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Lost my ring, got my ass kicked, and now forced to listen to demon karaoke. FML!

If there was one thing a bloke needed after losing the bloody holy grail of vampire artifacts to a poof with a soul, who would rather destroy it than even make use of it, it was a stiff drink. So Spike grabbed the first demon he found in L.A. and, after giving him a good beating just for the hell of it, asked where the nearest demon bar was.

The place looked promising from the dark neon front, and from the muffled sound of Barry White playing, Spike got the hopeful notion that there might be strippers.

His hopes fell as he stepped up to the bar and noticed that the part of Mr. White was being played by a Chirago demon in an orange paisley cocktail dress, standing in front of a gold lamé curtain.

Karaoke. Right. Always ask questions BEFORE beating. Why did Spike never learn that?

He was just desperate enough for a drink not to leave without one, though, so he turned his back to the stage and waved the barkeep down. “Please tell me you serve blood here.”

The handsome Latino man flashed him a smile. “Animal only, humanely gathered, but the house mix is so smooth you won’t know the difference.”

“I doubt that. Give me two fingers in three fingers of scotch. And get another one coming.”

“The ‘Tetanus Shot’ comes with whiskey, blood, and a splash of Drambuie. Want to make that a double?”

Spike waved him away.


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This new dick in town comes on to me, then kicks my top client out a tenth-story window. Now I’m in trouble for losing the contract while he’s off scott-free. Habeas Corpus sucks without a corpus! And to top it all, the dick groped me on his way out and now won’t return my calls! FML!

Spike was starting his second Tetanus Shot and begrudgingly admitting it was very good when he heard a strum of acoustic guitar behind him. He’d been fighting to ignore the inexpert warblings of the karaoke bar’s guests so hard he was startled almost out of his chair when something sounding like good music started.

“This song’s for a certain vampire,” the clean-cut guy on stage spoke with a sugary hint of roughness, lips close to the mic. “I’d tell him to suck it, but you know how that goes with vampires.”

He had a gorgeous smile. Spike turned around in his seat.

“Anyway, here it goes.” The guy stopped strumming idly and launched into his song, a soulful heartbreak song, the sort Spike vehemently did NOT like and totally wasn’t sniffling along with into his blood-spiked rusty nail.

Bloke had real pretty eyes, too, and there was something rough about his face that contrasted with his neat suit in a way that got Spike wondering about him.

But he wasn’t really planning on staying longer until a green-skinned demon came over and handed him a tall tumbler, “On the house, spongecake,” he said, smiling knowingly.


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This one is for my computer-challenged boss – and FML that I have to make his FML posts for him! Anyway, his annoying wanna-be-nemesis and apparently ex-fuckbuddy (LOL) is sleeping with his current wanna-be-nemesis/future fuckbuddy, and I know because they showed up drunkenly, singing all about said-boss’ private parts. Plugged up ears. Okay, not really. Boss is hot, okay? Anyway, screw him, I have to listen to all the drama and excuses so – FML!