That is the best compliment I've ever gotten. Including naked ones.(Ok, that came out more Munch than I wanted. But it's still true.) I may have to delete some of this section or face the Canon Police...cause in flipping around, I'm not sure what year I'm writing in, anymore. But I need for y'all to see it or I'm just another loser without a place to be on Saturday night. "I like the sound of that," Munch said.

"Shut up, you! God...forget I said anything. I take it back."

"You know that image is gonna haunt me," Munch said.

"The image of me arm-wrestling?"
"My image is of a different kind of wrestling."

"I'm shocked,"

"You should be. I never think of the same woman two days in a row."
"Some men just send flowers. I get John Munch pervo-grams."
"When you care enough to send the very worst." -more-

"Some men just send flowers. I get John Munch pervo-grams."

"When you care enough to send the very worst."

(heads off into kitchen to replace saliva-diluted coffee now all over keyboard, cat and lap of "kitty touchdown!" pajama bottoms)

A few more minutes went by. Pembleton paced around like the whole place was the Box and the walls were closing in. "Let's book, you guys. These dead guys aren't getting any better and we'll be like them soon enough. Let's live while we can."
"Way ahead of you, " Munch said. "There are hot women out there and I want to meet one. Or two. Or five."

"Five?" Tim said, shocked. "No way...five. What would you *do* with five? Somebody'd get shortchanged."
"The same as you do with one, my innocent friend. Just in shifts,"
Pembleton pretended to consider."If we look at the Munch track record, that means creating resentment and dissatisfaction among five crazy women. Who will then call the squad repeatedly, on the pretext of getting some obscure book or record back, but really just to become enraged on being told you are out doing your job. For once. My ear is bracing for the furious hang-ups now. How do you do it?"

"Hey, don't take it out on me because you're bought and paid for for fifty years. And they're not crazy...they're passionate."

"Passionately crazy," Kay offered.

"God, why don't I just move in to the Watergate? I'm sure there's a bug somebody missed."

"I think Monica Lewinsky lives there. Could be your lucky day, Munchkin. Just make sure she takes in the dry-cleaning, huh?"

"Eh, she probably uses 'impact' as a verb. And listens to complaint rock. And think about it...the ultimate in at the White House, second interviews out the yang and she still doesn't get the jobs. I could never be happy with a dumb woman...might forget my sorrows for an hour, though. She has a beautiful mouth."
"You'd be better off licking a water fountain spigot," Kay said, " And I was kidding...you've really thought about this."
"Hey, I've read the Starr Report...I'm only human."

'That's your story, anyway." Kay said. " That guy Starr reminded me of a peeper I busted while I was in uniform. After I caught him, he read me Bible verses and stroked my hair, which I almost cut off. Then he offered me a 'pearl necklace'...little perv."
"Of course that's bribery... But I don't see what's perverse." Tim said.
"Aw, Bayliss, you're breaking my heart. I'll bet you squeak when you walk." And she whispered in his ear. Tim blushed painfully
"I'm sorry that happened to you, Kay. All guys aren't like that."
"I know that, babe. No big thing...just makes me grateful for Homicide...where the guys on the street are stiff all over."

erika, you just left me essentially speechless.

This is fucking perfection, is what it is.

a) What deb said, on account of speechless issues

b)

"Eh, she probably uses 'impact' as a verb. And listens to complaint rock

I t heart this line.

I love them all, actually, but that? Perfection.

Oh, Deb, I knew you'd like Munch's little Hallmark riff. But I didn't think there'd be COYM...oops.Yeah, Munch's selection criteria are not those of other men...I think he is the most likely Buffista in Spirit. And, wow, speechless? In a good way. I've appalled people speechless, but awe has never been something I inspired, except in that twitty "It's in A Wheelchair and Thinks and Everything!" way.

(still without adequate voice for singing erika-HLOTS hosannas)

(leaving house momentarily, so will hopefully retain coherency by tonight)

Thanks. Not to worry, I'll be high for a week, now. Femininity and manicure be damned. (Unless of course, you have friends in television.) HighSchool! Tim is easy, cause I turned down a three-way once in college cause I was all "Where does everything *go*? Which the guy thought was terribly witty(which I embraced) but I wasn't kidding. Not in the slightest. He was cute...but he counted. And his numbers went to three figures. And he made the mistake of telling me when he was a boy his uncle fed him acid tabs in his Skittles.And "Oh, poor baby," didn't used to make me feel erotic...now I'd be in trouble. (It hasn't been a normal life, but there've been a few exciting moments.)And I've NEVER Told anyone that...and now I've told 300 of my closest friends...my god. And I loved the chance to give Munch my thoughts on Monica,nsm the mouth, that's his.

Erika, again with the dead-on voices. I just stand around on the street corner waiting for the next installment to hit the stands.

Nicole, I reread your piece. Your story's intriguing, your characters very close to canon, especially Cordy, you've got her perfectly. I agree with the critique you've been given here, it needs a bit of sanding and smoothing, otherwise, it's a fun read, and hot in the spots you meant it to be hot.

"Where does everything *go*?

I think it likely depends on the proportions of said gender sandwich....