Wise move, erika. I've got unfinished X-fic in a separate directory, and I try to stay out of there, because why rip up an already broken heart?

A member of my writers group wrote some of the funniest, coolest, most outrageous West Wing slash in history....

No fair teasing, Deb. Got a link?

(Not that I know who anyone on WW is except the president, Rob Lowe, and CJ, but still.)

I'll ask her to send it again, LJ. It's the President, Leo, and the British Ambassador, Lord John Marbury (played by Roger Ees).

Funny, funny stuff. I was outraged and giggling like a loon at the same time.

So, this ought to cement it. For SA, although she isn't here at the moment. She requested a very specific rocknroll drabble. And I'm going to burn in hell for this one.

For the Girl Who has Everything

"How about that one?"

Dru was hungry and fretful, a dangerous combination. But he'd promised her something special tonight. He watched over the throngs of screaming girls.

"Patience, pet. Your nosh ought be coming out, right about -" The backstage door opened, and the crowd surged forward. "Ah. Bodyguards. Decoys for your dinner. Let's eat."

The lead singer, as Spike had foreseen, slipped around the corner. Spike started forward, but stopped in his tracks as the blonde on the singer's arm turned, showing a flash of teeth, faint ridges, golden eyes...

"Bloody hell." Spike shook his head. "Britney's a vampire?"

Arial is very much not a Jewish girl's name

I once knew a convert to Judaism who was very proud of naming her daughter Ariel because (as she reminded everyone about 5000 times) it meant "lion(ess) of god."

The female version is Ariella, usually. I know a bunch of Jewish Ariellas, and a few Jewish female Ariels. In Hebrew, Ariel is definitely masculine, but that doesn't seem to have held over too well here. (How was the name pronounced in that episode, by the way? Emphasis on the first or last syllable?)

Another rock and roll drabble. This one's got one of the better and more well-known rock quotes of the sixties as a punchline.

Are You Experienced?

"Oh, my."

Spike knew that look; Dru, halfway between oval-faced girl and golden-eyed predator. He knew what it meant, too, and inwardly swore. Not that he needed silence; the guitar screaming through Fillmore East could have drowned out the Last Trump.

"You can't do him, pet. Sorry."

She pouted. "But he's lovely!"

"Dru-"

It was too late; as Jimi came offstage, she sidled up, at her most seductive. A moment later, she was back at Spike's side.

"You're right," she said plaintively. "I can't do him. I heard him tell that bloke from the Times that he comes from Mars."

"You're right," she said plaintively. "I can't do him. I heard him tell that bloke from the Times that he comes from Mars."

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Victor, between my sudden need to have Jimi Hendrix out-weird Drusilla, and watching the "Concert for George" last night, I feel older than Illyria, or Cthulu.

But definitely a BWAH! moment, if you know your Hendrix history...

I'm excited about this section...Lilah plays hardball with the Munchkin, and we find out what really happened to Mr. T and Hulk Hogan.

“Doesn’t matter, babe. Not when you’re talking about the collective unconscious and tribal memory. As long as I’m conscious, I’m part of the chain. Mess with that, you get people like you and the Commandant there. Beautiful and confused.”

In one seamless, beautiful motion, she reaches into that big fancy desk that I would still love to christen with her, and pulls out a cross. At first, I laugh, humor having sustained my people through many similar encounters, but as she comes closer an uncomfortable heat fills the room, and I pull back, but not before she hits me in the hand with it, burning the spot between my fingers and my thumb. I try to shrug it off. “Didn’t hurt a bit,” I lie.

“Do you want something that will hurt?” Remember this, babe, context is everything.

“ Besides you?” I swear, though it felt like my unlife depended on it, I couldn’t stop myself. Such a perfect straight line she gave me.

“Drop dead...more dead,” She says, and sighs, sounding weirdly like Giardello in his “Power weighs heavily” mood. “Mess with me again and I’m on the phone to Brooklyn before you can finish saying ‘golem’. Got it? Babe.”

“You make a fairly persuasive argument.” I say. “How am I gonna walk the streets with this beast?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she says, letting her cultivated exterior slip just a bit, like I knew she could, “This is L.A. You’re a producer or something. Or maybe a comic.”

“Everybody thinks I look like this one asshole stand-up always bragging about his house in France. Yeah, babe, all dissidents brag about their possessions.”

“Lindsey handled that case...he was disappointed when the defendants ended up in that Hell Dimension.”

“Hell dimension?”

”Well, you’ve not seen them around, have you?”

"Just on commercials."

"Hell Dimension. The Senior Partners hate to lose."