"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."

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

Oh, yes. And I think Hendrix WOULD outweird Dru, in a heartbeat.

I can't pull myself away from working long enough to write right now, but does anyone else have an overpowering urge to write Dru at a Dead concert?

"Just on commercials."

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

oh. my. lord. That's amazing.

Deb, so funny. I love that.

I wish I could write a rock drabble, but I've never been to a concert.

Deena, I suppose that's funnier if you know that Belzer sued those guys for a television stunt gone horribly wrong, during which he was knocked unconscious. But he got a funny story out of it...and the house in France(which, in real life, I don't blame him for talking about...I just thought it'd be funny if that pissed off the Munchkin. If I could come from nothing, or hell, what I have now, to that, I'd tell everybody, too.)Thanks though.

I thought it was hilarious without the backstory, but that is funny.

He's going to have people annoying him by trying to find the wires, or the controls, or pet the thing, isn't he?

Would you be surprised? Am halfway tempted to put in a shoutout to "We're police. Go rob somebody else." But maybe not...this is month 3 already for this puppy...maybe I should concentrate on wrapping it up.

Well, maybe, but, why? what are the pros and cons of wrapping it up? Writing another one? I mean, I know you want to write other things that are not fic, but you could let it percolate along too, or finish it and start another one, or... basically, I'm saying, I don't have a gun to your head telling you to finish it. I'm enjoying the journey.

I don't have a gun to your head....

So, I'm not Gordon Pratt...or if I am, don't forget which Greek place closes early on Friday...(That thing with the ancient Greek and Frank? So. Sexy.)I know that...my inner Puritan is appalled and mumbling some Puritanical version of "Three months. Three months that you're going to be begging for as you lie dying...and you just had to go for vampire cunnilingus...is that what you went to college for?" To which I'd say "No. I went to college to get laid by smart people. Oh, and read great books, and have a future. One out of three ain't bad." SB is gonna be on The Sopranos, and I swear I couldn't remember his name...I was like "Gordon Pratt's gonna be Tony's cousin."
And my mom was like "What?"

And so I try again.."You know, whatsits, Munch killed him. Good actor, sort of disgusting."
She got it right away.