Author's Note: Xander has a throw-away comedic line about working at (and getting fired from) a phone sex line. This had to be done.


His first call:

"Uh...you've called 1-900-HOT-MENZ. What...er...fantasy would you like?"

"Okay, can you do a Han Solo impression?"

"What?"

"Cause I'm thinking, like, you be Han and I'll be Luke. And we can, you know, admire each other's weapons. And you'll play with my lightsaber, and be dashing and scoundrelish and it'll be so, so beautiful."

"Right...so, then, I'm Han?"

"Yes. And then, at some point, I really, really want you to say, 'Oh, I'll make this last much, much longer than twelve parsecs.'"

"Whoa whoa! No. Okay, no."

"But..."

"Listen, pal, a parsec is a measurement of distance, okay? Han Solo was a freaking idiot when he bragged about the Falcon doing the Kessel Run in under twelve parsecs. It makes absolutely no sense. We're not putting that in your sexy fantasy."

"Uh, wrong! You're forgetting the black holes from the Maw black hole cluster! His line is about how he swooped closer to the black holes and, therefore - "

"Oh my god! What type of fanboy are you? Black holes? Is any of that even in the movie?"

"Hey, my mom's not gonna be happy with all these charges on her credit card. Can we, like, get back to the call? Like, before she gets home?"

"Can't you have a normal fantasy? Like, I don't know...lumberjacks or attractive, yet completely nonexistent, vampires?"

"Okay, you've totally ruined this. My lightsaber just fizzled out. I hope you're happy, you Ewok-lover!"

"Oh, yeah, I'm so upset that I don't have to do a homoerotic Star Wars fantasy!"

The caller hung up.

Xander sighed.

Then his phone clicked back on. It was his supervisor.

"Xander, can you come to my office? Oh, and...pack up your stuff."