Summary: Spike hears the devastating news of the recent death of Johnny Ramone of the Ramones and finds a most unusual way of coping - involves some reminiscing and working out feelings with Angel...

Spike: (sings) I wanna be sedated... (stops singing, looks at Buffy) Do you like the Ramones?

"Bloody Hell!"

Angel, suddenly startled by the scream, drops the glass of blood and it shatters into a dozen pieces. Sighing, and frankly too irritated to try operating his very complicated phone, he goes by foot to find maintenance. Once having found the janitor of Wolfram and Hart, he crosses an office with its door nearly wide open... and its radio turned on. He is confused at the idea of someone staying after work to listen to the radio, and Angel directs the janitor to his office while he, himself, heads toward the particular office.

Getting ready for a fight, he kicks the door wide open, giving his enemy no time to retreat.

His only reaction as he sees the intruder is a mundane one. "Oh... it's you."

Spike moans, disappointedly, "And it's you. Just what my day needs."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it matter?"

"You don't even work here."

"So? I can go where ever I bleedin' feel like going."

"Okay. If that's the case, I'm sure you won't wanna hang around here so – here's a thought – get out!"

"Hey! Can you be a little more considerate, mate? I just heard some truly devastating news."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"The sodding radio just said Johnny Ramone died."


"And the Ramones are no more now. There's only one bloke left, but he's just the drummer. I'm telling you the music industry is falling apart."

Angel scoffs, "Tell me about it. If I hear one more song meant to be in dance clubs on the radio, I'm going to rip my own ears off."

"Great, then we'd have our own Van Gogh. But, y'know, you're right. If I wanted to hear those types of songs, I'd bloody well go to a club."

"Ah, Spike, what ever happened to good old music? You know, what about all that cool, great, swing music –now Louie Armstrong, he was a singer –"

He is interrupted by Spike's sudden singing, "'Well, it's still the same old story.

A fight for love and glory. A case of do or die –"Strangely enough, Angel joins and together they continue,"The world will always welcome lovers. As time goes by. Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers. As time goes by."

"That's some real good stuff. How come they don't make romantic songs like that anymore?" Angel sighs.

"Suppose it's 'cause of you and your bloody Manilow obsession, ya poof."

"Excellent comeback," Angel remarks sarcastically.

"Why, thank you, Peaches. Hey, remember Sinatra? Dru and I had some brilliant times to that music..."

"God, I'm ashamed to say it, but 'My Way' will literally bring me to tears. It's horrible."

Spike stares down at his hands and whispers an inaudible "Me too."

Trying his best to conceal his smirk, Angel replies "Yeah?"

"One of my weaknesses. No biggie... really. 'Sides, why do you think I can only listen to the Sex Pistols' version of it?"

"Well, that certainly explains it."

He sighs and tells the elder vampire across him, "Industry's dying, mate."

"You've mentioned that before."

"Say, Angelus, I've come up with an idea. It's not the best – probably not, anyway – but... say we turn 'em all. That'd work, wouldn't it?"


"If we turn the few remaining musical geniuses out there to vampires. Keep them alive forever – playing their music – well – forever, basically."

"What are ya, outta your mind! We can't do that."

"Give me one good reason."

"Well, it'd sort of counteract the whole vampires-with-souls-redemption thing, idiot!"

"Oh c'mon! Only a few people and that's all. Starting with Metallica. Oh, and The Offspring! And all the cool '80s music. That's some great rock, then."

"Please, don't tell me the next guy you're gonna suggest is Billy Idol. Because then it'd get a little confusing with the blonde hair and the make-up."

"Hey! I don't do that no more, nitwit... So what do you say we give this experiment a chance, eh?"

Angel contemplates this. He brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. He exhales, though, obviously for no reason. Finally, he says, "The Powers To Be are going to strike me down with lightning, aren't they?"

Spike grins. "I knew you'd see it my way! So," he gets up from his seat "where should we start looking to find these celebs?"

"Well, do you know how to use a computer?"

"A bit."

"Good. Because I hate those damn things. We can probably start looking at the bands' current tours."

"Excellent idea, Peaches."

"You know, we're going to get bored of this idea in two hours or so and give up completely."

"It's a possibility. But, hell, it'd be fun while it lasted."

The two vampires begin to amble on toward the exit door.

"Hey, Spike? Can we turn Barry Mani-"


"But -"


"Fine. I'll venture him out and do it on my own."

"If you do, I'll stake him the second he rises..."

Continuing their dispute, they encounter a merry Lorne.

"Angel-cakes and Blondie Bear! What are you two kids doing here at this time at night? Nothing naughty, I hope." The green demon smiles and takes a sip of his seabreeze.

Angel speaks, "Well, Lorne, Spike's had this brilliant idea," Angel speaks with mockery, "to turn all the good musical artists so they can play their music for eternity."

"Sounds great, Cheekbones! Right up my alley, I must say so myself. Can I come with?"

"Sure, Green-Machine, come along," Spike openly invites him.

"Gee-whiz, this'll be exciting. Hey, guys, do you think it'll be possible to turn Aretha Frank-"

"No!" Spike begins again.

"He's so picky, this one," Angel points to Spike. "Always has been, isn't that right, William?" he mimics a somewhat sad William "No, Dru's mine. It's not fair – blah blah blah."

Spike only rolls his eyes.

Lorne implores the group again. "Only Aretha. I promise. Please?"

"Hey, what about Manilow..."

As Lorne and Angel get into an argument, Spike, bringing his hand to his temple, mutters under his breath "Oh God, what did I get myself into. Good show, Spike, good show..."

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