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?)

I'm just feeling sorry for the people who are reading this and not being able to picture Munch.

Because that's the coke-out-the-nose moment.

I'm sorry for those people anyway(this must be what it's like for those people telling me about the Lord, but with profanity and dick jokes...next missionary I speak to I'm gonna tell them I belong to the Church of John the Munchkin.) Cause think about it...
-No chance of being asked about chastity.
-no services messing up your weekend.
-No hell cause maybe we're there, already, ok, babe?
-Impure thoughts? Don't we all... I remember this one time...
-He that lies gets his ass kicked.
And plenty of quotes for your keychains.

It's the quotes for your keychain that sell me. *g*

He's a very quotable guy. As you can tell from my many tags which feature him. And, as a heathen, I like the thought of a "Whatever, babe," religion.(/irreverent heresy...yet another tag that never really ends on me.)

Sigh. I really need to stop spending my Friday nights like this:

I know Darla's friends are watching me too. One of the more skeletal women with whom Darla air-kissed comes up to me at the punchbowl.

"Oh, hello" she says, like she's so important everything she says has to be in italics. I've known her ten seconds and I hate her already. Even for me, that is a record. But I'm either the dog or the pony in this show, so I just sort of nod non-commitally. "We were wondering how long it would take,"

"Excuse me?"

"For Darla to have an Arthur Miller phase. Before you, it was very Lady Chatterley. Gardeners, palm tree trimmers, that kind of thing. You're at least a step above that."

OK, that's it. But maybe I can speak my mind and keep my manners. Other people do it. On Frontline, anyway. "How about anti-Semites? How many of them does Darla know?"
I was looking for a fight, I admit it.(There's nothing better for a couple than when you can admit that somebody at a party is an ass and it isn't you. It can be very affirming, if you know what I mean. I was thinking I'd find Darla and we'd have a quick affirmation in the coat closet.)
-more-

But instead, Gloria Vanderbilt sloshes vodka over the B neg that's already in her glass and says "I'm sure I've no idea. If I wanted to worry about things like that, I'dve stayed human. Fledglings! You want to be part of both worlds, it's cute."

I'm sure you're surprised to know that I've never been called "cute" in my life. Funny, yeah, witty, once in a great while, vulnerable, definitely, but never cute. Even "that bastard, John Munch" has come up more than that."You know, I really owe Darla..." the woman says. "She *gave* me Eduardo. He could go All. Day. Do you know how special that is?"
Coming from you, babe, I think, I can about guess."

Is he here tonight?" I say, reaching for an Out as fervently as a suspect.

"No, he's dead. I hated to do it, but he couldn't keep up. Looked nice in a Speedo, though. You wouldn't know anything about that."

I don't know what shocks me more...the confession, or that she emasculated me in front of the princess' whole social circle. Mentally, I interrogate her for a few hours than bash her head against the window glass until the sun shines in and finishes her off, but then I remember that would be a murder-suicide. Fuck, this vampire gig can be hard sometimes.

Murderous urges thwarted for another day, I circulate...I almost mingle...well, for me. I introduce myself, and give pretty cleavage only minimal attention.

I get a lot of this. "When you say you're *with* Darla, you mean as a minion, right?"
One young woman, of the clean-cut appearance I always want to look good for, takes it one step further. "You guys aren't..."

"Yes," I say, "Twice today, in fact."(Not bragging. Correcting misinformed youth...you understand.)
"I'm so sorry! It's just...sexually, Darla has two speeds...pretty boys and chicks. And...well, you're not...a chick." she finishes lamely. Ah, hypocritical human-trained manners, how I've missed you, without knowing it.