Bite Me

confronted by Chet, the huge shaved vampyre cat. (Except, at the time, I didn’t know his name, and he was wearing a red sweater, so I didn’t know he was shaved, and he wasn’t a vampyre yet. But huge.)
    So I’m all, “Hey, kitty, go away.” And he did, leaving only William, the huge shaved cat homeless guy, lying on the steps. I thought he was dead, because of the smell, but it turns out he was only passed out from alcohol and partially drained of blood and stuff. But I’m pretty sure he’s dead now because, later, Foo and I found his stank-ass clothes on the steps of the loft, full of the gray dust that people turn to when a vampyre drains them.
    So upstairs I’m all, “There’s a dead guy and a huge kitty in a sweater on your steps.” And the Countess and Flood are all, “Whatever.”
    And I’m all, “And there was a limo full of stoners here who were totally hunting you.”
    And they were all, “Whoa.” And they seemed more freaked out than you’d think, for ancient creatures of dark forbidden romance and whatnot. And it turns out theyweren’t—I mean, aren’t. I mean, sure, their love is eternal, and they are creatures of unspeakable evil and stuff, but they are not ancient at all. It turns out that the vampyre Flood is only like nineteen, and he’s only known the Countess for like two months. And she’s only like twenty-six, which, while a little crusty, is not that ancient. And despite her advanced age, the Countess is beautiful, with long, totally natch red hair and milky skin, green eyes like emerald fire, and a smoking body that could turn a girl totally lesbo if she wasn’t already a slave to the mad, man-ninja sex-fu of the delicious Foo Dog. (Foo keeps insisting that he can’t be a ninja because he’s Chinese and ninjas are Japanese, but he’s just being stubborn and goes all Angry, Angry Asian on me whenever I bring it up. )
    ’Kayso, in the master’s loft I see these two bronze statues, one of this crusty businessman-looking guy, and the other looks like the Countess, except it’s totally naked, or in a leotard, and bronze. And I’m all, “Exhibitionist, much, Countess? Did it come with a pole?”
    And she’s all, “Help Tommy move furniture, Wednesday.” Like that makes any sense at all. (Turns out that Wednesday is a Gothish character from some crusty movie.)
    ’Kayso, later, by virtue of my extensive research and sneaking around and whatnot, I find out that the statues aren’t statues at all. That the Countess used to be inside the statue of her, and that inside the crusty businessman statue is the real ancient creature of unspeakable evil, the nosferatu that turned the Countess. And the vampyre Flood, whowasn’t a vampyre at all at the time, had bronzed the two of them when they were sleeping the deep sleep of the daytime dead, which is like the deepest sleep you can get. (You should know right now, that there’s no yawning, gentle drift into sleepytime for vampyres. When the sun breaks the horizon, they drop rag-doll dead on the spot, and you can pose them, paint them, put their hands on their junk and post the pics on the Web, and they won’t know a thing until sundown when they come on like a light and they’re wondering why their naughty bits are green and their inbox is full of propositions from elfin_love.com.)
    I know. Whoa!
    It turns out that Flood, who was known as Tommy, was chosen by the Countess as her day-minion, blood lunch, and love monkey, because he worked nights at the Safeway. Then, the old vampyre, who had turned the Countess only like a week before, started fucking with them—saying he was going to kill Tommy and generally harsh Jody’s reality. ’Kayso, Flood and his stoner Safeway night crew (called the Animals) hunted down the alpha vampyre, who was sleeping in a big yacht in the Bay, and they stole like jillions in art from the yacht and blew it up with the vampyre in it, which seriously put habaneras in his ’tude lube, but when he came out of the water, they fucked him up a good long time with spear guns and whatnot.
    I know! Oh-my-fucking-god-ponies-in-the-barbecue! I know! It just goes to show you, like Lord Byron says in the poem: “Given enough weed and explosives, even a creatureof most sophisticated and ancient dark power can be undone by a few stoners.”
    I’m paraphrasing. It may have been Shelley.
    ’Kayso, the Countess saves the old vampyre from being toasted, but she promises the cops (there were these two cops)