VAMPIRES DON'T TAKE DUMPS OR DRINK KOOL-AID

I'm guessing this will be a short post, mostly because I don't understand what's happening. They zap me through the ether like a rubber band. It must do something to my cellular make-up. But Papa says it's all right. No worse than stepping into an elevator on one floor and walking out some place else. It's not like I'm breaking through from one parallel universe to another. That's not it. He (Baylah too) just send me back and forth between Philadelphia, the Jersey Shore and the Holy City of Jerusalem. What can I tell you. Vampires just don't have the patience to bang things out on a keyboard. Doctor Franklin says they should get one of those set ups where you just speak and let the device transcribe it. He also claims to have visited a universe not far from here where they wear  tiny chips, little printed circuits, in their brains rendering everyone telepathic. They know who ate the last doughnut. They know who laid that fart, or who peed on the new ceramic tile floor instead of into the toilet. And none of the restaurants can have roaches, or waiters who 'play' with the food, 'cause they'd all know. He visits there with the help of certain delicate frequencies conjured up on his Great Armonica. Go back and look at some of our earlier post, like from the time when Jonathon was 'abducted' by the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau and they stripped him and probed him as he hung suspended in a vast, magnetic web (actually very good for the spine, or  so I;m told). And don't do like some readers did. They picked up a few clues from the text and went down to the old navy yard looking for camoflaged entrances to the underground facility.  The guys with the mirrored sunglasses don't like that. So unless you want to wind up a specimen locked in a glass box with like say the real Jersey Devil or some toothless, pancake-breasted old mermaid hag, stay on Delaware Avenue and don't turn into the site.

Brought back some of the 'contaminated' (in a good way) falafel balls from Jerusalem. Gonna feed 'em to a few real rotten bastids I know. Wanna see if it mellows them out a little. The Jerusalem vampire contingent says that it will. Yusef Islam (the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens) got me off pork. He says that as fellow Proclaimers of The Unity (single, indivisable Person of God) we should ingest only pure kosher/hallal nourishment. And it's cruel to slaughter hogs for food (one of the real reasons they eighty-sixed the pig meat), since the creature 'knows its own death.'....Cows and bulls, it seems. are too dumb, so I guess it's all right to take a bite out a the stoopid.

Baylah's back from her undersea adventure. Brought me this glittery, shiny belt decorated with shedded merfolk scales. Very opalescent, but where the hell could I possibly wear something like that?. I don't know. I guess I just gotta stop being so self-limiting. She's been playing Vampire Poker again too. Helped some really nice deserving people this time. She truly makes a difference, that one does. Baylah's a 'micro' like Papa. You know --- brighten the corner where you are. The Jerusalem contingent is what would be called 'macros.' They want to remake the whole world. Trouble is, the world likes being a scraggly, wrinkly, spiritually flabby, belching slob. I don't know.  Sometimes I think this planet gotta get dipped....

This has been me...wilkravitz. Please leave some comments. Please tell your friends. My vampire buddies are swell, but every so often I crave dialogue with plain old  pimply skinned mortals...the kind who still know what it is to take a dump...or mindlessly chug a huge, frosty pitcher a kool-aid on a hot  sweaty summer day.