(Sometimes published with the title Sporkerwocky)
Beware the plastic spork, my av!
The tines so blunt, the scoop that leaks!
Avoid the breaking handle and
Eat with your hands at KFC
(Once again, apologies to Lewis Carroll)
Written 14 July, 2008
A Three-Donut Vacation
XXXV: Diva’s Last Stand
When I reached the back of the plane, the bathroom door was bulging ominously. Sweetie was trying to force the lock with the blade of her katana.
“Look out!” I cried. “She has a Copybot in there! It’s gonna blow!” And just then the door did blow out, spilling dozens of Diva Bartletts across the seats and into the aisle. Each was armed with that deadliest of plastic table utensils, a spork.
Sweetie is nothing if not quick of wit. “It’s ImSoNotADiva!” she screamed. “My arch-enemy! Attack her, loyal fans! Attack! Show her no mercy!”
And the melée began.
For ten minutes the tourist compartment was a mass of writhing, seething fans and Divas. The Divas were vicious with their sporks, but the fans were ferocious, improvising weapons from materials at-hand (Whimsy hard hats and rolled up flight magazines, mostly). Sweetie’s blade was everywhere, decapitating Divas by the dozen.
I was knocked to and fro, in mortal combat with a particularly deadly Diva. She had two sporks and wasn’t afraid to use them. I was avoiding the deadly sort-of tines, but she was wearing me down. I had to find some way to outwit her.
Furiously, I rifled through my inventory. Watermelon gun. No. Too messy for this confined space. Falling anvil attachment. No. Too risky. The anvil might strike a bystander. Linden attack bear. Nope. The damn thing had a habit of turning on me.
Ding! I had it! Now if only it were still there!
I found it, tucked way down in inventory in Chey’s Items of Adornment> Jewelry> Silver> Necklaces> Necklaces with No Matching Earrings> Tacky, But Not Too> Blingy> Blingy Beyond Belief. I shut my eyes tight and attached the necklace.
“The light! The light!" screamed Diva. She dropped her sporks and threw her hands to her eyes. This freed me to reach behind me and snag the English throwing scone Sweetie mistakenly autographed in our last thrilling episode. I grabbed it from its owner’s hand and began to slash at Diva’s neck.
“Hey, you be careful with that!” screamed the woman who owned it. “That autograph is valuable! That blood might not wash off!”
The fighting was bitter, but Diva had had time to make only about thirty clones. The odds were with the fanboys, and soon all the Divas, including mine of the double sporks, were dead or subdued.
Just then the teleplane went into a steep dive.
“Sweetie!” I said. “Here we go!”
There was no answer.
Where was my Sweetie? Where could she be? There! Toward the front of the plane! And she was battling furiously with the last remaining ImSoNotADiva Bartlett.
“I’m coming, my love!” I cried, and allowed gravity to carry me downward toward the nose through the now almost vertical compartment.
I had nearly reached them when I saw three chilling lines of Chat.
Terra E-Chute 2.2: Say E HELP for instructions.
Terra E-Chute 2.2: Ready.
Terra E-Chute 2.2: Deployed.
“It’s that damn Camper,” Sweetie gasped. “He deserted. You have to take the wheel.”
“But— Diva!” I cried.
“I can handle Diva,” Sweetie said. “Now go!”
And so I swung my feet over and dropped to the Captain’s chair and grabbed the yoke. The chair said:
Boeing Flight Pilot’s Camping Chair, Deluxe Model: “You will earn five Lindens for every ten minutes you sit in this chair! You have been sitting for 0 minutes. You have earned $0L."
“Keep the nose pointed directly at the wormhole,” gasped Sweetie. “And for god’s sake tweak the textures in that cabin. They’re reprehensible!”
Around me, cups and papers began swirling around the cabin, and I was nearly pulled from my seat. It had suddenly became hard to breathe. We had been depressurized!
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Diva had managed to get the craft’s door open. She and Sweetie were in the opening and in danger of being sucked out of the teleplane. Then, to my horror, a hurtling carry-on huge prim struck Sweetie and knocked her through the doorway.
“Sweetieeeee!” I cried.
But Sweetie had managed to wind her fingers through Diva’s hair. She was dangling, spinning and turning with the wind. Diva was nearly pulled from the plane too, but she managed to spread her arms and legs and brace herself in the doorway.
In mere seconds, I knew, Diva would detach her hair and Sweetie would fall away into nothingness. But before I could even begin to react, Sweetie’s katana flashed and Diva’s head was separated from her body.
The last time I saw my Sweetie, the very last time I saw her, she was falling away from the plane, her katana in one hand and the head of ImSoNotADiva Bartlett in the other. And I swear, I swear to you, she winked at me.
I did the only thing I could. I kept the teleplane headed straight into the wormhole. But while I held the course, I sent Sweetie every last Linden in my possession.