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.

Jeepers, erika.

You've got me actually feeling sorry for him. I can't wait until Kay shows up....

The Munchkin, c'est moi.(Well, with some fairly important additions/subtractions.) This story is fun, but has no direction whatsoever...I'm just like "That would be fun. I'll write that. " And I do. Like right now, I'm picturing Munch and Angel meeting. Munch: Can I ask you what your problem is? Angel: I'm busy atoning for all of my atrocities. Munch: Do you have to be so miserable about...blah, blah, never again, blah. You're giving me a migraine just looking at you. Angel:I can't be with a woman because I will lose my soul in a moment of perfect happiness. Munch:Perfect happiness from sex? Somebody, no pun intended, saw you coming my friend. Bwah. Besides, it takes at least three times for it to be good anyway. So, I figure you get get acquainted sex free, anyway.

You know, I always wondered why Angel wasn't just shagging his brains out? Because the "perfect happiness" thing was something I always read as happening because it was Buffy - the woman he actually loved.

Dude, if I'm Angel, I've got a stable of dewy-eyed little hotties I visit specifically for sex, which would be safe, because who cares about any of them?

Yeah...I could see that, and you know Munch would.ETA: I'm not actually writing that...I don't think, it's just they have such different attitudes to vampness. I have no idea what I'm gonna do now, but I liked the "bitchy party guests" thing. What do you think next? Kay and Klutz!Wesley? Well, after Cordy gets in an "Annie Hall" comment about Kay's likely attire.