24 December 1998
It's been near a month since that ill-conceived, but (bugger-all) enlightening trip back to SunnyD.
"Home sweet home."
Can you believe that mewling drivel I wrote, diary? Me bloody neither. So. Never happened, as far as I'm concerned. Except that righteously fun brawl in the Magic Shop. Even the Slayer and Angel making googly eyes at each other couldn't dilute the fun of scrappin' with those no-account goons-for-hire. Wouldn't want to forget a fun spot of violence like that, even if I can't admit to Dru what a rush it was. Backs to the wall, fists and fangs flying. She'd take it personally. It's not polite to kill your own kind, that's for naughty vampires who have no cakes.
It's Christmas Eve in Rio. Dru and I figured on picking off tourists, arms laden with packages, stumbling through the streets, in celebration for our Lord and Savior's birthday. But best-laid plans and all that. We came all this way south only to find that the sodding Christ the Redeemer statue makes our skin itch in lighted promenades, the sodden closed-in alleyways, even in the darkest corner of the lowest sewer (and who bloody well comes to Rio just to dig out another methane trap). If I wanted to feel the Eyes of Judgment boring into the back of my skull, I would have stayed in sodding SunnyHell. No thank you. 'S shame really. Knew I should have pushed for Sampa. Non ducor, duco.
We're about five miles from the Cidade Maravilhosa, in a posh two-winged estate. How we supped last night! We took the fat lord and lady of the manor on the velvet sheets. It was maravilhosa. Knowing that the Poof's pining over lost love in the Slayer's little psycho-drama is silver lining on the cake. Let's just wipe the slate clean for the new year, eh? Forget all that Chaos/Lister demon nonsense I was blathering on about.
Today is near-on perfect.
I feel like a little poetry.
Reflections on a Christmas Season, in the Scale of "The Night Before Christmas"
'S Christmas Eve and all through the flat,
not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.
The beer bottles were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that more Jack would soon be there;
The vampires were nestled snug in their crypts,
While visions of ruddy children danced in their heads;
and Dru in her lily dress and I in my cap,
Had just settled our bodies for a short daytime nap,
When out on the landing there arose such a rukus
I sprang from the bed with a curt "bugger this!"
Away to the sunlight I stumbled like bum
Tore open the door and to wrangle the chum.
What to my blathering eyes should appear
But a miniature Slayer with infinite cheer!
In her hand were eight tiny stakes,
All in a row, none of them fakes!
Rapidly, the Slayerettes eagerly came
She whistled and shouted and called out by name:
"Now Xander! now Giles! Now Willow and Dawn,
On Riley! On Angel! on Cordy and Gunn!"
As dead dust before the Slayer's stake would fly,
I stood dumb, without even a sigh.
"Just my luck!" They thought I would exclaim,
But silent I stayed as they looked on with disdain.
The end of my life, this certainly would be,
If not for Spavro demon lumbering toward me.
Like a flash! Like a bolt! They sprung into the air,
Hacking and slashing without even a care!
Off they ran, demon and sod all
Leaving me holding the proverbial bottle.
Oh hurrah, oh hurray, oh damn bloody wonderful.
Cor blimey, kill me now, this is just-bloody-wonderful.