So, here’s the ‘set up: Vlad ‘The Impaler’ Tepe’s castle (Once lovingly named ‘Damnalot’) has been turned into an amusement park (Tragic Mountain) by the Van Helsing Family and is now occupied by their Cheap mercenaries, Meine Runt-Pferde (My Tiny Horsies) — the cheapest guns-for-hire that the Van Helsings could buy. MRP used to be a German all-male dance troup. Vlad’s auntie, the witch Lupta Axe (Battle Axe) has set up a plan to take the castle back…
It was nearing midnight on Thursday, Nov. 28. What was left of the Meine Runt-Pferde (My Tiny Horsies) mercenaries were huddled inside the courtyard of Poenari, unsure of their fate. The drawbridge was up, so, for the moment they were all safe and snuggly wuggly. The commander, König, awoke to a loud knocking, below near the drawbridge. The castle’s two gargoyles, Wichtor and Wichtoria, had only been able to watch the occupation of castle by the Horsies in horror. They’d been gagged.
“Who is it?” asked Commander König Buckel(King Hump) from the highest parapet. “Is it the Van Helsing boys?”
“It’s me, Kapitän Flitzer (Streaker)!”
“Let him in boys. Hurry! Come in,” said König.
Once inside, Kapitän Flitzer called up to his commander: “I think there is an army coming — Now! Through the forest.”
“Are you sure?” asked the commander. “Come up here now. I want you to look over the parapet, my eyes are not so good and…”
“Your eyes are lovely commander. Is my hair okay?”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Flitzer, you are not all that. Put on some pants. The gold ones are nice.”
Kapitän Flitzer looked over the top of the castle wall. In the moonlit forest and across the moat below, he saw a sea of ten thousand women. Lupta Axe’s new army of fans had surrounded the castle. The Black Friday shoppers had built a bridge; a human bridge fashioned from the bodies of sacrificed shoppers to reach across the moat to the drawbridge. The women who had the free samples of Outa-My-Way-Asshole! brand coffee were already tearing at the drawbridge with sharpened fingernails. Others beat at the twenty-foot wooden barrier with heavy handbags and stiletto heels.
“Commander!” Flitzer called down. “You have to see this!”
A woman’s voice called up to the frightened soldier, “Open up, Flitzer. It’s your Aunt Elsa! Open up! It’s midnight!”
“Hi aunt Elsa!” waved Flitzer.
“That is correct, ma’am. It is midnight. What do you want?” asked commander König, who had joined Flitzer at the top of the wall. “I am the commander and you should all be home sleeping!”
There was a sudden calming in the fields below Poenari castle’s high walls. The moonlit crowd parted like the Red Sea. A woman built like a bulldozer approached the drawbridge swinging a purse loaded with dozens of heavy, greasy beignets. She stared up at König and ground her strong jaw.
“Go away, whoever you are!” said the frightened Commander. “The castle is and the park will open at 10 a.m.! Go home.”
“They call me Pauline! Open the drawbridge or I’ll soon be using your skinny neck for butt floss.”
There was more banging. More determined women’s voices.
“Open the drawbridge!” demanded Pauline with a grating roar akin to Godzilla.
“My cards are burning a hole in my wallet!” another woman screamed.
Flitzer watched their torches in their left hands pierce the darkness as they chanted, “Sale! Sale! Sale! Sale!” Purses in their right hands swung like spiked medieval flails. Pauline stood at the head of the crowd and spat acidic venom that began to burn a hole in the wooden barrier.
“What are you people? Go home!”
“We’re here to spend money! It is NOW Black Friday. We’re looking for shoes, clothes, and free stuff. And You are worms who will die if you get in our way!”
“Quick, Flurry Schamhaar (Flurry Pubes),” said König, “I want all of the Meine Runt-Pferde suitcases brought out here into the courtyard. All of them. I want them unpacked and the clothes folded neatly on the tables. Now!” König called out to the women at the moat, “Give us another minute!”
“All of our clothes, sir?” asked Flurry.
“Yes!” said König. “We all overpacked for this trip. Hurry!”
The women outside began to chant “Now! Now! Now!” Inside the courtyard the heavy wooden beams of the drawbridge began to splinter.
König ran down below.
“Sir!” said Flatternscheuen (Poser). “Things are about to get ugly! And 50% off!” He handed Commander König a flyer he’d picked up off the ground.
“Damn! Black Friday Sale!” said the commander.
Flatternscheuen turned the flyer over and read the back, “‘For the first two thousand of my loyal fans who storm Poenari Castle at midnight, all clothes modeled by the Meine Runt-Pferde will be 50% off!”
“Wait,” König said to Flatternscheuen. “Vlad’s witch is talking about giving away our clothes, sweetie.” Flatternscheuen continued reading aloud, “Stick around for a free Chanel gift certificate, and there will also be dozens of available men.”
Oh, really? thought König. He read aloud the rest of the flyer:
“…and lots of designer shoes. PLUS, I will send a copy of my new book—FREE!—to everyone who mails me back their flyer. Signed Infinity Upton-Downes.”
The commander glanced at the witch’s flyer. “Infinity Upton-Downes! I love her books. Especially her Riders of the Purple Sausage!”
Little did König realize that his enemy, the witch Lupta Axe, and Infinity Upton-Downes, author of the Tragic Lust series, were one-in-the-same person
König Buckel dropped his weapon belt, grabbed his Chanel bag and turned to his weary soldiers. “Girlfriends! I’ve only heard of them in legend. Beyond these walls are the Black Friday Shoppers. If they are who I think they are, they are unstoppable. So it’s goodbye, my comrades. Auf Wiedersehen! So long my little Frechen Säugen (Perky Suckle), my brave Mond Mich (Moon Me), my handsome-but-straight Brust Gucker (Breast Gazer),
CRACK!!! The drawbridge shattered. The women stormed the courtyard with fire in their eyes trampling over each other to get to the tables first. Others attacked König’s fashion conscious troops. “Sale! Sale!” the women were chanting.
Pauline led the charge dressed in a badass polka dot dress and matching hat. She met the commander eye to eye at the bottom of the staircase. She pushed him against the stone wall then swatted the punk with her wide brimmed hat. “Give me your boots,” she said to Commander König, who was shaking in his pair of Nudie Saddle Ups.
“I-I-I…these were a special gift. No! Besides, you look like you wear a size eleven and these are nines.” Pauline started to twirl her beignet laden purse slowly. “No! Stop! They’ll never carry these again at Nordstoms, you beast,” he said. Commander König slowly backed his way up the spiral stone staircase, while Pauline matched his every move. He lashed out with his own handbag and missed.
“What do you want for those boots?” Pauline asked as she swung at his head. König ducked, saving his skull from being cracked like an egg.
“They were a birthday present from Heinrich Van Helsing! I’ll never find these again. Nudie stopped producing this line in 1995.”
“Heinrich Van Helsing? Are we talking about the football player? The son of Hansel and Gretel Van Helsing?”
“Please!” König screamed. “Oh, Heinrich! Heinrich!” Oh Lord! Where is my Heiny???
Pauline forced him further up the staircase. Her eyes were bulging wildly and her skin was turning red. König, nearing the top, threw his handbag at Pauline, breaking the fake pearl necklace that she’d paid over ten dollars for on Ebay.
Smoke billowed from Big Pauline’s nostrils as she charged like un toro. She chased the commander across the west tower. König had nowhere to go. Think! Think!
König turned. “I have to ask you this, Pauline? Is your hat a Christine Moore?” he asked in desperation, as he backed toward the parapet. The wind caught Pauline’s prized hat and blew it over the wall.
“No!” Now Pauline was really pissed.
“Oh, No! Your hat! I am so sorry. It was to die for.” König was now leaning back upon the edge of the parapet.
“Yes it was,” Pauline said, approaching steadily. “So are your boots!” She grabbed the twerp by the ankles and dumped him out of his Nudie footwear into the mouth of a croc in the moat below. Pauline, triumphant, turned to the hordes of shoppers below, held up the prized footwear, and bellowed beneath the moon, “Look what I scored, ya stupid biatches!”