Rating:  I'll say PG since Giles overindulges a bit.

Feedback:  That would be nice, that would.

Spoilers:  I'll say season five, just to be on the safe side.

Distribution:  Here.  If for some reason you would like it, please ask me.

Summary:  Giles gets fed up, downs a few too many potent potables, and winds up being far too honest.

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy.  Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you.  Thank you.

Dedication:  To all of us who miss Giles terribly.

The Tale of the Toasted Telephoner

It was on a humid Wednesday eve

When Sunnydale was fast asleep

That Rupert Giles, ex-librarian,

Lit in to some brandy cheap.

He was fed up with Xander Harris

And his blundering, bumbling wit.

He was fed up with the Council

Always calling him a twit.

"Just a half a glass of brandy"

He had muttered to himself,

But one glass turned into many

Before the bottle was back up on the shelf.

Old Ripper, he was loaded,

Fairly floating at the gills,

When he had a sudden urge

To run up several huge phone bills.

At one a.m. he called up Xander

Sleeping in his basement drab.

"What the heck," he thought bemusedly

"He always talks my ear off with his gab."

"Xander," he slurred quite drunkenly,

But with a fetching British tone,

"Just thought I'd let you know, my boy,

That you're dumber than a stone."

"Huh?" was Xander's dazed response

"Is this Giles?  Wait a minute, are you drunk?"

"Most definitely," he responded

As he put the phone down with a thunk.

His next call went out to Buffy

Who was sleeping without care

When suddenly the phone rang

Which she answered with a glare.

"Buffy," he mumbled sloppily

As his brain continued to reel,

"One of these nights out on patrol

You're going to get staked with your own high heel."

"Giles?  What do you think you're doing?

It's way past midnight.  Go to sleep.

I'm going to knock your block off

If you say another peep!"

The phone went dead, but Giles dialed on.

He had many calls to make.

The next phone to ring was in a crypt.

Its owner was already wide awake.

"Shpike," Giles maudlinly sputtered out,

"I kinda missed you when you left.

But return my radio and my TV

Or I'll have you charged with theft."

"What the bloody…" Spike began

But was cut off when Giles hung up.

"Wait, did that blighter say he MISSED me?

Cor, now I've got to go throw up!"

Ring!  Ring!  Went yet another phone,

But this one was not found in Sunnydale.

Instead "Angel Investigations. What's your deal?" greeted him

Before he blew up like a gale.

"Cordelia, dear, you're very pretty,

But your brain is far too thin.

If intelligence were motorcars,

You'd only have a Schwinn."

"Umm, hang on a second," she replied.

It's better to get even than get mad.

"Hey Angel," Cordy innocently shouted out.

"Pick up the phone.  And about the brooding?  It's just sad."

"Yeah," the vamp spoke in the phone

"Why Angel, what a shimply shplendid treat!"

"Giles, is that you?  What's wrong?  Is Buffy hurt?"

He was shaking from his gelled head down to his feet.

"No, you moron.  Now listen good 

Because I'm only going to say this once.

Why in blue blazes did you leave that girl?

In addition to psychotic, are you a dunce?"

Angel's eyes were crossed with shock

As the phone line it went dead.

But Giles, he kept a-dialing.

This time he woke Willow from her bed.

"Willow, pay attention.  This is Giles." 

The redhead bolted upright, fearing an apocalypse.

"Calm down.  There is no problem.  I just called to say

I've always thought you have nice lips." 

"Eeep," the hacker weakly squeaked

But Giles had already moved on.

This time he called long distance

To the Watcher's Council in London.

"I've no idea what time it is there,"

He intoned politely o'er the line,

"But I've a thing or two to say

Before the California sun does shine.

You people are pathetic,

Stuffier than the Queen herself.

I'm surprised you aren't covered in dust.

You wouldn't know a vampire from an elf.

I'm actually glad you sacked me

'Cause I didn't want to remain

Connected to a group of ruddy fools."

"Mr. Giles, will you please contain…"

Yourself was what he meant to say

Put the phone line it went click,

As good old Giles passed out on the floor.

In the morning, whoa, was he ever sick.

He woke up when his doorbell

Gave out a clamorous ding-dong.

He opened up the door and gazed about,

(His breath would have stunned King Kong).

Standing there were some of his phone pals:

Buffy, Xander, Willow and a lump

Covered head to toe in blankets

Which bellowed loudly "Let me in, you chump!"

As they entered he remembered

All the dealings of last night

And his green face turned to fuscia.

He wished he could get out of their sight.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm so sorry.

I don't know what got into me."

"I'd say quite a bit of cheap liquor,"

Spike sneered in vampish glee.

"Can the three of you forgive me?

Oh, I'm going to have to call Angel too!

And Cordelia, and the Council, and…

Good grief I'm in a stew!"

"I take it I'm the one you're leaving out,"

The fair-haired vampire shot at him.

"And last night you said you missed me!

Why I should tear you limb from limb!"

"It's okay," the Slayer cooed softly

To her Watcher in comforting tones deep.

"We all forgive you, it's forgotten.

Why don't you go get some sleep?"

"Thank you Buffy, I think I will.

I'll just go upstairs and turn in."

He left quickly without turning 'round,

And missed the Slayer's evil grin.

"All right guys, let's get started,"

She crowed in devilish spite.

They reshelved his books all out of order.

It took him four weeks to set it back aright.

The moral of this hokey story is

Don't mess with cheap brandy or you'll pay,

Both in terms of friendship and occupation,

And in the sky-high phone bill on its way.

January 24, 2001