Monday, October 24, 2011


Remember Jonathon and Sarah up above the grand, ornate ceiling of the Academy of Music, peering down at their tentative 'dinners' through the intricate, gilt, filagreed scroll-work surrounding the magnificent, over-sized, crystal chandelier? Well, we're back there. That's where we are now. Who am I? Who's narrating this? You know me. I'm Mister Never You Mind. Some a them other  disembodied spirits don't like to get involved with the bloody stuff. Reminds them of their own 'final curtains,' if you get my drift. But I don't care. Shit, they burnt me up. And that didn't make me crazy... just dead. Still, let me tell you, it rips you up something fierce, 'specially when that fire decides it wants to go see what's doin' down your throat and in your malf. Do you understand how sensative the insides of your lips and tongue are? Can you imagine what a corn-dog goes through when they lower it into the one thousand degree oil? Damn, them pig assholes is probably happy they already dead at that point. To bad my scrotum warn't dead when they lit me up. Pain? Torture? Regular pain and torture would a been a treat. Ever touch a hot clothes iron by mistake, or like because you craved a little hot tickle or something? Multiply that by zippity-million. My finger nails and toe nails melted right off my body. And even though my seared lungs couldn't work no more, that didn't mean my heart stopped. That don't mean I blacked out. No siree. Takes two or three minutes for that to happen. I can make people I hate dream what I went through when I really want to. What happens  to 'em? They die, mostly, from a stroke or a heart attack. Ax me some other night. I'll tell you who they were. But we gotta get back up there in that fancy ceiling..........

The fat lady sang, only the show warn't over yet. Not till a bunch a big bellied white guys all dressed up like the Burger King, jabbed each other in the gut wit deez retractable, fake Halloween swords and shit. Then it was over. I guess over in Europe, fat white guys wiff devil-looking, painted-on goatees yodel a lot before they die. Who knows? What do I know?

Jonathon motions down toward the bald guy sitting toward the front. Sarah nods her head. He got a juicy wife too, so there gonna be enuff for both a them. Then they wait a few minutes for all the people to squeeze they wide loads outta there. You know how the people sittin' up the front wind up havin' to wait for all the other God damn shits to wake up and shuffle out 'fore they can leave? Well, that's just  how it is. The two vampires shimmy back outta that crawl space and run down the stairs. They can weave in and out a slow, crippled up white people real fast. You know, vampires got that ability. Like some crazy-leg football player. Like dancers, skippin' here and skippin' there. Didn't even knock anybody over too, or smash into any trussed-up tittie. Boom! Twenty seconds later they was at the bottom (eight full levels down), standin' there behind the orchestra seats, just as they supper goes by. The vampires fall in behind  and follow 'em out onto the street. And it's a madhouse out there. People fighting for taxi-cabs, yellin' at them valet kids they got. Some race across the street so they can likker themselves up in a hotel bar, or maybe shove a big piece a cheese cake and a cup a coffee down they throat.Everybody know eatin' and drinkin' after a show the best part.

Only the bald  guy and his missus don't head for any a those places. They clip-clop (you know how rich people shoes sound on cement?) 'round the corner onto Sansom Street. Are  you by any chance familiar with Diagon Alley in them Harry Potter books? Well, this is it. Little below street level taverns, book shops, fortune tellers, mystery places. Oh, they got some nice establishments too. Only we're talkin' 'bout late on a Saturday night. And how many people you think wanna eat fresh oysters (good ones too) at six minutes after midnight? So they come to some grimy, damp, multi-level parking garage. He cheap. that bald guy cheap. Wife hardly talks to him. She knows. Got her rings all turned around so the diamonds don't face the outside. Heh, heh, heh, they just what they call...cubic zirconiums? But she don't know that. Only one sleepy, Porta-Reeka kid on duty, but they don't gotta pay him till they come back down. So he push a real loose metal button, hangin' off a oilly aluminum plate. They wait a couple minute till the rickety elevator with the paid-off-under-the-table inspection sticker comes down. She sighs and gets in. He gets in and jabs his pudgy finger at level six. Doors squeak close and the depart.

Now there is a reason why so many movies and TV shows have these big scenes in deserted parking garages. They like waitin' rooms for hell. All grease stained. Little bitty weak, yellow lights. Damp, wet cinder-block walls, wide rectangular pillars. If you look real fast, you  can even see a few champion size, crunchy water bugs runnin' 'round.  Only three or four cars left up there, two big , old SUV's (I think some Chinese joint uses them for catering or somethin' , a seven year old silver Jaguar (the cheap version) and theirs. Don't need no key to open the door, 'cause he got this little oblong pea-pod wit buttons on it. I tink his chariot called a Nissan Maxima. Me, I like Packards myself. Wife give him a dirty look (she standin' on the other side, waitin' for him to click her in). He chokes on a little bit a neck-snot (you know how it can get ya?) and drops his little pea-pod . But before he can crack his joints and squat down to get it, Jonathon steps out from behind a pillar (never park next to them pillars) and crunches it into the dirty asphalt wiff one a his trim, neat, well shod feet. Bald guy looks all surprized. Not shocked yet. It's too fast for that. The wife sees whats happening an starts runnin'.  Sarah leaps down from somewhere up above and flattens her. Woman starts shakin', tries to screw off all the fake rings and give 'em to her. Sarah just grins, as she shoves 'em into the bitches malf and jams it shut. The woman cries and trembles, as a runny, little stream a blood comes outta her lips. Sarah just leans in close and kisses her. Licks up most a the blood too. The husband starts yellin'. Jonathon cold cocks him square in the face. Smashes his nose. Blood all over the place. Man in shock. Vampire moves in real fast and bites it off. The nose, I mean. Then he balls up boaf his fists and pounds the guy  right on boaf his ears. You would have to see it to believe it, but one eyeball actually flew out the socket, hangin' down there on his quivverin' cheek like somethin' outta Mad Magazine. Guy falls down on his knees. Ever hear knee-caps crunch? Won't forget that sound. But that bastid never heard it, cause his wind pipe ripped out 'fore his pants touch the ground. Jonathon all manic by then, like a pit bull tearin' 'part a Chihuahua. Sarah havin' fun wif the wife too, rippin' off ears. Hell, that vampire gal sank her teeth into one a the cheeks and tore the whole think off. You know the noise when they rip open a big, thick, corregated cardboard box? Thats what is sounded like. Made her look just like a Zombie. Not Sarah, the other one.  Took 'em boaf about seventy two heartbeats to suck up all the blood. I never seed vampires gnaw marrow out dah backbone, but I seed it then. That was some show, better than the opera, lemme tell yuh.

Tink they killed some other couple too. But that was just like a quick dessert. They were mostly bored and stuffed by then.

I know they gonna be sorry you all know 'bout this, but what the hell do I care? Can't disembody my spirit outta me no second time.

They gonna feel guilty though.........But them hoomins back at the house gonna have to deal wiff that......
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