This Time Round: Party Favors (3/3)
BKWillis
by BKWillis
[This Time Round, New Reality Level +1.666 (a reality with some
serious issues to work through)]
Coyote tried to keep the smirk off his face as he set the salt shaker
back down. The next time Teggy-Poo took a sip of her drink,
she'd learn a valuable and important lesson about paying attention
to one's surroundings. "All right!" he cheered, covering the soft
tap of the shaker on the bar. "Another win for Killings! Owwooo!"
"_Must_ you do that?" the Serpent's Champion snapped.
"Well, no," he admitted. "I could always do _this_, instead." He
reached around and goosed her on the rear.
"Bastard," she snarled, aiming a backhand at him that would've
knocked out his teeth, if he hadn't been expecting it. As it was,
her knuckles slapped harmlessly against the catcher's mitt he'd
taken out of his jacket for just this moment.
"There, there, Teggy-Poo," he clucked. "It's just a bit of fun, is all.
You remember fun, don't you? Why don't you finish your drink
and loosen up a little?"
Her stare was coldly, and appropriately, serpentine. "I don't drink."
Oops. "You don't?"
"No. So, why do you care if Killings wins or not?"
Hmmmmm. Whose drink was that he'd salted, then? Ah, well, no
matter. "For starters, darling Teggy, there's the name. How could
I _not_ root for a guy named 'Killings'? Even if it _was_ that
WAFFy 'A TDF Christmas' that won. Then, there's that whole
'To Die For'-anime-style thing I mentioned before--"
"Yes. Don't bother telling me again. I didn't care the first time."
He stuck his tongue out at her, not that she gave a rip.
Ember Ashe wandered over, looking for something. "Ah! There
it is!" she exclaimed, snatching up the glass behind the two Champ-
ions and downing it in one gulp. She instantly started gagging.
"BAHAHAHA-- I mean, ah, oh dear!" Coyote began with painful
insincerity. "Are you okay? Is something the matter?"
"Co... yo... te!" she growled, a ball of orange flame forming in her
hand.
"It weren't me, Massa!" Coyote yelped. "Really! It was this other
guy! He went thataway!"
For reply, Ember sent a fireball crashing into his boots. Coyote
jumped backwards, vanishing, then reappeared on a table in the
corner.
"You've got the wrong man!" he wailed. "It was the one-armed
man! It was the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy! It was Mark Fuhr-
man!"
The woman who'd once been Tegan Jovanka allowed herself the
barest ghost of a smile as she watched the redhead chase Coyote
around the room. It seemed she did remember fun, after all.
--
The two Dougs were doing something with each other that no one
had ever expected or wanted to see, except maybe for some of the
_real_ sickos in the room. Even Mistress Helen was having a
hard time coping with it.
They were singing a duet.
Now, granted, both Dougs could sing passably well, the MPT3k
Doug having a slight edge due to the occasional practice he got
in the Theater. However, Pavarotti himself couldn't have saved
_this_ particular tune.
"We got two, babe!
Na-na-na! Na-na-na!
We got two, babe!
Na-na-na! Na-na-na!
We goooot! Twoooo, baaaaabe!"
Number One grimaced, hands over his ears. This was nearly as
bad as his own singing. Well, not really, but it certainly wasn't
_good_.
And we won't even _mention_ their victory dance.
--
"Cheer up, Boss," Lydia soothed. "You've still got another
chance. Best Comedy Long Fiction is coming up. You can still
win that one. Come on and see."
"Uh-uh," pouted the Bradleyard, pulling his cloak up to his cheek
like a security blanket. "Don't wanna."
"You don't want to see if 'Shock Value' won an Award?"
"Uh-uh. Don't wanna." He sniffled a little and ducked his face
down into his cloak. "I'll just lose again. I always lose."
Lydia considered this. "Well, that's probably just because you're a
loser, Boss."
The sniffling inside the cloak kicked into high gear.
"Crud," Lydia grumbled. "Note to self: work on 'people skills'."
--
Nyssa leaned eagerly across the table. "This is it," she said. "This
is MPT3k's big moment. If we win this one..."
"...we'll just be right back on the Satellite reading crummy posts,
same as if we don't win," Diane finished.
"Yes, but it would be nice to have our existence validated that way,
wouldn't it?" Helen asked. "Although, naturally, I'm pulling for
'Grrl Power' to win."
"Well _I_ am not worried," Doug chirped. "And do you know
why?"
"Yes," the others all sighed.
"Because... We got two, babe! Na-na-na! Na-na-na!"
Nyssa snarled in frustration, "Somebody, find that girl with the
hockey stick! Doug and Dougger are about to become the victims
of a 'high-sticking' incident!"
--
Adric chuckled at the antics of Doug's presentation. Not only was
he cool to work for, he also injected a fun note into the proceedings
without going overboard. It was a nice balance.
Although, that description of 'TDF: The Feminine Mistake' had
him a bit curious about something. Doug mentioned something
called an aquatranssexual being involved, and for the life of him,
Adric couldn't figure out who he could be talking about.
--
Mistress Helen gave a delighted whoop and bounced in her seat as
the shared Award was announced for 'Grrl Power' and 'The Femi-
nine Mistake'. Number One turned to catch an eyeful of the
impromptu jiggle-fest.
"So, we didn't win," Nyssa sighed. "Oh, well. You were right,
Diane. It's not like this changes anything."
"Wrong!"
CEO Adric stomped over to their table, a fierce glower on his face
and a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Very, very wrong!" he spat.
"This was potentially a big break for me, ratings-wise, and now
it's blown! I stood to gain _millions_ from the boost that an Adric
Award would give us, but now that's all shot to Hell!"
"Aww, poor sweet baby," Nyssa clucked, with a sincerity level of
near absolute-zero.
"Don't look so smug, test bunny," the CEO retorted with a grin so
evil that Marylin Manson would've wet himself if he'd seen it.
"Or have you forgotten the old saying about misery loving
company?"
"Oh, Hellfire," Number One groaned.
"That's right! If _I_ suffer financially, _you_ suffer aesthetically!"
...and there was no joy in Mudville.
--
"All right!" shouted Adric as the winners were announced. They'd
all put a lot of work into 'The Feminine Mistake', and it was good
to see their labors acknowledged.
"Yay! We won!" <Glomp> <Glomp>
Adric froze stock-still, then turned to see that he had a girl hanging
off each arm, Nyssa on his left and Ember on his right. All three
faces went burning red.
Ember let go as if stung and gave a nervous laugh, her hand on
the back of her head. "I mean, ah, we won! Ha ha! Good deal,
right?"
Nyssa was just a beat slower about doing virtually the same thing.
"That's right, ah, swamprat. We won an award, ha ha. A victory
for TDF, right?"
Adric laughed nervously and settled for staring straight ahead and
not saying anything as probably being the safest course of action.
So, apparently, did Nyssa and Ember, as they watched the remain-
der of the ceremony that way.
They did not, however, leave his side.
--
"You don't have to say it," came the Bradleyard's muffled voice
from inside his cloak. "I lost again."
"Yes, we did," Lydia sighed back, putting a bit of stress on the
'we' part. "Joint victory for 'Fem Mistake' and 'Grrl Power'."
The sulking arch-villain gave a little sob, then whined, "I don't
know why I bother. I always lose. I always have. I hate my life.
Nothing ever goes my way."
Lydia mentally counted to ten to try and collect her scant patience.
She really wasn't any good at this sort of thing. Her usual methods
of dealing with people involved either shouting at them or whack-
ing them upside the head with something. Somehow, she had the
hunch that neither of these two methods would work well right
now. She sighed and decided to go with her only other practical
alternative.
Gently, she knelt down and ran her fingers through the Bradleyard's
hair. Then, she grabbed a handful of it and yanked his head up to
face her in nose-to-nose contact.
"I'll be straight with you, Boss," she said. "I'm really bad at this
interpersonal-relationship jazz and all that touchy-feely stuff, so
I'm not even going to try to talk anything out or try to guide you
through your feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem. Instead,
I'm merely going to suggest that we go home, strip down, and
shag like crack-smoking wolverines in heat until you feel better.
So, what do you say?"
"I'll get my keys."
--
"Best Drama Short Fiction. There's another Award that will be
mine--"
"Ours, you mean," Athicus interrupted. "_If_ 'Only the Hunter'
ever wins anything, it will be for us all."
"Of course," the Black Widow agreed without really agreeing.
"However, a victory would be more due to certain ones of us than
to certain others."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." The Sarge waved her off. "But don't go
counting your chickens before they's hatched. First, the story has
to be finished and second, it has to not suck."
--
"Look, babycakes, how about you stop trying to barbecue me for
long enough to see if we won an Award, huh?" Coyote smiled
winningly down from the rafter he was perched on, putting all his
boyish charm into it.
Unfortunately, it was quite wasted on the cute little human blow-
torch that was trying to burn him down. "How about I just torch
your sorry butt instead, then find out?" Ember Ashe snarled back,
punctuating with a roll of blue-tinged flame from her fist.
"How about if I promise to never, ever do it again, cross my heart
and hope to get a wart on my tongue?"
He got a fireball in response.
"How about if I ask you nicely, pretty please with sex on top?"
Another fireball.
He rummaged around in the extradimensional space inside his
jacket and pulled out a handful of oily-looking gold coins. He
quickly tossed them down to her. "How about if I give you those?"
There was a brief pause, just long enough for a person to bite on a
coin to see if it was real gold, followed by, "Well, Coyote? Are
you gonna just hang around up there all day, or do you want to go
see if we won anything?"
--
The girl whose name wasn't really Ann sniffed delicately at the
air, confirming what her Outer Sense had already told her. "so
much tension in the air," she murmurred.
"I suppose everyone is excited about these last Awards," Cain
replied, the low sound of his voice like a caress to her ears.
"perhaps. i was actually referring to a more primal and more...
hormonal... sort of tension." She waved a languid arm at the
crowd. "there is so much pent-up romantic frustration and raw
need in this room... i can almost _taste_ the flavor of their desire."
Turning, she nuzzled against the Time Lord's blocky shoulder,
one hand gliding along his chest, dainty as a spider's dream.
He pulled her close, his fingers trailing along the curve of her
neck. "Tell me," he whispered, "were you always this... this..."
"sensuous?"
He nodded.
"i was empathetic before," she explained as her lips found his
fingers. "my... condition... merely heightens all my senses and
makes things more intense. it makes me more... expressive... than
before, as well. it is the one thing i hope to keep when i am at last
cured..."
--
"Owwooooo! My story won Best Drama Short!" Coyote howled.
"Another victory for mindless brutalism and splatterpunk neo-
Westerns with vague theological overtones!"
"Er, okay," said Ember, who hadn't understood a lick of that after
'mindless'.
"The fact that three of the nominees were in our 'Badlands' setting
says something, I think," the Serpent's Champion hissed at the
other two.
"Sure it does," said Coyote airily, "but the fact that 'Coyote' got
the most votes and 'Someone to Watch Over Me' got the least
says something far more important..." He waited for Tegan to ask
what that was, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"So, what's that?" asked Ember at last, having the feeling she'd
regret it.
"Why, it says, 'We, the People, in order to form a more perfect
Onion, think that Coyote is way, _way_ cooler than a top-heavy
pyromaniac or a mind-kinking snake fetishist! Give us more of
da Man, da Legend, da Homeboy from Hell!' That's what it says!"
He grabbed his beer mug off the counter and knocked it back,
then spat it out, gagging.
"Does that taste odd to you?" Tegan asked, watching him through
hooded eyes as she idly stroked the snake tattoo on her forearm.
"Ghhhaaaaggk! You poured _salt_ in there!" the heaving boy
accused.
"Oh, no," Ember replied. "_I_ poured salt in there."
"True," grunted Tegan. "I added the strychnine and the deadly
nightshade. You did say I should loosen up and have fun, didn't
you, old friend Coyote?"
Coyote regarded the two through horrified eyes. "You bitches!"
he spat between coughs. "You utter, heartless, evil _bitches_!"
There was a sudden shimmer over him as he used his Block-
Transfer powers to shift the poison out of his system. Straighten-
ing, he grinned and said, "I _like_ that in a woman!"
--
The SOL gang were all in a suspicious-looking huddle when CEO
Adric returned to their table. They split back up, looking as inno-
cent as they could (not very) as soon as he was within earshot.
"Mm-hmm," the Alzarian slowly said, looking them over. "And
just what were _you_ lot plotting over here?"
"Not a thing, Adric," Doug replied too brightly. "We were just
discussing the nominees for the Best Drama Long Fiction Award,
was all."
Adric rocked lightly on his heels, hands behind his back. "Ah,
yes. Jeri Massi's 'Insiders' and Clive May's 'Maggot Brood'. And
what of them?"
"We were just saying that we couldn't see how either of them
managed to get a nomination," Helen answered, sounding as if
she were reading from a cue card.
Adric arched an eyebrow. "Do what?"
"Oh, absolutely," Nyssa gushed out. "Awful things, both of them.
No redeeming qualities at all."
"Is that so?"
Number One shuddered in a very unconvincing manner. "You
bet," he said stiffly. "Gee, it would be _so_ awful if you were to
send us anything like _those_ to read."
The fivesome looked at Adric expectantly.
"Okay," he said with a shrug. "I won't send them."
Five faces crumbled slightly as he gave them a nasty smile. "Not
to worry, Brer Rabbit," he said with malicious care, "I won't throw
you in that awful old brier patch. I'll be merciful and give you a
nice, cozy Nancy Luft rant instead!" With a chuckle of pure corp-
orate Evil, he turned and left them to their own devices.
Diane turned and whapped Nyssa on the head, hard. "'Let's try
reverse psycholgy,'" she mimicked angrily. "Got any more bright
ideas, Anna Freud?"
--
Ryoko propped herself on the back of Francois's chair, leaning
over him slightly. "Looks like another tie," she said. "That's
cool, because Clive and Jeri both really deserve an Award for their
efforts, since they're two of the newsgroup's top authors."
"Is so," the Ogron grumbled back, "but Francois thinking cat-eyes
lady just being happy for not losing bet with Mr. Moggie on who
win. Cat eyes lady regretting make bet while drink too much, yes?"
"Our little wager?" the pirate asked. "Why, I assure you that
concern over losing never entered my mind!"
"Is so? Cat eyes lady agree to streak in pub without clothes on if
chosen story not win, and not on mind at all?"
"Not a bit," she replied.
"Funny, then. Cat eyes lady streak in pub without clothes on was
_much_ on Mr. Moggie's mind."
The cat puppet nodded solemnly.
--
There was a brief commotion in the front row, as a group of back-
ground characters from 'To Die For' shoved their way up to get a
better view, each with a small tally sheet in their hands and a look
of eager expectation on their face.
"This is the big one," Lucas Buck said to the woman beside him.
"Best Author. Whoever hits this one right wins a bundle!"
Phaidor nodded, moving a step closer to Death as he walked up.
"You speak truly, o Demon," she agreed. "I have taken the
'Trifecta', myself. If I get the top three correct, my gain shall be
most substantial."
Catbert leapt up to perch on Lucas's shoulder, setting several
people in mind of a witch's familiar. He was holding a tally sheet
of his own, and was rechecking his picks. "I went for the Trifecta,
too," he said. "I've got Massi, Killings, and May in first, second,
and third. What about you?"
"Inayat, Willis, and Gadzikowski, in that order," the half-dressed
blonde answered.
"I opted for the 'Double Play'," said Lucas. "You only have to
pick the top two finishers. Less payoff, but a better chance. I've
got May and Gadzikowski down as winners."
"What if no one gets it right?" rumbled He Who Is Never Named,
nervously rechecking his own picks.
"Then Nabiki, as the House, keeps the whole pot," explained
Catbert.
Lucas grimaced and gave a little shudder. "That Tendou girl
gives me the chills."
"What about you, my friend?" Phaidor asked Death. "Who have
you chosen to wager upon?"
"I'M SITTING THIS ONE OUT, I'M AFRAID. I'M TRYING TO
CUT BACK."
"Cut back?"
"YES. DO YOU REALIZE HOW OFTEN PEOPLE CHOOSE
TO GAMBLE WITH DEATH...?"
--
"Come on, Gadzikowski!" Peri shouted from the bar as Paul
Andinach's presentation of Best Author was about to begin.
"Killings! Killings! Killings!" the Dougs, Dianes, and an
Adric or two chanted.
"Hooray for martial-arts writer lady!" The Francoises were rather
fond of Jeri Massi, as it turned out. She always made her Ogron
characters look good, and could also kick serious butt, two quali-
ties that endeared her to their hearts.
"We're with you, Clive!" the Nyssas and Tegans -- even the evil
ones -- all cheered.
"Give me an 'I'! Give me an 'N'! Give me an 'A'! Give me a 'Y'!
Give me another 'A'! Give me a 'T'! What's that spell?! 'INAYAT'!
Yaaaaaay!" The two Muses had finished with their disciplinary
session and were now clad in skimpy little cheerleader outfits,
waving pom-poms and high-kicking on the piano.
"Is nobody going to cheer for BK?"
The room went deathly quiet as everyone turned to stare at
Athicus the Dalek.
"What are you," snapped Harry, "an imbecile, or something?"
The MPT3k Francois suddenly let out a piercing whistle and
bellowed, "All people shutting up! Is about to say winner!"
Everyone leaned forward to hear the most-awaited announcement
of the night...
----
[Tuscumbia, Alabama, Reality Level 0.0 (Baseline Reality)]
BKWillis kicked the mud of his boots and stepped inside, setting
the armload of rifles down on the hallway floor. Today was a
good day, seeing as how it had involved spending the afternoon
drinking beer under a tree and shooting high-powered rifles at
unoffending and thankfully inanimate objects. As far as he was
concerned, beer and guns were the foundation of a happy and
productive life.
"Hey, Guin," he drawled as his dog came thundering in for a
standard 'You've-Been-Gone-All-Day-And-It-Seems-Like-Forever'
greeting. "Were you a good girl? Did you keep everything safe?"
"Arf!" Guin barked once, a note of alarm in her voice, and nudged
her head in the direction of his office.
"What's that?" he asked. "Little Timmy hasn't fallen down a well,
has he?"
Guin bit him on the leg.
"Okay, okay. Something wrong in there, huh? Let's just see... Oh!"
BKWillis eyed the smoke-spouting computer and sighed. "No
wonder you were all worked-up. This piece of crap's acting up
again." Muttering some random profanity under his breath, the
author slipped his Makarov carry pistol out of his hip pocket and
gave the PC a solid thwack with the butt-end of it.
Instantly, the smoke and weird noises ceased and the monitor
flickered to its normal Windows display and Captain Harlock
wallpaper. "There we go," Willis said to the dog. "All better."
----
[This Time Round, New Reality Level +1.666 (a reality that needs
to find itself)]
Paul Andinach was just about to give the first of the results for
Best Author, when the entire pub suddenly shuddered as if from
a tremendous impact.
"What the--?" the Proprietor gasped out as everyone -- protago-
nists, Avatars, crossover characters, future releases, etc. -- all
simultaneously shimmered and vanished, transported back to their
own Reality Levels.
----
[Panreality, four minutes later]
Each of the various groups materialized in their home Reality just
in time to catch sight of the Adric Awards closing credits on the
nearest TV set.
----
[Tuscumbia, Alabama, Reality Level 0.0 (Baseline Reality)]
BKWillis grinned and sat down at the keyboard as Guin curled up
behind his chair. Perhaps the Adric Awards results would be up
today and he could find out how he and his newsgroup friends had
done in the polling.
"Oh, crud," he groaned, giving the computer a dark look. He
thought he'd fixed it, but the blasted thing had just started making
another weird noise, almost like dozens of tiny voices yelling
"Damn it!" over and over and over...
--BKWillis
Author's note:
Whew! That was fun! I hope everyone enjoyed my little reply to
the Adrics, even if it did end up coming out several days late. This
was all in good fun, and I hope none of the people mentioned in this
thing take offense at their portrayals. Congratulations to all the
winners and nominees in this year's Adrics, and a pat on the back
to Benjamin F. Elliott, as well, for hosting.
And please don't hurt yourselves by trying to fit this into any sort of
continuity, 'cause it don't, really.
Archivist's Note:
Don't bother. Just done for a gag.
Copyright Notes:
'Doctor Who' is property of the BBC.
'This Time Round' created by Tyler Dion.
Doug, Diane, and the ADF created by Doug Killings.
Mistress Helen created by Helen Fayle.
Varne created by Ken Young.
All other characters referred to are property of their respective
creators/owners. No infringement is intended.
Mags
BKWillis <bradk...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20010320205236...@ng-bg1.aol.com...
> THIS TIME ROUND: PARTY FAVORS (3/3)
>
> by BKWillis
>
<much applause>
Hang on...are we going to end up in a recursive loop in which an Adric2000
story gets nominated for Adrics2001? That could be confusing...
Mags
--
"fierce-yet-fawn-like"
David S. Rubin
> Hang on...are we going to end up in a recursive loop in which an Adric2000
> story gets nominated for Adrics2001? That could be confusing...
Let's make it official:
I, David S. Rubin, hereby nominate "Party Favors" under the category
of: Greatest Recursive Fic.
cheers,
David S. Rubin <dav...@touro.edu>
Senior Lab Technician
Touro College - Lander Campus, Kew Garden Hills
(718) 820-4893
Graham Woodland
>On Sat, 24 Mar 2001, Mags wrote:
>
>> Hang on...are we going to end up in a recursive loop in which an Adric2000
>> story gets nominated for Adrics2001? That could be confusing...
>
Pterodactyl?'...
>Let's make it official:
>I, David S. Rubin, hereby nominate "Party Favors" under the category
>of: Greatest Recursive Fic.
>
I should be hard put to quarrel with that. W!NAftP? was pretty damn
good too, but I'll be surprised if even Imran can come up with anything
quite as *comprehensively* recursive as _Party Favours_ any time soon...
I'll second that nomination!
Cheers,
--
Gray
http://www.quilpole.demon.co.uk
"She does not get eaten by the sharks at this time."
- William Goldman, _The Princess Bride_.
BKWillis
>David S. Rubin wrote
>>On Sat, 24 Mar 2001, Mags wrote:
>>
>>> Hang on...are we going to end up in a recursive loop in which an Adric2000
>>> story gets nominated for Adrics2001? That could be confusing...
>>
>Happened already, with Clive's instant classic 'What! No Adric for the
>Pterodactyl?'...
True on both counts: already happened and 'instant classic'.
>
>>Let's make it official:
>>I, David S. Rubin, hereby nominate "Party Favors" under the category
>>of: Greatest Recursive Fic.
Much thanks.
>>
>I should be hard put to quarrel with that. W!NAftP? was pretty damn
>good too,
Personally, I think 'Pterodactyl' was better-written all the way around. It
had class and a sense of gentle and faintly melancholy poetry about it that
sets it as a polar opposite to the tone of my own brash offering. But, then,
everybody knows I'm a Clive May fan.
>but I'll be surprised if even Imran can come up with anything
>quite as *comprehensively* recursive as _Party Favours_ any time soon...
Uh-oh. You tempt fate a bit, I think. Imran isn't going to let a challenge
like that pass him by.
>I'll second that nomination!
Why, thank you, Gray, David, Mags, Paul, and everyone else who wrote in! But,
let me just note that I _could_ carry the recursion a step further, if I were
EVIL enough to do it. Even I have my limits, though, so I'll just leave you
with this notion:
...
[A screen in front of the five lights up and words begin to appear
on it.]
>THIS TIME ROUND: PARTY FAVORS
>
>by BKWillis
DIANE: Aka, the Roger Corman of fan fiction.
NYSSA: You'd think that, with as much space as he has in his head, he could
spare some to put in his name.
>
>[This Time Round, Reality Level +1.0 (the 'Shock Value' reality)]
NUMBER ONE: The Satellite of Love, Audience Interest Level 0.0 and falling.
>
>"Explain to me why you're doing this, again."
HELEN: (Marvin Martian) I'm going to blow up the Earth. It obstructs my view
of Venus.
NYSSA: (to HELEN, sharply) View of _what_?
HELEN: Venus.
NYSSA: Oh, I thought you said... Uh, never mind...
>
>"It's very simple, Miss Brown," the Bradleyard said, taking a
>moment to get another good look at Peri's 'assets'.
DOUG: (Bradleyard) Whoa! Nice pair of Mutual Funds! Does that portfolio go
all the way up?
NUMBER ONE: (Michael Palin) She's got _huge_... tracts of land!
>"For this to
>be a properly huge blowout party/orgy/riot/whatever, we need
NYSSA: ...a human sacrifice. Now, lie _very_ still...
...
BKWillis
--
"Always have a fine line you will never cross. Move it around now and then just
to confuse people."
-- from 'Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned by Watching 'Slayers''
--
The National Rifle Association -- www.nra.org
Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership -- www.jpfo.org