made his stomach do several 
	double back-flips.
		Kathryn Jordan was lying on a torture rack, and a little 
	over half of her skin was gone - flayed off.
		The ISB commander put down her bloody knife and motioned 
	for Sheppard to sit.
		"Hello Captain, as you can see, the interrogation has 
	been going splendidly, although she refuses to tell me 
	anything."
		"Kill...me..." gasped Jordan.
		Sheppard started to squirm in the seat, despite the 
	fact that he had sat through dozens of interrogations before. 
	It was the sight of the Commander drawing the knife back under 
	Jordan's skin, and flaying yet more skin off.
		Sheppard suddenly got up and walked up to the rack, 
	pulling out his BlasTech E-13 standard officer's sidearm and 
	pointed it at Kathryn's head.
		"Tell me everything, and I'll end it."
		Sheppard saw the glimmer of hope in Jordan's eyes – 
	not at being able to live, but to have an end to the intense, 
	unbearable pain forever.
		For the next hour, they listened to Kathryn spill the 
	beans on everything she knew. Finally, as he always kept 
	his word, he shot her in the head.
		Sheppard slowly holstered the pistol, visibly shaken at 
	what he just had to participate in. He was suddenly jolted 
	back to reality by the harsh sounds of hands clapping.
		He looked and saw the ISB Commander clapping her hands.
		"Good work, Captain. I never thought I'd get the 
	information out of that bitch. This was a nice variant on the 
	'Good Cop, Bad Cop' strategy. Torture the person until they're 
	willing to do anything to end the pain."

LT.HIT-MAN: And the winner, as usual, is yours truly! First off, I want to thank 
everyone who voted for me... I know who did and who didn't... Hehehehe!

[He gives everyone an EVIL STARE]

LT.HIT-MAN: I also want to thank my old friends in ASVS for providing me with a lot 
of good ideas for my fics as well as fodder for said fics and fan fic reviews!

[Even worse EVIL STARE with a SADISTIC SMILE]

LT.HIT-MAN: And a warm thanks to all my newfound friends on StarDestroyer.net for 
giving me some new ideas for a few new fics that I'll be working on soon!

[He takes his AWARD and walks off stage]

[A few minutes later there is a LOUD SCREAM from above the audience followed by a 
WET RENDING SOUND as blood pours from the air vents covering everyone with the 
warm, wet red stuff. A PIECE OF A RIPPED CLOTH lands by DALTON who picks it up. 
Written on the bloody scrap are the words "U.S.S.Dorkstar Cap:Mike6002"]

JOHN:  Well... uh... that certainly was unpleasant. Let's take a quick commercial 
break.

[SOUND of most of the audience PUKING]

[CROSSFADE TO: Commercial]

VO: STROWBRIDGE IS GOD

[Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...]

VO: YOU LOVE STROWBRIDGE 

[Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...]

VO: STROWBRIDGE IS GOD

[Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...]

VO: YOU LOVE STROWBRIDGE

DALTON: AHHH! SHIT! HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET ON AIR? CUT BACK!

[CROSSFADE TO: Stage]

DALTON: WHAT THE FUCK? WILSON! SHOOT HIM!

[WILSON tracks a fleeing figure who is laughing and capering joyously, then falls 
blissfully unconscious as WILSON'S SHOT takes him square in the FUCKING NECK.]

DALTON: Can we edit that out?!

JOHN: We're live, dude.

DALTON: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!!!! [A beat] ...well, 
might as well get on with--FUCK! ASS! FUCKING SHIT!!! CHAIN HIM UP!!! 

[He composes himself. STROWBRIDGE is taken away to ROT FOR ETERNITY in some MEXICAN 
HELLHOLE.]

DALTON: Get on with it then.  Our next award is the Borg Collective "Resistance is 
Futile" Award for Best use of Star Trek, presented by StarDestroyer.net's token 
Trekkie, Alyeska!

[Significant applause and several catcalls]

SHEPPARD: YOU SUCK ALYESKA!

[SHEPPARD falls unconscious with a dart in his FUCKING NECK.]

ROB WILSON: (polishing rifle innocently) Whoops.

ALYESKA: Thank you very much. Anyway, for any good versus story you need to portray 
each side or faction meaningfully and in detail, and this includes not turning the 
Federation into a communist police state to be looked down upon.  The nominees for 
the Best Use of Star Trek category are...

StarCrossed, by Stravo - TOS-era Kirk winds up helping the Voyager-era Federation 
and a contingent of Rebels against the evil Darth Nemesis.
The Division, by Ryan Crierie - Intrepid Imperial troops take on the Klingon 
Empire.
Reign of Terror, by Michael Wong - Two Maquis stumble across an amazing find... but 
they soon learn that this Star Destroyer is not merely abandoned...
Pirate's Endeavor, by RayCav - A young man joins a pirate syndicate after they 
attack a Federation convoy.

ALYESKA: And the winner is...Stravo, for his use of Star Trek in StarCrossed!

[STRAVO gets the award, wheelbarrow, YADDA YADDA YADDA]

JOHN: And Stravo nets yet another GSDA. When will it end?  Moving on...presenting 
for the Jabba the Hutt "My Favorite Decoration" Award for Best use of Star Wars is 
the Warsie's Warsie and Technical Critic Extraordinaire, Kazuaki Shimazaki!

[Applause and some jeering, but everyone loves Kaz!]

KAZ: Thank you very much! Before I begin, I'd like to say that technically, IG-88 
had only *four* clones of himself when in fact the fifth was an IG-72 unit--

DALTON: Enough of that. Get on with it.

KAZ: OK, OK...anyway, there's one thing that I especially like to see in a fanfic, 
and that's a universe used well.  Especially if that universe is of Star Wars.  
Where the Empire ruthlessly crushes its enemies under its MIGHTY HEEL! 
AAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!! 

[A beat, embarrassed silence]

KAZ: Ahem. The nominees for the Best Use of Star Wars in a fanfic are...

StarCrossed, by Stravo - Darth Nemesis and his Imperial fleet are drawn into 
another galaxy and face off with Kirk and the Rebels in an epic battle that may 
destroy the universe.
Manifest Destiny, by Mark S - History repeats itself when New Republic team 
discovers a whole new galaxy ripe for the taking.
Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg - Luke Skywalker and the Empire face a new 
threat: the Yuzzhan Vong.
De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary - A chronicle of Galactic Emperors 
years after the Empire conquers a new galaxy.
Hero of the Republic, by Greg Burnett - A fleet of New Republic ships is sent to 
help the beleaguered Federation fight back against a Vong attack.

KAZ: Putting aside the technical accuracy of these stories, which I will review 
later on if you want to watch, the winner of this category is...StarCrossed, by 
Stravo!

[More applause. By this point STRAVO has left the wheelbarrow by the stage. KAZ 
drops it in with a clink of metal.]

JOHN: So...that's, uh, nine for Stravo now. Wow.

DALTON: Wow indeed. I don't think even Chuck has won this many at once. Whoops, I'm 
getting something in my IFB... let's see what Scooter is up to!

[CUT TO: Roof]

[SCOOTER has his FINGERS in his EARS and is SHOUTING]

SCOOTER: LALALALALALLA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALLALALALA--

[He FALLS through a SKYLIGHT, BABBLING the whole way, and lands on a SOFT PILE of 
FAT LOSERS in the AUDIENCE. He is immediately chased out by LT.HIT-MAN.]

[CUT TO: Stage]

DALTON: That is one very, very ill man. See that he doesn't get back in here, OK? 
Alright, next up is the Tasha Yar "That's it!" Award for Funniest Death, presented 
by Baron Kenneth von Lowe, a veteran of many deliciously hilarious death scenes.  
Baron?

[A MAN comes out from backstage. He is riding A SHEEP. Literally. He sits in a 
rolling chair strapped to THE SHEEP by a harness and... well, HIM.]

DALTON: COMMERCIAL!!! COMMERCIAL!!! GO TO COMMERCIAL NOW!!!!!

[QUICK CROSSFADE TO: PSA]

[A MAN is buying twinkies.]

CASHIER: Oh hello sir! Feel like supporting terrorism today?

MAN: What?

CASHIER: That's OK, I'm sure only one or two people will die because of your habit, 
you scum.

MAN: They're fucking twinkies!

CASHIER: They're a habit!

VO: Twinkie money supports terrorism. We have no evidence of this, but since it's 
on TV it must be true.  www.theantidrug.com

[CROSSFADE TO: Stage]

[THE BARON is at the podium. His livestock has been confiscated.]

BARON: Goddamn bastards. I'll show you what for!

DALTON: JUST DO THE FUCKING CATEGORY!!!

BARON: Fine, fine! Funniest death, right! I know about funny deaths! I wrote the 
fucking book on funny deaths! There's nothing funnier than Timothy Jones dying 
billions of times a second! Fuck! The nominees for Funniest Death, WHICH I DIDN'T 
GET NOMINATED FOR YOU COCKS!!!  Are...

[A beat, during which some... unpleasant... things transpire]

BARON: Welcome to Liberty City, by Raynor RayCav!

		"Hey, this is El Burro of the Diablos. Anything I can do 
	you for?" the man spoke with a wierd Latin accent. The man 
	appeared to be very thin, and things overall seemed out of 
	place.
		Hit-Man began to probe his mind. Immediately he 
	identified this man as an imposter.
		"You are not El Burro of the Diablos. You work for 
	the Columbian Cartel."
		"I am not El Burro of the Diablos. I work for the 
	Columbian Cartel."
		"You will stop trying to be someone you're not. 
	You will not try and spark a war between the Leone family 
	and the Diablos."
		"I will stop trying to be someone I'm not. I will not 
	try and spark a war between the Leone family and the 
	Diablos."
		"You're not interested in selling me drugs."
		"I am not interested in selling you drugs."
		"You want to rethink your life."
		"I want to rethink my life."
		"After some careful thought, you have decided that 
	your life is worth shit and you will jump in the ocean, 
	making no attempt to swim whatsoever."
		"After some careful thought, I have decided that my 
	life is worth shit and I will jump in the ocean, making no 
	attempt to swim whatsoever."
		With that parting thought, the Cartel imposter drowned 
	himself.

BARON: Har, har. Doesn’t hold a fucking candle to me! And the next one is 
StarCrossed, by Stravo.

		A low whistling sound slowly grew in volume.
		"What the hell is that?"  Jones asked.
		"Maybe it's the Starfleet smack down about to go into 
	effect." Scooter replied with a gleam in his eyes and quickly 
	glanced out the window again.  The whistling was definitely 
	getting louder and now the building was shaking.
		"What the hell?!"
		Scooter slowly looked up and his eyes bulged as he saw 
	the great fireball descending down on them.  He turned to his 
	friend, tears in his eyes.
		"Timmy?"
		"What?"
		"Hold me."  Scooter begged.
		The stabilizing rod from Starbase One plunged right 
	through the tenement house and impacted into the earth in a 
	multi megaton blast of fire and smoke.  The blast leveled most 
	of downtown San Francisco.

BARON: Honor Bound, by Dalton.

		Fortunately, he had arrived back on Earth a couple of days 
	ago, and was currently fast asleep. Totally oblivious to the 
	vengeance of Jacques. He invaded Ferris's mind. 
		"Oh Admiral? Remember me?" 
		Ferris awoke suddenly, sweating, took a deep breath. 
	"Who's there?" he asked. "Show yourself!" 
		"Oh believe me, you can't see me unless I let you. But I'll 
	give you a hint as to who I am. You've killed me quite a few times." 
		"Jacques?" he asked incredulously. "But...I thought you were..." 
		"I am," Jacques said coldly. "For real. And now it's my turn." 
		Jacques forced himself into Ferris's mind, tearing thoughts and 
	memories, altering thoughts. 
		"Let's see how you like being killed over and over again!" 
		Ferris bit back a scream from the unbelievable pain that was 
	currently running through his chest. Soon, it subsided, only to be 
	replaced by the most intense migraine imaginable, followed by a 
	crushing pinch in his abdomen. 
		"Aighhh!!! Please!!! Stop!! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." 
		"Sorry isn't good enough! You are going to die! You, and all 
	those who mocked me!" 
		"B-but why? Everyone is made fun of at some point! Why must you 
	go to such drastic... AIGHH!!!" 
		"Shut up! I do the talking, I make the rules! And rule number 
	one is: you die!" 

BARON: 3rd Ground Kings Part 2, by Spyderizer.

		Strowbridge came running down the corridor to where Transcend 
	was scrubbing the bulkheads.
		"Tranny! Get to the life pods! There's a fifty megaton nuke on 
	board and we have to abandon ship!"
		"One, stop calling me Tranny. Two, I doubt that we're in any 
	danger. These 'bomb' incidents happen all the time." Transcend 
	answered, continuing his work.
		"Are you mentally retarded? WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"
		"Hey! Do mentally retarded people know Perl? You just think 
	about that."
		"Perl hasn't been used in over a thousand," Strowbridge 
	paused to consider his situation. "You know what? Hold that 
	thought." Strowbridge called out as he ran the other way towards 
	the life pods.
		"Simpleton." Transcend said, shaking his head. 

		Then his ship exploded.

BARON: Heh, there’s nothing like poking fun at the village idiot. But next up, it’s 
LT.Hit-Man's Journal, Imperial Phoenix: First Blood!

		The rest of the gathered Bajorin and Federation personal 
	looked up at the table and began to point as they talked 
	excitedly amongst themselves as they watched Major Kira flop 
	onto the table on her back and started thrashing around, sending 
	plates of food flying everywhere as her agonized screams 
	shattered the festive mood.
		"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Doctor Bashir yelled as he ran 
	to Kira's side, tricorder in hand as Odo and Command Sisco 
	were struggling to hole the convulsing Major down as her 
	screams increased in volume and urgency.
		Major Kira felt like there was a mining crew inside her 
	body with heavy drilling equipment as she continued to trash 
	around in hellish agony as a huge lump was forming in her chest, 
	Doctor Bashir was taking some readings from his tricorder when 
	suddenly there was an obscenely wet ripping sound that defied 
	description as the chest of her uniform top was drenched in an
	explosion of blood and she found herself face to face with a 
	blood covered worm like thing that was slowly turning towards her.
		*This is your death, courtesy of the Galactic Empire you 
	REBEL BITCH!* she heard in her mind, the last thing she saw and 
	heard was the worm like thing open it's fanged maw as blood and 
	slime dribbled over it's body as it looked right at her as her 
	terror filled dying scream did a duet with it's furious hissing-
	scream as her soul was fed to the Dark Side.
		There was a moment of stunned horror as Odo, Sissco and 
	Doctor Bashir, who's faces where covered in Kira's blood just looked 
	at they thing that had ripped it's way of her chest there mind 
	refusing to understand what it was that was now facing them in the 
	ruined remains of Major Kira's shattered chest as her head tilted 
	to the right and blood began to spill from her agony twisted mouth, 
	staining her lips like an obscene parody of lipstick.

BARON: And the fucking winner is, who can't even hold a fucking CANDLE to me, is 
StarCrossed, by Stravo, and he's not getting this fucking award since it should be 
mine! AHAHAHHA!!!

DALTON: Baron... Baron! WHAT THE FUCK! Oh god, it's just like two years ago...

[BARON runs off the stage laughing maniacally. Both hands are empty, yet he still 
has the GSDA...]

DALTON: We'll get you a replacement, Stravo. Jeez... [He SIGHS.] Next up, the 
Commander Worf "Feeling Agressive Tendencies" award for Goriest Fanfic, presented 
by Jeri--

[There is a muffled thump from backstage, followed by the sound of a lightsaber 
being ignited. Moments later, a leather-clad woman with long, flowing red hair 
steps out. Her LEATHER ARMOR is spattered with BLOOD. DALTON looks in a PANICKED 
manner at JOHN, who SHRUGS and DIVES FOR COVER.]

DALTON (shakily): Well, we seem to have a last minute change in the plans. May I 
ask the new presenter her name?

WOMAN (monotone): Whind.

DALTON (more unnerved): Well, uh, Miss Wind, if you would be so kind as to pick up 
that script that's lying on the floor and start reading it...

[WHIND glares at DALTON, but picks up the script anyway.]

WHIND: The nominees for this award are: "Welcome to Liberty City", by Raynor 
RayCav; "The Ship" by MKSheppard and Colonel Falkenhorst; "Division" by MKSheppard, 
and "3rd Ground Kings" by Spyda.

[A thoroughly scared STAGEHAND walks up and delivers her a sealed ENVELOPE. She 
casually DECAPITATES him before opening the envelope.]

VOICE (O.S.): He's dead, Jim.
2nd VOICE (O.S.): Knock it off, Bones.

WHIND: And the winner is...

[A GASP from the audience.]

WHIND: "Division," by MKSheppard.

[WHIND steps off the stage and VANISHES in a blinding FLASH of DARKNESS, leaving 
the SCRIPT and ENVELOPE to flutter into the AUDIENCE. COMMOTION ensues as the 
AUDIENCE scrambles to grab the SCRIPT.]

DALTON: Well, that was weird. John? Where are you?

JOHN (behind Dalton): Right here. [DALTON nearly knocks the podium over.]

DALTON: [muttering] I wish you wouldn’t do that...

[SHEPPARD slowly BLUNDERS forward, TRIPPING on a number of people in the process. 
He is OBLIVIOUS to all the blood on stage.]

SHEPPARD: [rubs neck sleepily, but only manages to wiggle the tranq dart around 
some more] Ow... my FUCKING neck hurts... so fucking badly...

[A STAGEHAND hands him a fresh SCRIPT.]

SHEPPARD: Oh? Oh, yeah. Script. Thank... thank you all. For this award. I am... 
honored by... 

[He begins to SNORE loudly until STAGEHAND prods him.]

SHEPPARD: Oh, um, yeah... where was I? Yeah. I would like to... thank all of you 
for this... award. This is my third... um... year in a row that... um... I've 
received a GSDA... and I'd, um... like to thank all of you.

[JOHN hands him the GSDA trophy. SHEPPARD STRUGGLES to keep a grip on the heavy 
trophy. MAN, TROPHY, and PODIUM then go crashing into the audience.]

JOHN: Uh, I think we need another podium.

[A new PODIUM is wheeled in.]

JOHN: Now that we're all back in order, our next award tonight is the Mon Mothma 
"Many Bothans Died to Bring us this Information" award for Highest Body Count. And 
presenting it is none other than the infamous destroyer of Kerenos IV, Michael 
Wong!

[The AUDIENCE roars in applause as WONG steps forward. However, one particular 
pimply-faced dork stands up, turns around, and MOONS WONG. LT.HIT-MAN and ASST. 
ASST. LT. COMM. SMI run after him. Cries of "False" and "Liar" suddenly become 
abundant.]

WONG: Who let Scooter back in here?

[A TICKET CLERK's face gets very red.]

WONG: [Sees that Scooter has been caught] Well, I guess El Tee will be giving him 
the good ol’ Imperial Smackdown now, so it should be safe to proceed.

SCOOTER: [screaming] You're a racist for calling me a Black Knight, Wong!

JOHN: [sarcastically] Right, you go on believing that.

SCOOTER: I knew it! They're all-- [He is gagged and taken away.]

WONG: OK, maybe NOW we can continue. For this category, there are several nominees: 
Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg, for the destruction of Sernpidal.

		"The planet Sernpidal appeared outside the viewport as the Falcon
	exited hyperspace.  During the approach Sebastian began scanning the 
	planet per his mothers instructions.  "I'm picking up an emergency 
	distress signal," Jacen said from the other chair.  "Automated... wait, 
	it's not coming from here."
		"Where's it coming from?" Han asked quickly.  "A ship?"
		"No.  It's from a place called ExGal-4, whatever that is."
		"A research base," Annika said, not looking up from what she was 
	doing. "Belkadan.  They're searching for extra-galactic life."  The fact 
	that Annika was extra-galactic life provided all the irony that statement 
	needed.
		"Somebody's pet political project," Han guessed.  "Whatever 
	their problem is is going to have to wait. Any word from Sernpidal?"
		"Negative," Jacen replied.  "I'm not picking up anything; not 
	even emergency channels."
		"Let's start with the largest city.  Which one would that be?"
		"Sernpidal City," Anakin answered.
		"Well, they're nothing if not creative," Han replied.  The ship 
	turned as Jaina punched up the atlas for the planet to located their 
	destination. Sebastian watched his uncle look between the two for a 
	moment and scowled. "Dammit," he said as he gave the display a slap. 
	"They said the Falcon had the most up-to-date navigational data there 
	was."
		"What's wrong?" he heard his father say.
		"There's no city," Han said testily.  "Data's all fouled up."
		"I don't think so," Annika said quietly.  "I think the city was 
	there until recently."
		"Yeah, I know, there's a crater," Han said as he ran a sensor 
	search for signs of the city.  "But that's not it.  There's no sign 
	of weaponry, and you can't make a hole like that short of crashing a 
	monster asteroid into the planet."
		"Or a moon."
		"What do you mean, 'Or a moon?'  The moon's right over there."
		"Sernpidal has two moons."  Annika stood up and turned to Han. 
	"So where's the other one?"
		The weight of the question hung in the cockpit as Han brought 
	the Falcon into the atmosphere.  No one spoke as they settled just 
	outside the lip of the 
	crater."

WONG: StarCrossed, by Stravo, for the Imperial rampage in the Alpha Quadrant and 
destruction of the Borg Unimatrix:

		The blast from the Emperor's Will erupted forth in a 
	green beam of raw destructive power. It lanced into the planet. 
	On the night side of Romulus, for the largest city on the planet, 
	night became day. The green superlaser burned through the air, 
	literally igniting it with its passage and struck the earth with 
	the sound of Armageddon. Instantly, the city was vaporized, 
	millions died before they could utter a sound.  The blast 
	continued on unopposed into the planet's crust, thrusting through 
	the rocky outer layer of the planet and exposing the molten 
	mantle beneath. Huge geysers of molten rock spewed forth into 
	the atmosphere. The blast shockwave began rippling along the 
	surface like a monstrous thing, completely obliterating all in 
	its path, cities, mountain ranges, even oceans boiled away at its
	passage.  Several hundred million instantly died with the 
	shockwave, many more would perish as the resulting earthquakes 
	and fires damaged vital matter/antimatter reactors, causing a 
	chain reaction of core breaches throughout the planet.  White 
	flashes of core breaches slowly appeared, circling the night 
	side like a string of pearls.


		Nemesis felt them, their voices, they were trying to hide themselves 
	from him but there was no hiding from the dark side. There was no obfuscating 
	the goals of the Sith. he would find them, he could feel their voices all
	swirling around the center. Trillions of voices but ONE source, Millions 
	of connections, ONE source, Thousands of worlds, ONE source. He would 
	find it, they could not hide and in a burst of rage he saw it, clear as 
	if he were standing in the room, the enormous green energy field, the 
	symphony of a trillion voices all distilled to this one place.
		He smiled victoriously.
		"Fire on coordinates 1122 mark 56." Nemesis boomed.
		"Commence Primary ignition.""

WONG: Division, by MKSheppard. [He scratches his head.] I still don't see why... 
aw, fuck it.

		"In a stunning two-month blitzkreig, the Empire's armies have 
	overrun world after world, crushing race after race under their iron 
	heel, while in space, the Imperial Navy has dealt blow after blow to 
	the Empire's enemies.
		Now, all that remains of the once proud Klingon Empire, is a 
	world called Ikonos, where for the last three weeks, the battered 
	remnants of the Klingon Army has held off against overwhelming odds."

WONG: De Imperibatorus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary, for the casualties suffered 
in a Yuuzhan Vong invasion. [He clears his throat] Nevermind how the Yuuzhan Vong 
are completely unrealistic and based on biotech. The New Republic should have had 
no trouble with them. Anyway, the next contestant is 3rd Ground Kings, by Spyda.

		"So, I hear Cuba has its own planet now." The men were sitting at 
	a table in the ship's cafeteria. While the ship was in transit there were 
	only two jobs outside of bridge work that needed doing; occasionally 
	glancing at a monitor to make sure no alerts were going off and 
	scrubbing off the grease in the maintenance passages. The later wasn't 
	really necessary, but it kept the guys at the table from having to 
	listen to the inane jokes that the previously mentioned worker was 
	infamous for.
		"Yeah, second planet in the Aegis system, they just finished 
	terraforming it." One of the men responded.
		"I thought that one was habitable to begin with."
		"Well yeah it was, but you know what a misfired salvo of five hundred 
	gigaton nukes does to a planet." He said before finishing his drink.
		"Damn, did those guys actually look at what they were shooting at
	during the war or do they just push the button and hope they didn't hit 
	something friendly?" One of them asked rhetorically.
		"Well look on the bright side. Those five or six alien races that were 
	wiped out in the cross fire wont need their planets anymore."
		"True, true..."

WONG: [wipes a tear from his eye] There's nothing like a good humor fic in the 
spirit of Douglas Adams. Our final contestant is Dark Dawns, by WeeMadAndo. He 
adroitly wiped out Earth, but I'm sure that Kaz would be able to find some problems 
in the method used.

		The first feeds were coming through.  Showing the beautiful 
	visage of earth marred by a massive black cloud, one rapidly expanding 
	and spreading to hide the surface from prying eyes, and from the nurturing 
	light of the sun. A dull light is visible from the epicentre of the 
	cloud, no doubt massive fires burning from the heat of the impact.  
		Castigator had worked perfectly, just as it had been predicted to work.  
		As Admiral Bates looked down upon the image of the ravaged earth he 
	was reminded of a quote used by a predecessor, chuckling to himself he 
	mutters "I am become Shiva, destroyer of worlds."  The cloud was nearly 
	enveloping the entire globe now.  Only a few areas at the poles seemed 
	to remain uncovered.  It was predicted that it would only take a few days 
	of darkness to completely destroy the worlds ecosystem.  He predicted 
	it would take far less to completely destroy the minds of men.

WONG: And the winner is... [He tears the envelope open with a troll tooth] Oh, what 
a surprise. Stravo.

[STRAVO, struggling to push his already overloaded wheelbarrow up on stage, takes 
the trophy and heads back into the audience.]

STRAVO: (O.S.) Excuse me. Oh, shit, watch it!

[There is a very large CRASH, as if the wheelbarrow tipped over.]

SCOOTER: (O.S.) Yes! My own trophy! Ha! Take that--oomph!

DALTON: [shakes head] Some people never learn. Up next, the C-3PO "Let the Wookiee 
Win" Award for Most Unbiased Fanfic. The award will be presented by long-time ASVS 
neutral Spyda, who hates to reveal his real name.

SPYDA: Shut up.

DALTON: That’s not on the script.

SPYDA: Everyone knows you’re ad-libbing this, for Allah’s sake!

DALTON: ...the script...

SPYDA: (grudgingly) Right. This time, the nominees are StarCrossed, by Stravo, 
again; Manifest Destiny, by Mark S.; Pirate’s Endeavour, by RayCav, De 
Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O’Leary, and Imperial Phoenix, by MKSheppard.

RAYCAV: (O.S.) Did I win? Did I win?

SPYDA: Down, boy. [He takes out the award envelope.] And the winner is...

RAYCAV: (O.S.) Is it me? Please, I hope it’s me...

SPYDA: [Ignoring him] Stravo, again. [He throws a glance to the audience.]

VOICE: (O.S.) Raynor, I know you’re in there. Didn’t I say you were grounded?

RAYCAV: (O.S.) But, Mom...

VOICE: (O.S.) No buts. Now get out here before I have to come in and drag you out!

[STRAVO arrives on stage, trying even harder to push his wheelbarrow, which now has 
a flat tire. He finally gives up and tries to lasso the trophy, but only succeeds 
in snagging a chandelier. Seizing the opportunity, he swings across the stage and 
grabs the trophy, but as he forgot about his momentum, he winds up crashing through 
the opposite side and into the ladies’ dressing room. Moans and giggles come from 
it for the next few minutes. He eventually emerges, draped in undergarments, and 
walks up to the podium for his speech.]

STRAVO: [Removes a pair of panties from his head] I am particularly thrilled about 
receiving this award because the goal of Starcrossed, apart from entertaining you 
wonderful people and making a lot of ships go boom, was to respect both universes 
because I am a child of both.  I was there that summer waiting in the long lines 
for A New Hope, that all we old timers KNOW was actually just called Star Wars back 
then.  And I remember spending my Saturday afternoons at 6pm watching Star Trek and 
the exploits of one James T. Kirk.  I could never slander or demolish one at the 
expense of the other.  I can tell a story that makes both shine and that was my 
purpose with this story.

DALTON: And that would be Stravo, ladies’ man extraordinaire. Next up is the Han 
Solo "I know that laugh" award for Most Humorous Fanfic! Presented by the official 
ASVS humor connoisseur, Iceberg3K!

ICEBERG3K: Well, although I’m not receiving anything this time, it is an honor to 
be presenting these awards. So, I’ll start by listing the contestants. First off is 
Third Ground Kings, by Spyda. This fanfic starts off like the Hitchhiker’s Guide to 
the Galaxy, but rapidly turns into a completely random spoof. [He pauses to take a 
deep breath.]

ICEBERG3K: Second is Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee’s hit spoof, The Arr 
Chronicles. I’m pretty sure that this is what would result if Mel Brooks replaced 
Gene Roddenberry during the original Star Trek.

[More cries of "Idiot" and "False" come from the audience area. We see that SCOOTER 
is leading SECURITY in circles around the AUDIENCE.]

ICEBERG3K: Right. The next one is TK421, by WeeMadAndo. The amusing story of a 
hapless stormtrooper under the Emperor, this story was unfortunately (for us, 
anyway) never finished. [He checks the SCRIPT.] And the next entry is also by 
WeeMadAndo, this time aptly called A Crossover Too Far. This story is so random it 
almost makes Dexter’s Empire look well-planned by comparison, but that doesn’t 
detract from its humorous value.

[SECURITY finally manages to catch SCOOTER again. He is thrown into a paddywagon 
immediately and driven off the premises. A last cry of "It’s right because I said 
so" echoes through the auditorium.]

ICEBERG3K: And the last contestant for this award is the ultra-gory Welcome to 
Liberty City, by RayCav. On a scale of originality from 1 to 10, I think I’d give 
it a 3. It essentially follows the life of erstwhile Imperial commando LT.Hit-Man 
as he is mysteriously dumped into a 20th century Earth city. Unfortunately, he 
follows the plot of the game he based it on too closely, so I don’t think it got 
much in the way of high marks.

[ICEBERG3K fumbles through the SCRIPT, and finally pulls out an envelope. He 
freezes the top with liquid nitrogen and shatters it, then extracts the letter.]

ICEBERG3K: And the winner is... Graham Kennedy?

[There is a quickly suffocated cry of "Yes!" from the back row of the audience.]

ICEBERG3K: (looking at envelope) Damn, wrong one. I think this is it.... [He pulls 
out another one] Dear Maud... naah. [He finally pulls out an envelope so large that 
it makes you wonder how it even fit into his shirt, then extracts a microprinted 
letter.] And the winner really, really is... WeeMadAndo, with A Crossover Too Far!

[ANDO, clutching a can of Fosters beer and wearing a gaudy hat covered in corks, 
swaggers (or perhaps staggers) up to the stage. He clumsily flips a switch on his 
hat, and suddenly a dozen corks fly off in different directions. Everyone ducks.]

ANDO: Yesh, I’m a real happy to be here with y’all to-die. [He hiccups] I meaan, I 
want my awaard. [He takes a swig of beer.] In the name of the Austraailan peoples, 
I clam thish here trophy. [He hiccups again.] Yesh, that’s what I do. And you 
knowsh what, Baron? Yoush didn’t get nominateed! Ha! [Ando flips the Baron off 
before going for his trophy.]

[ICEBERG3K quickly hands him the trophy. ANDO uncertainly wobbles off the stage in 
the direction of the nearest restroom.]

JOHN: Coming up next, it's the 7 of 9 "You Think in Such Small Terms" Award for 
Most Original Character! Presenting this award is Aron Kerkhof, author of the 
critically-acclaimed story Past Imperfect!

[Much applause]

ARON: Thank you, thank you very much! Tonight I present the award for Most Original 
Character. Normally, fiction writers don't have to worry about original characters, 
but when you're dealing with already well-established universes you need to present 
a fresh take on things, or, in some cases, a fresh character. The nominees for this 
award are...

ARON: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg!

		Sebastian approached quickly, striking at the Vong rapidly. 
	There was no fury in his swings, just quick, deliberate attacks. 
	The Vong was going backwards, Sebastian staying with him so that 
	it was almost like a dance. He could only block, his human 
	opponent not allowing him even a moment to consider an offensive 
	strike.  Every attempt to turn was anticipated so that he couldn't 
	escape.  It was as if he was being toyed with, but the expression 
	remained as cold as ever. It seemed to radiate patience, 
	inevitability. Sebastian's saber passed through the elbow joint 
	of the armor, and with the same motion he knocked the Vong on 
	his back with the Force. Sebastian stepped over his vanquished 
	form, and as he raised his saber the Vong still saw no emotion 
	in his face. "Abomination," he choked.
		That made Sebastian pause.  "What did you say?"
		"You're an abomination," he repeated.  "Worse than the 
	woman." He coughed.  "She is bonded to machines, but you... you 
	are a machine. An imitation of life, but not really alive.  Blasphemy 
	to fall to one such as you."
		Time stretched out forever as the remark hung in the air.  
	"Then you don't want me to kill you?"
		The Vong hadn't expected this, but considered.  "Not like this."
		Sebastian stepped over and stabbed the slithering amphistaff.
	"On your feet," he said finally. "Just hope that I don't change my 
	mind once I've seen my mother."
		"I hope you do," the Vong said, struggling to get up.  "It 
	means you might actually be more than just an automaton."

ARON: StarCrossed, by Stravo!

		Q slowly looked up at Gary Mitchell.  His eyes bore into 
	the flat silver ones, Q could see himself in those silvery orbs.
		"You were human once, you hate to admit that I know, but 
	don't you feel it?"
		"What do you want me to feel?  James Kirk is going to know 
	defeat and then he will know pain and then he will know death. 
	But before that I will reveal myself to him and he will pray to 
	me, he will pray to his god and beg for death and I shall not be 
	a harsh cruel god, I shall be merciful."  He said with a cold smile.
		"Aren't you the psychopathic one Gary but don't put on airs 
	here amongst brethren.  You don't have to pretend anymore with me, 	
	listen to your heart and tell me that it does not feel fear. 
	That cold touch that makes your heart skip a beat, that cold 
	uncertainty."
		Gary remained impassive.
		"Damnit Gary we are going to die!  The universe is ending, 
	it could end tomorrow or it could end in the middle of this 
	sentence but it is going to end and there is nothing we can do to 
	stop it.  We are creatures of power and immortality, the universe 
	trembles at our every word and now we are as dead as an insect 
	underfoot."
		"And this means something to me, Q?  I knew death intimately 
	for a long time, I clung to a very slim strand of life under tons 
	of unyielding stone until I finally gathered enough power to raise 
	myself up from the grave that James Kirk would have for me. And 
	he called himself my friend."  Gary snorted.  His eyes gazed down 
	at the starship Enterprise alongside the large conical shaped piece.  
	His eyes flashed back up to Q.

ARON: Manifest Destiny, by Mark S

		The hooded grey snout regarded the trio for a second before 
	answering. "I am called Gallus," he replied. His words seemed to 
	hang in the air for a moment with the whirling dust and the pale 
	light. "Darth Gallus." Again the veiled eyes shone eerily, catching 
	each men in their light one at a time.

ARON: Warhammer 40k vs Star Trek, by 2000AD. [Scratches head] Hmm... I wonder how 
this one got in here, since it’s so short that there wasn’t really any character 
development... Oh well. Next one is "War Diary of a Crewer," by Ryan Crierie:
 
	July 1st, 2370:  
		Today I arrived at Kuat, as per my orders. The  
	entire planet is devoted to one thing, and one  
	thing only, the Drive Yards. The entire planet's  
	economy revolves around it. As KDY goes, so does  
	Kuat the planet.  
		My shuttle took the long route around The Yard, as  
	everyone speaks of it here. Talking to one of the  
	shuttle pilots, I learned that his family has worked  
	for KDY for the last thirty generations.  
		There is a big buzz in the Navy. Rumor has it some  
	thing BIG is opening up, and that the Navy will be  
	expanded even further than it was under the first Five  
	Year Plan under Palpie.  
		I know I'm not supposed to even HAVE a diary in the  
	first place, thanks to all these asinine new regulations,  
	but I have this...well...feeling that whatever's happening  
	here is gonna be big.

ARON: And the winner is... oh my! The winner is Chuck Sonnenburg, for Paradise 
Lost! Chuck? ...Chuck?

DALTON: Where the fuck did he go? John?

JOHN: Not a clue here, boss.

DALTON: Well, I guess I'd better accept for him--

[He is cut off again by CHUCK, who is running from the ENTRANCE.]

CHUCK: Wait, wait! I'm back, I'm here!

DALTON: Where the fuck did you go?

CHUCK: Sorry, my dealer called.

DALTON: Your...dealer?! What the fuck?

CHUCK: Don't worry about it, I'll explain later. Now, I believe I have an award to 
accept?

DALTON: Go right ahead...

CHUCK: Thank you.  I'd like to thank everybody who continues to support Paradise 
Lost.  From the beginning this project seemed a risk, because this new story was 
going to be focused primarily on an unknown character: Sebastian.  Even though he'd 
have the support of classic characters from both universes, he was going to have to 
hold things together.  I'm glad you seem to think he's doing his job.  Thanks for 
sticking with Paradise Lost.

[Much applause. STRAVO looks slightly disappointed, but game as always.]

CHUCK: Thank you, thank you! And now--

JOHN: Wait, what about me? I'm not just chopped meat here, ya know.

CHUCK: You are now, kiddo. I'm back, so you can go sit back down.

DALTON: That's enough, guys. We three can do this together--

JOHN: Fuck that, this is my time!

CHUCK: Damn it! [Pokes JOHN in the FUCKING EYE]

[JOHN retaliates with a SLAP to the back of the FUCKING HEAD, forcing CHUCK'S HEAD 
downwards into a waiting BANANA CUSTARD CREAM PIE.  DALTON attemptes to break up 
the fight, but a poorly-aimed COCONUT CREAM PIE hits him in the FUCKING FACE. 
DALTON goes for the double-eye-poke on JOHN, but CHUCK rises up and DALTON'S 
FINGERS go up CHUCK'S FUCKING NOSE.]

[Massive laughter and applause. ROB WILSON fires three darts, hitting the three 
hosts in their FUCKING NECKS. They fall to the ground unconscious.]

ROB WILSON: We'll be right back after a word from our sponsors.

[CROSSFADE TO: Commercial]

[A MOTHERFUCKING CHARGING ELEPHANT comes straight at the CAMERA, but falls suddenly 
with a dart in his FUCKING NECK.]

VO: Wilson's Brand Elephant Tranquilizer...for when they just won't SHUT THE FUCK 
UP. Available at your local supermarket, gun shop, and/or local black market.  
Special this week! Buy a dozen darts and get a free scope for the rifle of your 
choice!

[CROSSFADE TO: Stage]

PHONG NGUYEN: Hello, my name is Phong Nguyen...as the other three are currently 
blissfully asleep in the corner covered by pie, I'll be taking over hosting duties 
for the rest of the ceremony...I assume. Before we go anywhere though, let's check 
in on Scooter and see how he's doing!

[CUT TO: Wide-open Field]

HIT-MAN: Well, Phong, it looks like Scooter's getting his ass kicked left and right 
out here...

SCOOTER: I AM NOT! This Rabid Warsie Fuckwit just WON'T GIVE UP in the face of my 
superior logic!

OSSUS: You're so totally full of shit, kid.

SCOOTER: SEE?! Can't even debate without insulting me!

OSSUS: It's a swordfight, you cock!

SCOOTER: Ad hominmismim! Hah! [he LUNGES with a loaf of FRENCH BREAD]

OSSUS: Man, can't you think of anything original? [He is boffed by the FRENCH 
BREAD]  Jesus.  [OSSUS slices off SCOOTER'S FUCKING ARM with a huge FUCKING 
KATANA.]

SCOOTER: I'M INVINCIBLE!

OSSUS: You're a looney!!

[CUT TO: Stage]

PHONG: That's fucking hilarious! We'll see more of that later on, I guess.  Anyway! 
Next up is the Reginald Barclay "Strict Dress Code" Award for Most Original Story, 
presented by Zaia, from StarDestroyer.net!

[Massive applause, especially from the MALES in the audience, including WHOOPS, 
HOLLERS and other SEXUALLY OFFENSIVE noises. There is a SUDDEN COLLECTIVE GROAN as 
a spring-loaded boot in the seats in front of them KICK THEM IN THE MEAN BEAN 
MACHINE. Zaia smiles sweetly.]

ZAIA: Well...good evening all.  I hope you are enjoying the evening so far?

[MUMBLES and GROANS.]

ZAIA: Good. Tonight I present the award for most original story. What makes a story 
original? Well, original characters, original plotline, original theme...it's a 
very general definition. The nominees are...

Manifest Destiny, by Mark S! Presenting a rather imperialized view of the New 
Republic, where the universe of Star Trek is merely territory to expand into;
Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg! The continuation of an epic trilogy of 
trilogies by ASVS's master of fiction, where our heroes face a Vong invasion;
StarCrossed, by Stravo! Where the factions are pawns and where the final battle can 
mean the end of the universe;
And Third Ground Kings, by Spyderizer! A humorous story about the lives of several 
diverging groups of characters after their ship is destroyed by a prank.

ZAIA: And the winner of Most Original Story is...StarCrossed, by Stravo!

[STRAVO is still recovering from BEING KICKED IN THE NADS. He struggles to the 
stage, heaves the award, and places it into the WHEELBARROW before falling down 
unconscious.]

PHONG: Well, that was certainly...interesting.  Moving right along, before any of 
you can wake up to complain, we have the Boba Fett "No Disintegrations" Award for 
Most Spectacular Death, presented by everyone's favorite tinpot dictator, Pablo 
Sanchez!

[Crickets. Pablo walks out in a GAUDY, RIDICULOUS UNIFORM with LOTS OF USELESS 
MEDALS on it.]

PABLO: Thank you, thank you! Thanks everyone, yes I know I'm great...no autographs, 
please!

[Silence. The occasional GROAN and SOB.]

VOICE: MY BALLS HURT!

PABLO: Thank you! My balls hurt too! Tonight I present the award for Most 
Spectacular Death! Who died the best? The brightest? The fastest? Most 
Hollywoodish? Let's find out! The nominees are...

ANNOUNCER: Third Ground Kings, by Spyderizer... or Spyder, or Spyda... filthy 
spiders... AAAH! NOT A FUCKING HAIRY BLACK WIDOW! AAAH!

[ANNOUNCER runs off, SCREAMING]

[PABLO rolls eyes]

PABLO: Next...

		Suddenly a back panel on the Firespray opened up and a small 
	metallic device drifted away. The fighters swerved to avoid it. 
	As they cleared the object it quietly exploded into a small blue 
	cloud. 
		"Well that was unimpressive." Dalton said.
		Suddenly a wall of energy leapt of from the cloud and the 
	fighters were caught in the blast. The shockwave tore the fighters 
	apart leaving nothing but debris.
		"Maybe it was the other one." Strowbridge said. "Let's get 
	out of here before they call in reinforcements."
		"Yeah, we might just do that." Wilson said as he pulled the 
	switch.
		The Fire-Spray's engines revved up to full power then, with 
	a flash, the small craft jetted off into the unknown.

ANNOUNCER 2: The Division, by Ryan Crierie

		A few minutes later, Falk and Shep were standing in the 
	hallway, pointing their rifles upstairs warily while the 
	rest of the platoon moved into the lower floor. One of 
	the new recruits, a Timothy Jones, if Shep remembered 
	correctly, ran past them and up the stairs yelling at 
	the top of his lungs, disregarding Sheppard and 
	Falkenhorst's warnings not to go up there yet, as it 
	was still 'hot'.
		A few moments later, the whine of disruptor fire echoed 
	off the walls, followed by a short scream that was cut 
	off abruptly.
		"FNG," muttered Falk, shaking his head sadly.

ANNOUNCER 2: Past Imperfect, by Aron Kerkhof

"But, this isn't Imperial space... we were just--"

		Another Stormtrooper advanced on Chewbacca, with a little 
	box in his hand. Han knew it was a bioscanner, that could cross 
	reference Chewie's records back on Imperial City, and then the 
	gig would be up. Chewie knew it too.
		"NO!" Han started to yell as he started to go for his 
	blaster. Han was quick, but the trooper behind him saw it coming, 
	and was already on his way to connect Han's head with his rifle 
	butt. The blow brought him to his knees. His hand went limp and 
	his trusty blaster pistol clattered away.
		Chewbacca had already thrown the nearest trooper 15 feet 
	in a random direction. The trooper hadn't even hit ground before 
	the one with the bioscanner had it knocked from his hands. 
	Two huge Wookie paws lifted him bodily in the air.
		All in all, a good effort.  But with Han down, he didn't 
	have a chance.
		A blaster bolt hit Chewbacca in the back, freezing him in 
	place. Then another. He dropped the trooper he held over his head, 
	and slowly turned.
		A final bolt burned into his chest, sending the big Wookie 
	down. Han knew he had let Chewie down for the last time.  
	"Chewie..." Han moaned in pain.

ANNOUNCER 2: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg

            His left hand reached to his belt and he pulled off a second
weapon, this time sliding it over his hand so that it was a part of it.  As
the Vong advanced he activated it, producing another short but unmistakable
lightsaber blade.  He brought it up to block the attack on his left while
the chained blade in his right hand came up, tearing through an exposed
point in the second Vong's armor, deactivating it at the apex.  It wrapped
for a second over his shoulder as he reversed direction and struck the third
Vong in the neck.  The attacks were so swift that the first Vong was already
working on the counter-swing from his strike blocked by the short saber.  He
ducked under the swing and pushed the blade straight up under the Vong's jaw
even as he brought the chain around again to cut through the leg of the
second Vong..
            The last Vong warrior, spotting an opening, swung down with his
staff sharpened to a razor point that would cut the man who was not
Sebastian in two.  He brought his weapons up, but the Vong was just out of
his striking range.  Instead the chained weapon retracted into a single
piece as he brought it up and igniting it, catching the end of the ampistaff
between the two crossed blades.  The three seconds they struggled in that
position was the longest break the battle had seen, but even after
everything that had astounded him, Garak watched the next event with horror.
The head of the ampistaff was right in front of the young man's face, and he
was staring at it with a visible rage.  In its current form it was too hard
to be cut even with a lightsaber.
            Then, regardless of the will at the other end of the staff, it
softened.
            He stood as his blades chopped the staff in half, then rammed
both points into opposite sides of the last Vong's neck.  The blades
immediately deactivated and he turned and reached for the one-armed,
one-legged Vong, who suddenly gave off a horrible choking sound.  Seconds
later it collapsed, unmoving.


ANNOUNCER 2: StarCrossed, by Stravo

		"I would prefer death to living under your tyranny." 
	the Klingon replied evenly.
		"What did you say?" Nemesis asked softly and stopped 
	in his tracks.
		"Death before surrender.  I will not join you to avoid 
	death."
		Nemesis blinked.
		Suddenly he was holding on to the gantry on Bespin, 
	the wind howling in his ears.
		"Join me... there is no other way."
		He looked down at the yawning abyss below him, torn by 
	the lies that were revealed and by his utter helplessness 
	before the black armored giant that had been the same man 
	that he worshipped growing up.
		He could not see any other way than flinging himself 
	to the abyss. Death. It chilled his heart and he looked to 
	the man that was his father, holding out a hand.  (How long 
	had he wanted to touch his father, to know that he was loved?)
	He decided that death was not an option, why die to protect 
	those that had lied to him from the beginning. (Because 
	you were afraid)
		This Klingon was doing what he could not.
		It enraged him.  The fury exploded out of him like a 
	storm and he roared in anger (and pain) and the Klingon took 
	a step back in fear and surprise as the Dark Side vomited 
	out of Nemesis, tearing the Klingon apart until there was 
	nothing left but gristle and gore.

PABLO: And the man who wrote the most spectacular death is...Stravo, for 
StarCrossed!

[Scattered applause. STRAVO stumbles up again and collects the award for the 
UMPTEENTH TIME. The author can't think of anything else to say here.]

PHONG: Well folks, we're almost done here...only two more awards to go! Since the 
guys are--

[Three men are STIRRING the corner. They GROAN.]

DALTON: Whaaa...?

CHUCK: What the fuck...

JOHN: Get your elbow outta my eye!

CHUCK: Then get your leg outta my crotch!

DALTON: What the hell happened here? Why am I covered in cream?

[EINHANDER SN0M4N giggles.]

DALTON: ...oh god.

CHUCK: Let's not dwell on that. Come on. What're we doing? What's the deal...oh 
yeah, it's time for the Emperor Palpatine's Highest Honor for Overall Best Fanfic. 
Well, here we go! It's time...

DALTON: For the one award. The best of the best...

JOHN: And tonight we have three powerhouses of fanfic facing off against two 
complete newcomers. Who'll win?

PHONG: Let's find out...and the nominees are!!

[DRUMROLL]

PHONG: Paradise Lost, the continuation of the Unity Saga, by Chuck Sonnenburg!

CHUCK: StarCrossed, a newcomer fic that shot up like a bat out of hell, by Stravo!

DALTON: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, a staple of long, complicated fiction by 
Marina O'Leary!

JOHN: Manifest Destiny, another newcomer and just as popular as many other stories, 
by Mark S from StarDestroyer.net!

PHONG: And finally...Imperial Phoenix, the benchmark story by which many are 
judged, by Ryan Crierie!

DALTON: And the winner is....

CHUCK: StarCrossed, by Stravo!!

[SPOTLIGHTS suddenly hit STRAVO full. He bounds up off the floor, pain forgotten, 
and runs up to the podium. He has a HUGE FUCKING SMILE on his face.]

STRAVO: Ok, I won’t do the "you like me, you REALLY like me" bit because half of 
you will pelt me with rotten vegetables and the other half are too young to get the 
joke.  But I will say this.  StarCrossed owes its existence to two men.  One is 
Graham Kennedy.  Don’t look at me like that, that’s right, Graham Kennedy is one 
half of the pair that knocked me up and gave birth to this tale.  Porthole you see 
is the antithesis of StarCrossed.  Porthole is the standard to which I hold myself 
constantly not to sink to.  It is the fic that inspired me to right something fair 
and balanced.  The other man is Michael Wong.  Conquest was the first fanfic I ever 
read and it opened up my mind to the possibility that this could be done well 
without making it sound retarded or fanboyish.  So StarCrossed is the direct 
progeny of these two tales.  And to them I owe this award as much as my own talent 
because they helped me believe that it could be done.

STRAVO: (takes a breath) Also I cannot leave the podium without thanking my fans, 
who seem to be legion AND rabid, a VERY dangerous combination.  Honorable mention 
goes out to three in particular:  Mr. Bean of SD.Net who became my first true fan 
and urged me on with words of praise and kindness as well as sharing his font of EU 
knowledge in making this tale blossom. Kazuaki Shimazaki of ASVS for WONDERFUL 
analysis and breakdowns of the story by paragraphs.  Nothing makes an author’s 
heart beat fondly as much as a reader who dissects his work in such a manner and 
enjoys it at the same time while offering very valid criticisms that helped keep 
the tale on point and balanced; despite Kaz’s distinctly Warsie slant he proved 
invaluable and so thanks friend for being there since Chapter 1.  Finally, Master 
of Ossus, words are not enough to express my gratitude to this fine gentlemen that 
was always supportive yet firm with his advice, one of the first which has served 
me so well, SLOW DOWN.  Take your time and write what you feel and don’t put 
yourself on a time table, for that and so much more thank you Ossus.

Now, where are the beer and bitches???

DALTON: Congratulations, Stravo! No beer or bitches quite yet, I'm afraid. We still 
have some unfinished business, if you'll recall. If you'll step up here...and 
Chuck, you over here.

CHUCK: What's this about?

PHONG: Tell me you forgot about the duel...

CHUCK: Well...it's been so long, and we've been waiting a while for this ceremony, 
ROB.

DALTON: Bite me! This thing is already 26 fucking pages and it's not done yet. 
Sheez.

JOHN: In case you're wondering, Chuck and Stravo had a little fanfic contest as a 
promotional stunt for the GSDA. Chuck's "Just One Man" went up against Stravo's 
"Concordance of the Heavens", both original stories. There is no particular award 
for this story. Please remember that it was just for fun!

DALTON: And the winner of the fanfic contest, ladies and gentlemen, is...

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:28am
by Dalton
FUCKING space limitations...

Code: Select all

DALTON: Chuck Sonnenburg!

[Much applause. CHUCK and STRAVO shake hands warmly.]

DURANDAL (O.S.): FUCK YOU ALL!! AAAAGH!!!!!!

DALTON: Wilson, sedate him.

[PHOOT!]

CHUCK [sotto voce to STRAVO]: Good work, kid! You're taking home fifteen awards 
tonight...a new record!

STRAVO [in reply]: Thank you, thanks so much.

DALTON: Enough of that mushy crap, you two. We still have one last thing to take 
care of.

CHUCK: Oh yeah... about earlier...

DALTON: What?
 
CHUCK: You might want to get Hit-Man and the crew as far from Scooter as you can...

DALTON, PHONG, JOHN, STRAVO: ...I've got a bad feeling about this.

[CUT TO: Field]

OSSUS: Give it up, Scooter...you lost!

SCOOTER [With no arms, no legs and no hope]: Never! I'm invincible! You yellow... 
bastard...

[There is a RUMBLE. DUST appears on the horizon.]

HIT-MAN: Ossus... Smi... get the FUCK out of here!

SMI: Oh bloody hell...

OSSUS: RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!

SCOOTER: That's right! Run from the truth! You COWARRRRRRRDS!!!! 
SHIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!

WEEMADANDO: SMOKE ME A KIPPER, I'LL BE BACK FOR BREAKFAST!

[ANDO hurtles himself towards SCOOTER.]

WEEMADANDO: IN THE NAME OF THE FAQ!

[MASSIVE EXPLOSION. SCOOTER appears unharmed, while ANDO rockets into the 
STRATOSPHERE.]

WEEMADANDO: Damn cheap Crazy Ivan bombs...

SCOOTER: You'll never defeat me. And that's a fact.

[Another RUMBLE. Even more dust. SCREECHES AND HOOTS soon become apparent.]

WONG [smiling evilly]: Game over!

[SCOOTER is suddenly consumed by A STAMPEDING HORDE OF RABID MONKEYS who TEAR HIM 
INTO BLOODY SHREDS AND GIBLETS.]

VERILON:  That's all, folks!

Da-da-da dah dah dah! Donk...


THE THIRD ANNUAL GOLDEN STARDESTROYER FANFIC AWARDS

Written by
ROB DALTON

Assistant Writers
JOHN HANSEN
MARK RUSBRIDGE
CHUCK SONNENBURG

Original Concept
ROBBIE RHOADES
G.A. REID

Special Thanks
COLIN "YOSEMITE BEAR" WITZ
GEORGE LUCAS 
GENE RODDENBERRY
AND
ALL OUR FANFIC AUTHORS, READERS AND OTHER ASSOCIATED BEINGS

The GSDA Fanfic Awards have been brought to you by...
WILSON'S ELEPHANT TRANQUILIZER
CHUCK'S COUNTING SERVICE
THE BARON LOWE SHEEP EMPORIUM
SCOOTER'S FUCKED-UP DELUSIONS
AND
THE ALT.STARTREK.VS.STARWARS FANFIC ARCHIVE


KEEP WRITING, FOLKS! REMEMBER, EVEN IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE IT THIS YEAR, YOU MIGHT MAKE 
IT NEXT YEAR! DON'T GIVE IT UP!



Dedicated to the crew of the Columbia, seven among many who ventured out into that 
place known as Space, the Final Frontier...

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:35am
by weemadando
First post!

And my first GSDA!

Fucking yay!

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:00am
by Stuart Mackey
weemadando wrote:First post!

And my first GSDA!

Fucking yay!
Blah!

and congrats.

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:01am
by Stuart Mackey
*Looks left*
*Looks right*
*No Strowbridge in sight.*

I would just like to take this oppertunity to say

Not enough me.

Thank you.

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:02am
by MKSheppard
*Sheppard picks up his GSDA for Goriest Fanfic, and begins to look for
people to kill with it *

:twisted: :twisted:

*Shep than falls asleep from the Tranq*

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:02am
by desertjedi
Oh wow this was GREAT! I'm glad to see that rabid monkeys were able to make it in the story. As for Stravo: F*CKING CONGRATULATIONS. I love Stracrossed! I'm looking forward to your new story for next year's GSDA! Congratulations to everyone, without your hard work and imagination, my nights working graveyard would definitely had sucked so much... As for the Elephant Tranqs... I need some, the line of work I'm in.. I definitely need some...

Looking forward to next year's GSDA!!!

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:07am
by The Duchess of Zeon
I hereby offer my congratulations to Stravo for his most excellent production so having captured the general adoration of the public, and the astounding feat of the accolades thus laid upon during the ceremony.

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:17am
by Stuart Mackey
The Duchess of Zeon wrote:I hereby offer my congratulations to Stravo for his most excellent production so having captured the general adoration of the public, and the astounding feat of the accolades thus laid upon during the ceremony.
Seconded.
I have only read it, starcrossed, recently, and it might not be as polished as others, but it does hold ones imagination. A well deserved series of awards

Posted: 2003-02-09 04:37am
by LT.Hit-Man
Well at lest I won one award.
Looks like I'll have to realy start kick'en my fan fics in high gear if I want to win more awards

Posted: 2003-02-09 06:18am
by Drewcifer
Congrats to the winners!! (nice wheel-barrow, Stravo :))

Kudos to all of the entrants for thier hard work, but especially for sharing their blood, sweat, and tears with us.

And a box of golden donuts to Rob, for his continuing hard work.

Posted: 2003-02-09 07:38am
by Frank Hipper
* Looks down at gore and feces on rented tux* Uhm, well, that's certainly the most noisome event I've ever attended. Congrats, all!
And kudos to the staff who brought us that gratifying, if messy, production.Maybe next year I'll get better seats, Scoot's insides and poo stink!

Posted: 2003-02-09 12:16pm
by Ted
I think one of the main reasons that the ASVS fics didn't do as well is that the vast majority of voters only visit SD.net, and the fics that are posted just to ASVS are, not ignored, but do not have such a following.

If ASVS fics got cross posted to SD.net, I doubt that Star Crossed would have won so many.

It was pretty good show, though not as good as previous ones, I thought.

Posted: 2003-02-09 12:24pm
by Ender
If I could write something 1/10th as witty and funny as this I would be overjoyed. Great job, and congratulations to all the winners.

Posted: 2003-02-09 02:44pm
by Dalton
Thank you for the compliments.

Posted: 2003-02-09 02:57pm
by Kuja
*reads*

*laughs so hard he faints*

*wakes up*

*faints from laughing again*

God, I love these ceremonies. :lol:

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:35pm
by phongn
w00t! Great GSDA as usual :D

Posted: 2003-02-09 03:45pm
by Master of Ossus
Well, it seems that congratulations are in order for many of our resident authors and writers.

The ceremony was quite a production in and of itself, and I'm glad that it was so humorous and so energetic. I'm glad that Stravo did so well with his work, and that Kelly and Iggy's work fared so well at the ceremony, also. I would also like to wish Chuck, Stravo, and all of the others best of luck with their upcoming fanfics, and thank EVERY author involved for the excellent reading material that they have given me--whether or not they were awarded any particular award.

Posted: 2003-02-09 05:29pm
by 2000AD
FAME AT LAST! I PRESENTED AN AWARD! :D :D :D

And on a side note, did anyone but me vote for my "fanfic" in most origional charater?

Posted: 2003-02-09 05:44pm
by Dalton
2000AD wrote:FAME AT LAST! I PRESENTED AN AWARD! :D :D :D

And on a side note, did anyone but me vote for my "fanfic" in most origional charater?
Yes.

Posted: 2003-02-09 05:48pm
by Grand Admiral Thrawn
some catcalls from the audience.]

Catcalls? WHERE ARE MY NOGHRI?!




Just to squash my ego, did I get at least one vote? (I thought voting for myself would be...sad).

Posted: 2003-02-09 05:49pm
by 2000AD
I got more than one vote! :shock: :shock: :shock:

Guess i better get my ass into gear and start writing as soon as i can.

Nomination this year, NEXT YEAR ... THE AWARD BWAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!! :twisted:

Posted: 2003-02-09 05:53pm
by Andrew J.
IT WAS FIXED!

*Andrew is shot dead by everyone else*

Posted: 2003-02-09 06:03pm
by Dalton
Grand Admiral Thrawn wrote:Just to squash my ego, did I get at least one vote? (I thought voting for myself would be...sad).
:?: I don't think you made final nominations...