Tuesday, July 31, 2012


He wandered 'round the compound. Who would stop him? And why should they? He looked the part..... fine, almost see-through, white, linen shirt..... 'bespoke' jeans, also white and driving slippers made from the rump skin of dead mermaids. He had a man in Bimini for those. Tan looked real good too. OK, so it was a 'spray-on.' Grigori is a vampire after all. 

They had books here, old ones, all done up in soft morocco leather. He lingered there, like Rhett Butler in that scene at Twelve Oaks. No one came in. The 'missus' never did and her hubby paid people to read books for him. Guess the decorator picked them out.  Even had a fire going on the last day of July... not gas either. Apple wood. You could smell it. You can do that with air conditioning. Vampires appreciated such modern conveniences..... They remember the old days. Although the Romans did have a series of small fountains positioned to splash water on interior marble walls. That worked, up to a point, if you didn't mind dying of some unnamed respiratory malady that turned out to be Legionnaires' Disease. True, not everybody died, but you had to take your chances. Apparently, not sweating was worth it.

Grigori had his orders. He let them use that term... the honorable servant of 'Czar' and country and all that. Oh, the pretender to the Romanovs was already in place. And true, he'd be more of a constitutional monarch (almost), but the romance would be there. Special coronation coaches were already being assembled in a venerable Flemish atelier in Brussels. Petition would be made to The World Court demanding the return of Russian-America. I believe you call it 'Alaska?' And rumor has it that allied reactionary elements, aided by their own loyal vampires, anticipated 'the return of the king' (or in this case kings <a few queens too>) in storied lands throughout the Eurasian world. Not just there. Some say a descendant of Monctazuma II waits to take the throne of Mexico.

Democracy? Civic morals? Bah... who needs them?

Just make sure you're well-born, or perhaps sleeping with one who is. Otherwise, better beef up them yoke-bearin' muscles.

The Russian will not kill anyone tonight, but that does not mean no one will die.... just not here..... just not now. You see, draining the blood from a body is only one way...... But there are others. 

A small dab of lethal microbes applied to the fangs. A friendly kiss.... a naughty nuzzle.... and there you have it. Three days later the compliant paramour (or would-be paramour) swells up and explodes, victim to an exotic, Third World plague. It takes that long for the microscopic creepy-crawlies to reach critical mass, so everyone else assembled for this 'dance macabre' is safe.

He enters the kitchen through an unseen service passage. The designer children eat their curds and whey. He smiles... playfully musses their hair. They giggle. Cook stares longingly. The governess addresses him by name. They know him here. It's all right. He fishes in his pocket and gives each child a rich, yellow, shiny, Russian ruble. Old ones... czarist ones... made of three times purified, twenty four carat gold. Gifts like that are common here. The children examine the huge, thick coins, thank him and return to their meal. 

Then he exits... crosses to a nearby powder room, goes in and locks the door. There he retrieves a small bottle of Bal a Versailles (yes, they still make it) form off the thick, quartz slab. He opens it, puts a drop or two on his finger and 'paints' the tips of his sharp, white fangs. Then he sniffs, seals it up and puts it back (a functionary will soon destroy the evidence) before venturing out to join the party.

The shrimp ain't the only thing rancid here tonight....


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The party was a big one. A certain red headed, rotund, celebrity chef was cooking and guesting. Vera Wang did the table cloths and Grigori Isipov was not the only vampire in attendance. There may have been another. Although some of the erstwhile mortals sported a certain 'too thin' cadaverous mien (the gashy red lipstick didn't help), they were not actual blood suckers. Well, not that kind anyway.

And a benevolent sun bathed all in a late afternoon/early evening cool, orange glow straight out of Caleb Deschanel...... The 'magic hour' indeed. 

Oh, Grigori was already there. He came last night. But any lingering, solar illumination posed no problem for him, since he was cosseted away in the sumptuous, subterranean, maroon velvet theatre ( I think it was actually called the Bijou) with a group of visiting, Malibu big wigs, supposedly enjoying a politically scathing 'indie' film staring The Olsen Twins and a computer generated Danny Kaye. Or maybe it was Vincent Price? But the host had a few bottles of genuine, early twentieth century Parisian absinthe, so to hell with Mary Kate and the other one. Usipov took a few hits too. He liked the film community. They gave him money....lots of it, in exchange for tiny cordials of his regenerative, sanguine elixir. Granted, to an entrenched Muscovite Oligarch, like him, that was just utkah food. But he still enjoyed the Hollywood intrigue just the same. Such fun. And to think that his country made pogroms against such people.

Now there was a certain Bentley that smelled of cat piss. Look, I don't know. Maybe it wasn't cat piss. It might have been greasy, fast food french fries. I'm a disembodied spirit. Last thing I smelled was a sodden, blood soaked pillow stuffed in the bottom of a wicker basket when they guillotined my head off. The Reign of Terror? Hello? Maybe you've heard of it? Well, I think some espionage types from  Foggy Bottom  (headquarters of the U.S. State Department) came up in it. Look...Look... They're over there, by the cold shrimp..... The Jumbo, cold shrimp. See 'em? See 'em? I mean, who wears a Seiko in The Hamptons? Even a dead, Gascon trouble maker like me knows that. You gotta watch those things, you know? God is in the details.

It'll be dark soon... true night. Bet they want the oligarch.....

Look, let me sublimate down 'cross the lawns and onto the beach. Two girls are dancin' 'round naked and I wanna go see.

Don't worry. You'll see it on You Tube. Come back tomorrow. I'll tell you more...


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Monday, July 30, 2012

Author Tanja Segal: Guest Blog by Seumas Gallacher

Yo, nascent writers.... a rising tide lifts ALL boats.....So lets do our part to raise the sea level a little... Author Tanja Segal: Guest Blog by Seumas Gallacher: And today I invite Seumas Gallacher to my blog. He is the author of Vengeance Wears Black! Please don't forget to comment, like or share his...

Sunday, July 29, 2012

vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

Here's an episode from November 11, 2010 (Veterans' Day). Little Bastid Annie is still mortal in this one too. Papa, as a 'spirit' called 'The Shaky Hand Man,' uses her as an avatar to escape his Roman Prison.  The helpless, little six year old survives horrific conditions in the forgotten corridors deep beneath the PENN MUSEUM on 34TH Street.... Few people read it way back then, but it's definitely worth a look now. Please scroll around. Explore the early episodes. They explain a lot. ...  vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: Poor, little Annie. Her true, human psyche will need a lot of work. There, there, don't cry little girl. It will not help you. So don't even bother.

vampire wonderland: Marianne, the Elfin Demon-Saint of Philadelphia Lo...

THIS ONE IS JUST FROM THREE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO. THE VAMPIRINA/ELFERINA, MARIANNE , TELLS ABOUT HER EARLY YEARS ---- poetic and compelling --- vampire wonderland: Marianne, the Elfin Demon-Saint of Philadelphia Lo...: And then she just lost it. She looked into their empty, grasping, insincere eyes and she screamed. The people froze. No one made a sound. An...

Saturday, July 28, 2012

This IS NOT the Post. This is just a 'heads up' alerting you to read the posting right below...

Go read the Book of Sarah post right under this one. It's from the 'early nights'...about two years ago. Annie is still a bewitched little mortal and Papa is still a prisoner in a deep, rock bound, quasi Vatican controlled dungeon. He's been there for centuries. But his mind is free to wander through creation. Annie knows him as 'the shaky hand man'...... I think only four people read it back then and that's a shame. The early story arcs were real good.

Please take a look. Wander through a here-to-fore unknown world.... a vampire 'reality' waiting to be discovered. Practice a little digital archaeology and find it.

Thank you...and as the 'life-eaters' say ----- May you never know fear. May you never know pain. May you hide from death now and for forever...

REMEMBER---- We only PRETEND that it's fiction.


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vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah

vampire wonderland: The Book of Sarah: The nameless voice speaks again! I like it when I get to talk. It can become quite boring just floating through Creation. Oh, I did see a pl...

Friday, July 27, 2012


Sarah says that if they ever write a screenplay based on her life, she wants the last scene played out over those lines Paul McCartney sang at THE OLYMPICS ~~~ 'and in the end... the love you take... is equal to the love you make.' Then she gave Tomas a dirty look. I know he feels guilty about cheating on her so much, but he IS a vampire, so they ain't never gonna be like OZZIE & HARRIET. And she knows that, but she just wants it to be like it was. So he's sitting with her right now. They're in where the mermaid hag used to live. The big tank is still there. I think they got penguins in it now. But one of the penguins got a human head, so that makes it all right. You know how they value nonconformity around here. They're just sitting there, bathed in the dark, blue glow, legs dangling over the edge. He's got his arm around her. She's sucking an ice pop made out of grape infused, grain alcohol. you know how vampires can tolerate that...... alcohol, I mean. 

But that human headed penguin looks a little funny to me...... Keeps sticking his tongue out at her and making crazy faces. Look at him! Look at him! Look how he crosses his eyes. The other penguins don't seem to notice, but bird-headed penguins are dopes. Tomas tosses them little pieces of cut up herring. He got it from the commissary. But the 'human' one has trouble grabbing it with his mouth, 'cause he ain't got no beak. Girl from the 'bureau' bottle feeds him four times a day. holds him like a baby and everything. She don't mind. He's cute. Looks just like Rodney Dangerfield. Wants a bring him a red neck-tie, but her boss says penguins don't wear no red neck-ties. They wear bow ties. So she says - Oh.

Grigori Usipov ain't killed nobody else. He's getting ready for a big party ....a big HAMPTONS party. He siphoning off like a Flintstones jelly glass a blood from each a the 'Natashas,' ,'cause he wanna look his best. They go -Oooh and ahhh when he take it. He like that part. Wanna bite it right out they ass. But he superstitious 'bout that jelly glass. I don't know the story behind it, but I'll let you know soon as I do...... He wanna get hisself all inked up. But vampire skin don't take to that. Disappears real fast. Natasha Number One say she give him real nice henna tattoo. But he tell her to drop dead and go to  hell. Then he flip her over and start doin' stuff to her. She go - ooh and aaah REAL good then. Natasha Number Two get jealous. but she don't care.

Tomas say he gonna do all kinds a stuff to Sarah too, but first they gotta wash the stink off from all that greasy herring.

Baylah buyin' clothes from QVC. She say they got real cute merchandise. 

Vampires ain't made to live like this. 

Annie ask the kitchen lady for a big block a Velveeta cheese. Then she bite into it over and over and over, 'cause she like seein' the sharp, little marks from her teeth. Ask Doctor Franklin if she could kill the kitchen lady. But he say no, 'cause she make such good pancakes and all.

I bet tomorrow one of 'em gonna kill somebody. I bet they gonna kill somebody real good. And it ain't gone make no difference if they make pancakes, or French toast, or nothin'.

An' Conrad watchin' The 700 Club. I think he wanna bite Pat Cooper. No, Pat Robertson. Not Pat Cooper. I got the wrong one. 'Scooze me...

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 

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Thursday, July 26, 2012

MARTHA STEWART says - A fresh carafe of distilled, Vietnamese, Pot-Bellied Pig's Blood makes a wonderful gift for that special, vampire someone...

The 'vampires' on TRUE BLOOD make Tomas livid. He says they're  gross, hurtful caricatures meant to marginalize life-eaters rob them of all spiritual dignity. 

Of course he NEVER watches the show, but certain people attached to the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau do. It's a big thing. They eat Cheetos, or make popcorn and drink Kool-Aid (the VERY CHERRY kind). And actually, they don't even pay any attention to all the comic book vampire crap. They just watch it for all the cool, hot, naked people. Each week somebody else keeps score. They take turns counting all the nips, or boobs, or tushies, or doggy-parts, or kitty-parts flashing across the screen. 

I think the 'center line' of the story involves people who willingly become vampires so they can live for centuries and have a whole lot a extra time for sex...... you know... like Hugh Hefner.

And the fangs look more like juvenile elephant tusks than the real thing.

The only part Tomas does like is the clothes, 'cause he has a thing for snug fitting black leather jackets too.

You see, all this shit with Grigori Usipov is makin' him go 'holy roller' again. Tomas, I mean. He found an old recording of Jan Pierce singing Kol Nidre (the Jewish liturgy of Divine Forgiveness and Absolution) and he plays it over and over and over. Doctor Franklin had it in The Archives, which is kind of like a slightly abridged version of The Akoshic Records. Edgar Caycee's toupee is in there. He's got Nostradamus' cod-piece and a polly seed once held between the teeth of Saint Francis Xavier. You know, like when he was feeding the birds?

Sarah's gotten into the group that works with the Great Armonica. Last night they reproduced a frequency (like chords) that conjured up flickering, ghost-like, holographic images of Janis Joplin eatin' a bowl a spaghetti. Boy, was she a slob. And they saw Liz Taylor, in a dirty nightgown, laughin' in the background. Sometimes they get a double exposure like that. It can't be helped. Annie wants 'em to bring back the girl from THE BAD SEED. You know, Patty McCormick? She kind a patterns herself after her, so that's understandable. 

Tomas wants Papa to sublimate that Russian guy someplace real bad, like the surface of the sun (a specialty of his), or maybe an isolated, frigid asteroid drifting someplace in Jeh-pip's ville. But Papa doesn't answer. He just sits there. Human problems bore him. And most other vampires are so young next to him, they seem human too. All he likes 'em for is sex. The humans, I mean..... the female ones.

Doctor Franklin gets coded messages from some guy in Washington. There is a plan to take down the Russian. They know he's in The Hamptons. But there's so much security built into the compounds out there, it's hard to get to him. Martha Stewart lives next door. She knows he's a vampire. I don't know how she knows, but she knows. Last night she sent over a carafe of specially distilled, Vietnamese, Pot-Bellied Pig's blood. The Russian guy... the vampire-oligarch, responded via an appreciative email, but he won't drink it..... only likes human.... and THAT he gets from the 'Natashas'.......

Tomas wants to use the Great Armonica (it's big... takes up a whole room) to contact the Chevalier Jean-Michel, his friend from that alternate universe, but Doctor Franklin wants to use it to watch future Eagles' games. You know Jeffery Lurie does send him those sweat suits and all.

That's all. I'm tired (even disembodied spirits suffer debilitating bouts on ennui)..... This is Zebulon signing off.....

V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V V''V

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Wednesday, July 25, 2012


Grigori liked this place. He enjoyed sitting out on the wide, slate terrace overlooking the surf. Mornings, or almost mornings excited him. There was just a bit of violet tinge down low in the south-eastern sky, but a powerful life-eater has no problem with that. Sometimes he plays a game. 'Touch the sun,' he calls it ---- step outside in the morning, just before the false dawn and stand there waiting for the stars to die. The air would quicken. It always does at sunrise. Birds began to sing. True a few sing even in darkness. But the grand avian overture heralds the light. Then he'd see the shadows fade away, feel the breeze and wait for the burn. The tender skin around the eyes goes first. Then the cheekbones. He loved it. He loved it all, for it recalled his humanity, though he was something different now and so he went inside. Once, long, long ago, he'd allowed hot, tiny, fire kisses to dance about his body.....Once, but not now....

She waited in the kitchen, a vast expanse of granite, stone and steel. Special shades sealed out the light. Ah, the luxuries of The Hamptons..... A vampire could get lost here and Grigori often did. She gave him a robe, thick, white and warm. He put it on, arranged himself within the arms of a commodious chair and waited for his 'night cap.' Every day the ritual was the same.... a glass of icy vodka..... some push-ups.... some pilates. Not that he needed them. His body never changed. But he savored the regimen just the same. And then they'd retire to the 'chamber.' He had many, strewn all about the world, snug, little berths lined with birch wood and carpeted with cloud-like mounds of Siberian Goose down. Now you know some vampires watch television from the crypt (Tomas hates that word), or tap out little messages on computers. But Usipov is a purist..... no candles.... no light... no distractions. Just him and a 'Natasha.' True, in the past he'd once had Bashias and I do not even recall all the other names. But his time in seclusion is spent in restoration. He loves and he sleeps and that's it. 

Guards, dressed as old Czarist Strelsky (akin to the French musketeers) kept watch before the twin, oaken doors (each painted in the fashion of imperial icons). Granted, he did have a bailalika resting in the corner, but he very rarely played it.

Grigori Usipov respects tradition. Contemporary society, the world over, apparently cares little for that.... but such things soon will change...


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Tuesday, July 24, 2012


Not much to tell tonight. The life-eaters are all tucked in nice and cozy with Doctor Franklin and the 'guys' down in the underground compound of The Anti- Enchantment Bureau. It's odd. Millions of people drive by the spot. You can see it from Interstate 95. The pill-box-like entrances to the subterranean labs, clinics, research center, 'menagerie' and residence (Franklin's extensive quarters are positively palatial) are all right there, but nobody ever notices. It's like a virtually unknown Area 51 hiding in plain sight among industrial and governmental installations. They still make ships there (not at the 'bureau' but elsewhere on the sprawling site) and international conglomerates still do whatever it is international conglomerates do. 

Some people (a VERY small group) claim to detect strange frequencies and energy pulses leaking out from the bureau's laboratories. They blame them on Doctor Franklin's work with the Great (or 'Grand') Armonica, a device he's been tinkering with since pre-Revolutionary times. The current model is huge and very much a product of the digital age. 

And for those who are new to all this, let me reiterate----- Doctor Franklin is NOT a vampire. That's not how he's achieved his longevity. The old reprobate preserves his physicality via carefully controlled exposure to the strange, harmonic energy given off by his favorite 'plaything.'

Google -- Vampire Wonderland, Doctor Franklin, Great Armonica for more.

I suppose a response to the mayhem brought on by Grigori Usipov (the Russian, nationalist, vampire, oligarch) is in order. Just know that plans are being made. Washington has it's own cadre of life-eaters billeted in safe houses all around the DC area, not to mention embedded cells within various factions of The Russian State. And not just Russia. But we can't tell you any more, for if we did, we'd have to suspend your animation.... permanently............ What did you think, they only lived in stark, poetic manor houses out on the English Moors, or baroque, little jewel-box, petit palaces hidden away on twisted, urban byways? Please! Some of them shop at H&M and everything. A few enjoy a James Bond existence, with custom wardrobes, fine automobiles and physically impeccable bed partners. (They're motioning. They don't want me to tell you more)

Now our Philadelphia contingent tends to be rather traditional, not in a Dracula sort of way......no coffins, or anything like that. But an urbane, metropolitan lifestyle suites them. Though I'm not talking about the 'elves' and 'cherubs.'  They are unique and remarkable in and of themselves.

If you've been with us for any length of time, you know most of this. But we get questions from novices and repeated explanations are necessary.

Please, ask us anything via a COMMENT. And tell others about this strange, apparently 'fictional' site. Look, We're not going to tell you what to believe, but..... you know.......

Thank you and good night. .....<episode 731 of the vampire wonderland..... enough material to fill five full length volumes....... Google --- blog, Vampire Wonderland. get us via atom or RSS..... you probably know more about that stuff than we do.... scroll down to the very bottom of this offering for more>

Monday, July 23, 2012


Word of 'the massacre on The Main Line' got out. Two of the maids saw everything. They saw the greasy ashes smeared all over the sheets. They saw the tiny bits of human remains. At  first they couldn't tell what it was. But one of them has a daughter in medical school and she gave her a sample (wants a be a pediatrician ---- nobody questions fees for sick kids). Initially, she thought it might be simian, like maybe a chimp, or a chupicabra or something. However, after further experimentation she was certain. The re-solidified fat was human.

And the only reason the maids were allowed  to go home every night was because they didn't understand English. All English speaking service employees were kept on the premises for the duration. Plus, each and every piece of internet capable equipment was confiscated. Not from the attendees. From the help. They even posted guards outside to look for coded messages, via flashlight dots and dashes.

I'm telling you. This yearly event is a big deal. They serve that South American (or maybe Central African) cat shit coffee and everything. Diane von Furstenberg played a flute. Warren Buffet gave out pens. And they mapped out the parameters of  Third World development (which included an ever growing segment of our own, North American population) plus the weekend guest lists at various carriage trade, seaside retreats.

Oh, they knew it was a vampire. True, one of the cases may have just been an example of plain, run-of-the-mill spontaneous human combustion. High level movers and shakers are completely open to things like that. Look, they've been to Area 51 (inside the gates, I mean). What do you expect? And a certain, little, deformed Chihuahua with hands that gets carried around at a lot of these soirees isn't exactly canine. They tried to make him wear little pants, but he told them to 'go to hell.' So now they mostly just divert their eyes.... or pretend to. You should see him tuck into the cold shrimp.

So Tele-Mundo has the story. And I think the dancers on Sabado Gigante sang a little song about it, but so far, the mainstream English speaking media has been silent. I'm told Kathy Lee and Hoda made some kind of an obtuse reference, but they always do that, so who knows?

But Edith picked it up. And Tomas picked it up (he does speak Spanish, after all). And Papa picked it up...... Tomas has gone back to spouting his holy roller chants ---'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog... Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog.' Sure he swore it off a few months ago, but don't believe it. That's just the way he is. Talks Hebrew and Aramaic (I can't tell the difference) in his sleep. Wants to be called by his 'liturgical' name - Jonathon ben Macabi. Communes with his long dead, former body servant, Johannan, and everything.

Look, go back to the first posts. Go back two years. You'll see how he really is. Annie likes when he rattles on in Old Castillian. Says he reminds her of the dad in them Spy Kids movies. 

Doctor Franklin says they should lay low for a while. So everybody's staying over at the Bureau. Annie likes it. The yeti lets her fix his hair. She's got him in French braids, cornrows and everything. As long as they got aroma candles and booze the vampires are happy. And they fix char-broiled chopped steak (with onions and gravy) for Edith and wilkravitz. Everything's honky-dory. 

Last night the Russian-vampire-bastid killed two guys at the U.N.. I guess it wasn't so honky-dory for them.....

This is Zebulon (the two thousand year old, disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old boy) signing off. I wanna see how the yeti looks in dreadlocks.

supposed to be a line of sharks' jaws indicative of violence yet to come... forgive limited graphics knowledge.

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Sunday, July 22, 2012


You are so stupid, you will not believe what I say. So let me tell you things. I am here to pull you down. I am here to destroy those who might save you. The one known as 'Papa' in my 'friend,' ..... up to a point. But my true friends live deep within the thick, strong walls of  The Kremlin. 

I am NOT one of those perverse, effeminate vampires 'liberated' from the Germans in the last days of The War. I despise  them and have crushed the skulls of many.... My sojourn in The Land began with Nevsky. We fought our own Crusades...against invaders and usurpers from The East. Do you know, that for a time, we volunteered our services to the petty king-lings of the Franks and the Latins and the Celts? Prince Michael himself, had a golden chariot shipped to St. Jean de Acre in preparation for his triumphal march through The Holy City. But to the evil standard bearers of the western 'faith' we were simply heretics and our patriarchs and metropolitans none but glorious bawds, festooned like Byzantine whores...... They were jealous of the gold. That's what it was. We were rich and they were poor. They called us Jews, forgetting that it was the Jewish Khazars themselves who stopped the Saracens from grinding them to dust. ..... So we stayed home and fought the Swedes. The Saracens of The North, if you will. And we defeated them.

Soon, we shall do the same to you and this un-congealed, loose amalgamation of Europe's lesser sons you call a nation will return to the Red Men once more.

Just know that I 'dined' well last night. Poets and alchemists (scientists) and statesmen and bores, I ate them all. Look not for the lurid stories in your wretched media. Oh, they know. They saw. They smelled it all. 

A convocation, not unlike that flaccid, though ambitious Tri-Lateral-Commission, gathered in a palatial, Main Line mansion to plot the course of 'empire.'........ Your empire. They drank vintage wines and nibbled fine fillets. But 'another' came to the banquet. too... and he ate even more. 

Now please know this was not a cheap homage to The Grande Guignol . No painted, Paris tawdriness for me. I am too much the aristocrat for that, preferring to drift through walls like a tortured dream, alighting atop slumbering 'great' ones like pussy in the crib, drawing in each tiny dram of their lives, as cats suck breath from babies.

I..... am..... so..... bad.

And there's no way you can stop me.

Baba Yaga taught me well.....


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Saturday, July 21, 2012


Conrad made his kill. The old man died and he was satisfied. I cannot tell you his crimes. Just know that they were numerous and deep. 

When he sublimated into the room, the skinny, old bastid sat up and said - Jesus Christ! Who are you!?....... But Conrad, never much for small talk, didn't answer. That's not his pattern. He doesn't converse with them, or in any way acknowledge their humanity...or lack of it.

Just a quick, clean meal in a dusty room by the muted yellow light of a small, cheap lamp. A 'thousand-legger' raced up the wall. Perhaps she told others what she saw?

When it was over, Conrad rode down to the lobby. He looked for the drunk, but he wasn't there..... neither was the ripped-off head. Who knows? Maybe the drunk tried to pawn it? Must be a market for something like that. Right? Santoria? Voo-doo? Itinerant head-hunters? Who knows?

The rest of the doorman lay crumpled behind the old, mohair sofa. And the inexpensive, off-brand, little, flat-screen TV droned on, selling the latest in penile catheters by the gross. 

Conrad wished he'd 'taken' the doorman too. At least the cold, blue flame would have cleaned things up. Vampire blood-feasts disappear. Vampire murder victims just lie there. But the old man came to him in a vision. It was his time. The doorman did not. Yet he wound up dead, just the same. 

So the newly minted vampire walked back to join the others, snug beneath the old, Philadelphia Navy Yard, deep within  the sterile, maze-like corridors of the Anti-Enchantment- Bureau. He kept to the dark narrow alleys meant for delivery trucks. A few, raggedy dumpster divers might have seen him pass, but they had other, more important things they had to do...

Tomas, Sarah and Luna were playing Yahtzee when he walked in.... Doctor Franklin and Annie had gone off too groom the Yeti. As you know, the Bureau houses many exotic specimens.

And thus goes another night in EL MUNDO VAMPIRISMO............

But 'the Russian's' was more exciting.....


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Friday, July 20, 2012


They never saw Johnny-Jump-Up. Papa felt some tingles. Knew he was down by the river, but not all ghouls are easy to home in on. Zombie hunts give vampires fits. They're not good with all the 'noxious' types, even noxious vampires. The ones we deal with are very cultivated and refined. Call themselves 'noble.' Not necessarily like Downton abbey noble. More like them inert gases they got on the periodic table, though some do tend to be a little gentrified. 

They driver took 'em all back to the Bureau. Stopped to pick up Luna too. The other vampires said she stunk from fake maple syrup. Annie said it reminded her of decomposing bodies. You know, when they get all gooey and all? Tomas said - Don't be rude..... So she shut up, but made fart noises with her mouth. They just ignored her. 

Then Conrad all of a sudden goes berserk. Starts yellin' - Stop the car! Stop the car! I gotta get out! I gotta get out! I gotta kill somebody! I gotta KILL SOMEBODY!!!........... Sarah said - How do you know?............... But he was foamin' at the mouth by then and his eyes were rollin' back in his head. Tomas said he must a had a 'vision.' It can get real visceral like that, especially in a new-born. So the driver slammed on the brakes.

Conrad bolts from the limo and goes skipping, or limping, or galloping down the street, 'cause like his leg was asleep. That can happen to vampires too, you know. And you gotta expect it when they're packed into a car real tight like that. Annie wants a go with him, but Tomas holds her back. He says - No, let him face it on his own. 

So he runs down Broad Street and swerves into Lombard or Pine or some place like that. Driver says - Should I wait?.......... None of the vampires answer, til finally Doctor Franklin exhales and says - No, take us home..... He never liked Conrad, anyway. 

Now for two days and two nights, our former, almost-monk been havin' visions of a real bad, old man what lives up on the forth floor of a little, red brick apartment building. So his instincts take over and he FINDS the place. Even 'sees' the number, four-fifteen. Any other vampire would a just levitated up and sublimated through the window. Windows is easier than walls. Them rattly, old wood windows best of all.  But Conrad don't know that. He like what you might call a real dope. So he go in the little lobby, lookin' for somebody to help him. There was a doorman, but he settin' on a old, mohair love seat watchin' reruns a Million Dollar Listing, L.A. on some cheap, nineteen inch flat screen they got on a little table. He waitin' for Josh (Altman) a punch Madison real hard. That what he want. So Conrad's intrusion got him all disgusted. He say - Yes? What can I do for you, you crazy, lookin', son-of-a-bitch?............ Conrad say - Lemme into 415! You gotta lemme into 415! An' all the while he jumpin' from foot to foot like he gotta take a piss......... Doorman say - Yeah? Well, go to hell, you God-damn bastid, 'cause I ain't gonna do it!......... He know everybody what live there. And he know alls they mush up wit'. An' he doan know Conrad. So Conrad (by now all panicky) starts yellin' - Oh, God! Oh, God!......... And he grabs the guys head and twists it all the way 'round, til it POP off, jus' like a clown in a metal crank box, 'cept without no Pop Go the Weasel.......... Old drunk dozin' in a corner go - Shit, now you gonna have to go clean up that mess....... But Conrad don't answer him. He take a whole mess a keys off the headless Doorman's body. (they was in his pocket) Drunk say - You doan need no keys. It push button...... Then he get hisself up and stumble over. Nine seconds later Conrad goin' up in a 'monia smellin', old elevator. 'Fore the door close he go - Thank you..... and tip the guy five bucks.

Now Annie his 'mama.' She feel somethin'. She hear somethin'. So she start laughin' and laughin' and laughin' til Luna haul off and smack her in the face.....

Old bastid in 415 doan know what comin'. He layin' in bed, listening to George Noury talk 'bout aliens and ghostises and folks what got theyselves spontaneous combusted. He like that radio program. Hate all the commercials, but he like it anyway.

An' now he gonna learn 'bout all that paranormal crap first hand.......


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Thursday, July 19, 2012


Sometimes they do that, especially on hot summer nights. Doctor Franklin calls out a car, a BIG car, a stretch limo. Sorry 'bout not typin' out the word in full, but I cannot spell it that way, OK? They like the old, black one. Blends right into the shadows. 

Tomas thinks car air conditioning is the best. He likes when they crank it all the way up. Relaxes him. Sarah don't care and Luna ain't with 'em. She went out for pancakes with a nurse she friendly wit'. Not that she eat 'em. But, you know, you can mash up a plate a real wet, syrupy pancakes real good and waitress won't even know. She think like maybe you just a light eater or something. 'Sides, most of 'em workin' where they go is  reconstituted 'X' jailbirds and they don't care none anyway. 

Doctor Franklin say they lookin' for Johnny- Jump- Up, but he don't kill folks on a regular schedule (like lunar-sync vampires) so they might as well be lookin' for Judge Crater (Google him). I do not know the name of the driver. He jus' some guy from the bureau. And it a very big bureau..... I wonder if they call pint sized government thingies 'nightstands'? ....... Annie make 'em stop at The Four Seasons Hotel. She like a little shop they got in there, 'cause they sell coloring books. Wanna get herself a Kim Kardashian one, 'cause her ass look like big hearts in all them pictures and Annie like hearts.

Conrad wanna know how come that Russian vampire get a take a piss. He thought life-eaters don't gotta do that no more. Papa say they usually  do not. But if they want to, like for old times sake, they can conjure up a whole lot a piss, only it come out like blood, 'stead a rancid Windex. Tomas (you know how fussy he is) say he NEVER piss, 'cause no matter what you do, it gonna leave stains on you clothes. Sarah say, far as she know, lady vampires never piss too. And they only carry Kotex 'cause it look normal. But not like if you a old lady vampire, 'cause then it jus' gonna look crazy.

Neanderthal guy sittin' on the jump seat. He throwin' peanuts at the hookers. Mus' be somethin' they do back in Bedrock. I doan know who gave him all them peanuts. Annie say he get 'em from the mini-bar. Damn..... mus' think like a elephant stayin' in that room.

Tomas say Johnny-Jump-Up once partial to a crypt in Laurel Hill Cemetery. So they snake through a bunch a tiny, little side streets til they get there. Go through a lot a rough places too. Seed a guy chasin' a fat, sloppy bastid in tightie-whities 'cross a whole block a hot, black, tar, row house roof-tops. Dogs barkin'. Women screamin'. An' it late. It real late. Guy had a gun too. But it jus' a bee-bee gun. Fat guy bleedin' a little from part a his left butt-cheek, yet I do not think the wound was in any way life threatening. Still, you never know.

Annie start cryin' how she wanna bee-bee gun too. So Papa go VOOM! out the window and fly up in a air. Grab it (the gun, I mean) right out the hand a the rough guy. Dog's barkin'. Women clappin'. Some ice-cream truck showed up, but I don't know where it came from. Maybe it was water-ice... Then he go VOOM! back in a car. Annie so happy! She do like her toys. Wanna see if she can hit a few crack-heads and homeless guys. But Tomas tell her that would be a sin, so  she jus' shoots at a couple rats, instead.

Three hour later Philadelphia Daily News wanna know if Papa The Green Lantern, or The Shadow. But none a the women what seen it can tell and they wouldn't know the difference anyway.

An' Johnny-Jump-Up? He all curled up in the rafters of a pier what hold up Dave & Buster's. That way he throw the victim right in the river. You know ghouls do tend to be lazy sometimes. An' zombie ghouls is worst laziest of all.....

The Russian (vampire)  guy? Never did find him...not that night anyway...


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Wednesday, July 18, 2012


Can't find him. Must be able to 'cloud' hisself. Got to be sleepin' somewheres, but we don't know where he is. Papa went over to the zoo. Thought maybe he'd hole up in one a them fiberglass polar bear dens. I do not know whether or not they got polar bears in Russia. They do talk about the 'Russian Bear' and all, but I can't recollect what species it is. Wears a big, tall, fur hat is all I know. And polar bears don't rightly do that. But anyway, he was not there. 

Most all the vampires, the local ones, I mean, are over wit' Doctor Franklin now. Some government guys is there too. Everybody yellin' and screamin' 'bout what that vampire, borscht for brains done to them people in Center City. Lucky they had time to scrape most of 'em  up before sunrise. Official story  (what they told the families, I mean) is they got snatched up by the aliens. Made 'em sit through a screening of COCOON. Gave 'em coffee wit' lots a chocolate-orange, Israeli, syrupy, whiskey stuff in it. Bought 'em new sneakers too, I think. Baylah say she hear they takin' 'em to 'Lantic City. You know, that's what they do at times like this.

Goomers from the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau (yeah, I know it don't make no sense) out lookin' for Johnny-Jump-Up. But since he 'sleep' all over the place, that will not be easy. 

Tomas wanna go back to Chestnut Hill. Annie say she gonna start droppin' people from the sky too, if they make her do that. 'Sides, neighbor bitch what fed her kid shitty pizza know too much 'bout them. Edith say Cherry Hill, over in Camden County, New Jersey is nice. Goes through there when she go back and forth from home. Sometimes Mister Edith like big, ole, corned beef sandwiches from The Kibbitz Room. You know how it is. Doctor Franklin say he like big, ole, corned beef sandwiches too.

He take 'em all in a see his Jersey Devil. You do know 'bout all the specimens he got? Government guy go - That's it? He look like a horsey-faced bastid wit' little, tiny bat wings glued on a his back......... Doctor Franklin assured him they real. Make the kid flap 'em and everything. He do that long as you feed him. Think some gal from the Anti- Enchantment -Bureau give him a toasted cinnamon-raisin bagel or somethin'...maybe wit' a little cream cheese. That how he like it.

Oh! And before I forget. That 'old bones'....the Neanderthal vampire, wit' 'em too. Baylah say he look like Moe from The Three Stooges. But he don't know who Moe is, so he just smile and nod. Doctor Franklin let him set in his 'lectric scooter. Let him steer it and everything. He laughin'! He whoopin'. They give him some blood squeezed out a woman wit' a touch a sugar. He like that. The woman (she work there) say the big needle hurt her ass, but she don't mind.

Annie wanna go in a other room and ride the 'laughin' hunch-back,' but nobody wanna take her. They still 'scussin' what to do about the Russian. Got a call in to Putin and everything, but can't get hold a him, 'cause he out topless horseback ridin' with a bunch a squealin' groupies. 

It good to be the king, or the czar or the big-dumb-nut, or whatever they got over there. Don't know what all them 'Natashas' is doin'. Hotel say they givin' 'em pedicures and teachin' 'em to eat with chopsticks. That's all they say....

But some security camera make a movie. It show that Grigori Usipov son-a-bitch takin' a blood whiz all over one them green table cloths  they  got at Independence Hall. Look like an old fashioned, colonial night club. But it ain't. That the room where they wrote the 'dependence declaration.'  They showin' it on You Tube right now. Vampire shit always poppin' up over there, 'cept nobody ever believe it.

We tell 'em. We do tell 'em. We say we only pretend this is fiction. But they don't know. You know how stupid human beans is.

Now, permit me to say 'good night,' for I am one tired disembodied spirit. So lemme go 'home' and play with my Leon Redbone collection a while. OK?


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Tuesday, July 17, 2012


Tomas says Grigori just came here for fun. He thinks we're like his 'Vegas.' Probably gonna chew up some shrill, young, cafe society cuties..... total a few Porches ...... buy (or steal) some souvenirs and then go home. They say he keeps a low profile in Europe, contributes to all the right demagogues, attends evening services at Saint Basil's, kills only the most pathetic, disconnected street urchins. Vampires learn  how to fit in, you know.

Annie says she wishes he was her pediatrician. I don't even wanna know that that signifies . Guess her people took her to a doctor.... on a regular basis, I mean. That might be a good sign. Maybe her truncated human existence wasn't so bad? She don't talk about going home to California so much since 'The Volga Wonder' showed up. But you know how she is. She'll go back to it. Conrad says she's a rotten, little shit, who should have given him some time to lose a few pounds and do some push-ups before she 'changed' him, 'cause now he gonna be stuck with 'man- boobs' til the cows come home. But she don't care.... Look what she's stuck with. Can't even ride the shooty-chutes on Steel Pier, 'cause she ain't fifty two inches tall yet...and she NEVER will be. Baylah says she'll take her sometime in the winter, real late at night. She (through her boyfriend) knows everybody in Atlantic City. They'll give her a ride...... 

Tomas wants Papa to go out and look for 'the Russian.' But Papa don't answer. Just sits there playing with a little, black, plastic 'Magic Eight Ball' fortune telling thingie. Man, the bastid who invented that HAD to be a genius. What's it got, like two or three parts and that's it? Bet Martha Stewart could make one in like five minutes.

Tomas wanna go out by hisself. Sarah says not to, 'cause it's too dangerous. He can usually 'feel' other vampires, but Grigori is different. Ain't no vampire can feel him. Witches picks up little, bitty things, but  they can't  really tell if it him, or just hives.

They did call Doctor Franklin. Ask him to see if the Great Armonica 'knows' something. He say it do know a little. He think the Russian wanna catch up wit' that Johnny Jump Up and take him back to Borscht-land. Only Doctor Franklin do not say Borscht-land. He call it 'Muscovy' like they did back in the day.... HIS day.

Do you remember who Johnny Jump Up is? I think they got somethin' on Google, if you punch in his name and the name a this here blog-opera. Think he got hisself premature buried, or somethin'. He like them monkeys what chews off faces. Only he ain't no monkey. But neither was the last guy what done that too...

Wonder how Tarzan keep Cheetah so calm? Never hear a him rippin' off no eye-lids or nothin'.

I think monkeys does that 'cause they doan wanna wear no pants. You know, ev'ry time you sees them they dressed up like Ed Begley Sr. from Twelve Angry Men, or somethin'. You know, like a grandpop, with pleated pants, a white shirt and suspenders and all. They must hate that crap, 'cause God never made 'em do it in the jungle.

Wanna know what the Russian bastid is doin' right now? He flyin'. He swoopin' down outta black, night sky (but only on them little, dark, narrow streets)..... Then he grab all-by-themself, scared, lonely folk under they arms, hoist 'em up like two hundred feet in a the sky . They kickin'. They screamin'. But he squeeze they neck real hard, so they don't scream too much. Then he say 'bye-bye' and jus' let go. Like to watch 'em go splat. So far he done three a them.

Damn.... How you think the government gonna deal wit' that shit when the sun come up?

+_+   +_+   +_+   +_+   +_+   +_+   +_+   +_+

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I feel bad about Kitty Wells. You know we listen to and make a lot of our own country music in The Pines. Washboard bands...Jug bands... Banjo players... We got it all. Pin-Head-Mel plays a good banjo and some a them Red Paint women are good clog dancers too. Ninety two years old. She was so young. Guess my views about longevity is kind a screwed, livin' with vampires and all. Do I want to be a vampire? (sigh) Truthfully, I do not know. Sure, I'm curious. I mean why do they call it 'the after life'? If it's so good, why ain't it named 'the better life'? I do not want to be a murderess, though and blood is too salty  for my taste. I know. I tried it as a kid. You know how you lick around boo-boo's and run your tongue over scabs and all? Well, I ain't ready to make a meal outta that. Tomas knows. We talk. He laughs when I tell him. Says it all looks different from 'the other side.' Mister Edith, my latest husband, says he'd take a powder if I ever go vampire on him. But I tell him not to worry. Figure if I was gonna do that, I'd drop like forty five pounds and get my titties fixed. Don't wanna look like no greasy skinned virago forever, you know. Can you imagine a vampire who has to buy her clothes from Lane Bryant? That would kill me...again, I mean.

I don't know what's gonna happen with that Russian life-eater. You see, Papa DOES stuff like that. He is SO impulsive. Consequences don't mean shit to him. Yeah, sure, I know they kept him locked up in a Roman dungeon all those years. I know he battled mastodons and wild, female 'cave' women. But, hell, everybody got their cross to bear. Know what I mean? And he IS over twenty eight thousand years old. Talks 'bout Elvis and Cab Calloway like they was yesterday. 

He does look nice in a suit, though. Look nice outta one too. I know. Seen him comin' out of a shower like eighteen or twenty five times. What am I gonna do...lie? He don't care and I gotta go in to clean up after anyway. Mister Edith don't know 'bout all that. Well, maybe he does...(sigh) He does. I know. But what am I supposed to do while he off strummin' on the ole banjo?

Vampires is basically a very disorganized nationality. I ain't never heard a no band big enough to need no 'king.' If that was to happen, some a them would just pick up and shove off. They do like their space. Yeah, I know, counting Blackie and Minnie and all we got like eleven (counting the 'elves' but not counting the 'cherubs'). Still, we do not see them much. And the Chevalier Jean-Michel is in another parallel universe, so he don't count for nothin', OK?

Sarah got back with Annie. They playin' 'Hootchie Barbies' right now. Annie do them voices real good. Got 'em bitch slappin' a one armed G.I. Joe doll. He like a sick pimp, or somethin'. Part a his velvet hair got rubbed off. Guess he got a case a the pimp mange.

Sarah DID remember to bring me back a new tube a fuzzy lip cream. She is good that way. So lemme go in the bathroom and fix myself up a little. 

Who knows? Maybe I do wanna be a vampire (some day) after all. But first I gotta get out them old Richard Simmons tapes...... or join Weight Watcher, or somethin'....

Oh, I once saw a vampire Santie-Claus in the old, Philadelphia Gimbels store and he was fat...But he was the only one.....

Dear God...Make Papa kill that Russian son-a-bitch...or make somebody kill him....

That's all...... Good night...


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Monday, July 16, 2012

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE... a not so 'noble' noble Vampire

Papa tried to restrain him. So what if the English tutor was too familiar? So what if his inexpensive, artificial, chemically based cologne was offensive. That's no excuse. People (or slight variations on the breed) don't go around jamming other people's hands down the garbage disposal.  One would be bad enough, but two is positively excessive. And the poor boy was only trying to earn some extra money to pay his way through Dancing School. Now how's he supposed to do 'jazz hands'!? 

Papa jumped on him right away. Bit his lip real hard. Smeared the blood all over the shredded, pulpy stumps. Kid was crying. Kid was screaming, convulsing and all. Twenty three years old. That's all he is, twenty three years old. A good kid to. He didn't know he was dealing with vampires. Sure, he knew they were a little bit 'crazy.' The concierge told him that. But Papa seemed all right.

And now they got him strapped on a gurney in a treatment room down under the Navy Yard in one of Doctor Franklin's laboratories. But, actually, that's the best place he could be. The Anti-Enchantment-Bureau does wonderful work. I think they got an alien physician, or maybe he's a guy from some other dimension. I do not know all the details, only that he looks like Hugh Beaumont (Beaver's dad) and talks like Celine Dion. 

They're attempting to 'do something' using the Great Armonica ( a sound frequency/energy device based on a REAL prototype Franklin built in the eighteenth century). It's supposed to be able to stimulate healing. Papa wanted to make the kid a vampire. Not his first choice, but what could he do? The kid was so innocent. But Sarah was against it. She is SO much like a basic human. Not that she can't sublimate and all, but she still thinks like a real nice, sweet-smiling first grade teacher. So it's going to take a while, however the combination of vampire blood (little infusions) and Franklin's tricks should grow him back a nice set a monkey paws. No, I'm just kidding. They'll be normal. 

Papa made Grigori (the Russian, vampire, oligarch) drink a little Sarah-blood too. You know, like to buffer that rat-weasel crap he's got. Didn't want to do it at first. Spit in his face. Starts yelling at him in mile-a-minute Russian. Could be Ukrainian. I don't know. Then he starts vibrating, like he got a real big dildo inside him. Knick-knacks start vibrating. Fish tank starts vibrating. Big, heavy pieces of furniture go skittering over the hardwoods. Sarah's ears start bleeding. She's yelling - Stop! Stop! Stop!..... But he won't stop. Papa's ready to kill him right then and there. 'Friend' or no friend. You don't disfigure people like that.

Russian knows what's coming, so he goes ZIP! and sublimates right through the window...the BIG window, and you know they're up on the seventeenth floor. Papa breathing so hard. His face was purple. It was actually purple. Concierge starts banging on the door. He KNOWS they're nothing but a bunch a son-of-a-bitch vampires. But he's a familiar and they take care of him. Tells everybody a bunch a rowdy young guys at a bachelor party went a little bit berserk. God knows what people thought when they saw the bleeding, thrashing, handless kid rolled out on that stretcher...... Concierge gave out a lot a gourmet fruit baskets, champagne too. So that made it all right. Let 'em take the bathrobes too. You know, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Little Bastid Annie loves that Russian guy. She thinks he's wonderful. Wants a drink vodka infused human blood. First you have to get the victim almost to the brink of fatal, alcohol poisoning.

Sarah took her to this all night toy store she knows. Bought some  real, whorey outfits for the Barbies. Annie likes when they look that way. She throws kisses to hookers on the street.

And what? You just got done watching True blood tonight? FUCK True Blood! 

What I'm tellin' you is REAL! ------- signed, One a the Disembodied Spirits.


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Saturday, July 14, 2012


I need no familiars to channel this for me. Such primitive devices are very easy to manipulate. I 'think' and it becomes manifest.

Do you know I can taste  you through the ether? I can observe your very body. And do not take me for a paragon. A Tomas, I am not. This one has taken no vows. This one does not kneel. A true Boyar of Old Muscovy commands. He savors life....and even death. 

I sat in the shadows watching Ivan the Terrible fry naked, shrieking victims in giant skillets. Some parts tend to stick you know. And the Czar so liked a clean pan. Do you know what he did? .....Well, I'll tell you. Starving prisoners from the deepest, rat-hole dungeons would be brought forth to crawl about on the still hot surface, peeling off the crisp, charred bits with their teeth. A few were reluctant . But a liberal application of iron-tipped 'cats' to scrawny, quivering fundaments can be very persuasive, although such measures did tend to soil the skillets even more.

I have two of those skillets and I use them, deep beneath the vast assembly hall of my palace/fortress in the Urals. K.G.B. used to send 'clients.' And I played with them til they broke.... Then, they'd send me new toys.

Oh, do you know how we got victims to lay still upon the searing bed?..... Muscle relaxers. We would inject them with chemicals. A type of passive paralysis would ensue making all movement impossible. How the tears would sizzle.

Sometimes I'd order the kitchen serfs to make sausages from the soft, cooked meat. Then I'd stuff the sizzling delicacies  down into the fat, greasy mouths of my most sensual 'love dolls.'...... No, they really weren't dolls. They were females, live ones. We'd strip them down and truss them up like giant marionettes. The shows were quite famous. Magnates came from far and wide to see such rarified beauty. I'd vault to the stage and frolic with them. A Russian noble is proud of his body. A Russian vampire, doubly so.

Some legendary performances culminated in huge, drunken sacrificial orgies. I say 'sacrificial' because deaths did occur. Not among the aristocrats. No, never the aristocrats. But some  girls did die, either from my kiss, or  due to the indiscriminate  rough handling. 

God bless the serfs and their large families...always plenty to go around.

Pity we can't enslave them anymore....... at least not in the overt sense of the word.

You will leave now... It's time for my English lesson...


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