The group touting Dean as his own arch rival have convinced me. Who but Dean is a match for Dean? Who else is capable of such complex deceit, with amusement as the only reward? Who but dean is capable of such labyrinthine prose. Much like the precocious child, who creates his own playmate when his peers prove mundane, hasn't Dean simply invented Spamorama?

Sleeping Thunder...hmmmmm...me thinks this cagey rabbit sees a grey-haired fox hiding in the trees...

Weasel, the referent for "you" was Spamorama, not Weasel. Sorry to confuse you (again). Spamorama alone schemed to goad me. I see you as the grinning, gat-toothed, tobacco-dribbling homicidal accomplice, appearing in a role somewhat smaller than his, like something resembling a gopher.

Nice try, Sleeping Thunder and Spamorama. But I anticipated this move before I agreed to High Noon. Too many people know your true identity, Spamorama, and if you think to have the last laugh after I put you pinned and sprawling to the barn door tomorrow at High Noon by denying all and laying this to my fantasies, then I can count on Sir Noble LongTombo and The Original Spotted Owl who sees through the smoke, in the dark and through all the daylight clutter, too--BC HISOWNSELF--to come from hiding when the dust has cleared and corroborate the truth.

How? I say so.

Dean Hisownself Gaining Strength at the 11th hour Torges

Dean,

Rest easy, Big Fella. I haven't deserted you. I stand at the ready, watching the trail behind you... all the better prepared for "battle" as I wait hidden in my Fall Grey Predators. I don't like this. Not at all. Tension's rising, and I feel like you are a furriner about to be set upon by the town "toughs". Bad vibes and Swamp Rat gases arise in mystic convergence. There's a hint of Spam and maple syrup in the air.

Your description of Weasel explains why his hat covered his face on the cover of Traditional Bowhunter a few months ago, but it speaks of an Igor-esque mentality, waiting at the beckon call of his dastardly master, Spammie. They are sneaky, shifty, not to be trusted to fight fairly. Beware.

I've stood shoulder to shoulder and back to back in battle with true friends many times (witness the conclusion of the Great Spam Wars), and I long to stand alongside you, Dean. I will respect the fact, though, that you have chosen to take your stand here alone. Sometimes a Hippie's gotta do........

But I'll remain here, ready. Sharp Journeyman and hickory shaft are poised on the string of a whisper quiet sunburst pattern Osage selfbow. If there's foul play ... or even fowl play... this agression shall not stand.

I know you can do it, Shopdust. Anyone who doubts need only go to LongTombo's web page (https://members.tripod.com/~tmuss/index-9.html) and read the end of the Spam saga to see your valiant poise under unspeakable danger.

Tomorrow tells all. After you bring an end the showdown and defrock the capricious Spamorama (better bring a towel to wear, Spammie!), I'll be near to confirm your "outing" of your nemesis. BC and the Long One will be there, too, if they have the stomach for the fight.

Be very careful, Dean. Danger lurks all around. Watch over your shoulder. Keep your eye peeled, your shoulder to the wheel, your nose to the grindstone (no offense!), your ear to the ground, and your feet comfortably spaced about a shoulder's-width apart to provide a solid stance. Above all, don't expose your Achille's heal!! I'll call your chiropractor to make you an appointment.

Many facades will fall tomorrow. Many aliases will be unveiled. Much will be known, and the Hemmingway of the Woodshop will again stand as champion. It will be a fitting end to a noble career on the Wall. I'm saddened at the very thought....

Come one, come all. The end is very near. Spammie, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. Until tomorrow-

Hawkeye

And still, them odiferous swamprat gases waft wickedly from south to north. Is there connivance betwixt rodents here? & what about them feathered folks? I here tell that owls and hawks makes guano, too. Sumpin don't smell so good.

To my esteemed Dr. Dean, Mr. Shopdust Supreme. Your stratagem has been flawless...every snare placed by your artful key strokes have been calculated with surgical precision and exactitude. The time has come. There is no need to conjure away the doubts that beset the audience. I do not fear making my identity known my friend for I have nothing to hide...assuming the hollow-ground edge of your epee has my identity etched into the bevel. That which cannot be cut, cannot bleed. To those who have fought valiantly to protect my identity, I owe you a lifetime of consensual servitude (figurative meaning guys and gals) for your bravery and honor. You have my undying respect and loyalty. And to my champion of champions, my dear friend and confidant who lives in the NW, I will gladly lay down my life to clear your name of any wrong doing. (..."I see you as the grinning, gat-toothed, tobacco-dribbling homicidal accomplice"...sorry Weasel but the imagery damn near made me pee in my britches!) It is most unfortunate, Weasel, that time and distance will prevent our meeting. Seattle perhaps.

High noon. My soft underbelly will be exposed (thanks to ample portions of my favorite potted meat treat) and I will assume the submissive position (whoa Sea Bisquit, that doesn't sound right) hmmmm... and I will drop my guard for your one opportunity to produce my full Christian name...and it ain't Rumple Stilskin.

Hawkeye,

No mortal man serves as my master, although loyalty to friends runs strong in my blood. Igor-esque? No, more like a machine gunnist spraying bullets at the enemy so his comrad in arms can move in for the kill. The bullets are whizzing through the air at this very moment...

Dean, a grinning, gat-toothed, tobacco-dribbling homicidal accomplice would be a person to fear, no? Especially a mole. Prepare yourself to be standing embarrassed tomorrow at high noon (EST?), like a pantsed freshman at the Senior Prom, when you toss the wrong name out into cyber-space for all to see.

Growing stronger? Beware of a false sense of security.

Hawkeye, thank you generous heart. But you've a lovely wife and two darling children. For the nonce, don thy Predator grays and hie thee to the bare trees and open skies, invisible to their searching glare. I need preserve thee to record the end. Return at twilight, that mystical time which is neither light nor dark. The hunter's time. And in that stillness then an eulogy, perhaps, a few memorial words to sprinkle over the shadow remains, where weary Shopdust fought his last fight.

I go now, to prepare my thoughts.

Me, Who is Dean...Alone

Hey, does this high-noon shootout have any halftime entertainment? Maybe some commercials featuring frogs & lizards? Who's doing the play-by-play and is there still time for me to make a bet with TennBow over the outcome?

Let's see... It looked like Dean was a strong favorite a couple of days ago but I'm not so sure anymore how strong. He's called the time & place of the encounter so I'll give him the homefield advantage. SpamO seems to have a great defense but it looks like there could be some chinks in the armor. From some of the recent posts, both sides seem to have a strong bench. It'll probably come down to special teams and the kicking game. Since Dean is still hobbled a bit with the ankle, I'll give the fighting Spams the edge in a hardfought 35-27 win.

OK TennBow - I predict that Dean will reveal the identity of Spamorama tomorrow and that Spamorama will reply "Nope. Guess again." If this comes to pass (ie Dean is wrong and I win the bet), I'll give you Dean's email address & home phone number so he can personally help you with your little project. If Dean is correct, I'll provide you with a copy of the first printing of Deans upcoming book on Spam Cookery.

Grasshopper, have you discarded all I have taught you? Wait patiently my friend, for the soft under-belly of your arch nemisis, Shopdust, is slowly being exposed like the gold dust in the bottom of the pan after a patient, gentle stirring. Reveal your underside? May it never be!! For that is not the way I have taught you. Stay on the offensive, circling, herding your over-confident prey like the patient wolf, until the time is right to take out first the achilles, then the jugular! Have faith, Grasshopper, for that time is near...

Massah Po. Yo! Where'd you take lessons in gravity, Po Dunk U? Under and over/top from bottom--is like difference between up and down.

I read a story not too long ago in a bow hunting magazine about Ribteker and a wolf he herded. Sound familiar? The explosion, I mean.

Subject: RE: Spamorama Revealed From: Hawk Date: 27-Jan-98

I could only be Alan Ransom, you can tell by that NW accent!

Dean, do not overlook the implications in this post. You were closer than you think maybe you might have been before you were looking elsewhere earlier. The number three, see?

Was it a slip?

Gail...Gayle

Gene...Jean

Terry...Terri

Spamarama...Spamorama

Who exactly you looking for Dean?

Boy that Mr. Dean is courageous!! Go Shopdust!! Good luck with Spamorama! See ya later.

cub

Do ya feel lucky, Spamorama? This here osage bow and hickory shaft is gonna blow your slime clean off. Well, do ya feel lucky? Go ahead, Spam, make my lunch.

Master Po;

So much confusion, Sensei. I'm having difficulty visualizing and drawing from the spiritual well within. I've traveled among shadow and ambiguity for so long that I question my own reality. My head is spinning, deliberating between fact and fiction, friend and foe. You have always remained faithful to your promises, Oh enlightened one. So it is written, so shall it be done. Like the wolf spirit, I shall remain vigilant and undaunted for the hour draws near.

Much like the mystery of life, that which you seek does not exist. Spamorama is an illusion, a mass hypnosis created out of the chaos instigated by Haggis himself. The massive effort put forth here by so many in search of that which does not exist further proves that Haggis does indeed still live.

Haggis is dead! Long live Haggis!

Get on the Altavista search engine and punch up "Find The Spam" and see if you can find the spam. :)<-<

Old Sage, dagnabbit, that's "ingested," not "instigated." Ain't you heard the part about the blue fuzz, visions of nubile young Amazons glistening with sweate, their pert, upthrust ... well, shuckeegee, knowuttamean?

Watch out for that weasel fella, mark my words. You see some ferret-faced, beady-eyed degenerate with a camera around his neck and a dried-up old bird claw in his hand, you'd best make tracks in the other direction.

"Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darlin'"....Red Sovine???? I don't think so!!!! How about Frankie Laine?? I can pick a mean tune on the Gibson ES-335 myself and I know some of those old WWVA songs. Don't ever remember Red Sovine singin' that number. Course I coulda' been doin' somethin' else that day. George

Duh, George, ahh, he sang it oncet. Frankie all the other times. Yous right. You know Red, though. He hadda try.

Giddyup go.

Dean you be havin' way too much fun!

I too know the true identity of Spamorama, but I was sworn to secrecy at Cloverdale. But here's a clue.

I've been reading with glee

all these posts that I see,

and all the attempts to name him.

But think for a moment,

what if "he" is a "she"?

There could be some truth to that whim.

OK. I'm confused. Anybody else?