Author's Note: Most obscure crossover I could think of. Buffy was created by Joss Whedon. Who created the other characters, I leave for the afterword.

You'll either get this, or think I'm insane. Or possibly both.

X X X X X

"What a beautiful night to dine under the stars," Drusilla said.

"A picnic my love wants," Spike said, "A picnic my love gets."

It was a beautiful night in the park; full moon over the trees. Spike didn't much care for being in the middle of the wilderness; he was a city boy through and through. But Dru'd recently had it in her head that she wanted to spend some time in the country, so by god, there they were.

She had insisted on the proprieties; she always insisted on the proprieties: a spread-out tablecloth, silverware, and a proper basket, "or the stars will get angry." Spike had pointed out that the corpses wouldn't actually fit inside a normal-sized basket, and she'd said, "It's not going to get jealous if we use something else."

So, silverware, a couple of bottles of beer, some Ritz crackers (not as good as Weetabix for texture, but they added a bit of flavor), all in the basket, carried gaily by Dru, and two people killed on their way into the park, lugged by Spike.

They found a spot not far from a tree, with a nice view of the lake. "Oh, Spike," Dru said. "We must stop here. We can see the moon dancing in the water. You know," she said as if imparting a secret, "I think it's doing the gavotte. But it's not very skillful."

"At least it's not breakdancing, love," Spike said, and waited while Drusilla spread the cloth before dumping the bodies and sitting down next to them. "Dunno about you, but I'm famished." He reached for an arm, only to have his hand slapped away by Dru.

"Silly boy. Mustn't eat before our constitutional."

"Constitutional?"

"It means walk."

A little irritably, Spike said, "I know what it means. I want to know why."

"Because that's the way these things are done," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hell, to her, it probably was.

Still, while Spike was hungry, it wasn't worth upsetting Dru to get in a bite. A quick walk, and the blood would be almost as warm as when they started.

X X X X X

It would have been a quick walk, had Dru not insisted on talking to every living thing she saw along the way. Three raccoons, two opossums, and one very started turtle -- all of whom survived her loving ministrations. Never could tell with her; one of the reasons he loved her. She could cheerfully slit the throat of a deer, but once at a bar up in Northern Canada she'd overheard a couple of people say that they clubbed baby harp seals, and positively wouldn't leave without "giving them a taste of what it's like to be a seal." And it involved nothing so genteel as simply bashing in their skulls.

Anyway, the blood would probably be cooler than Spike would have preferred, but still plenty warm.

All of a sudden, about 100 yards or so from the picnic site, Dru stopped. "No," she said. "No!" in a near-wail.

"What is it?" Spike asked.

"I can hear them. They're coming for our food, all the warm and tasty blood -- and even your crackers."

Spike heard nothing. "Who's coming?"

"I told you. Them." She began humming.

"Well, that explains it, then -- what's that tune?"

"It's their tune," she said dreamily.

"Like hell," Spike said. "They're not taking our stuff." He knew.

As he ran towards the picnic, he heard Dru say behind him, "You can't stop them, you know."

No one had ever been able to before, but bloody hell, there was always a first time.

But by the time he got there, all that was left was the empty basket, and the bloodstained cloth.

And now, if he strained, he could hear them: their marching, and their incessant song.

"Oh, we're the ants who ruin your dinner
We're always here to mess up any day
When we're around, every vampire gets thinner
'cause if we get the chance, we will take your blood away . . .

Oh, we're the ants who steal your victims

We make sure you never your eat your fill

If they're gone, you can be sure we nicked 'em

'cause if we get the chance we will take the guys you killed . . .

Oh, we're the ants who leave you famished

We're always here to ruin all your fun

When we're around your bodies will vanish

'cause if we get the chance we will take home every one . . ."

Spike swore, went back to get Dru, and they returned to the car.

The night was ruined. Oh, sure, they could and would find other people to eat, but it wouldn't be the same,

Because, of course, they'd run into a colony of ants.

X X X X X

So: Anyone recognize them?

They're from what was the most popular sketch on Garfield & Friends. Mark Evanier wrote the original lyrics, which I have parodied, and Garfield himself was created by Jim Davis. And Picnic Panic was the name of the original episode.