Thursday, June 30, 2011


OK, now I gotta be tellin you this stuff fast, cause I keep my distance from them other Philly vampires. Do they know I'm here? Who the hell cares. That Doctor Franklin sugar-daddy, down in that magic place under the ship yard knows. He knows lots of things. Even them other life-eaters don't know all the stuff he  knows. I do not mean 'Papa' and  them really old ones. They understand a lot. They grasp a lot. but even they do not know all the Philly dirt I know, like who been swappin' spits (and other juicy-juices) and what kinda slap-slap-tickle-tickle games  are even more popular than Monopoly in certain rarified circles. Shit, this town been the same since they voted in the Volsted Act. Don't mind my spellin'. Book learnin' ain't never been one a my priorities, less it's the Kama Sutra or one a them other sutras. I got the whole set. They was sellin' 'em down at the Trocadero. Used to 'butcher' 'em between acts. Do I think they actually got all that 'adult' educational information from the Hindu holy books? Hell, no. Some artistically preverted numbers writer down on Snyder Avenue used to bang 'em out on a little, old Underwood typewriter back of  Goldstein's candy store. I knew the wife...Well, the REAL wife, not the little Betty Boop korva, or putan (take your pick) he used to mush  up wiff. I knew the imitation Jean Harlow, foul mouthed, sticky bitch he was actually hitched to. She was nice. Used to send me a whole bunch a free 'goof butts.'   But then one day she ran out on the street in her brassier and panties actin' all crazy  and got hit by the trolley car. Looked just like the steak tar-tar at Frankie Bradley's, only wiff the bones still in it.  Crows and rats polished her off before the cops even got there.

What??? You wanna know who I am? Well, I don't want to say....OK, OK, OK, I'll tell  you this...Call me Minnie. If you are old enough, you may remember. I used to do this Minnie the Mootcher strip dance, third act up from the closer in the Burlesque . The Trocadero was a major stop on the 'pastie parade' back in those days, the '20's and '30's, I mean.  We worked for the house, filled the chorus, played 'tart' to the comics. New headliners came in every week. But I just stayed put. Times were tough and twenty dollars a week was good money. Hell, my clothes did not come from no push cart vendor. I shopped Lit Brothers' and Gimbels, I want you to know.

So how did I become a vampire? Who taught me the 'shadow shimmy'? Well, I can tell you that now, 'cause I hear she served as the base for a really good salsa. Seems she crossed some bad fellas down in Havana. Hey, Castro was a fanatic against vampires, especially vamperinas.So they diced her up, threw in some onions and celantro (a little bit a tomatoes too--- some a these fellas were originally from the Yucatan.) and ate her up on about nine hundred and sixteen Ritz Crackers. At least that's what I heard. Some in the Cuban underworld claim her blood wiped out almost every case a gangster clap on the island. A regular Carter's Little Liver Pills, she was.

Look, come by next time. I'll tell you how it all started. Aw, hell, who am I kiddin'? I'm gonna tell you a little right now. You ever see any of 'em old, black and white 'flip-books'? I am referring to the 'Two Gal Friends On The Road' series, or 'Steamy Nights in Old Lesbos". Still show up at flea markets now and then. Fetch big money too.  Well, I was the black haired one (dye) with the daintier tah-tahs....Could a parlayed that gig into the movies, only them unions don't take no vampires, the bigoted sons a bitches.... I gotta stop now. Gettin' angry makes he hungry. I know, I know, I know what them other vampires say----- It's not the blood, but the 'culling' of the unworthy life.....Yeah....Who cares what them friggin' bastards think....I am gonna go have me some liquid bacon....................

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