"Mis-sis Rosenberg! You are NOT going to the Bronze! You are not going
anywhere until this mountain of dishes got itself washed!"
Willow grumbled. Hyena monsters. Egg monsters. Fish monsters. Where was the Dish Monster eating the dirty dishes when you needed it?
A monsterish noise behind Willow made her whirl around.
"Before you ask pointless questions, I am a Dish Monster called into life
by your witch subconscious. Yeah, and I iron, hoover and cook too."
Probably all at the same time, thought Willow, watching the monsters
"But there is no such thing as a free lunch, and in exchange..." "OK, so what do you want? My soul? Buffys soul? A box of cookies?" "Naaaah! I want LOVE,LOVE,LOVE!" said the Dish Monster, making obscene noises.
Willow shuddered in disgust. In the far background she heard her mother on the telephone, "No, it doesn't interest me whether this is the only concert of Teen Scream in the town. And if Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio would do a strip - household first!" A receiver was slammed.
No secret getaway with that new ACME Teen-Anti-Sneak-Device bought by her mother, Willow thought. Aw shucks, lean back and think of England. Or of Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio doing a strip. "OK, Cthulhu Junior, I just declared you the lesser evil. But no cumming in my mouth, and use a box of condoms, and don't ruin my clothes, and yadda yadda..."
Being a product of her subconscious, the monster took about five
seconds to undress her, tie her up, fill her orifices and give her
the ultimate lust of her lifetime. (Don't try this at home, girls.)
For the next ten minutes, the monster was busy washing the dishes, while making Willow utter one muffled squeal after another, until she passed out from too much orgasms. Call it Cthultitasking.
This was the moment Willows mother choose to enter the kitchen, being attracted by the strange noises.
Her mind snapped at the gruesome scene - namely at the thought of having wasted fourty years clinging to an outdated role-model. Well, the monster seemed to still have some spare tentacles, and nobody would have to tell Mr.Rosenberg?
Seconds later, she was very, very pleased too.
Later, at a visit...
"Hi Joyce!" "Hi Ruth!" "Now Buffy, take this as an example how
squeaky clean a household shall look! Your room always looks as
if a pack of monsters threw a party inside!"
Yeah, right, everything looked supernaturally clean here, including the empty grin on Mrs. Rosenberg's face. But Buffy was the Slayer. She surely would find out...