Pairing: Various and sundry and all
Rating: R overall (NC-17 for language
on Part 5)
Summary: Round Robin Snark. About Buffy. Pretty
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are property
of Joss Whedon and
Mutant Enemy; Marta Kaufman and David Crane along with
NBC, or Darren Star and HBO. All gut-busting snarkiness is owned by us.
Warnings: This fic pokes harmless fun at Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Not the show. Her. The Slayer.), fanfic in general, slash
in particular, crossovers, vampire procreation, vampire ejaculation, The WB, religious icons (not really, but we should have),
buttmonkeying, the way for which people are known for doing things and Condoleezza Rice (not really.)
Feedback: Can be sent to: firstname.lastname@example.org
One day, or night as the case may
be, Buffy the Slayer of the VahmPEERS was in the middle of her nightly patrol, thinking how cute and skinny she looked. She
was glad she wasn't a VahmPEER, because then she wouldn't have a reflection, and, therefore, wouldn't be able to enjoy her
own beauty. She sighed in satisfaction.
Suddenly, a vahmPEER leapt from
"Eek!" screeched Buffy. What a
"Grrr! Argh!" growled the vahmPEER.
It jumped on her and she accidentally
killed it with the stake Giles had given her before she'd left. The accidental staking had left her shaken and teary-eyed
and all dusty and icky.
She quickly ran to the shelter
of Giles' apartment.
"A vampire tried to get me!"
"It got me all dirty!"
"I'll never get the stains out
of this blouse!"
"Are you all right?"
"I think so."
"You know I love you like a daughter."
"And I love you, too. You're like
the father I never had. Will you adopt me?"
"Certainly, as long as I don't
have to take Dawn."
Then they kissed, and Giles carried
her up the stairs so that they might engage in the forbidden Slayer/Watcher love, which must not speak its name.
“Good grief,” thought
Buffy, as she patrolled in her fishnet blouse and pointy-heeled boots. “My
late mother was certainly right. Giles IS a stevedore in the sack. At least I think she was right,” Buffy continued to think, “Although I still do not know what
a stevedore is.”
Buffy was thinking such thoughts
on this particular patrol, because she knew it would be time to have The Talk with Spike.
Buffy dreaded The Talk, because it usually resulted in her boyfriend leaving town, so as not to accidentally kill her,
or because he looked so good in turtlenecks and black helicopters. However, it
would only be fair to Spike. Buffy knew that Spike was deeply in love with her. Furthermore, for several months they had been having hot secret and lustful monkey
sex, both in Spike’s decrepit crypt and in various of the crumbling buildings with which Sunnydale was so richly supplied.
“But it will all be different
when Spike knows what happened this morning!” Buffy thought out loud, not even breaking her stride as she staked a vamPEER
(one who was not remotely attractive, and did not have a chip, a soul, or even a trigger!)
Because Buffy knew that, on that
morning, two weeks after her first and only hot and sweaty, yet tender, encounter with former Watcher and librarian
Rupert “Ripper” Giles,
she was two days late for her menstrual period. “I am pregnant with Giles’
love child! Take that!” Buffy quipped, kicking a vampire in the forehead.
Of course, in the two intervening
weeks, Buffy had continued to make hot monkey love with Spike. But the baby could
not be his! Vampires could not have children!
Unless there was a world-ending situation involving another vampire, an evil law firm, a prophecy, a pouty kid having
sex with Cordelia while his father watched, and various other convoluted and incomprehensible circumstances! And Buffy knew that was not the case -- this was real life, not some show on the WB. Buffy knew what she had to do. She had to detour from her
patrol to go to Spike’s crypt.
Spike’s crypt was kind of
cozy. Besides, it reminded her of all the hot monkey love they had made there. There was a Sex Pistols poster on the wall.
Spike liked rebellious and punk-oriented music from a specific historical period, which added complexity to his character. Poor Spike, she would hate to break his heart, but it was going to be necessary!
“Buffy,” Spike laughed,
blocking the door of the crypt. “This is really not such a good time for
you to be here.”
“Not such a good time?”
Buffy asked, trying to peer around him. She saw a pile of comic books on the
floor. Since when was Spike so fond of the
X-men? “What is wrong, Spike? Don’t you like hot monkey
love anymore? Are you trying to make me leave before you burst into song again?”
stammered. “Hot monkey love, most any time, pet. But right now, that is, I’ve got a bit of a hole in my leather jacket, and I ordered this leather
repair kit off QVC and --” Suddenly Spike burst into tears. “Oh,
Buffy, it is all a sham. I’ve been living a lie!” He turned around and fled into the crypt.
“No, Spike,” Buffy
ran after him. “I am the one who has been -- oh my God, Xander?”
Xander was naked in Spike’s
bed. “There is a very good explanation for this!” said Xander. Then he made a sarcastic remark, like he was famous for making.
“There’s no use lying
anymore, love,” Spike declared, and sat on the bed beside Xander.
Buffy suddenly noticed that Spike
was naked too. “Xander?” she said.
“It’s no good,”
said Spike, “All of these years, I have been roaming the world, fixating on one woman after another -- Cecily, my mother,
Drusilla, your mother, Dawn, Anya, your mother and Anya together, evil Willow, then, finally, you.”
“Don’t forget Harmony,”
said Xander. “And Willow hasn't been evil yet.”
said Spike. “All these years, I’ve been roaming the world and one
day, I realized that if I go out in the world looking for a thing, and if I can’t find it in my own backyard, I probably
never wanted it anyway.”
“When Spike moved out of
my basement, he took my comic book collection to roll cigarettes with,” explained Xander, who continued to be naked. “I came over to see if he still had them, and it turned out we were both deeply
intrigued by the complex tortured history, pectoral muscles, and muttonchop sideburns of Wolverine.”
“Oh, Hugh Jackman!”
sobbed Spike. “I had always been forced to pretend I was watching for Halle
“OK,” said Buffy, “But
really - Xander?”
“Hot monkey love,”
explained Xander. They started making out.
“This is strangely arousing,”
“No kidding,” said
a voice behind Buffy.
Buffy turned around to see the
one being that she had continued to fantasize about through all of the torturous hot monkey love with Spike and
Giles. There he was, the one who had always secretly lurked in the tightest corners of her heart, who had been
an irreplaceable part of the Scooby team before unselfishly leaving them all behind in search of redemption, for fear of doing
grave injury to the only woman he had ever loved.
“I just came to tell you,”
he said, “Before I was distracted by that display of hot monkey loving. You
have always been the one for me. I know the odds are against us, but if we are
in love, what else should matter?”
“I know. My own dear one.” Buffy wept openly now, and embraced
“Oz,” she cried, “Do
you still have that guitar?? We could make such beautiful music!!”
Oblivious to the eagerly watching Fab 2 (for that was how Spike and Xander secretly thought of themselves, although they fought over who got to
be Carson) sprawled across Spike’s futon (it was, uh, an evil
futon), Oz dipped his head (or rather, slightly inclined his chin) to capture Buffy’s maybe-she’s –born-with-it-maybe-it’s-Maybelline
As their long secretly fantasized about tongue wrestle ended, Buffy gazed up (across?) into Oz’s
stoic, yet lustful, gaze and breathed, “Oh, my darling, I never dared hope. Sometimes I would catch a spark between
us, especially when you were wolfed out, but I always believed it was truly Willow in your heart.”
Oz grasped the neck of his cutting edge I Fucked Petula Clark t-shirt and tore it open,
revealing a surprisingly ripped torso (and sending forth a chorus of sighs from Spike and Xander.) There, on Oz’s astonishingly
brawny pec, right above his werewolf love pump (his HEART, you pervs!), was a tattoo of a wooden stake, on which Buffy Forever was written in red, blood-drippy looking letters.
Buffy clasped her hands beneath her chin and sighed, “Oh, Oz. It’s beautiful.”
Oz took Buffy’s hands in his and raised them to his lips. “Buffy – it was always
you. I knew from the first time with Will. Oh, the cheesy Barry White was endearing and sweet, but when the cd changed to
a never-ending stream of Indigo Girls and Suzanne Vega, I clued in. I knew her heart wasn’t in it. Oh, sure, occasionally
she’d let me stalk her, naked in the moonlight, but she wouldn’t share her fantasies, except to giggle about being
the mayo in a Cordelia and Harmony sandwich. But then, there you were.” Oz smiled at her tenderly, then his eyes narrowed
and he growled seductively.
Buffy tensed and then threw herself at him, slamming his wrists to the cold marble beneath them. Oz
wrapped his arms around her and, lifting her, sprang atop the crypt with Buffy beneath him. His hands entwined in her hair
and jerked her lips to his for a bruising kiss. As they fell together to the relative privacy behind the hulking marble bier
of death, Buffy gasped, “Careful with the blouse, my darling, its Marc Jacobs.”
“Yeah,” Spike snarked to his beefy boy toy, Xander, “the Mark Jacobs ebay collection,
Xander still stared at the fine cloud of dust stirring from Buffy and Oz’s landing spot, their
love growls echoing around the cold, white room. “Man, she likes it rough.”
“Tell me,” Spike huffed. “I’ve got the nail scars and cracked ribs to prove
it, not to mention the ocular strain from all the surreptitious eye rolling.”
Xander nestled his head onto the shoulder of Spike’s hot, tight little body and looked up at him
anxiously. “Is – that – what you want from me? I mean, all that,” Xander gulped, “brutality
and fervid, desperate, um, thrusting?”
Spike gently kissed Xander’s sweaty forehead and whispered, “No, pet. You know what I need
from you. Say it. Say it for daddy ”
Xander threw himself back onto the futon of musty forbidden love and cried, “Yes, for you –
only for you – I’ll be your,” Xander voice rose to a fevered pitch as Spike’s lips found his chest,
As Xander and Spike’s and Buffy and Oz’s moans harmonized in the unexpected, yet surprisingly
hot, crypt orgy, the cold red eye of an unseen camera sent forth its black and white image to dagger into the heart of the
secret, silent observer. The eyes of the vicious voyeur narrowed, then widened, then filled with tears as her calculatingly
villainous mien slipped and a tiny whine escaped her lips….
"Oh, EWW!" said one of those watching.
"Could this BE any more disgusting?"
"But the girl on girl stuff gets
you goin'?" asked Monica.
"Well, that's good old fashioned
American porn! This, this is just wrong" said Chandler.
"It IS wrong in so many ways,"
said Phoebe. "Cha, everyBODY knows Spike loves GILES!"
Monica sighed. "Where's Joss when
you need him?"
Willow walked into Buffy's dining
room. "Did somebody say girl on girl? Who are you guys, anyway?"
"Um, we're your nemesisisis," Chandler
boasted. "We're here to remind you of all our Emmy nominations and how you will never be able to grab the numbers we do, and
this is especially hurtful as we're going after the same demographic!"
"Yeah! Ha!" said Phoebe.
"Yeah . . . well . . . your last
three seasons really SUCKED!"
"Indeed." It was Giles. "Could
it have BEEN any worse?"
"Whoa - let's not get personal
here," said Chandler, throwing his hands up.
Phoebe, Monica and Chandler filed
out of the room, Phoebe giving Giles the silent 'call me' gesture that seems to be so popular these days.
"Now, Willow, what's going on?"
She'd moved to the monitor, the
expression on her face a mixture of horror, amusement, abject terror, nausea, and allergic reaction.
Giles moved to her side. "Oh, good
"Giles, how could this have happened??
Xander . . ."
"Well, it happened to you, didn't
it? At least that was canon. I get it up the ass from Ethan all the time, and that was NEVER alluded to during the entire
"We've got to stop this. We CANNOT
allow these . . .weirdo slash writers to make these ridiculous homosexual pairings just for the sake of titillation.
It's offensive, immature and thoroughly
objectionable. And stupid. And dumb.
And just plain icky."
"I'll curse them!" Her hair was
starting to turn black.
"Now, let's not get hasty," he
said, fearful of her digging into his chest again and pulling out his internal organs instead of magic this time.
"What? Have you got an idea?"
"I just might . . ."
A hip young band of pretty people
was making music at the Bronze, but Anya Christine Emmanuelle Jenkins-never-to-be-Harris was distracted by the gruesomely
pink concoctions that the woman, so called Ms. Jones, across the table was putting away at a steady clip.
said Anya. “Can you explain one more time why were you dressed like Rachel
the woman said, taking entirely too long to pronounce three syllables with a voice that sounded like she’d inhaled an
entire tobacco factory. “RICH-ard *said* that he wanted an ex-clu-sive
relationship, and of course as every sailor who has ever docked in Manhattan for fleet week knows, I do NOT do exclusive.”
“So --” Anya prompted. “You put on a wig and a trench coat, you followed him around the city, and you
finally walked in on him while he was performing oral sex . . .”
“Performing? It wasn’t a performance; it was a tour de force, a three-ring circus that put the cunt in cunnilingus. He was hooching her coochie, licking her ice cream cone, gutting her fish --”
Anya held up a hand. “All right!”
“Draining her oil pan, wiping
her lower rear windows --”
“All right! I’m forming an excellent mental picture, which it is absolutely unnecessary for you to complete with
the aid of an unappetizing hand gesture –“
“You mean like --?” Ms. Jones raised her hand to her mouth, made a “V” with her two middle
fingers and started to flick her tongue vigorously between them.
“All right!” Anya held up both hands to shield her eyes. “Your friend
Ms. Bradshaw was correct, I CAN help you, but only if you promise NEVER to do that AGAIN!”
She was probably repeating the
gesture, so Anya just covered her eyes and looked down. No job, no destiny, no
immortality was worth this, but she breathed deeply and said, “Now Ms. Jones, when you think about this Richard Wright,
don’t you ever wish --”
“Please, dear, call me Samantha. Ms. Jones is fucking my father.” Samantha
sighed. “I do, sometimes, when I think about Richard and his all-you-can-eat-sushi
buffet, I just wish -- well, I wish his gold card would get declined every once in a while.”
“You --” Anya stared. “*That’s* the best vengeance you can come up with?”
“Well, sweetie, he lives
on Park Avenue. Image is everything, and he’d never be able to show his
face -- no, wait a minute, his face. Something about giant boils growing on his face, shouting ‘I’m a cunt-licking
“No!” Anya slammed
her palm onto the table, spilling Samantha’s Cosmopolitan. “That’s
it, no more. I may be a relapsed vengeance demon, but you are a vulgar, paranoid,
and completely self-absorbed woman with the social couth of a dingo. And if you
knew me any better, you would realize exactly how much it takes to get ME of all people to notice this!”
“What?” Samantha said, “I’m sorry. I was distracted by
that absolute dish over by the bar -- and by dish I mean a dish of hot sperm cobbler served with a side of dick.”
cried Anya. “And besides, that’s a Balmoral demon. He has oozing boils on his skin, and horns growing out of his temples.
Are you blind, woman?”
“Well, if by blind, you mean,
incredibly turned-on and warmed up for a weeklong orgasm -- let’s just say Ooze-Boy isn’t the only one who’s
a little horny. I’m SOO glad I took this detour on my way home from
L.A. Ta Ta!”
Samantha left and Anya slammed
her hands into her forehead. “D’Hoffryn help me, but I hate this
job!” Then, as Willow and Giles drifted into her line of sight, she quickly
said, “Not that I have a job, aside from managing the Magic Box, which of course I love -- money, money! And if I did have another job, it certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with inflicting vengeance,
destroying lives, souls, and - now, apparently - credit reports.”
“Please, Anya,” said
Willow. “I don’t know who you think you’re kidding.”
“Absolutely no one,”
added Giles. “You’re a dreadful liar. However, it happens that Willow
and I are willing to overlook your deception and in fact, it’s a bit of a funny story --”
Anya sighed, “As long as
it doesn’t involve Raquel Welch and a three-ring cooch circus, it could only improve my day.”
“Um,” said Giles, cleaning
his glasses, “Well, that’s just to say --”
“It’s about Oz,”
said Willow, “There’s an orgy in the crypt, and Buffy’s watching, and Xander is Spike’s butt monkey.”
“Oh yes,” said Anya,
“I am familiar with that program, ‘Oz.’ It is quite overrun with the buttmonkeying. I was unaware that there are characters with the same names as our friends.
That is quite humorous.”
“Giles,” whinged Willow,
“I don’t think I’m explaining this right.”
“Anya,” said Giles,
“Did you ever notice anything about the way that Xander looked at Wolverine?”
“Oh my God!” cried
Anya. “Xander left me for Spike.
I knew the whole vision-of-our-miserable-futures-together was just a cover story.
I tried to get you guys to wish blood-curdling vengeance on him, but noooo. Come
on, now, who wants to take a crack at --”
“Hey Scooby gang!” came an impossibly perky-yet-whiny voice. “Anybody
seen big sis? What’re all the secret faces about? Does anybody even notice
me? Does anyone even care? Did I hear something about playing the organ at Spike’s crypt? Because that sounds soooo cool!”
“Dawn!” Anya, Willow, and Giles cried together.
Giles said, “Yes, Spike just
installed a new pipe organ --”
Anya added, “And Xander went
down there to help him test-play it --”
Willow continued, “And Buffy
and Oz went along to play Parcheesi!”
“Ooooh, I love Parcheesi!”
Dawn squealed. “I have to get over there before they’re done. I wish --”
Three voices rose together in a
cry of NOOOO! But it was too late.
Giles gasped at the stitch in his
side as he and Willow, followed by an alternately confused and pissed off Anya, ran desperately behind Dawn as she sped through
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“She’s terribly fast for a fifteen-year-old chit.” Of course, he admitted to himself, trying to keep up
with the sexual demands of a 22-year-old slayer with muscles he’d never dreamed of could be causing his stamina to flag
“Beam of pure energy,”
Willow reminded him grimly. Suddenly, Willow stopped, causing Anya to slam into her. Bracing her hands before her, she chanted,
“Rózsaszín veszteség – Változás!”
A glow shot from her fingertips to burst against Dawn’s speeding form.
froze, her hot pink sundress rippling to bright blue, then back to pink, then to blue again. The colors continued to shift
as Dawn steadied herself, resettling the roll of cookie dough and the Lizzie McGuire Dating Game under her arm and
it!” Willow cried in frustration.
the devil was that?” Giles snapped impatiently.
was supposed to freeze her in her tracks,” Willow explained as they resumed their ‘Oh, God, the orgy!’ frenzied
pace behind Dawn. “But Tara and I watched Sleeping Beauty last night and Tara’s favorite part is the ending when
the fairies keep changing Aurora’s dress color and then we were doing our own spell, you know, blink, clothes on, blink
clothes off, and I guess it’s still on my mind…”she trailed off at Giles’ exasperated sigh. “What?”
she said defensively. “Disney chicks get me hot.”
should hurry,” Anya reminded them in that matter-of-fact ex-demon way that she was known for. “We are not succeeding
in our stopping of Dawn’s first introduction to bacchanalian werewolf/vampire/slayer/Viking-in-the-sack-Xander sex.
All that biting, growling, and, I mean, the sight of lube alone…” Anya’s eyes darkened. “I mean, I
should have at least bought her a drink or two and made out with her a bit first.”
Giles and Willow yelled together.
it was too late. Dawn’s now day-glo back had disappeared into Spike’s crypt.
Willow and Anya ran quickly in behind her and took in the scene. A half-wolfed out Oz sat naked on the stone bier in the center
of the crypt, an acoustic guitar in his lap as he crooned “Drops of Jupiter” for a naked, undulating Buffy. A
vamped-out Spike appeared to be attempting a naked wheelbarrow race with an equally naked Xander.
and Giles, both so attuned to nature, felt the sob well up in and then burst from Dawn.
head whipped back and forth as it continued.
five voices chimed in at once: “I can explain!”
is all my fault,” Dawn whimpered.
closed his eyes. “Good Lord. You summoned a demon. A horny demon. No, something isn’t right there…”
shimmied into Oz’s I Fucked Petula Clark t-shirt, which caused Dawn’s eyes to bug further. Stomping over to her little sis,
Buffy jabbed a pointy, slayer-like nail into Dawn’s chest.
do you mean this all your fault?”
began to back away into the relative safety (and non-nakedness) that was Giles, Anya and Willow.
um,” she gulped, “we were just saying that we all wanted Spike and Buffy to have a baby and…”
Buffy screeched. “Who was ‘all’ saying you wanted me and Spike to have a baby?”
you know, me and Janice and our ‘Spuffy baby’ chat group.”
Before Buffy could even latch on to that one, Spike raised a world-weary hand from the Village-People-construction-worker
glory that was Xander’s chest.
Niblet? Bit of a prob with that particular scenario. I mean, vampires aren’t the most fertile subterraneous creatures,
course, there was a world-ending situation involving another vampire, an evil law firm, a prophecy, a pouty kid having sex
with Cordelia while his father watched, and various other convoluted and incomprehensible circumstances!” At Dawn’s
blank look he gritted out, “I shoot blanks, okay?”
Xander frowned. “And should
you even be able to do that?” he questioned. “I mean, we’ve seen vampires bleed borrowed blood, and even
cry tears, but should you still be able to shoot…”
“Eww and eww,” Buffy
interrupted. She turned her attention back to Dawn who was eyeing the sprawled display that was Xander and Spike. “So.
You and your little chiclets get me and Spike into some Bantam novel scenario that somehow moves past first base, or maybe
we were just sittin’ in a tree, since that seems to equal baby carriage, and then what?”
“And then I kind of wished
to um, Anya, that you and Spike would have a baby. Twins, actually. A boy and a girl. I was thinking Evanescence Joycelynn,
that’s two N’s, for a girl and Terran Willom for a boy. But, Janice suggested Calexandria Carousel for a girl,
and that’s kind of pretty.”
“What – I’m having
a Cabbage Patch?” Buffy snorted. Then her eyes widened and she turned to the very musical Watcher/ex-librarian/magic
shopkeeper. “Oh, fuuuuu….Um, Giles, can I talk you a sec?” Still clad only in Oz’s t-shirt, a Brazilian
bikini wax and way too much Mystic Tan, Buffy pulled Giles just outside the crypt where they whispered frantically for several
As the two reentered the Crypt
of Hot Monkey love, all eyes turned expectantly to Giles.
Giles removed his glasses and began
cleaning them assiduously, in that Hugh Grant meets Prince Charles way that he was known for. “Well, erm,” he
began, “it seems that, um, Buffy is already expecting a child by, well, me. And, now with Anya’s having granted
Dawn’s wish, yes?” he looked expectantly at Anya who nodded enthusiastically. “It appears that Buffy will
be having triplets, that is, one part Watcher and two part, well, vampire. I have, of course, offered to make an honest Slayer
of her, but she…”
“Is in love with Oz,”
Buffy finished, walking over to take the shocked bass player/werewolf by the hand.
“Now, Buffy, really,”
Giles and Spike both began.
“Oh, come on,”
Buffy said, whirling on them. “Like Oz and I aren’t the only ones with realistic expectations of a cinematic career.”
“Well,” Spike huffed,
“I have been noticed for my depth and range…”
“Oh, please,” Buffy
said with grandiose eye rolling. “Like with those cheekbones you could play anyone not undead.”
“Triplets,” Dawn breathed.
“Wow. That is so…Nick at Nite.”
“And you might get to use
all three names,” Anya pointed out helpfully.
“Aha!” Willow exclaimed.
As they all turned to face her she said, “I mean, aha! I just had the greatest idea for a show. About a superhero…or
maybe a super lawyer, named Joan, who’s married to a werewolf and they’re raising blended triplets with their
crusty, yet hot, live-in British librarian…”
“And his equally hot, yet
matter-of-fact, love interest?” Anya suggested hopefully.
“Uh, yeah, sure,”
Willow continued. “And their bickering yet hot gay couple neighbors from across the hall,” she said, nodding at
Xander and Spike. “And, of course, their pill-popping, socially void, lesbian custody hearing judge who pops by to add
dramatic irony,” she added, gesturing to herself. “My Goddess, people, with hip urban crossover appeal like this,
we’re talking peacocks, not frogs.”
“So, I’m seeing
My Two Dads meets Will & Grace meets Roswell,” Xander suggested.
“Ugh, not Roswell,” Willow frowned. “That show was lame. And
it has frog connotations.”
“What about me?” Dawn
“Baby sister,” Buffy
said, taking Dawn by the shoulders. “I’m gonna be real honest with you. I’m seeing teen road trip flicks
with maybe a couple of ironic teen screams and a teen sex romp thrown in.”
“It could be right for you,”
Willow added, “especially if you find the right catchphrase.” She shook her head. “So, anyway, I’ll
write the treatment. Oz, you get a hold of your LA contacts and, Buffy, you might want to drop a few pounds. Oh, my Goddess,
this is exciting. This could be that calling we’ve all been searching for.”
“You mean besides slaying
and vamping and the black naughty magicks?” Buffy asked.
“Uh, bleah,” Willow
said as she herded them out of the crypt. “That’s so 1997.”
get to moving on it,” Xander added as they left behind eternal darkness for Hollywood glitter, “I mean, we don’t
want to end up on the cover of TV Guide’s Where Are They Now.”
THE END – Grr, argh!