Wash: Well, I wash my hands of it. It's a hopeless case. I'll read a nice poem at the funeral. Something with imagery. Zoe: You could lock the door and keep the power-hungry maniac at bay. Wash: Oh, no, I'm starting to like this poetry idea now. Here lies my beloved Zoe, my autumn flower, somewhat less attractive now she's all corpsified and gross...
'Shindig'
The Minearverse 2: Getting his words out.
"There will be an occasional happy, so that it might be crushed under the boot of the writer." From Zorro to Angel, this is where Buffistas come to anoint themselves in the bloodbath.