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I do not know who they been tellin' you 'bout. But I am not one of them. I am very much nastier. Oh, you don't have to know my name. It won't make much difference anyway. I have had lots of names in many different ways a talkin'. And don't believe that shit they tell you 'bout Noxious vampires not bein' in the United States of Norf America, or in the United States of Canada, or the United States of Mexico either. We been wippin' our asses in them places for many moons. 'Cept we don't exactly gotta wipe no asses. Heh, heh, heh, you know, bein' vampires and all. Sometimes we gotta wipe up blood. Sometimes we gotta clean up guts. But in my case, I usually make the next tremblin' bastard about to be killed do that.. And believe me, for some reason they are extremely eager to please.
You see, I don't follow that 'one soul a month' crap. The hell wit that. No sir. This vampiolio got hisself an appetite. I take my meat however and wherever and whenever I find it. Some a the old timey tribes used to call me the 'windago,' a cold breath in the night. The hands that pull little children into the darkness. The gatekeeper of Doom. Frontier folks and them as was goin' West, knowed me as Gravey-Davey. Them that had no imagination just called me the 'boogy-man.' Yeah, I had parts in lotsa plays. And I had lotsa secret recipes too. Don't ask, or I'll have to kill ya. Hell, might have to kinda slaughter you anyway. My specialty was 'farmer on the bone.' That was a vampire culinary dee-lite if ever there was one. You know, always gotta be some loser got his field too close to the trees. Then, come late September, or October, he desperate to rip up all his hoomin feed and chuck it in the barn. So he runs back out after supper to work by the light of the moon. Well, I can't help it. Them's my hours too. And every fall some a them skinny, raw-boned sons a bitches never makes it back. If a bouncy chested, buxom farm wife comes out wif him, or some nice, Godly young son , they get the full treatment too. Wanna hear how I do it? Well, put yer eyes down close to this magic mirror here and I'll tell you.
First I dig a long, shallow pit. You know, like what them Polynesian Hula-Hula people dig to burn a pig.. Then I line it with coals, or charcol and certain kinda leaves. Gotta get a hot, smoky fire goin'. After that, I shuffle off into a cave (noxious vampires do value a nice, cozy cave) where I got 'em all stripped off and trussed up waitin' to get browned up a little. What do those TV cookin' ladies call it? 'Carmelized.' That's it. I just carmelize 'em a little.. Tie 'em to a spit. Plug up the pie-hole with a big, ole, wad a wet leaves (keeps 'em quiet) and sit back to relax, as I wait for my tasty repast. No, I ain't no zombie. I ain't no ghoul. I do not chew the fat, so to speak . I do not consume the pork-like flesh. You know, that was one a the reasons the Lord tole the Israelites to eschew pig meat. Cause the ancient pagans originally raised it in imitation of hoomin tissue? That and the truth bein' pigs is smart. A pig knows its own death. So it was considered cruel and perverse to treat 'em like that. But I ain't eatin' no pig. I'm suckin' on a hoomin. And who cares what they know? Tole you.I am a 'noxious.' It is just the blood for me. And they are still alive when I slurp it all up. Sure, sometimes an eyelid or two gets burned up, or a nipple or a dingle-dangle or two. Hair gets all singed off. Skin all nice and crispy in spots. Face gets a littlle contorted in agony. They shakin' a lot. Spit drippin' outta they mouth. Vomit steamin' on the coals. Gotta let 'em cool down a little fore I dig in. Not like I'm that Hitler or somethin'. I stroke 'em a little. Whisper in what they got left for an ear. Tell 'em it's all gonna be over soon. They gonna be all nice and cool with smooth, regular skin and a their nice, little, pink wee-wee back. Sometimes I wait a few heartbeats. Let 'em cry a little. Let 'em pray a little. I mean some of 'em are still technically children. You gotta take that into consideration. Then I juss rip into they neck and draw in all the blood. Now, I don't fricasee 'em for nuthin'. That ordeal with them flames does tend to bring out a certain tang. Hell, what can I tell you? That is just the way I like it.
My name is Never-You-Mind and I am a noxious vampire. The way I hear it, what they got runnin' 'round that Europe place is even worse. So now you know.
You see, I don't follow that 'one soul a month' crap. The hell wit that. No sir. This vampiolio got hisself an appetite. I take my meat however and wherever and whenever I find it. Some a the old timey tribes used to call me the 'windago,' a cold breath in the night. The hands that pull little children into the darkness. The gatekeeper of Doom. Frontier folks and them as was goin' West, knowed me as Gravey-Davey. Them that had no imagination just called me the 'boogy-man.' Yeah, I had parts in lotsa plays. And I had lotsa secret recipes too. Don't ask, or I'll have to kill ya. Hell, might have to kinda slaughter you anyway. My specialty was 'farmer on the bone.' That was a vampire culinary dee-lite if ever there was one. You know, always gotta be some loser got his field too close to the trees. Then, come late September, or October, he desperate to rip up all his hoomin feed and chuck it in the barn. So he runs back out after supper to work by the light of the moon. Well, I can't help it. Them's my hours too. And every fall some a them skinny, raw-boned sons a bitches never makes it back. If a bouncy chested, buxom farm wife comes out wif him, or some nice, Godly young son , they get the full treatment too. Wanna hear how I do it? Well, put yer eyes down close to this magic mirror here and I'll tell you.
First I dig a long, shallow pit. You know, like what them Polynesian Hula-Hula people dig to burn a pig.. Then I line it with coals, or charcol and certain kinda leaves. Gotta get a hot, smoky fire goin'. After that, I shuffle off into a cave (noxious vampires do value a nice, cozy cave) where I got 'em all stripped off and trussed up waitin' to get browned up a little. What do those TV cookin' ladies call it? 'Carmelized.' That's it. I just carmelize 'em a little.. Tie 'em to a spit. Plug up the pie-hole with a big, ole, wad a wet leaves (keeps 'em quiet) and sit back to relax, as I wait for my tasty repast. No, I ain't no zombie. I ain't no ghoul. I do not chew the fat, so to speak . I do not consume the pork-like flesh. You know, that was one a the reasons the Lord tole the Israelites to eschew pig meat. Cause the ancient pagans originally raised it in imitation of hoomin tissue? That and the truth bein' pigs is smart. A pig knows its own death. So it was considered cruel and perverse to treat 'em like that. But I ain't eatin' no pig. I'm suckin' on a hoomin. And who cares what they know? Tole you.I am a 'noxious.' It is just the blood for me. And they are still alive when I slurp it all up. Sure, sometimes an eyelid or two gets burned up, or a nipple or a dingle-dangle or two. Hair gets all singed off. Skin all nice and crispy in spots. Face gets a littlle contorted in agony. They shakin' a lot. Spit drippin' outta they mouth. Vomit steamin' on the coals. Gotta let 'em cool down a little fore I dig in. Not like I'm that Hitler or somethin'. I stroke 'em a little. Whisper in what they got left for an ear. Tell 'em it's all gonna be over soon. They gonna be all nice and cool with smooth, regular skin and a their nice, little, pink wee-wee back. Sometimes I wait a few heartbeats. Let 'em cry a little. Let 'em pray a little. I mean some of 'em are still technically children. You gotta take that into consideration. Then I juss rip into they neck and draw in all the blood. Now, I don't fricasee 'em for nuthin'. That ordeal with them flames does tend to bring out a certain tang. Hell, what can I tell you? That is just the way I like it.
My name is Never-You-Mind and I am a noxious vampire. The way I hear it, what they got runnin' 'round that Europe place is even worse. So now you know.
