THE GOLDEN STARDESTROYER FANFIC AWARDS CEREMONY
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[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!)
)
I don't think you made final nominations...