Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Saturday Night Live characters are the property of their original owners.
It was a puzzlement.
The traditions of his new home included a pronouncement of the customer always being right. Which meant these patrons were to be treated with solemn deference, and their provided piece of work to be done as swiftly and skillfully as possible. In return, the exchange of currency for the finished task came next, ensuring a filled stomach, limbs which were decently clad, and the honor of a merchant would be displayed by his pleased clients.
However, judging by all the bloodstains upon his most recent job, the specific customer who owned this same garment was undoubtedly some sort of vicious, unearthly monster who needed to be met in battle and defeated with the utmost dispatch. Such an action would naturally satisfy the honor of his warrior ancestors.
Again, it was a puzzlement. The man in the back room of the small shop, now seated in the lotus position before a stick of lit incense giving off a curl of aromatic smoke from its position inside a stone bowl, had thought long and hard tonight on how these two different aspects of honor could be equally met. At last, the Asian male had come to the conclusion that perhaps a sign from the gods was needed in order to help him decide exactly what to do--Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“OI, THERE!” An extremely impatient voice shouted, perfectly matching the discourteous loud ringing of the service bell on the counter of the New York City dry cleaning establishment. “YOU ASLEEP IN THE BACK? I WANT MY BLEEDIN’ JACKET NOW, IN TIP-TOP SHAPE, OR ELSE! HONESTLY, I SHOULD’VE GONE TO THE OTHER PLACE UP THE BLOCK, WITH THE SIGN SAYING MEL’S DOES IT FAST AND RIGHT, NOT LIKE HERE!”
Ah, karma could be such a wonderful thing. His business had just been insulted more than enough for his honor needing to be redeemed, and the best way for this to be accomplished was by chopping off the head of that yellow-hair devil in the front room.
Futaba-san smoothly rose to his feet in their wooden geta sandals, and the kimono-wearing Japanese samurai momentarily caressed the hilt of his razor-sharp katana. Then, a master swordsman went off to slaughter a vampire.
Standing on the front stoop of their apartment, both of the young men there critically eyed the other in their horribly clashing skintight pants and loud, unbuttoned polyester shirts. Abruptly nodding in shared cheerful approval, this duo now gave each other an enthusiastic high-five. It was time once more for the fair maidens of New York’s bar scene to meet the glory which was Georg and Yortuk Festrunk.
Beginning to strut down the front stairs together, this pair of absolute idiots momentarily paused to watch passing by on the sidewalk before themselves a sprinting blonde guy in his shirtsleeves barely keeping ahead of some other pursuing guy dressed in robes, his hair drawn up in a topknot, and waving a really big sword while screaming unintelligible battle cries.
When those weirdos eventually went out of both sight and hearing, Georg looked at his brother, and they both shrugged in sheer bafflement. Yortuk then offered, “Hey, Georg, it could only happen to swingers like us, because we are--”
Georg joyously joined in with his brother their catchphrase, “--TWO WILD AND CRAZY GUYS!”
Author’s Note: The strangest part is that the timeline actually fits. “Samurai Dry Cleaners”, as masterfully portrayed by John Belushi, appeared October 29, 1977 on SNL, and Nikki Wood was killed by Spike sometime in 1977.