Aw, you guys, putting that happy face on my dysfunction... Deb, I just got this image of him teaching Dru all these hippie songs, because he just has to leave his mark everywhere he goes. And if she's gonna sing, might as well be something with a message he can tolerate.Also, it totally reminds me of Anne Lamott's story about teaching her kid "What do we want? Peace. When do we want it? Now." In kind of a screwed-up, macabre way, of course.ETA: I need somebody who's very comfortable with Munch as a character to beta for me. I wrote the next scene on the assumption that he "has layers" but now I wonder if I've feminized/ Baylissized him overmuch.

McSweeney's has their own version of the drabble.

You know, there was a McSweeney's title challenge floating around livejournal awhile back, and ever since I found their list of lists I've *still* been getting titles from it. About the last ten fics I've written have taken titles from it. It's awesome, and hilarious.

erika, I now have the picture in my head of Munch teaching Dru Country Joe and the Fish: "Well it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for? Don't ask me I don't give a damn, next stop is Viet Nam...."

I wonder what she'd replace half the lyrics with? Especially that line about "be the first on your block to have your boy come home in a box!"

Don't know...maybe that would make her spin off into "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy"...I know Munch would probably hate "Yummy," but I could see him exposing her to it inadvertently. Or maybe, she'd just get excited and have to stop? I put some more up in lj.(A little bit tortured, maybe.) [link]

And the whole Vamp Munch thing starts at [link] It embarrassed me, so I hid it. But who am I kidding? I'm shameless...

Go away till I've had my first coffee drinker of the evening, ok?

t spews water at screen

oh, golly gee, the fun of it.

Thank you, I try.

Building up to a big party scene, Munchkin POV(duh)

You know how rich people are boring? Trust me they are. It's all about their houses, their cars, and how they had to let Consuela go because she wanted all of Christmas off, and it's hard to get good help nowadays. And of course, the one topic that cuts across class lines, who their friends are doing.(Hence my part in the "festivities")

Now picture a rich person with about two hundred more years worth of stuff. So it's all "I have a Spanish galleon...I have Nazi gold...I bagged Princess Anastasia." (OK, the first few times I was interested in that last one. But even in the short time I've been here, I've heard it enough times, that either somebody's lying, or she should be in some series of "Siberian Sluts Gone Wild" daguerrotypes somewhere. My princess herself claims such a story, and I cling to the faint hope it might be true like I cling to the edge of the bed when we sleep together, when we actually sleep. ) A man, or even half a man, like I am now, is nothing without his illusions, babe. I'm under no illusions about what I'm doing here, though. This is an audition for the role of Vampire Consort, plain and simple. I'm not even Montel Williams, I'm frickin' Prince Philip. My job is to be vaguely charming, slip a discreet hand on the princess' bare back, keep the goblets filled with AB- and shut the hell up. I hate my job. Oh, Homicide, sweet Homicide, where for art thou? Whodunits all over the City of Angels, and I have to be *here*.

Ok, you're just evil, is all.

Do you know how much it hurts to laugh when you're in the middle of a sneezing fit?

My uncle used to make me laugh till Coke came out my nose...I bet it was kind of like that. Sorry...the burning must be kind of unpleasant. But I'm glad you thought it was funny, anyway. (Hey, that's kind of like "You're funny, but nobody likes you," right?)