What if Spike hadn’t been a punk but liked some other kind of music? What if SFX reinvented him? Hmm…
“Heyyyy cat, I’m Spike! Will you funk me, baby?” So propositioned Funkadelic Spike when he crash-banged into Sunnydale all those years ago. Kitted out in Bootsy Collins’ gold lamé cast-offs, Funkadelic Spike spent his time in Sunnydale trying to turn the Bronze into glitzy disco mecca Studio 54 (“Man, this joint ain’t my scene, you know what I meeeaaannn!”), while pissing off the Scoobs with his multi-hour bass workouts, before terrifying the residents with a scream of deadly wah-wah.
When Smiths-Spike comes to town, he immediately tries to locate a dingy bedsit from which to weave his morose bedroom evil. Notable to the Scooby gang for his endless wittering on about the Carry On films, Twinkle and Oscar Wilde, he found a perfect partner in the hippy-drippy Drusilla, with whom he rampaged glumly throughout Sunnydale while looking at his Docs and moaning about how nobody loved him. Had trouble marrying his vampirism with his vegetarian diet of nut cutlets and was often seen down alleyways trying to suck the blood out of a Quorn burger. Favourite song: Girlfriend In A Casket
“If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some garlic round your neck”. That’s what Scott McKenzie would have sung in ‘67 if he’d bumped into Spike in Haight-Ashbury. After sucking on one LSD-spiked virgin too many at Woodstock, Spike decided that, “We’re all, like, petals on the same cosmic flower, right man?” and was reborn as a kaftan-clad flower child. Now his villainy is slightly inhibited by the fact that, as an acid casualty, he has the memory of a concussed goldfish. Plus, the Bisto-like trail of patchouli oil stench left in his wake makes it easy for Buffy to track him down and lay some bad vibes on him.
After Spike Strange’s arrival in Sunnydale police were baffled by a string of murders, bodies found with two puncture marks on the neck… surrounded by bright orange lipstick. Possibly the only vampire whose victims wet themselves laughing whilst they are sucked dry, Spike’s New Romantic look is not a great success. Sure, he has the clothes right – when you’re over 140 years old, frilly shirts and kilts are just the stuff at the back of your wardrobe. Unfortunately, an obvious problem with mirrors mean he always has eyeliner and mascara smeared over his face like a four year old girl who’s raided her mum’s make-up box.