I’ve been doing some experiments with Leprechauns recently.
Just like werewolves, silver bullets kill them.
Just like vampires, a stake through the heart kills them.
Just like mummies, fire kills them.
Heck, pretty much everything kills a leprechaun.
Even Funyons. Those kill Leprechauns, too. Funyons!
These little green boogers are just a bunch of pussies, really.
I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when one of the leprechauns in my experiment keeled over and died.
Thank god they’re all dead. They started hoarding gold in my Caphalon pots and they scratched up the anti-stick coating.
Damn little bastards!
Tag: vampire
The Vault
I haven’t seen Mother in years, but one day I’ll remember the combination to the lock on the vault I put her in.
I thought about calling a locksmith, but that would just put him in danger of mother.
And me as well, I suppose, since it has been a while since I last drank.
She used to scream so loud, you could hear her through the thick iron door. But now, she’s far to weak and frail from the thirst to make a sound.
And if I let her out, I know I will be punished for this… naughtiness.
Medical
It used to be that being a werewolf was a death sentence.
But thanks to modern medicine and sturdy cages, a werewolf can expect to live out as close-to-normal life as expected.
Insurance companies can no longer jack up premiums or dump these afflicted patients as “suffering from a pre-existing condition” or as an “act of God.” Thank you, President Obama!
And employers cannot discriminate against them as long as they don’t pose a danger to their coworkers. Clever and careful scheduling resolves any potential, deadly, and costly conflicts.
(Especially with the vampires we hired to supervise the night shift.)
Food chain
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Several months after the oil spill, the government kept the real environmental impact assessments suppressed.
President Blaine grinned as he stood before a table piled high with steaming shrimp and crabs.
He rubbed his stomach, full of salad that he’d eaten on the Air Force One flight down to the photo op, and said “Delicious!”
The studies, on the other hand, screamed “Dangerous!”
Plankton contaminated.
Small filter-feeders contaminated.
Bigger fish contaminated.
Predator species contaminated.
All to lethal levels. Total breakdown.
Back in his New Orleans mansion, The Vampire Lord drummed his fingers, grumbling “Damn these humans and their suicidal stupidity.”
Retraining
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I’ve tried to diet before, but it never worked.
I’d get back into the habit of eating junk food and it would all fall apart.
So, I trained myself to dislike junk food.
Now, instead of craving potato chips, I hate them.
When I see someone with a bag, I grab it out of their hands, throw it to the ground, and stomp them to bits.
This is rather violent and destructive, but it’s better than people who train themselves to fear foods.
After all, how do you think vampires got that way about garlic?
Stink-breath is bad for neck-biters.
The Vampire in the Basement
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The tanks are old and need replacing. Blood is leaking from the ceiling again.
We used to have them in the basement, but hauling them upstairs during every flood became a hassle.
The Master has the strength of ten, but the patience of a child and the arrogance of a nobleman.
Nor do the members of his coven perform any lifting beyond coffin lids.
Labor is for us, his daytime servants.
The work is steady, and as long as we don’t complain, we live.
The forecast calls for rain.
At least all we have to haul up are coffins now.
The Werewolf
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Those damn cops had shot at us.
I lucked out, but the Werewolf didn’t.
The angry beast growls and licks his wounds, picking out bullets with his claws and tossing them into the gutter.
“They can’t kill me,” it says. “But it still fuckin’ hurts.”
I nod and watch the wounds.
The bleeding stops, and within a minute they’ve scarred over.
“Drowning is bad, but fire’s the worst.”
“Try taking a stake to your lung,” I say. “They don’t teach anatomy worth a damn anymore.”
He washes the blood off with the rain, and we head back down the alley.
Crime In E Minor
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The detective looks at the body and says “Round up every violinist.”
He is holding a smashed instrument, and his conclusions would be sound if he were correct about one thing: that is a viola, not a violin.
They dust it for fingerprints… none at all.
I wore gloves, you see.
Yes, it was me, dear reader. I am the murderer.
And that is my viola.
The violinists come in, one after the other, but each has an alibi.
It is a year later, he is no closer to solving the case.
Good.
Because my new viola thirsts for blood.
Van Helsing
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Van Helsing delivered the fatal stake to Dracula’s heart and laughed.
As he boasted at the local pub, the townsfolk reacted not in gratitude, but in shock.
“Are you saying you killed that nice old Count?” the barkeep asked.
“He paid my son’s way through college,” said an old woman. “And had the hunch in his back fixed, too.”
Before he could respond, Val Helsing’s wrists were locked in irons.
“What for?” he said.
“Murder,” said the constable.
“But Dracula was already dead!” said Van Helsing.
The excuse didn’t work with the judge either.
Van Helsing was hung at dawn.
Fiddle Faddle
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I admit it. I’m addicted to Fiddle Faddle.
I love the stuff. It’s so much better than Chex Mix.
Some people will eat any snack, but I refuse to eat anything but Fiddle Faddle for a snack.
Once, on April Fools, my friends told me they weren’t going to make Fiddle Faddle anymore.
Oh no! What would I snack on?
That night, one of my friends turned out to be a vampire and he bit me on the neck, turning me into a vampire.
Since then, I’ve just had blood.
I’ll live forever, but without Fiddle Faddle?
Stake me now.