Disclaimer: I'm not a man. My name is not Joss. My name is not David. I do not run a company called Mutant Enemy. Do not sue me.

Really I Do

Uh oh. This is not good. It never is.

He's here. They all are. Hopefully none of them will sing.

They're good people and I like them. Really I do.

But, as singing voices go, he's the worst. And I should know, I've heard plenty of people sing. The other three with him aren't much better at it, but they're still better. At least they aren't completely tone deaf.

But I guess someone who has been dead for over two hundred years has a right to not be able to sing. Why oh why can't there be another way to read their auras? Why do they have to sing?

They're good people and I do like them. Really I do.

They come in here often and it's usually him that sings. Angel. Why can't he have the voice of his namesake? Maybe I could talk someone into giving him singing lessons? No…no one deserves to be tortured that much.

Uh oh. He's heading this way. He's going to sing. If it wouldn't hurt his feelings, I'd scream and run away.

They're good people and I do like them. Really I do.

He's almost here. Please oh please not Barry Manilow. Anything but Barry Manilow. A good rock song maybe? Please let me just have enough luck for it not to be Barry Manilow. The brunette girl, Cordelia is glaring at him. That's a sure sign it's not going to be Manilow.

Oh…selection 89, Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Sweet Home Alabama." YAY! It's not Manilow. At least I have that much luck. It's not much, but it's all I have.

Four minutes and forty seconds later, he stops. That was the longest song in my life. I don't think I'll ever look at the song the same again. And I think I've heard it enough times. I am, after all, a microphone. I will hear it many times again. But hopefully not by him.

But they are good people and I do like them. Really I do.

Well, maybe not him.

THE END