It was another raucous night in La Taverna (The Official Bar of the 2002 Autumnal Pornolympics). Someone had rounded up the usual suspects. Same old crowd by the aquarium, give or take a new face or two. Same old crowd on the same old barstools (and one high chair.) Same old clerics pontificating or sermonizing. Same old, same old.

One sudden change - like "the wave" at a football stadium, a bunch of the female authors (and a few males) flashed their talents, and the patrons at large flooded the room with cheers. This was outside the norm. It was a welcome distraction from the dry discussions of "two", "too", or "to."

Wait just a damp minuet! (I'm a wet blanket at a formal dance.) Wasn't this beginning to sound like a repeat of last month's award presentation? I looked around for my muse...

Strange. La Taverna appeared to be be packed with four times as many women as men! And the women seemed different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it (at least not without getting slapped), but the dresses and blouses seemed, well, fuller. I wondered briefly whose muse the clues would identify as the source of the "enhancements," and whether the recipients would be amused.

"Oh, well," I thought, scratching at the rash on my neck. "Probably nothing that will concern me anyway." I tacked the latest revision of the Silver Clitty Frequently Asked Questions on the bulletin board and ordered a Zombie at the bar. It just seemed appropriate tonight. I glanced at my watch. I had a couple of hours to go.

Behind and above the bar, a television was tuned to CNN Headline News. Two busty anchorwomen I had never seen before were explaining something about government employees reporting to recycling centers and landfills. I'm a government employee. I glanced at my watch again.

At 25 after the hour, the anchorbabes had switched to sports. Apparently, a preseason charity scrimmage between the Dallas Cowboys and Green Bay Packers was cancelled because only the busty cheerleaders and one of the referees showed up. When I saw my congressman at the landfill, I might complain. Probably not, though. I had a feeling it was nothing that would concern me, shortly.

Finally after a commercial, the anchorwomen came back to the top news. They announced, "The winner of the Silver Clitoride Award for best story of July, 2002 goes to 'Nano Virus', by cmsix at Stories Online."

I left my car keys on the bar and called for a cab. Someone may as well enjoy my car. On my way out, I waved at cmsix, surrounded by a dozen or so large-breasted women. One of them was idly rubbing the rash on his neck.

"Congratulations to cmsix, and to all the finalists!"