Find the book BATS at: https://www.amazon.com/Bats-Fred-Barnett-ebook/dp/B00T2XBVYU/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
“Who are you and what do you know about Infinity Upton-Downes?” thundered Tor, the largest member of the motorcycle club known as the Hell’s Angles (Architects on vacation). “How would you know that Infinity Upton-Downes ain’t home, here in Transylvania? Her Witchipedia biography says that she lives here year-round. I know everything about her…’cept what she looks like. I imagine that she’s pretty hot after readin’ her novels.”
“Oh. Howwwww do I know she isn’t home, snowflake? ’Cause you’re talkin’ to her, ya big ugly bastard! What happened to your eye?”
“Your eye! Are ya deaf too? Bend down and let me take a look you got something…right there!” She poked it. “Nyuk, nyuk.”
“Ow! Old bat!”
“You’re fine, petal. Look through this telescope. See!” The telescope left a big black greasy circle around Tor’s poked eye. “So, you don’t believe that I am the famous Infinity? Have you read Tragic Lust #34? Of course you haven’t! I just finished writing it. It’s a romantic called Go-Go West, Young Man.”
Lupta, who used Infinity Upton Downes as her pen name, waved her cane and began to recite:
“Ahem… Time. Stood. Still. Broken by an intensifying vibration, Thunder Thigh’s glistening bronze body began to quake. Handsome Jack’s mighty maracas nearly shook loose. The Paiute guide howled when she clamped down and crushed the stunned studly Spillwell’s notorious hardened spike… The wagon master’s dying wail triggered the legendary Montana avalanche known by all school-age children today as ‘Fuckin’ awesome!’”
Tor turned to his biker club leader, Chester. “Holy Swiss cheese, Chester!”
“Holy…It’s really her!” said Brutehilda, Chester’s monstrous spouse.
Fuckin’ illiterates, thought Lupta.
“Yup. That’s Infinity,” said a Viking-helmeted man in a business suit, named Lutefisk.
Willowy Mina shook her head. She still couldn’t believe that her own aunty, Lupta Axe, was the famous author of the disturbing books that she had been hiding beneath her mattress with her deluxe Willie Wanker Bar.
Seven-foot Tor bent down and kissed Lupta’s black heavy heeled shoes and began to bawl like a baby.
“Enough, my Swedish meatball. You kids won’t find the god-blessed Countess and Prince Vlad at home neither!”
“Of course they’re not home,” said Brutehilda. “Vlad the Impaler and Bathory the Bloody Countess died hundreds of years ago.”
Lupta pointed her crooked cane at Elizabeth’s rumbling Challenger. “Do you see the hottie behind the wheel with red pinstripes in her hair and glowing boobs next to the guy with the funny mustache smoking god-knows-what-unfortunate-creature in his pipe while wiping the unicorn shit off of his shoe? Well, that’s them sitting in the car, turd loaf. You’re looking at the genuine Prince Vlad the Impaler Dracula Tepes,” (From behind the windshield, Vlad smiled and mimed “Hi!” as he lifted his Meerschaum pipe and eyebrows.) “and the Bloody Countess Elizabeth ‘Hot Wheels’ Bathory, the real deal.” — Elizabeth grinned like a bear trap while flashing her glowing red-hot nipples …. . .-.. .-.. —, which in Morse code translated to “Hello.” They even beeped.