Best Humour


Laughter is one of the great joys of life. Humour lifts out spirits, and a good dose of it can turn a bad day or a bad week around. The finalists presented here have given us the gift of laughter, and I'm proud to honor them all tonight.

The nominees are:

The Debriefing by Mockery and Ruric

That was obviously not good enough for him. He circled his hips wickedly and my forehead slammed roughly into Shoulder Pads'...uh... shoulder pad. Irritably, Shoulder Pads looked back over his shoulder again, and I looked up at him, glazed and unfocused, through hair that had fallen across my eyes. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my nose and heard myself, ablaze, pant roughly at him, incapable of saying anything and incoherent in shuddering heat and pleasure.

From a great distance away I heard Shoulder Pads say "Agent Krycek, are you okay?"

I heard myself panting, felt myself shudder, felt myself push back further onto Mulder. I opened my mouth to say something to Shoulder Pads, but suddenly thought better of it - even in the depths of my passion, I could be devious...

Mulder pushed deep within me and I reared up, slapping the back of my head against Mulder's forehead. I heard myself gasp out loud as Mulder caught my prostate and came violently within me. I felt myself explode into his hands and couldn't help but half-snigger hysterically at his frantic attempt to catch my cum in the rags of my briefs.

"Ungh..." I managed, before allowing my eyelids to flutter theatrically and my body to slump and begin to fall. Let Mulder explain *this*!

"I've got him!" Mulder said loudly, surreptitiously zipping me up and then catching me around the waist.

Skinner's voice barked across the room. "What's going on back there?"

Shoulder Pads responded. "Agent Krycek seems to be having some kind of fit, sir!"

"It's okay, sir" Mulder said. "It's this flu, sir - it seems to have... come over him... rather suddenly."

"Get him out of here, Agent Mulder," Skinner barked.

I felt Mulder grin against the back of my neck, still buried within me. "Okay, you little shit," he muttered. "How're we gonna manage this?"

I grinned, still pretending to have fainted and cast a sly glance over my shoulder at him.

Drink to Me Only by Jane Symmons

Fumbling in his pocket, Mulder extricated his phone from the tangle of his handkerchief. "Mulder."

"Oh hi, Mulder. How's it hanging?"

"Krycek! What the hell are you doing?"

"Relax, Mulder, I fitted a scrambler to this phone ages ago. It's perfectly safe to use. Don't let me put a strain on your nerves."

A suitably cutting reply was on the tip of Mulder's tongue but he was fully aware of Skinner and Scully watching him intently. He swallowed down the remark and tried for the sort of tone he used on people nursing delusions, such as the idea that Elvis was really dead. "What do you want, Krycek?"

"Parsley and coriander."

"Is this some kind of code?"

"I do so love the way your mind works. Nice try but no. I'm cooking Harira with Kefta for this evening."

"Harira with Kefta?"

"Balls to you, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"Minced lamb balls. You have most of the ingredients I need but I've just done an inventory of your spice rack and you only have ground coriander and parsley. I need fresh."

Mulder said with deadly calm, "Krycek, I am going to count to three and then I am going to switch off my phone and you will manage with dried ingredients and then you will get back to your report." He noticed the corners of Scully's mouth begin to curl.

Skinner gave an impatient exhalation of breath. "Give him to me," he said sternly.

'Oh man,' Mulder thought as he handed Skinner his phone. 'Krycek, you're really in for it now.'

"Krycek?" Skinner snapped. "I hope you specified Italian flat-leaved parsley. You can't seriously consider making Harira without it."

Inversion* by Debchan

When Alex regained consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a headache of monumental proportions. The second was that, instead of cold tile, his cheek was pressed into a soft pillow.


Eyes still closed, Alex feigned sleep, listened and considered where he might be. Home? Highly unlikely. The pillow case smelled musty. Which probably ruled out the hospital as well. Jail? A distinct possibility. Except he was still alive and he couldn't hear the usual cacophony of other prisoners.

In fact, he couldn't hear anything except the occasional distant hiss of car tires on a rain slick road.


Not underground. Definitely not at the scene of the crime.

He mulled over this information, then cautiously made a small, sleepy movement as if he was on the verge of waking.

Not hearing anyone say something appropriate to the situation like, "I think he's coming out of it, sir," or the cocking of a pistol, he did it again, just to make sure.

Nothing. He was, theoretically, alone. Opening his eyes would of course confirm this, or not. So he kept them closed and decided to he would emulate, in his own way, Schrödinger's cat a little while longer.

Through the pounding of the headache, he contemplated the dismal possibility of getting out of here without opening his eyes and how one stuffed a live cat in a tube. After careful consideration, the answer to each question was, respectively, unlikely and with considerable difficulty. Even with heavy gloves.


Slowly, stealthily, Alex opened one eye and took a lightening fast peek at his surroundings. And opened the other eye in shock.

Over the years he'd grown accustomed to waking up in strange, unexpected places. Silos, Siberian forests and deep in the bowels of large oceangoing vessels to name just a few. But this decidedly took the prize.

He should have known from the pillowcase's unused, dusty smell.

Mulder's bedroom.

Of course. It all made sense. After knocking him out, Mulder carried his unconscious body to his car, drove back home and tenderly deposited him in Mulder's own bed.

Except Mulder hadn't knocked him out. And if Mulder was going to haul his unconscious body anywhere, it would be straight to an interrogation room. Wearing cuffs and an interesting assortment of bruises, no doubt.

Look Who's Talking- 69 by Dr. Ruthless and Niffusa

Marty just wasn't listening. *He's got those eyes. How can you resist those eyes?*

*Easily,* snapped Mulder as he left the club, his hopes for the evening lying in tatters.

*Just imagine his lips... those plump, juicy lips wrapped around me. It would feel so good.* Marty was really getting into it now, and somehow, he had a raging hard-on happening. Mulder was practically beside himself as he reflected on the waste.

*He's a backstabbing bastard. How could you possibly consider...?* He was still trying to reason with his dick. He was sure that if he persisted, he would somehow achieve control of his hormones.

*Considering where I want to stab him, I don't think it really matters. * The dick seemed to have an answer to everything. Mulder reflected that it was no wonder he was such an annoying son of a bitch. After all, he'd learned it from the best there was.

*Well he isn't here anyway, so you're just shit out of luck. * Mulder rounded the corner and came within sight of his car. He stopped short, taking in the shadowy figure sitting on the front of it. A strange feeling of inevitability dropped across him. He was doomed. He could see that now. Doomed!

Alex Krycek was sitting on the hood of his car.

"Oh fuck!" The expletive was heartfelt.

*Bingo!* Marty was onto it in a flash. *Care for a little testosterone tango, big guy?*

He stood up, ramrod straight, as if it mattered a damn any more.

*SHUT UP!* screamed Mulder, inside his head. *Shut up or I promise the only thing that'll touch you for the next month is underwear washed without the benefit of fabric softener.*

*Oh, bring it on,* scoffed his bursting erection. *It will hurt you as much as it hurts me.*

Pulped by Fan4Richie (aka Ursula)

Yeah, I knew he was trouble from the moment he walked in the room...six feet of green eyed, brown haired, long eye-lashed trouble. He was wearing black leather and blue jeans, and from the moment I saw him, he had my heart on a chain. He walked straight by my partner, Dana Scully. She sat behind her big walnut wood desk...never could get the money to buy me a desk. I sat behind a slightly wobbly card table. I saw her eyes follow his eyes bouncing off that tight-cheeked piece of paradise.

He held out his hand and said, "Krycek, Alex Krycek..." He had a breathy growl of a he spent a lot of time in smoke filled rooms, singing the blues and with his looks, making them for a hell of a lot of sad sack guys and gals.

I leaned back in my chair and looked him slowly up and down, pausing in the middle until a deep red blush settled over his high sharp cheeks. "Yeah, babe, what can I do for you?"

He blinked those errant eyes, big limpid pools of innocence. Did I buy it? Nah, but I was thinking about leasing a piece.

So, babe, give me another...I can take it. Oh, forgot to introduce myself...Fox Mulder, private dick. Well, it's been around a few times, but I wouldn't exactly call it public anyway.

Sure, Fine, Whatever* by Dr. Ruthless, Frankie, and Niffusa

SESSION 3 (Therapist's Office- 09/4/99)

[Therapist] Okay, help us get to know each other a little better, I'd like to try a word game.

AK adopts a silly voice.

[AK] A word game?

[Therapist] Since words are what we use to think and communicate with, it'll be helpful if we know how each one of us uses them.

[FM] I use mine to say things.

[AK] All the time.

[FM] what's that supposed to mean?

[AK] You never stop.

[FM] Kiss my ass.

And the winner is...

Drink to Me Only by Jane Symmons