The Worst/Best Poem Ever


Author: Perry
Character: Mainly Spike
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon and Mutant
Enemy
Summary: I wrote this, thinking I could write poetry. I can't. Yet it is
still extremely funny. PG
Author's Notes: Pretend it's supposed to suck
In the graveyard late one night
Our dear friend Spike was out looking for a fight

Not to feed on human blood
Just to romp around in the mud

It wasn't really raining
It's just that rhyming is a pain. ing. Spike was hoping not to run into
Buffy
If he did, things might turn scruffy

But of course, I'm the one writing this fic
So you know I'll get a kick.

Out of Spike and Buffy running into
Each other, right out of the blue. "Spike, you're here," greeted the angry
Slayer
And for not getting his ass kicked, Spike said a prayer

"And so are you."
Spike sadly gave his choice of words a boo.

"I'm patrolling, what's your excuse?"
"Out looking to cook some poor demon's goose." "Cook a goose? Boy you are
lame."
"Oh yeah? Well for a slayer, you've got rotten aim!'

Upon Buffy's killer stare
Spike decided to get the hell out of there

So he waved a feeble goodbye
And back to his crypt he did fly Buffy shrugged, and went on looking for a
vamp
for killing them she was the champ

But, even though she had killed a lot
there was one she had finally caught

But didn't kill, and you know why?
Neither did I, her intentions are foggier than pie That doesn't make sense
Which makes the atmosphere around me tense

This poem sucks, I will not lie
Oh, that was a better rhyme than pie!

I should have used lie, but alas I did not
But I should head back towards the plot Off to his home, Spike did run
Buffy would get the ass-kicking job done

So there wasn't any need for our Spike to battle
Or for him and Buffy to continue their mindless prattle

Spike sat alone at home, smoking
While Buffy was out, causing some serious vampire croaking After a while,
Spike began to get restless.
He figured a fight was a bet at its bestesst.

That's not a word
Who cares? My thoughts are slurred

Much like Spike's as he is smoking and drunk
So all the other vamps thought he was just a stupid punk And they got out
of his way
Which sucked, because then he couldn't slay

Them.

He wondered if Buffy was still out on patrol
For thinking of her, he called himself an asshole She could only bring
sadness onto his good time
And always prevented him from doing crime

But tonight was his night to be bad
And for her not being around, he was glad

But then our hero Spike ran right into Ms. Summers
Buffy, not Joyce you stupid bummers There I go again, using words that are
senseless
At the sight of Buffy, Spike felt defenseless

Buffy immediately raised her stake
But who she saw gave her head an ache

She lowered Mr. Pointy
and crouched down on her knee "We meet again," she said at last
and once again I get to use the word ass

Because that's how Spike felt afterwards,
When he woke up later with those Scooby nerds

For that night, Spike had been really smashed
Not to mention how bad his clothes clashed But anyway, before the slayer,
out he did pass
And she just looked at him, sprawled out on the grass

After a moment of contemplation
Buffy picked the vampire up and headed back to her station

And then that morning, in the shadows Spike woke
With a pounding headache that was no joke The Scoobies told him about his
funny drunken state
And Spike remembered how much Scotch he had ate

Or drank, I suppose
It doesn't matter, this rhyming thing blows

I might as well wrap up and go on to bed
So, as Spike rubbed his aching head, He hurried back to his humble abode,
Hiding from the sun by using a shadowed road

Spike laid back in the safety of his lair
Hoping never to again cross paths with Buffy, the Vampire Slayer

And, I gladly end this dreadful poem
But, cannot think of any word to rhyme with that, other than phloem. Oh
well, this work is shot to hell anyway
Perhaps I will perfect it someday

Probably not, but that is okay
Corny and childish it shall stay

And, since my story has been over for a while,
Stop reading this poem, it hasn't been worthwhile. In fact, that last thing
only rhymed because it ended with the same word!
That's the dumbest thing I have ever heard!

Good lord, why can't I stop this madness of rhyming?
Not only does the story suck, so does my timing

Whatever that means, dear lord when will it end?!
"Okay, listen here, friend." I turn to Spike, frantic for advice
Spike smiles sweetly, "This is all very nice,

But you should really just say that the story is finished
That the plot has been diminished.

Instead of continuing your insane ramble,
Just say Done, and let the readers scramble To some sort of story that's
worth bloody reading!"
Spike groaned, with a hint of pleading.

So, I take the advice Spike was so kind as to lend,
And stop it all, with a simple THE END