Vlad, the evil Master-bat-or, was hanging forty feet above the tour group, hidden and hurting like a drug addict. The hunger pangs were not in Vlad’s stomach. He wasn’t thinking of the camera-toting blood bags milling about on the castle floor beneath him. His soul was starving for Elizabeth Bathory the Bloody Countess, (or Betty as he called her). They rarely got to see each other as she had her own castle to attend to.
Elizabeth Comes a-Courtin’
For four hundred years The Bloody Countess had danced her wanton bodily-fluid-boogaloo upon Vlad’s pike. Tonight was their ‘Date Night.’
She’s probably in the bath, thought Vlad. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his wings, and kiss the bloodbles sliding down her ţâţe vith all the subtle finesse of a slobbering mastiff.
There! I can see her in my mind’s eye! Hubbah hubba! Vlad could see that ‘Betty’ was reading his mind across hundreds of fog-shrouded miles, while she picked out her trashiest pantyhose for their date.
Betty, the Bloody Countess, the direct daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Satan, was awakened earlier that day in her bath by the another noisy busload of Gibor plasma pouches outside her own castle walls.
When Betty was upset, the blood in her tub would begin to boil.
Over the ages, the countess’s supply of fresh female virgin blood had dwindled. The disappearance of the innocent maidens of yore had attracted the attention of authorities, which meant the countess was now forced to bathe in the unwholesome blood of Gibors — who no one, even their own families, ever missed. Most of Elizabeth’s higher quality bathwater only came from the fresh blood of virgin males who lived in their basements of their parent’s homes. These pallid geeks, hardly seen were seldom missed. Guys with names like Irving, Seymour, Poindexter, and Marvin. Bathing in Le Nectar des Dorks had its plus side. Real virgin sap made her already impressive mellükön larger and decidedly perkier. Extracto empollón (nerd extract) was also good for firming up her yumalicious fenék. It also served as a coolant when the Countess’ overheated bod would threaten to spontaneously combust.
Back at Poenari Vlad was thinking: Should I ask her to move in, despite the three humorless old bats already living…uh, undying in my cellar? He could feel Betty looking back at him, drooling over him, from over five hundred miles away—as if he were a rack of Famous Dave’s spareribs.
Vlad’s deep thoughts were interrupted “Blattttttt” by the sounds of twenty Gibors having a farting contest below in the main hall and laughing at their own echoes. Even on the sacred Sundays, Jack Lord’s day of rest. How could such a tiny country produce so many noisy, dirty, ill-mannered, annoying little…ewwwww, just the thought gave Vlad shivers.
He twirled his aerodynamic mustache, When fate gives you lemmings, make lemming-ade! swooped down, eyes ablaze, and within his devilish trick of the five-second time shift, he was able to lift a Gibor woman up onto the rafters, chomp down on her fat neck, and extract all of her blood before anyone in the crowd could blink. The Gibor slobs were far below, farting in the long hallway, taking photos, and busy stealing clippings of Vlad’s tapestries. But, the imbeciles were moving in a slower parallel world as he enveloped his prey. The woman’s husband, Morty, only witnessed her dripping blood and gore running down a column. He was busily snapping photos when he noticed (“Hey, Lucy! Look at this ancient W(V)ibrator!”) that had actually fallen out of Lucy’s purse. She’s probably in the gift shop, he thought.Morty snapped a few hundred more shots as his louse-spouse’s splatter was licked up by several wampyre bats that had escaped from the confines of Vlad’s faster parallel world.
“Vinged varmints! Get back up here!” Vlad demanded in a high-frequency whisper.
Morty the Gibor husband never thought to look up, or report his missing spouse to the big New Guinea tour bus driver, Xomerang, who was busy eating the jerky-like pieces of his own grandfather’s buttocks as a snack.
Vlad had to get the crowds out of here — now(!) Betty is bringing her entire volf pack vith her this evening. Tonight is date night! Which reminded him…
Within another half-minute, Vlad snagged another half-dozen Gibors for his Gibor-matic chopper. He was going to make salsa to go with his Lupta’s Nerd Chips ©.
An hour later….
Vlad was so happy to see Betty that he could barely contain himself. So, he didn’t.
“Betty!” He flashed her his phosphorescent flunker-wagger schnitzer from the battlement.
Elizabeth laughed as her bats draped a naughty nighty upon her nudity. Nonetheless, Vlad would negate the negligible negligee down in the “vhine cellar” (his torture chamber for wretched kvetches).
Pokey old Grieves would soon ring the dinner bell. Tonight, Grieves had added a real ghoul to the Gulyas.