Current mood:	amused
Entry tags:	sporkees

Oooh, SporkeeZ !
…

Er, pardon the effusive ‘Z’ *Giggle* Couldn’t really resist.

Well, the England cricket team will be in India soon. So, inspired by that ---

Al’s back for sporking. Hippy isn’t. Yet. So Al’s calling on others (Er, not that Al can’t go it alone, but he feels depressed if he has to). And surprise, surprise, a rather bloody-minded sporker comes along.
However, this sporker has requested not to be named (in any case, he is so unique that his identity should soon be clear to readers), and so he is going to be referred to as ‘One-Not-To-Be-Named’.

Al : (A little perplexed) Hello, it’s you ! I didn’t think you’d be along … weren’t you busy with something in the lines of ‘Lights … Camera … Action …’
One-Not-To-Be-Named : (Grins) Nope, not me ! I’m out of it. Finally !
Al : Okay, then …
One-Not-To-Be-Named : (With an intense look) Let’s get on. I have to meet old ferret-face soon for tea … You coming along ? It’ll be fun !
Al : (Sniggers) Yup, let’s.
One-Not-To-Be-Named : (Carolling) He’s got a long stick with a big knob.
Al : (Disgusted) You’re … sometimes … So Damn primitive.
One-Not-To-Be-Named : ‘kay, ‘kay, ‘m sporking in red.
Al : Right. I’m blue, of course …
One-Not-To-Be-Named : So, we have

(Cut to sporking ...)

Two Fall/Autumn Cricket drabbles involving crickets, I think. Do they survive the upcoming winter ?
Mostly. And it’s cricketers, not crickets. I’m not sure they would like, or even choose, to survive the Stuthors, though.

For stj_, it says. They write for one another ?
Darling, there are so few Stuthors and their sockpuppets in this area that they, so to speak, take in each other’s washing to survive. I mean, you wouldn’t say you’re writing your personal brand of drivel for one of yer own sockpuppets now, would you ? It makes one feel so lonesome like and all …

So, They'd been out with the dogs, rolling on the rubbish heaps, running after them through the autumn air by defying the laws of gravity, laughing and joking and fooling around with the rotten, stinking corpse of something the dogs had found.
Eww, defying gravity, flying and necromancy ! Right up your street.
Excuse me ! I’m thanking you not to equate me with Matthew Hoggard Stu and Simon Jones Stu ever again.
Oh all right. Will you continue, or will I ?

I will ! They'd sat under a tree and shared an apple pastry, sweet and tart, with just a hint of cinnamon, and the stink of the rubbish dumps from themselves coloured leaves falling all around them. because all the leaves died from the stink wafting upwards.

When they stepped back inside, the doghouse Simon couldn't resist the dishevelled look of his lover's hair. His fingers wound into the blond strands framing his head, Ouch ! disentangling them with nimble finger after having lost the other four to the blade-like strands until they the other fingers fell all around themselves smoothly again.
Deadly. That’s a new one --- Stu hair strands like knife blades sharp enough to remove all fingers but one. And I thought winding fingers into hair would hurt a bit.
*Evil giggle* I like it.
You would, wouldn’t you now ?

Matthew Hoggard Stu just smiled indulgently before pulling his lover into a kiss that tasted of cinnamon, apples, and the fresh air outside. and the smell of fresh human blood from Matthew Hoggard Stu’s hair.
Ugh, I hate the stink of blood.
You do ? *Evil snigger* Pity. You humans ! Tsk, Tsk.
Oh all right. Where’s the next one, then ?

Here we are - For s_s
*Sigh* Poor s_s

Steve Harmison Stu smiled as he saw his lover stride through the piles of colourful leaves surrounding the trees in his yard. round and round in the throes of circling disease he’d picked up earlier from the cows.

Tall and strong, Freddie Flintoff Stu often reminded him of one of those sturdy oaks, and with his current almost complete lack of hair *Shudder* and the colourful parka he was wearing In autumn ? Look, love, it’s a Stu. Stus can wear a parka even in a tropical summer and get away with it, he even seemed to echo the trees' annual end-of-the-season spectacle. of being completely naked and spindly !
My brain hurts.
Har Har Har !

He poured the hot chocolate he'd been preparing into two large mugs, and welcomed Freddie on the front porch which Freddie Flintoff Stu reached after a good many circles. Wrapped in warm jackets, What ? Where’s the parka gone ? Hey, you said it’s a Stu, so it’s okay. But still … It’s like those Bollywood movies where you change clothes within the same sequence. What ?! You been watching Bollywood movies ?! No wonder you’re so disgustingly evil ! Har Har Har ! Now listen --- they sipped in silence, watching the leaves fall as the sunlight bathed everything in a golden autumn glow.
*Frozen silence*
I thought this was supposed to be a story with two males involved ?
Hmm.
That last bit sounds just like a scene from a Disney film with the hero and heroine lurving over hot chocolate.
*Ominous silence*

(Cut to Al and One-Not-To-Be-Named …)

Al : Hey, stop fiddling with that wooden stick of yours.
One-Not-To-Be-Named : Grr.
Al : Stop it.
One-Not-To-Be-Named : Avada …
Al : We have an appointment for tea !
One-Not-To-Be-Named : (Subsides) Alright. Later, then.