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Real Ale Spam Challenge fic #79 as requested by

"Vila!" Tarrant's shout reverberated down Liberator's main corridor. "What was in that 'corpse-reviver' you gave Avon!"

"Nothing!" Vila looked at Avon, who was draped over Tarrant's arm, grinning and mumbling to himself. "Well, I had two glasses and it didn't do that to me!"

"It had to be more than adrenaline and soma; he's never reacted like this!" Tarrant paused to get a better grip on Avon, who was oozing between his arms, heading for the deck.

"We were running low on A & S, so I added some green ale I found in your room."

Tarrant groaned. "Vila, you idiot, don't you know better than to give Real Numbers Ale to a computer tech?"

Avon said, "Can I have a small container of coffee?"

Vila brightened. "See, he's not that drunk."

Avon frowned, "How I want a drink, alcoholic of course, after the heavy chapters involving quantum mechanics. One is, yes, adequate, even enough to induce some fun and pleasure for an instant, miserably brief."

Vila blinked. "What?"

Avon said, "See, I have a rhyme assisting my feeble brain, its tasks sometimes resisting."

Tarrant shook his head. "We don't know what you're talking about, Avon. Let's just get you to the medical unit."

"How I wish I could enumerate Pi easily, since all these horrible mnemonics prevent recalling any of pi's sequence more simply." Avon looked at them expectantly.

"Oh, I get it." Vila patted Avon on the head. "The number of letters per word spell out the pi sequence." Tarrant looked at Vila, who hastily pulled an idiot face. "Cherry?"

Avon grinned again. "I'll esplanade."

Vila took Avon's other arm to help Tarrant hurry him along. "Esplanade?"

"Esplanade is a verb. It means to attempt an explanation while drunk," Avon said while looking at invisible bugs walking across the ceiling. He looked down at Vila. "Balderdash, noun: meaning a rapidly receding hairline."

"Never mind the explanation, Avon, we get the idea," Vila said.

"Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?" Avon asked. "You have a photographic memory that was never developed."

"Now, let's not get personal. You're drunk, Avon." Vila smiled. "And I bet you're going to have a wonderful hangover."

Avon nodded, "A hangover is the wrath of grapes. The problem with us is the sarchasm. That's the gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it. The Neanderthal's brain was bigger than yours is. You often break into song because you can't find the key."

"All right, Avon," Tarrant said, noticing that Vila was about to leave him alone with the Rambling Tech. "You've had your fun with Vila, pick on someone else."

Avon blinked and looked at Tarrant. "Those who get too big for their breeches will be exposed in the end. The Ramses brand condom is named after the great pharaoh Ramses II who fathered over 160 children."

Tarrant blushed. "I haven't fathered any children!"

Avon nodded. "Glibido is a verb: All talk and no action. Willy-nilly is an adjective: impotent."

"Someone else!" Tarrant yelped.

Avon said, "I almost had a psychic girlfriend, but she left me before we met. All those who believe in psychokinesis, raise my hand."

"Er," Vila said, "Cally will be in the medical unit, won't she? Let's not talk about Cally, Avon."

Avon blinked again. "What about Dayna? She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off."

Vila snickered, then quickly put on an innocent look. "Let's not talk about anyone we know, then, Avon."

Avon's brow furrowed for a moment. "Einstein couldn't speak fluently until after his ninth birthday. His parents thought he was mentally retarded. Aztec emperor Montezuma had a nephew, Cuitlahac, whose name meant 'plenty of excrement'. Sigmund Freud had a morbid fear of ferns."

Tarrant shook his head. "You're making all of this up as you go along, Avon."

"It's the Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly. 64% of the population can roll their tongue. Half the people you know are below average. 42.7% of all statistics are made up on the spot."

Vila said, "We're almost there, Avon. I think I'll brew you a nice gallon of coffee."

"A Saudi Arabian woman can get a divorce if her husband doesn't give her coffee."

"Yes, well, that'll come in handy if I ever marry a Saudi Arabian woman," Vila said as the medical unit doors slid open at their approach.

Avon smiled angelically as they eased him onto a diagnostic couch. The last thing Vila heard as he left for the galley was, "Ninety six bottles of beer, three a's, three b's, one c, two d's, thirty three e's, seven f's, one g, ten h's, nine i's, four l's, sixteen n's, ten o's, thirteen r's, twenty three s's, twenty three t's, four u's, four v's, five w's, three x's, and five y's on the wall..."


my_b7_fic: Avon karate chopping (Default)

December 2011

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