Welcome to my latest attempt to make the dismal ladder-half of the third season of Sliders look even more ridiculous. Today, we come to the episode, "Stoker". This episode... well, I hate it. I don't think I could hate this episode any more than I do. Why? Well, it all started back in 1997 about two months after the episode was aired. I already didn't like the episode, but something was about to happen that would make me absolutely hate it.

Back then, I used to do a yearly poll on my website to determine what my visitors thought were the best episodes of The X-Files, Voyager, Deep Space Nine, and Sliders. I called it "The Kimmies" after Garett Wang's Ensign Kim.

After a month of nominations, the top three Sliders episodes were: "Double Cross" (the one that introduced super-cool villain Logan Saint Claire), "The Guardian" (my favorite of the season in which Quinn met a younger version of himself who was coping with the recent death of his father), and - believe it or not - "Stoker"! An episode in which the gang had to rescue Wade from rock and roll vampires!

Astonishingly, "Stoker" almost won! In fact, it was beat out by "The Guardian" by only one vote! Why? Well, Wade sang in it. Forget it was a poorly written and laughably executed crap fest, WADE SANG!!! Sliderfans were so whipped by so many horrible episodes by that point that they almost voted a terrible episode as the best of the season solely because Sabrina Lloyd was allowed to take up a few minutes to sing a beautiful song.

Wade's song was the high point of the episode, but let's face it, "Stoker" is about as bad as Sliders got... Well, at least until "This Slide of Paradise" which I probably hate even more than this one.

Okay, now you know why I hate this episode and why I'm going to be even more vindictive and petty than ever. So just sit back and enjoy the ride.

"Stoker: The Parody" is based on the Sliders episode, "Stoker", written by Joseph Anderson who is, I assume, mostly illiterate and a fan of shlock horror. Sliders is the property of Universal/Saint Clare and the Sci-Fi Channel, but not FOX since they're a bunch of simpletons who moved King of the Hill to a night that nobody watches TV and then blamed the drop in the ratings on the show's writers. This document may be freely distributed to others on the condition that it not be altered or sold. Contains mostly new jokes and 71 percent actual humor. Not a significant source of USDA approved entertainment. "Stoker: The Parody" is rated PG-13 for poor taste, sexual innuendo, a few dirty words, drug use, nudity, and at least fifty-eight 'Cheech and Chong' jokes made at the expense of Tommy Chong who guest starred in this episode after his gig in the latest direct-to-video National Lampoon movie was canceled.

For the record, I just want to say that I think Sabrina Lloyd has a wonderful voice, but for the sake of this parody, she sings like an injured moose.

And now, Stoker: The Parody...

In a rock bar dressing room, the members of a hard rock, gothic, Satan-worshipping, baby stomping, rat eating, talentless, but strangely popular music group were looking over their reviews in a newspaper.

"Tuh-he... Tuh-he," the lead singer said as he tried in vain to sound out the first word in the column. "Oh, THE! The... rock band... Stroker... eyes... no, IS! ...is... tuh-he... worst band... I have... ever... lice-tened..."

"Give me that!" a fed-up cameraman said snatching the paper away from the brain-dead rocker. "It says, 'The rock band Stroker is the worst band I've ever listened to. I haven't felt this auditorally violated since I heard Steven Segal sing country music in the movie 'Fire Down Below'."

"What!?" the lead singer yelled in amazement snatching the paper away from the cameraman and shoving him out of frame. "He compared US to Steven Segal! We must... take care of this music critic," he said to the other members of the band, "if you catch my drift!"

The other members of the band stared at him in a vain attempt at understanding.

"We will deal with this music critic... harshly!" he told them.

The band was confused.

The lead singer exhaled. "We'll kill him!" he said as if speaking to three-year-olds.

"Cool! Right! Ya-hoo!" the band bellowed in agreement.

"You know," said Harker, the evil drummer. "You'd think that after all these centuries you could take a little criticism." He then looked at the audience and winked. "Hint, hint, hint!"

"Yes well," the lead singer sighed. "I guess as long as the critics don't start coming after us with...," he looked at the camera and winked. "...wooden stakes, holy water, and crucifixes...," he turned back to the drummer. "...we should be fine."

"Yeah...," Seward, the dumb keyboardist, chimed in. "Especially since we're all...," he looked at the camera and winked. "...werewolves!"

"We're not werewolves, you git!" the lead singer said while repeatedly hitting the keyboardist over the head with the newspaper.

"Excuse me," Reinfield, the band's toadie, interrupted leading a very attractive young woman into the dressing room. "I've brought someone who's looking for a job as a back up singer. This is...," the toadie looked at the camera and winked. "...Mina."

The band was confused. "What the hell does THAT have to do with what we've been talking about!?" Harker the drummer asked.

"Mina," Reinfield maintained. "You know... like the character... in... in Bram Stoker's Dracula. You know... we're all named after characters... in the book?"

"Ohhhhhh," the band said in unison crowding around Mina and shoving the toadie out a window.

Somewhere, half a world away, a strange whirling song was heard. After a brief inspection, it was discovered that the sound was Bram Stoker spinning in his grave.

"Beat it," the lead singer said to the other band members back in the dressing room. "The lady and I have some things we'd like to... uh, discuss."

The rest of the band grumbled to themselves as the left the room and the lead singer eyed Mina with a bloodlust that Mina mistook for an urge to vomit.

"I just want you to know," Mina hissed sexually. "That I'll do anything to be in a band." She unbuttoned a few buttons on her blouse and revealed a large portion of her leg. "Like... I'll do your laundry for a year and take out all the trash too!"

The lead singer suddenly opened his mouth revealing two large pointy fangs and then lunged for young Mina's neck. "Oh my GOD!!!" Mina screamed in terror. "YOU'RE A WEREWOLF!!!"

Unfortunately, Mina's screams were drowned out by the hard rock emanating from the dance floor where, as the camera surveyed the crowd, we find Wade Welles swaying back and forth to the music looking almost as vacant as Maggie often appears.

The next day, we find the sliders in a hotel room on the other side of town.

"It's about time the writers got to us," Maggie huffed as she hovered over Quinn who was inspecting the timer. "Look," she said. "Maybe the timer's malfunctioning."

"No," Quinn said for the tenth time. "The timer's not malfunctioning. Rickman (who as you probably already know, we are chasing to get our revenge on since he killed Maggie's husband, our professor, and has the coordinates to Earth Prime in his timer) is still here."

"Why are you telling us that?" Rembrandt asked. "We already know that."

"Well," Quinn explained. "These last few months of episodes involving supernatural snakes, zombies, and so forth has driven off most our intelligent audience who've been with us from the beginning. However, we've managed to grab a few stupid viewers who are too dim to watch and keep up with The X-Files or Psi Factor. The superfluous exposition is for them."

"Oh," Rembrandt said nodding and returning his attention to the comics.

"If Rickman is still here, why can't we find him?" Maggie asked, too proud and embarrassed to admit that she had no idea what "superfluous" or "exposition" meant. "You'd think a guy who sucks people's brains out for a living would stick out like a sore thumb!"

"Well, this is San Francisco," Quinn countered.

"True," Maggie agreed. "Okay then, where's all the coma patients he leaves behind?"

"Look," Quinn said. "He may be covering his tracks. Take a look at this." He held up a missing persons flyer with pictures of Tina Yothers, Macualy Culkin, Yahoo Serious, and Denise Crosby. "These people have all been reported missing. Maybe they've fallen victim to Rickman!"

"Maybe we should go to the police," Rembrandt suggested.

"And tell them what?" Maggie asked. "We're a bunch of travelers from another universe on a dying TV show languishing in a bad time slot who are searching for a guy who sucks out people's brains?"

"You got a better idea?" Rembrandt asked.

"As a matter of fact I do," Maggie nipped. "I say we hit all of the hospitals and look for coma patients with puncture marks on the backs of their necks. Then we can stake out those locations and wait for Rickman to come to us."

"Oh my god!" Rembrandt said dropping the comics to the floor in disbelief. "She really DID have a better idea!"

At that moment, Wade snuck into the room. She had huge bags under her eyes and stank of cheep booze and cigarettes.

"Just wait right there, little missy!" Maggie bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Just where have YOU been all night!?"

Wade held her head until the painful throbbing subsided. "If you must know," she wheezed. "I went to a rock concert to hear a band called Stroker. While I was there, I drank two bottles of Kentucky Whiskey, smoked three packs of Marlboros and was felt up by ten different people of various ages and genders." She coughed a deep raspy cough and then remembered something else. "Oh, and strictly on a drunken hunch, I asked a complete stranger if he knew anything about any missing people and he said that several women have disappeared at Stroker concerts."

"So," Rembrandt said. "You think that Rickman's been grabbing his victims there?"

"Either that," Wade laughed, "or Stroker's been killing their own groupies, but that's ridiculous! I'm going to go back there tonight and check it out some more."

"Wade," Maggie said quietly as she dropped to one knee. "I don't think that I'm alone here in saying that you're recent behavior is disturbing to say the least. You're risking not finding Rickman and the timer that could send you home all so you can catch a rock concert. Wade, this is really out of character for you and, as your friend and teammate, I'm worried for you, kid."

Wade threw her steaming hot coffee in Maggie's face. "You are such a bitch, Maggie! I don't need your pity! Why don't you all leave me alone! All of you!"

With that, the young woman who claimed to be Wade marched into the bathroom where, for the next several hours, the sounds of heaving and vomiting could be heard.

At that moment, or at least another, across town at a hospital, Rickman walked into a coma patient's room dressed as a Catholic priest. As patient lay in the bed lifeless and unaware, Rickman sucked out his brain with a syringe and injected it into himself. "Yes," he said savoring the moment. "My plan is perfect. I steal brain fluid from people who are already in comas and thus, leave no trail of new coma patients for those meddling Sliders to follow." He turned his attention back to the patient. "It's not like you care, do you?" he said grinning eviliy. "You probably weren't going to wake up anyway."

Just then a nurse walked in. "Oh," she said in alarm. "I didn't expect anyone to be in here with Mr. Johnson!"

"I'm just watching over my flock, my child," Rickman answered her.

"That's odd," the nurse responded. "Mr. Johnson was only here for a vasectomy. He must have fallen asleep while he was waiting. But still, father, it's sweet of you." With that, she wheeled the unfortunate Mr. Johnson to surgery.

Rickman looked sheepishly at the camera. "I won't tell if you won't!"

Meanwhile, in yet another part of town, a man left his office with a handful of demo tapes mumbling to himself. "Hanson Raps? Give me a break! Kenny G's duets with Coolio? Oh, puh-lease! Garth Brook's Music to Love your Sheep By? YUCK!!!" He threw the demos into a nearby trash can as he marched down the street. "When I went to the newspaper and asked for a job, what did they want me to be? A music critic. 'But I hate all types of music,' I told them. 'Well, then, you'd be perfect,' they answered! I hate my job!" Angrily, the sad and pathetic little man got into his car and grunted in frustration when it wouldn't start.

"Oh, well... THIS is just great!" he huffed turning to the dead woman in the back seat who 45% of the viewing audience recognized as Mina from the beginning of the episode. "I don't know about you, Wanda, but this is the last time I ever buy a Toyota!" He paused and cocked his head. "Wait a second," he said in horror. "You're not blow-up Wanda!"

Just then, Harker, the evil drummer from Stroker jumped out in front of the car. "Hello Mr. nameless music critic! What you wrote in the paper really hurt my feelings and now I'm going to have to kill you with my super-hip powers of darkness!"

With that, he snapped his fingers causing the critic's car to take off on it's own, careen madly down the street, crash into a Planet Hollywood Restaurant, take out a newsstand filled with copies of George, National Review, and every book that Rush Limbaugh or Pat Robertson ever wrote, crash though a Blockbuster store taking out racks of Lost in Space, Godzilla, and The Avengers videos, and finally explode in a huge and spectacular fireball catching the local McDonalds on fire. People on the street who witnessed the accident took a collective sigh of relief that nothing of value was destroyed.

Harker, the evil drummer, laughed maniacally at what he'd just done until he realized that his skin was crackling and burning. "Oh, that's right!" he said slapping his forehead. "Vampires can't go out in direct sunlight! Boy, you'd think I'd remember that after about the thirtieth time!"

Across town, Wade was getting all gussied up to go bar hopping again. She smiled as she put on her "whore red" lipstick and her "heroin pale" blush. After that. she wandered down the street in a gothic stupor to kill a few minutes while the writers tried to dream up of where to take the episode next.

Meanwhile, across town once again, Maggie met up with Quinn and Rembrandt at a fountain. "So," she said. "What'd you find out?"

"I found several coma patients with puncture marks on the backs of their necks just as you said," Quinn told her. "I couldn't stay long because the nurse said that only family and creepy religious guys are allowed in there after visiting hours. I say we stake out the place like you suggested."

"I have a better idea," Maggie said shaking her head. "How about we go dig up Rickman?"

"You mean, like, from the ground?" Rembrandt said in shock.

"No," Maggie answered sarcastically. "I mean, like, from he sky. I checked the death certificates and it turns out that a Colonel Rickman kicked a few days ago. I'm going to go to the cemetery and dig up his body."

"Ah," Quinn said. "So you can make sure it's him and see if he's buried with the timer?"

"I was thinking so I could dismember him and piss on his head," Maggie answered. "But I guess that's a good idea too. So, you wanna come?"

"I don't know," Rembrandt said, a little disheartened by the subject. "I've done a lot of stuff on these slides, but digging up a dead body is something I think the execs wanna save until sweeps!"

Finally, Rembrandt agreed and they all trekked off to the cemetery.

Meanwhile, at a blood bank, Stroker was holding a blood drive and Reinfield, the band's toadie, was collecting names from the donors and giving them all free tickets to a concert. Coincidentally, this was the same place that Rickman frequented and, also coincidentally at that very moment, Rickman walked in wearing his priest garb and sauntered up to the main office window where he confronted the doctor in charge of the bank.

"Do you have the list I asked for?" he asked with an evil grin on his equally evil face.

"Yes," the doctor answered pulling out a list of names. "These coma patients match the DNA profile you provided. Of course, you're lucky that we deal in DNA since most blood banks don't. In fact, I think we're the only one in the world that even bothers. What an amazing coincidence, huh?"

"Whatever," Rickman sighed handing the man a large sum of money he must have got from his guest bit on La Femm Nakita.

Meanwhile, Wade was wondering around the deserted concert hall killing some time and wondering why on earth she'd arrived for the Stroker concert four hours early. Bored, she decided to walk up on stage and play a little song on the keyboard.

"I'VE GOT TEAAAAAAARS IN MY FROOOOO, 'CAAAAAAAUSE I'M STANDING OOOON MY HEAD FOOOOR YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!!!" her falsetto and discordant voice rang out shattering windows and causing rats all around the neighborhood to flee in terror.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT RACKET!?" A voice yelled out as the lead singer of Stroker ran into the concert hall holding his ears. "SOMEONE SKINNING A CAT IN HERE!?" He then saw Wade had an attractive body despite her voice and decided to seduce her. "Oh, hi baby," he hissed. "My name is Lead... Lead Singer. I'm the lead singer of Stroker."

"Yeah," Wade said giggling like a schoolgirl. "I know."

Lead decided to make his move. "We're looking for a back up singer. You wanna try out?"

"I really can't... That is, I'd really like to, but I have to slide... I, uh, mean leave in a few hours... Oh the other, hand... I guess I could... That, is... I suppose, I could audition. Yeah, I'll do it," Wade blubbered proving that Quinn Mallory wasn't the only slider struck dumb by a pretty face.

With that, Lead Singer grinned and lead Wade to the back to meet the other band members: Harker, the evil drummer, Seward, the stupid keyboardist, the Unimportant Bassplayer who had no name, and Reinfield the Toadie, the one who would someday star on That 70's Show.

Meanwhile, in the cemetery, Quinn and the others were digging up Rickman's supposed grave. "This is so much fun," Maggie said. "It reminds me of family reunions when I was a kid!"

Quinn paused momentarily to stare at her, then opened up the casket. "That's not Rickman," he said.

"Yeah," Rembrandt said holding his nose. "But at least we finally found out what the FOX network executives did with poor Tracy Torme'."

"Well, this was a complete waste of time. Thank you very much, Maggie," Quinn sneered. "Look, I'm going to go check out the hospital again. You two bury the stiff."

"Won't that hurt you?" Maggie asked.

Quinn, pissed by that remark, marched to a nearby pay phone and reported a pair of graverobbers in the local cemetery who were promptly arrested and hauled off to jail where Maggie was strip searched and forced to undergo a delousing and group shower scene that was so distasteful, the FOX execs decided to drop it from the episode and save it for a clip show during sweeps.

After all that, Quinn inexplicably and out of the blue decided to ask a passerby where he might find the band, Stroker, and, upon arriving there, confronted Wade who was enjoying her first successful performance as Stroker's back up singer.

"Wade!" Quinn yelled out.

"Hi, Quinn!" Wade responded. "Did you hear me sing tonight?"

"Yeah, you were good," Quinn lied. "Listen, I have to talk to you. It's very important... it's about Rickman!"

"Later," Wade said getting a long and prolonged tongue-included kiss from Lead Singer. "Right now I'm going to go out and party. Let me know how that whole Rickman-thing works out. Tah!"

"Wait, Wade!" Quinn cried out, shocked that for once SHE had dumped HIM. "I have to talk to you!"

"She said later!" Harker, the evil drummer, said grabbing Quinn by the neck and hoisting him off of the ground before throwing him across the street and into a nearby brick wall.

"Ow," Quinn responded as Chong of the former pot-smoking comic duo "Cheech and Chong" walked over to him and helped him up.

"Hi," Chong said. "My name is Chong and your friend is in great danger. Come with me and I'll tell you how to save her."

With that, he led Quinn to a beat up Ford Pinto waiting on the curb. The first thing that Quinn noticed as he got in was the pungent smell of marijuana, but he decided to let Chong speak since Up in Smoke was the highlight of his video collection back on Earth Prime.

"This group, Stroker," Chong began. "The band members in it are over five-hundred years old. They only come out at night, they suck the blood out of the living, they're afraid of crosses, holy water, and wooden stakes. Do you know what that means?"

"My god," Quinn whispered. "They're werewolves, aren't they?"

"No," Chong said impatiently. "They're vampires! I've been hunting them ever since they killed the one I wanted to spend my whole life with."

"Your wife?" Quinn asked.

"Cheech," Chong answered. "Stroker's been living in a museum that's been closed for repairs. Everytime a security guard passes by, they pretend they're members of the ice ages exhibit." He put an hand on Quinn's thigh. "Help me kill them all, Quinn. Help me help you save your friend."

Quinn nodded his head as he tried to push Chong's hand off of his leg.

Meanwhile, in the very museum Chong had described, Lead Singer had gotten Wade so drunk that she began to spill the beans about everything. "Noooooo," she said in a drunken stupor, "I'm serious... my friends and Maggie and I are sliders! (HIC!) We go from universe to universe trying to (HIC!) find home! TV Guide calls us a time-travel show, but I really don't think we are."

"Sliding? Wow," Lead Singer whispered. "You're amazing!"

"What'd you call me!?" she slurred angrily before passing out onto the floor in a pool of her own vomit.

Lead Singer walked outside where Reinfield was sitting there being all moody. "I've got good news," Lead Singer said.

"Hanson was killed in a fiery plane crash that took out the Spice Girls?" Reinfield guessed.

"No, but that's not a bad guess," Lead Singer said running the scenario through his mind. "That Wade babe is from another dimension. This guy named Quinn Mallory invented a timer that can take us to a whole new world where we can live in peace forever!"

"...or get our asses kicked by Kromaggs," Reinfield mumbled to himself.

"We'll lure that Mallory guy here and steal his timer," Lead Singer continued. "What could go wrong?"

"You know," Reinfield responded, "you're putting an awful lot of stock into the wild story of a drunken groupie. Don't you think this is all a little... I don't know... odd?"

"Oh, Reinfield," Lead Singer laughed before smacking him across the face. "Shut up and go pick up the blood we've been keeping at the blood bank."

"Asshole," Reinfield whispered rubbing his cheek.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!!??"

"I said... uh, I'll go."

"Oh."

The next morning, Wade, who had been seduced by the power of the dark side, and Reinfield, who had also been seduced by the dark side though a long time more than Wade had, left the museum to search for the timer so that Stroker could begin the first multidimensional tour. Thankfully, though, the timer was with Quinn who was, at that moment, with Chong who were, at that moment, stalking the bloodsucker's lair getting ready to kick some vampire booty.

The duo made their way to the first coffin and, after opening it, Quinn began banging a stake into the nightstalker who screamed an unholy and wretched scream that echoed through the halls.

"Quinn," Chong said quietly. "That's his crotch."

"You don't think that noise is going to wake the others, do you?" Quinn asked as the other coffins began to shake, rattle, and roll... possibly due to the fact that the groggy vampires were all fiddling in vain with the locking mechanisms.

So, as quickly as they all could, Quinn and Chong began killing vampires left and right.

"Look," Chong said in horror as he showed Quinn his watch.

Quinn stared. "Is that a Rolex?"

"No, it's a fake," Chong answered. "But that's not the reason I showed it to you. Look at the time! It's almost sundown!"

"But we got here at the crack-ass of dawn!" Quinn responded.

"True," Chong said. "I guess we shouldn't have played in the touch and feel section of the museum as long as we did. Let's hurry up and..."

At that moment, a coffin burst open and Chong drew back in horror. 

"My god," he wheezed. "CHEECH!!!"

"Hey, vato!" Cheech said lighting up a doobie and grinning through his pointy teeth. "Whass'apping, hombre? Como esta?"

"I love you, Cheech," Chong said firing a wooden arrow into his old partner's heart. Cheech then burst into flames and Chong quickly ran to his coffin to inhale the fumes.

While Chong was getting stoned on the ashen remains of his partner, another vampire waltzed over and attacked him and it wasn't before Quinn hit him in the jimmy with a crucifix that he released him.

"Come on!" Quinn said dragging Chong to the exit. "Let's get out of here!"

"Whoa, maaaan!" Chong replied quite stoned, "I can't maaan... I like broke my back or somethin'" He then erupted in a fit of high pitched giddy laughter.

"But, if you broke your back how can you be sitting up?" Quinn asked frantically as the vampires began to awaken and close in for the kill.

"Ida know man," Chong said as he watched 'the colors'. "Maybe you'd better leave me here, ya know? bro? Ya know?"

Quinn, rather than arguing with a pothead, left the Chong the Vampire Slayer there and high-tailed it back to the Dominion Hotel. Chong fearlessly and cluelessly watched the bloodthirsty vampires approach and grinned broadly. Before the stoner was torn limb from limb he was heard to say: "Man, you guys wanna get in on some good shit?"

At that very moment, Wade was across town having just bailed Rembrandt and Maggie out of jail.

"Wow," Maggie said. "Thanks for getting us out of there, Wade! It was really nice of-"

"WHERE'S THE TIMER!?" Wade yelled grabbing Maggie by the collar and hoisting her to her feet.

Maggie was shaken. "Q-Quinn's got it."

Wade dropped her and walked over to Rembrandt. "Take me to Quinn... NOW!!!"

Rembrandt looked at her in confusion. "Who are you and what have you done with Wade?"

At that moment, a vacant stare washed over Wade's face. "Wait... no... He need's me." She looked at Reinfield. "Take me to him," she commanded.

Within seconds, Wade and Reinfield were in the Strokermobile and were on their way to meet up with Lead Singer.

"Anything about this seem odd to you?" Remmy asked Maggie.

"Yeah," Maggie grinned. "We're ten pages into the parody and no one's made fun of my breasts yet! I'm going to go and see if I can't do something about that. You stay here and I'll go check out the blood bank. Why am I doing it? I don't know... Maybe I'll get lucky! And if not, maybe I'll get a clue on where Rickman is and what the hell is wrong with Wade."

And with that, Maggie and her breasts bounced off into the distance.

Thirty seconds later, Quinn showed up and explained the whole thing about the vampires and Cheech and Chong to Rembrandt. Soon, the two were gathering wooden stakes, crosses, and holy water to take out the vampire stronghold. Suddenly, the doorbell rang and when Quinn went to go answer it, who was there but the Stroker toadie, Reinfield?

"HEY!" Quinn yelled grabbing Reinfield by the neck and throwing him against the opposite wall. "Where's Wade?"

"Lead Singer has her!" Reinfield answered. "Now, let me go or so help me I'll scream like a woman!"

Quinn released him and Reinfield continued. "Stroker wants the timer. Give it to them and they'll kill you." He paused and looked over the notes that Lead Singer had given him. "No wait... Give them the timer and they'll let Wade go. Sorry, I wasn't supposed to tell you what they were really gonna do." He stopped smiling and put the note away. "Oh, they're going to be at the club after sunset. Come alone." He then whimpered. "You're going to hit me now, aren't you?"

"Just a little," Quinn replied.

"Do me a favor?" Reinfield asked.

"Sure. What?"

"Not in the face?"

"Of course not."

The pummeling that followed is best left up to the reader's imagination.

At the blood bank, Maggie was in the waiting room patiently trying to solve the hidden pictures game in an old issue of Highlights magazine when that no-good dastardly hombre', Rickman, showed up and walked past her.

"Colonel," Maggie said nodding her head and returning to her magazine.

"Captain," Rickman responded walking up to the main office. He then looked at the crooked doctor and said: "We have to talk in private."

The doctor nodded and the two went into the back just about the same time that the fact that Rickman was in the same room with her finally registered in Maggie's mind. "RICKMAN, YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU WILL DIE FOR KILLING MY HUSBAND!!!" she screamed out drawing curious stares from the waiting blood donors.

"Hee hee," she said rather embarrassed. "Sorry... Delayed reaction."

As the people in the waiting room turned their attention back to their eight-year-old copies of Time and Entertainment Weekly, Maggie snuck up to the office door and listened in on Rickman and the Doctor.

"We can't keep meeting like this," the doctor told him. "My wife... she's getting suspicious!"

"But I have more money for you!" Rickman said pulling a large stash out of his priest outfit. "I got a bit in a 'Nut's 'n Honey' spot."

"Wow, this is a lot of money!" the doctor said rubbing the cash in his face as Rickman prepared to use the syringe-o-death on him.

Suddenly, there was a crash and a voice yelled out. "You stupid bitch! What are you doing there with your ear pressed to the door!? I almost tripped over you!" Then, Reinfield burst in wearing a cast and several Band-Aids over his body.

"What are YOU doing here?" the doctor asked him.

"Picking up blood for my vampire masters," he replied as he picked up a box and headed out the door. "There, that's all of it."

As Reinfield turned his back, Rickman sucked the poor and unsuspecting Doctor's brain out but not before Reinfield opened the office door causing Maggie, who had been leaning up against it with a glass to her ear, to tumble inside.

"Becket!" Rickman hissed.

"Rickman!" Maggie growled.

"Reinfield!" Reinfield called out as if he was a mouseketeer.

"Oh, SHUT UP!" Rickman said shooting Reinfield repeatedly.

As the vampire-bitch sank to the floor he weakly sang: "Hangin' out... Down the street... same old thing... we did last weeeeeeeeeek...," and then he died.

"Thank you Rickman!" Maggie called out from her shelter. "He was very annoying!"

"Yes, I know," he answered shooting Maggie in the arm. Then he turned tail and ran as Maggie sit there panting and heaving her chest in pain.

A few minutes later, Maggie's arm had completely healed - leaving no scar or nerve damage whatsoever - and she met up with Quinn and Rembrandt who were going out to rescue Wade from the rock and roll bloodsuckers.

"What are we going to use to kill the vampires," Maggie asked. "Silver bullets or something?"

"No," Quinn said getting out a cross and holding it up. "We'll use this."

"Uh... Uh-huh," Maggie replied shielding her eyes.

"We use this," he continued pulling out a large wooden stake.

Maggie covered her chest with her hands. "Uh-huh."

"And," Quinn said getting out a canteen and emptying out it's contents into Maggie's hands, "we use holy water."

"IT BURNS!!! IT BURNS!!!" Maggie screamed in pain.

Soon, the threesome were at the concert hall shooting vampires left and right when suddenly, a rock and rock guitar riff filled the room. The sliders saw Harker, the evil drummer, on stage with a guitar of all things. "Where's the timer?" he asked them thinking that the swap would actually take place even though he'd personally seen them kill three of his buddies on the way in.

"Where's Wade?" Rembrandt retorted holding up a cross.

Harker snorted and riffed on his guitar causing a beam of electricity to leap out and strike Rembrandt - raising him several feet into the air and slinging him across the room.

"Oh, I think that's a little much," Quinn whispered to Maggie.

"Yeah," Maggie answered. "I suppose that the drum set is actually a rocket launcher. To hell with this," she finally said. "You wanna just kill him and save Wade the old fashioned way?"

"You mean run headlong into the enemy stronghold with no plan whatsoever and hope that everything works out okay?"

"Bingo," Maggie said shooting Harker with a stake.

As Harker lay dying he managed to groan a couple of final words. "That sucked," he said summing up the viewers collective thoughts on this whole episode.

Maggie and Quinn ran over to Rembrandt and helped him up. "Mommy," Rembrandt said in a daze. "Can I wear the jammies with the feet?"

"You go after Lead Singer and Wade," Maggie said. "Rembrandt's acting like an idiot and I don't want to miss a precious second of it!"

"Agreed," Quinn said with a second of thought. Literally... without a second of thought.

For no reason at all, Quinn barreled out into an alleyway where Lead Singer and Wade drove by on a motorcycle and knocked him down.

Lead Singer let Wade off and Wade was heard to say, "Don't hurt him," in a vain attempt to redeem herself for all of the trouble she'd caused in this fiasco of an episode.

With that, Lead Singer turned his hog around and prepared to finish Quinn off once and for all.

The quick thinking Quinn, in the meantime, grabbed a nearby and conveniently sharpened at the end eight foot two-by-four and tried to hide it behind his back.

Lead Singer stopped the motorcycle fifty feet away from Quinn and squinted trying to make out what Quinn was hiding. "Hey... What's that behind your back?" he yelled out.

"Uh... nothing," Quinn replied.

"It looks like a giant wooden stake," Lead Singer said suspiciously. "You're not going to stick me with that long thing, are you?"

Quinn looked at the camera and grinned. "Oh, if I had a dime for every time I've heard that!"

"You could make a phone call!" a voice chimed in.

Quinn stomped his foot. "SHUT UP, MAGGIE!!!" He then looked at Lead Singer. "Look," he said. "If I was going to kill you I would use the stake-shooter I brought with me that you knocked out of my hand." He pointed at the stake shooter that was less than three feet away from him. "But instead of bending over to retrieve that easily handleable weapon, I've decided to just stand here and die like a man."

"Or at least the approximation of one!" a voice chimed in.

"Shut up, Maggie!" Quinn hissed through his teeth.

Lead Singer, convinced that Quinn was being sincere, revved up his cycle and charged right for him but before he could run our hero down, Quinn stabbed him through the midsection with the sharpened two-by-four.

As Lead Singer lay on the ground moaning and dying, Quinn walked over and put his hand on the protruding mega-stake. "Does it hurt when I do, this!?" he said twisting the weapon in the gaping hole in Lead Singer's chest until he finally died, reverting to the form of Strom Turmond and then a decayed and dried out corpse giving Quinn the finger.

Wade ran over to Quinn and embraced him. "He... uh... had me under a spell," she stammered.

"Oh," Quinn said. "I guess I believe you."

A few minutes later, it was time to slide. Wade turned to Quinn. "Was I really a good singer?" she asked him.

"Wade," Quinn said. "I can honestly say that I've never heard anything that can be compared to the sheer... uh... impact of your voice."

"Thank you," Wade said hugging him. "Would you like to hear me sing now?"

"Uh, no, no, no, no!" the sliders quickly answered.

"Yeah, you save that voice!" Quinn suggested sure that Rembrandt's place as the group's musical talent was still solid.

Quinn activated the wormhole and Wade jumped inside.

"I don't wanna leave until we get Rickman!" Maggie said crossing her arms and stomping the ground like a spoiled little child.

"We have to," Quinn said. "Rickman's slid and thus, we must too. We explained this all to you before, Maggie."

Maggie stuck her tongue out at him and jumped into the vortex.

"Well, Rembrandt," Quinn said putting his arm around his friend. "I've learned a lot of things from this little misadventure. First, I learned that if you meet a rock band named after people from old works of fiction, you should steer clear. Secondly, I learned that Chong is nothing without Cheech. And thirdly, I learned that vampires are very, very, very stupid. Rembrandt, what did you learn?"

"I learned," Rembrandt coughed as a spark of electricity crackled over his head, "that guitars are very dangerous things."

"They sure are, Rembrandt," Quinn grinned. "They sure are."

THE END

Sliders won't bee seen next week so that we can bring you a special FOX movie of the week: Married: With Children on the Titanic.

[There's a long thirty second laugh track]

[There is a prolonged laugh and hoot and holler track that continues for an impossible fifteen minutes.]

Join us next time for "THIS SLIDE OF PARODIZE"! We've saved the very best of the worst of Sliders for last!