Okay, so it's not even that funny. It's certainly not big or clever. But I was feeling annoyed about QotD, so I thought I'd take it out on Buffy.

They scoured the hills of Yorkshire
They roamed the streets of Kent;
Search all you like, Anne's lawyers--
You can't find me, so get bent!

And with that, Beckster, of Knowsley, just off the East Lancs. road from Liverpool (third set of cottages on your right) stars her story

She will, however, put in a disclaimer, just in case they ever learn to folow directions. All characters, situations and suchforth therin used or mntioned are (c) Anne Rice, Random House, Kith and Kin, Brad Pitt, Tom Crise, Savage Garden, James Joyce, Joss Whedon, Mojo De Lioncourt, Pointede Matchsticks Towards the Bin Pyromaniac's Rehabilitation Group, Lion'sCourt Renovation, Mr. T. Durden, Mr N. Arrator, Jack, Project Mayhem, Armand Van Helden, Louis Armstrong....

**Some instances of strong language. Standard spoilers apply*


The world was black once more. Night had fallen and the dark and deadly secrets of the ancient world once again stirred to reclaim their right ashunters of the Savage Garden yet again. A dark, etheral figure strode silently through the streets of rain-drenched New Orleans, green eyes glinting like that of a wolf...

Louis: Actually, although I must profess a liking for Savage Garden,
more of a Beethoven man myself.

Author: Dammit! You ruined my opening, Louis!

Louis: Oh, please. This is hardly "The Dead", and you are certainly no James Joyce.

With that, a heavy brick fell from the wall and bounced off his head.

Louis: (reeling from the blow) Ow...nasty bi--

Author: What?!

Louis: Uh...I said *make a wish!*

Author: Oh, alright. I wish for...

Louis: I am Jack's impending sense of doom.

Author: For Lestat to be here.

Louis: You didn't really need to make a wish. There aren't any genie s or whatever around.

Author: No, but I do control the keyboard.

(Sound of furious tapping. With a puff of smoke, Lestat appears. He looks around in confusion.)

Lestat: What the?! Where am I? And why are my clothes smouldering?
(gives Louis a reproachful look) You haven't been at the
matches again, have you, Louis?

Louis: No! And stop accusing me of such things! I don't know where I get this reputation from! (turns to Author) Kudos for
getting Lestat here, though. At least now I don't have to su fer alone.

Lestat: (raising an eyebrow) Louis? Who are you talking to? You've been feeding on gange-heads again, haven't you?

Louis: NO! I'm talking to the Author!

Lestat: The...Author? (cringes) It's not that Rice woman again, is it?
Louis: No.

Lestat: Thank God! I've had enough of her picking on me lately. And this story better not include David, stupid attention-grabbin g show-off...

Author: No worries. Down with David! And Sybelle! And stupid cigar-
smoking Groucho Marx wannabe Benji! Aaggh!

Lestat: Sheesh, woman. Calm down.

Author: Forget it. I've had a bad day.

Louis: (suitably outraged) So you take it out on us?!

Author: Yes! Now git movin'...

Lestat: Where?!

Author: *wicked grin* You'll see.

********

Scene: Some dark place that is supposed to look Gothic and eerie simply because it's dark. A tragic figure sits on a stone step, looking all sad and...stuff. Lestat and Louis walk straight into the middle of it.

Lestat: Aw, no. We're on *that* show.

Louis: What show?

Lestat: The one where the poor vampires are hounded to a terrible death by The Bitch. That there's the traitor-guy.

Louis: (suspiciously) How do you know all this? Do you watch this or something?

Lestat: (evasively) I might have stumbled upon it at one time or
other...

Angel: Oh, woe is me. The horror of my vampire nature! Having to kill, night after night, simply to live! Oh, the pain! I'm so full of angst.

Louis: (coughing into his hand) Rip-off!

Lestat: Oh, please, Angel! I don't think I can go through another hundred years of *this!*

Angel: Hey?! What the-? You guys are vampires, right?

Lestat: Well, they don't call me The *Vampire* Lestat for nothing, Idiot-Boy.

Angel: Then how come your faces aren't all screwed-up and everything?

Louis: Huh?

Angel: You know-- that really cheap plastic look that we all get when we try for the thousandth time to kill a teenage girl? Before the endless kick-boxing sequences?

Louis: I hate kick-boxing. One time, right, I went to take this man. He had, like, a black-belt or something. Kicked me right in the--

Lestat: (hurriedly) Why would we want all th at gunk on our faces? We'd look like evil clowns.

Louis: All clowns are evil.

Angel: Sheesh. They have to try and appeal to a young market, you know. Can't make vampirism cool. We're all tortured angsty, teen-girl lovin' guys at heart.

Louis: (glaring at Lestat) I know. 'Finish off those Warner Brothers execs before they make us into a laughing stock', I said. Did he? Oh, no! He was so flattered with
Wes Bentley--

Lestat: Those cold blue eyes! That face! American Beauty! That
paper bag dancing in the breeze!

Louis: And now look what's happened, you fool!

Lestat: (wailing) I'm ugly! And have no talent! (looks to Angel) That goes for you, too!

Angel: Hey, don't knock me, Hartnett-boy. I'm prettier than that, aren't I, Louis?

Louis: (smugly) Well, you're no Brad Pitt.

Angel: And you are?

Louis: Oh, yes. I don't see David Boreanz winning an MTV award for Most Fanciable Male just for looking like *you.*

(Suddenly, Spike enters, speaking in a bbbaaaaddd Cockney accent.)

Spike: Cor, blimey! Luv a dack! Hark at you all, harpin' an ahbout bleedin' lookin' better ahn everyfing! Everyone knows that I'm the friggin' beauifful one ahround 'ere!

All: Laugh, even Lestat. A slight rumble reveals the Author is amused.

Spike: While I'm at it, youse two can sod off, an' all. *I'm* the most headstrong, charismatic, devil-may-care vampire ahround! 'Oo do you fink you are, shoutin' ya maouff off ahroun' 'ere?!

Lestat: (coughing into his hand) Rip-off!

Angel: Oh, woe is me.

Spike: Nah, you listen ta me, guv'nor--

Lestat: (turning to Louis) I can't abide much more of this. It's *inane!* Like brattier, stupider, more annoying versions of us!

Louis: Don't worry. You'll see yourself potrayed in just such a
way *very* soon.

Lestat: Will no-one rid me of these troublesome fools?!

(As if on cue, a blonde girl dashes in and after a boring, drawn-out fight scene, plunges stakes through the hearts of Spike and Angel. They crumble into dust. Author cares not for Buffy continuity, so doesn't deal with Buffy's inevitable angst over slaying the trench-coated one. Back to Louis and Lestat!)

Lestat: Well, that was very convenient!

Author: Hey, the spec's got to end at some point, okay?!

(Lestat stares in shock as Buffy runs at him now.)

Lestat: But not this way!

Buffy; Evil creature of the night! Begone! (starts hitting Lestat with her little stake-thing.)

Lestat: Ow. Stop poking me with that stick. Stop it. Ow. Stop it. STOP IT! (Grabs the stake and breaks it in half.)

Buffy: (with 'plucky' resolve) Fire. That'' do it!

(Lestat looks a little concerned as she dashes for the single flaming torch in the wall. Did I mention there was one? Well, there is now.)

Buffy: What the?! (The wall is empty)

Louis: (dancing wildly with the torch, carelessly brushing it against things that could easily catch fire.) I am the vamp of fire! And I bring you...FIRE!

Lestat: (relieved that he is moving towards Buffy) Burn the bitch, Louis! See how she likes it!

(Louis turns and dances away with the torch again, laughing at its 'pretty' flames.)

Lestat: Shit.

Buffy: Oh, well. Time to kick vampire-ass!

Lestat: Die, wench!

**************

CELEBRITY DEATHMATCH PRESENTS: Lestat vs. Buffy

Armand: Yes, it's the one you've all been waiting for. Our very own conceited, arrogant vamp against the Jesse- inspiration tramp, Buffy!

Daniel: And she's delivering a flying drop-kick...

Armand: Shut it! Or no Danny Snacks!

Daniel: Yes, Boss.

Armand: Anyway, it's a flying-drop kick to Lestat's stomach. He's trying to spontaneously combust her, but instead simply opts to knock seven different kinds of--

Daniel: Boss! What's that there?

Armand: She's taking something out of her back-pack. It's white, square...pages...a script--

Daniel: Uh-oh.

******************

Author: Getting bored. Okay, let's move things along here...

(Louis's flame extinguishes suddenly)

Louis: Aaaaaggghhh! Someone will *pay!* (looks at Lestat
and Buffy fighting) Agh! Beloved! I believe she'll do!
Buffy: (flicking to next page of script). JESSE: Oh, Lestat,
I love you. We can have vampire babies, and you can
mow the lawn of a Sunday! And those Gap khakis
really suit you. And, like, isn't this deep and stuff? LESTAT: Yes, Jesse. I love you so much, and I don't know what came over me in *Interview.* I mean, me, gay? Nah! Not when I have my Buff-- uh, Jesse, right here!

Lestat: (on his knees) Agh! For the love of God, stop!

Louis: Oh, for goodness' sake, Lestat! Move out of the bloody way!

(With that, he pushes Lestat aside and is upon Buffy with preternatural speed. Before she can say anything more, he hurls her out of the window. They're on the seventeenth floor, by the way.)

Louis: That's for inspiring that damned film!

Author: Damned, get it? Damned! You know...

Louis: (all green rage) Shut the hell up!

Author: Yes, Sir.

Louis: That's better. I want a bit of adventure now. Angst is *so* twentieth, nineteenth and eighteenth century.

Lestat: And I get to choose where we go next!

Louis: *sigh*. Very well, but only because prophecy deems i it so. The End.

Author: That was a very corny line. And a stupid ending.

Louis: Well, what did you expect? Wait...wait...I've got it! Because...I'm worth it!

Lestat: (gooey-eyed) You certainly are.

Author: This tale was brought to you by L'Oreal.

(Louis tosses his silken black tresses.)

The End.

(To be continued in...Fright Club!)