The old saying goes: You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.
Especially if it’s a vampire horse. Those only drink blood.
However, when you do the math, they’re a lot cheaper to take care of that normal horses.
They don’t need all that veterinary work, shoes, or other crap. Maybe the occasional fancy Victorian-style leather saddle.
None of that glitter or black eyeliner crap. Fuck Twilight, dude.
Oh, and fresh victims every now and then, which if you don’t mind going through a new stable boy every few days, isn’t much of an imposition.
Tag: horror
Whirlwind
The whirlwind catches the leaves on the ground and tosses them everywhere.
It’s hard to see, Becky holds my hand tight, running as fast as we can to the barn.
Her long blond hair, waving in every direction, caught by the breezes.
As we make it to the barn, I slam the door shut. “Are you okay?”
She is covering her baldness, scowling at me.
“Go get my hair,” she demands.
I push against the door, fighting the wind.
“Can’t you just wear a hat?”
“Go get it.”
The look on her face was…
I’d rather face the damn tornado.
Saucy Tim
Sometimes, I wonder if A Christmas Carol was just a CIA experiment involving hallucinogenic mustard.
The ghosts.
The memories.
The visions.
All his deep-buried secrets and fears, unleashed in a night of guilt and terror.
I mean, even Scrooge was suspicious, right? “Tis only a blot of mustard.”
If only he’d followed that suspicion instead of dismissed it so readily, the world would be a different place.
Sure, Tiny Tim would have died, but all those hookers he killed when he grew up to become Jack The Ripper wouldn’t have been brutally slaughtered.
God bless them, each and every one.
Points
My fat pal Bob and I got stuck behind a chick on a bicycle.
“How many points you think she’s worth?” Bob asks.
“Vehicular homicide is six,” I said.
“No,” said Bob. “Weight Watchers points.”
We pulled alongside the cyclist and I gave her a good look-over.
“Not much fat,” I said. “Thirty or so.”
Bob swerved, and knocked her down.
Helmet saved her, but I finished her off and got her in the trunk.
Bob cooked and ate her.
“Yeah,” said Bob, patting his stomach. “That hit the spot.”
I killed Bob and ate him.
Fifty points, I’d say.
Lord Foster’s Estate
Lord Foster’s estate is gigantic.
It is so large, by the time the man who mows the grass is done, the grass has grown back.
The groundskeeper asked for an additional man.
Lord Foster said no. The staff was large enough as it is.
The groundskeeper asked for a faster lawnmower.
Lord Foster said no. That lawnmower was fine for the job.
The groundskeeper asked if the lawmower could run at night.
Lord Foster said no. The noise was annoying.
So, the groundskeeper asked Lord Foster to come outside.
He tied him up.
And ran him over with the lawnmower.
Turn
I’m out in my workshop, tinkering with junk I’ve scavenged.
It took a while, but I think I have this old radio fixed.
I plug it in to the solar battery array, flip the switch, and the tubes begin to glow.
So beautiful.
I slowly turn the knob, and the empty frequencies swirl and crackle with the random almost-nonsense of static.
Something pops.
Wait. Was that a voice?
I turn the dial back.
Nothing.
I keep my eyes closed, listening… searching…
No voices. No music. No recorded messages.
I turn it off.
Am I the last man alive?
God forbid.
The Statue
We dug up the statue and cleaned it off.
It was a golden angel, and it was perfect in every way.
When was it made?
Who made it?
Why?
It didn’t weigh like it was solid gold. We thumped it and it sounded hollow, but filled with something.
Did we dare open it?
We had it shipped back to the university, and after careful examination, we found an unobtrusive spot to drill.
The hole grew deeper, deeper…
That’s when the poison gas leaked out, and as we choked, we realized it was the artist’s final statement:
Don’t fuck with perfection.
Barge
Midnight. Bloodfang Dock.
The tugboat slowly guides the barge to rest.
Captain Grim hobbles across the deck.
“Two thousand for a dozen, vampire,” he croaks.
“All alive?” I ask.
“When I last checked,” he says. “Hungry?”
I give him the money, and he throws open the hold.
“Out!” he yells, pulling a rope, tied-together soot-covered children stumble out in single file.
When the last is on the dock, he laughs, and I order the tugboat to shove the barge away.
I pull out a knife… and cut the rope. “You’re free now, children.”
They run, laughing.
(I’ll hunt them later.)
Yogurt
I’m on a diet, and I need to eat yogurt.
So, to get me into the habit of eating yogurt, I hired a guy to tie me to a chair every morning and force me to eat yogurt.
He did that “Here comes the airplane!” and “Here comes the choo-choo train!” thing with the spoon, but I said that was silly.
He said I was being a bad boy, and dragged me in the chair to the basement.
The good news is, I’ve lost a lot of weight.
Maybe I can slip out of these ropes and escape some day.
Never see you again
You said you never wanted to see me again.
So, I went down into my basement workshop and invented an invisibility cloak.
Which didn’t work out so great. It’s just a sheet you couldn’t see.
I mean, yeah, that’s kinda cool, but doesn’t really get the job done.
I thought about bringing you down into the workshop with me and then turning off the lights so you couldn’t see me, but I still wanted to see you.
That’s when I decided to go with a third option:
Keep that blindfold on, Janey, or I’ll have to tear your eyes out.