For the uniformed; I have been charging everyone exorbant fees to talk to Buffy. I don't know why or how; I just have. This poem is based on that.

Happy Birthday Buffy,
I'm afraid I'm a day late,
and I must apologize,
for forcing you to wait.

And now I will quote,
without further ado,
This poem that I wrote,
especially for you.

One day, sometime during last week,
I decided to go for a walk,
and other Unwashed I would seek,
because I wanted to talk,
and so I went about the town,
and everyone I met wore a frown.
and everyone looked really down,
in the village that is Unwashed.

So I walked about and begin to inquire,
what had made everyone sad,
surely things could not be that dire,
come on, perk up, be glad!
and the people, well, they said to me,
if you want to know, then you will see,
our awesome debilating sadness's key,
is your terrible, awful, horrible fee!

We cannot afford to talk to her!
You charge to much! It is not fair!
You loathsome snivelling whining cur!
We can't believe that you would dare,
to charge us to talk to our favorite nurse,
if it's bad now, it will get worse,
and then they threatened, with words that were terse,
to beat me with a lead filled purse!

Okay! Okay! You'll get your way!
I yelled, to avoid the beating,
but only for a single day!
That's the only demand I'm meeting!
And so, because I'm a nice guy,
my generousness would make you cry,
and I swear I do not lie,
you can talk to Buffy for free *sigh*

But only on her birthday.