Never trust a vampire with your cherry overnight

"OWWWWW!!!! What the fuck?!?! Don't bite."

"I just want to drink a little..."

Mindy shot me a coy look that made my pupils dilate even wider.

"A little? What're you - fuckin' Vampirella?"

"I am. My whole family. We drink blood. We.... we... need it."

A little over thirty years ago I was supposed to be bar-mitzvahed. However, as a nascent capitalist; I was having none of it.

"Danny. You should get the bar-mitzvah. You can do it phonetically," suggested my father's wife, BettyJo Lemongello.

"Just do it Dan. Get the fucking bar-mitzvah."

"Five G and I get to move in with you, Dad. Deal?"

"Oh no! Oh no!" exclaimed BettyJo the predictable. "A boy belongs with his mother."

"Welp, then I reckon the deal is off; so lay off."

But, it did not end there. Nope. This was just the beginning of what would later turn me into a homeless vampire fighter.

Now, you don't know me and I don't know you, so..., it would be rude of me were I not to prime the wall prior to painting you a picture of my Jewish coming of rage, gone horrifically awry. Okay, here's the run down with bullet points.

1. There was no percentage in it.
2. My mother beat me till I was eleven
3. My mother continued to make life miserable even after she stopped beating me.
4. I only saw my father a couple of times a month and he usually left me with his wife.
5. BettyJo had the IQ of a dingleberry and was always raving about Jesus and Ronald Reagan.
6. My grandparents knew my mother was psychotic but always told me to be respectful to her.
7. My father hid the fact he gave my mother money from BettyJo.
8. My mother beat me when my father forgot to give me money for her.
9. I was not supposed to mention money if BettyJo was in the car when he dropped me off
10. BettyJo was always in the car when he dropped me off
One sunny Sunday I sat on the concrete steps of my paternal Grandparents' home frying ants with a magnifying glass and reading the latest adventures of Bazooka Joe.

"How's my favorite grandson?"

"I'm your only grandson, Grandpa."

"What's this I'm hearing? You refusing to have a bar-mitzvah, Danny?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

I outlined bullet points numbers one through ten for my slap happy, Hebrew, Grand Pappy but alas he was nonplussed.

"I'm very disappointed in you."

"Oh, if you're gonna try and guilt me into it you might as well save your breath for cooling your coffee."

"Listen. You might not realize it now but when you're older and you're spending time with your Jewish friends and they're all telling tales of their bar-mitzvahs, oh boy, are you gonna regret it something terrible."

"Welp," I said, frying another ant, "only time will tell."

But it didn't end there fer crissakes. Why couldn't they just fucking leave me alone?

"You're gonna go to special bar-mitzvah classes Sonny boy, or you're gonna go to foster care."

"Oh, really now? You're gonna strong arm me?"

The last time my mother had attempted to strong arm me was one Saturday morning when I was on my way to play a game of sandlot baseball. I had shared a few chicken legs with my friend Guy and she had come home to discover the chicken MIA. Our interaction thereafter went a little something something like this:

"Who ate the fucking chicken?"

Silence. Since nobody else lived with us the math was simplistic enough to render the question both rhetorical and beating bait.

"You ate the motherfucking chicken that was supposed to be for dinner."

Guy looked really shocked. He had never met my mother before and here she was screaming at the top of her lungs, itty bits of spit spraying the joint.

"Uh Guy, can you please leave now? I'll meet you at the diamond."

"Oh, no you won't! You are punished. All your privileges are revoked."

When I heard the front door close and I knew I would have to be humiliated no more in front of Guy I said, "Fuck you and your privileges you crazy bitch."

That's when she made her move. However, puberty had gotten a hold of me early as evidenced by the fact I was going for the Guinness record for hurkin' my kosher gurkin' in a day, and had just surpassed a baker's dozen only the previous day.

The bull came at me but I stepped back brandishing my Lousiville Slugger.

"I'm warning you. I will hit you with this bat if you attack me again."

Well, rebellion didn't sit too well with the maternal unit. She practically frothed at the mouth. I distinctly remember hearing a car outside my window blare out the Godfather theme on a tricked out horn.

And then she came.

TORO! TORO!

Now, you gotta remember this is pre-internet. As a boy I mostly stayed in my room listening to the radio, reading comic books and swinging a baseball bat chanting, "Danny! Danny!" I always pictured myself in the bottom of the ninth, full count, bases loaded and two outs , down by 3 runs in the last game of the world series. Not being the kinda guy who'd let the Bronx Bombers down I'd keep my eye on the ol' cowhide and blast that bitch into the stratosphere. The crowd would go wild and babes would travel from Honolulu just to give me a lei. Yeah, that's what Danny's talking about. But I digress. Back to our regularly scheduled bullfight.

"You little fuckfa-"

The sound of sweet Louisiana wood connecting with Brooklyn hipbone made an awful cracking sound that fairly scared me. Had I broken the bitch's hip?

My mother just stood there, jaw agape, turgid peepers stopped in their tracks by that sweet Louisiana hickory having saved my ass from Brooklyn beatdown number #2200, in up till then; an apparently unending series.

Well, I didn't let on how scared I was and opted to remain in my Willie Randolph unorthodox stance as psychomomma debated her next move.

She stormed out of my room clutching her hip and then a minute later, as if an afterthought, stormed back in, confiscated my small black & white TV I watched my Yankee games on (and Three's Company - Janet and Chrissy were coaching me for the Guinness hurkin' record)) and then stormed back out, ominously stating, "you're in big trouble Sonny boy."

Well, nothing further came of the, "Who ate the fucking chicken," incident other than a cold war that had been raging until just before my thirteenth birthday. So when my Mother said, "You're gonna go to special bar-mitzvah classes Sonny boy, or you're gonna go to foster care," I refrained from going all Neville Chamberlain and shit. In fact, I did the opposite. I went all Wilt The Stilt on her cellulite ass responding with, "Everybody pulls for David, nobody roots for Goliath."

Five minutes later she tried a different tack, "You're grandmother says you are going to go get a bar-mitzvah or else."

"Y'know what Ma? You can suck my dick and you can tell Grandma, she can suck my dick too! Now get out of my room!"

Two minutes after that she barged back in holding a telephone receiver stretched on a very long curly rubber cord that had seen better days.

"It's your Grandma. You tell her what you told me."

"Hi, Grandma."

"Bubbeleh. What's this? You won't get a bar-mitzvah?"

"That's right."

"Oh, no! No. What will I tell my friends at mahjong?"

"That your daughter is psychotic?"

"No. Listen. Listen. I've spoken to your other grandparents. This is very very important. It is not up for negotiation. Now, you do what we tell you, Bubbeleh? Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear."

"Suck. My. Dick. Grandma. Now get hip to the click."

Well, that's the back drop to how I ended up in foster care because I wouldn't have a bar-mitzvah. My mother went to see a social worker and explained that I was some kind of raging Hulk who nobody liked when he got angry which was unfortunate as I was portrayed as perpetually in that state. Further, she explained that she feared for her well being as I was prone to violence.

A few days later I was called in to the Vice Principal's shitty office where I was sat down while the grownups talked alot of shit and signed some papers. My mother sat there with a smug smirk on her face and just like that I was in....

I was placed with the McGillicuddy family in South Brooklyn. George McGillicuddy was a cop and he and his wife already had eight kids plus three foster kids in their big railroad flat. George had a big red alcholic nose and a spaghetti stained wife beater wrapped around his paunch.

"Look kid. They warned me about you. I'm gonna tell you right now tough guy. You wanna think about giving me any of that big ass lip hangin' from your puss you better think twice; cause I will ruin you, son."

"Yes, sir. Sir."

I was then unceremoniously directed to a small room, not much bigger than a closet, that I was to share with...

"Nachman Lipschitz, pleased to meetcha; you betcha!"

"Hi Nachman. I'm Danny."

"Hi Danny. Nobody calls me Nachman anymore. You can call me Lippy or the Lipster or the Lippopotamus; your call."

"Lippy sounds cool."

Lippy put his arm around and me and said, "Hey, kid. I'm not here for long. I got arrested on a beef and my parents are all kinds of religious jewish. I split when I was thirteen. The first thing they said to me when the cops put two and two together was, "Now you can get bar-mitzvahed!"

"Well, after all I'd been through, that was not even in the same zipcode as my todo list. Well, my whole family went apeshit and blah blah I was ordered here by some cunt faced judge."

"No shit, Lippy??!?! I'm here cause I wouldn't get bar-mitzvahed."

Well, I told Lippy my tale and he told me his and before you knew it we were thicker than my Dad's ear wax.

"Alright, kid. It's like this. I'm breaking outta this dump tonite. I know a guy who can get us jobs working in a kitchen in the Pennsylvania boonies. Actually, you look a lot older than going on thirteen. You wanna team up or you wanna eat generic macaroni and cheese for the next five years; you betcha?"

...
A Jewish camp for senior citizen somewhere on the Pennsylvania/New York border - Early 80's
...

"Double Dewars motherfuckers! Who's in?!?!!"

Chris was the head cook and came from Washington Heights. He would travel back to Washington Heights every fortnight, returning withcertain things.

1. Two eightballs of the primo, barely stepped on, slightly pinkish, yayo
2. Six bottles of Dewars (accept no substitutes)
3. Bullets for his .22 rifle
4. Arrows for his crossbow
5. An ounce of Thai stick aka The Icky Sticky
"You down, Lippy?"

Lippy held out his dirty glass.

"You betcha!"

Lippy only drank from a dirty glass. Go figure.

"What about your wingman? You wanna put some more hair on that chest Tarzan?"

"Does yellow go in the front and brown in the back?"

"Yeah, yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about. Double Dewars in the house yo!"

And that was a typical evening thanks to Captain Chris and his bag of goodies.

I have to say, working at Camp Arthritis was the shit. All I hadda do was wash dishes a few times a day, and mop the floors, and climb up in the attic when we were running low on supplies, and general menial shit like that.

It definitely beat the shit out of bar-mitzvah lessons and my familia psychotica.

And there were GIRLS!

Now, when I was growing up in Brooklyn the most I ever got to do was make out with one of my friend's drunk girlfriend while he was passed out on a rooftop.

I had never had girls seriously down to fuck the morning crust out of my jeepers peepers. It was summer by then and the first wave of senior citizens from the boros were being bused in in a few days.

The mountain was heating up and the girls cabin filled up in no time with a bunch of high school girls, more than a few of which were cuter than a box full of golden retriever puppies.

It was during one particularly cocaine fueled night of partying and watching, "First Blood," for the zillionth time that Lippy said, "Yo! Danny! Word on the mountain is that new girl, Mindy. She wants you, bro. She wants you something awful."

Mindy had showed up the day before and had just graduated high school. Word on the mountain was she had been doing her stepdad and had slit her wrists and ended up in foster care for a while till getting a job as a waitress at the camp. Now, the thing to keep in mind was:

Mindy had an incredible ass. And it wasn't just me. Everybody talked about her ass like it was the second coming. Even the old Jewish men would say, "Look at the tuchus on that shiksa! Where's my nitroglycerine?"

And the other thing to keep in mind was, I was a cherry boy. Yep. Virgin McFly was I. And I had definitely raised my hurkin' average well past sixteen times a day. I gave up hiding the fact and even the ultrapure yayo couldn't put a dent in my tumescence.

"You should do her, Danny boy, you betcha!" Lippy said, putting an arm around my shoulder and passing me a fat doobie laced with cocaine.

My big numb lips managed to spit out a, "You betcha, you betcha!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Send it in, boyo! Send. It. In."

Well, I didn't have to wait long. The next night I found myself at a campfire drinking vodka out of the bottle with Mindy and some of the other staff. Mindy didn't really say anything but she kept staring at me with eyes that said, "I will fuck you right here right now and back again; you betcha."

After a while I was pretty stupefied and I said, "Can somebody show me the way to go home? I'm tired and I wanna go to bed. Well, I hadda lil drink about an hour ago, and it's gone right to my head..."

A waitress who didn't last long and whose name I can't quite recall said, "Take him, Mindy!"

Next thing I knew I had Mindy's arm around me and off we staggered.

"Thash not the way to the bunk," I slurred.

"I got a better idea," she said. Then she put her tongue in my ear and whispered, "I've got the keys to the guest bunks."

Cheerio cherry-boy!

Well, she wasn't lying about the keys. Sooo... We did it in the kitchen. We did it in the hall. I got some on my finger and I wiped it on the wall. Y'know what I'm saying?

After that all the girls wanted a piece of my big ass lips and I'd be lying like a bad toupée if I said it wasn't G-L-O-R-I-O-U-S. The word on the mountain was I was like the Energizer Bunny; I could just keep going and going and going....

"Yo! Mindy's really pissed, bro; you betcha," Lippy warned me.

And he was right. Later that day in the laundry room she cornered me with accusations of infidelity.

"I didn't know you wanted to be my girlfriend..."

"Are you rejecting me?!!?"

"No. No, I just-"

"Look, Danny. Now you're mine and I love you. Understand?"

And just like that I had my first girlfriend. And that's when shit got strange....

As I got to know Mindy a little better it turned out she had come from a house of horrors. Her Mom, Susie-Jean was only fourteen years older than her and she had a twin brother, Mike, who had taken her virginity. Well, at least that's the way I saw it. Mindy, told a different tale altogether.

"The Hershey Highway don't count."

"Oh, it so fucking counts."

"No. Seriously. He never put it in my #1."

"Yeah, but your Stepdad did."

"Well, yeah. But I wanted him to."

Now maybe I shoulda taken Smokey's Mom's advice and shopped around but three things kept me from breaking up with Mindy.

Three things that kept me from breaking up with Mindy
* 1. That ass. That fucking ass.
* 2. I felt like she had a raw deal in life and I could relate.
* 3. See #1

So, I didn't break up with Mindy. In fact, things got hotter and heavier by the day and I soon too found myself riding the Hershey Highway on a more than regular basis. It got me a lot of respect from the other staff and everybody thought I was eighteen. Fortunately puberty had hit hard and I did have alot of hair on my chest and I had to shave every three days.

And then, I found out, Mindy was a vampire.

Now when I found out I was tripping on acid for the first time on the 4th of July watching the fireworks in the sky and inside my head. Mindy and I were down by the lake and she was kissing my neck and yanking my shvantz.

"OWWWWW!!!! What the fuck?!?! Don't bite."

"I just want to drink a little..."

Mindy gave me a coy look that made my pupils dilate even wider.

"A little? What're you - fuckin' Vampirella?"

"I am. My whole family. We drink blood. We.... we... need it."

"Uh, not cool?"

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No. And I don't plan to anytime soon, Mindy. I mean, what the fuck?!?!"

I would've protested further but Mindy dropped to her knees and did her thing and pretty soon I didn't know Transylvania from Pennsylvania.

We didn't speak about the blood sucking again and for the next week or so shit was chilly-chill. I was getting my fill of all manner of hedonism and thoughts of my crackpot tribe and bar-mitzvahs were a million miles away. As far as I was concerned Lippy had put me on the road to manhood in ways no Rabbi ever could; you betcha!

"My brothers coming next month. He said he's going to fuck you up."

"What? Why?"

"He said, 'Nobody touches my sister but me.'"

I didn't like the sound of that. Later that night I told Lippy and he told Chris. We were doing lines thick as my finger off the big mirror and Lippy said, "Can you handle yourself?"

"Maybe. I only had a few fights so far and I got a concussion in one of them."

Chris took out his crossbow. "Yo. You wanna borrow this, Tarzan?"

"Um, wouldn't that kill him? I don't wanna go to jail."

"Yeah, you don't wanna do that, you betcha! I got a better idea. I'm gonna train you."

"You wanna help, Chris?"

Chris was 6'6" and a good 240lbs.

"Tarzan," he said putting an arm around my shoulder. "When we're done with you that motherfuckin' Vampire-boy'll be crappin' his Pampers all the way back to Colorado."

After that I spent a month of training days. I would run around the lake every morning at sunrise. Then I would do pushups. Then I would work the heavy bag that Chris had hung from a tree branch.

Lippy showed me alot of tricks like how to grab someone's fingers and turn their hand so their arm would lock, "and then you bust their elbow like this, you betcha!" he finished showing me how; over and over and over.

They boxed me. They wrestled me. They choked me. They attacked me with a rubber knife and then a real one. They put me in headlocks. Pointed a rifle at my face and even hunted me through the woods with a crossbow one Thursday afternoon.

"If the training doesn't kill you you're gonna be one dangerous individual, Tarzan," Captain Chris opined.

I didn't have to wait a whole month to try out my rapidly budding commando skills. It turned out that Mindy had been dating a townie and the word on the mountain was he was gonna fuck me up the ass on Saturday.

Me and Mindy and Lippy and Melissa had returned early from the soapbox derby and had parked Melissa's Firebird on the side of the long gravel road that led in and out of the camp with the headlights off. Melissa was giving Lippy a hummer in the front seat and I was riding Mindy's Hershey Highway in the backseat when three guys passed by. One of the guys was wielding what looked in the moonlight like a big axe.

"Yo! Danny! We got a problem; you betcha!"

"What's up!"

"Drop your cocks and put on your socks; it looks like that fucking townie with his goon squad."

Mindy looked up. "That's John."

Lippy started to giggle. "What's so fucking funny?" I asked.

"Melissa. I want you to start the car but leave the headlights off."

"Okay."

"Yeah, now drive real slow. We're gonna saddle up right next to them..."

"Okay, baby."

"Now, when I give the word you floor it, okay?"

The car began to crawl and soon I could make out their silhouettes. It was an axe and it was pretty fucking big.

"Uh, we never covered axe wielding maniacs, have we?"

"Sssh. Watch and learn m'boy. You betcha!"

And then, "Now 'lissa! FUckinG GunNNNN IT!!!!!"

Melissa put the pedal to the medal and just as we came up alongside them Lippy opened his door and sent John flying up, up and away. He disappeared into the trees and his goon squad promptly ran for their lives.

"Yeah! Bowling for townies! That's how we fuckin' roll in Brooklyn; you betcha! Nobody messes with the Hebrew Hitman or his little buddy!"

Lippy was having trouble getting the door shut. It seems he had hit John the axe wielding maniac with so much force the door was bent all outta shape.

"I'll pay to have it fixed," I said. Then I added, "Thanks Lippy. I owe you. Bigtime."

"No sweat to a vet little brother; you betcha."

After that Lippy spent most of his time deflecting pussy. Word got out that he sent John into orbit and everybody wanted to hear the story over and over. The best part was the big ass dent in the car. Melissa's Dad who was groundskeeper of the camp was extra chill about it too.

"Long as you pay for it, I'd say it's the best two hundred bucks you'll ever spend..." and then he spit some Redman in a cup.

"Thanks, Mr. Holmes."

"Ayup."

The next weekend we were in town bar hopping and we saw John and his goon squad.

"Okay, Danny. I want you to walk through them like Moses parting the Red Sea. Just look 'em all in the eye and say, 'If you're feeling froggy then jump...'"

Mindy, Melissa, Lippy, Chris and Walter who was visiting from Washington Heights hung back.

I walked up to them and they all looked at me quizzically. John was on one crutch. In the light of day he could only best be described as a dirtbag.

I did like Lippy said. I rolled into the lot of them with my shoulders; pushing them around like weebles.

"Any of you motherfuckers feeling froggy?"

"What?"

"Froggy motherfucker. Froggy. Like go ahead and jump."

"Huh?"

And then something came over me. Maybe it was their ignorance of the lingua franca. Maybe it was all the testosterone and talk of vampiric incest combined with nonstop drug fueled days and nights. Yeah, maybe it was all of the above but regardless that day I felt a switch flip in my head.

"Yo. I got a message for you," I said.

"What?"

"Greetings from the land of beatings," and then I faked a jab and hooked a left into John's stomach. He dropped his crutch and doubled over. I grabbed him by the hair and started kneeing him in the head. He started to go down but I managed to hold him up for an extra knee or two.

Then I looked at his boys.

"You got three seconds to run. If you're still here I'm gonna hit you so hard your mothers'll feel it back in the trailer park."

They just stared blankly at me and then down at John, who incidentally didn't look too good.

Well, I didn't have to count past one cause they all ran.

Chris held up my hand like Mickey did in Rocky, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like the rat's ass for that long moment.

But I didn't slow down on my training. Nope. Au contraire, mon frère. I went way past double time into triple time. It seemed if you were going to have to tangle with a vampire you might as well share their bloodthirst.

That August night Mindy said, "Mike's in town. He's staying with my Mother."

"You don't say."

"Yep. He still wants to kill you."

"You don't say."

"He said, 'There's going to be a sacrifice tomorrow night and I should come home for a family reunion.'"

"The hell you will."

"Danny, I feel the hunger. Maybe, if you'd let me have some of yours..."

"Mindy. You are not a fucking vampire. There are no such things in this world. Just fucking crazy people, alright?"

"You don't understand the hunger. It's calling me."

"Well, fucking tell it to get hip to the click. You ain't going nowhere near your Mom's house and that's fucking final! Savvy?"

"I'll try...."

"Don't try. Do..."

The next day I awoke to an empty bunk. Mindy was nowhere to be found and she skipped kitchen duty that morning.

"Didja see it?" Chris asked Lippy.

"Oh, fuck. Whaddya think done it?"

"Fuck if I know."

"What," I asked.

"There was a dead chicken on the front steps to the dining hall. It looked like something drank it blood dry."

"Maybe, it was a cat?"

"Didn't look like it. Just two holes in its neck and some bloody marks on the stairs. Fucked up shit man..."

"Lippy. I gotta tell you something man."

"What?"

"After KP. You too Chris."

And then I spilled my guts. Mindy wanting to suck my blood all the time. Mike buttfucking Mindy. They already knew about her stepdad but they didn't know the whole family thought it was fucking vamped out.

"Yo. Just forget that crazy bitch," Chris suggested. "Plenty o' tuna in that can, Tarzan m'man."

"Yeah, Danny. But something tells me you better watch your back."

"Don't worry," Chris said. "Tarzan been trained by the best. Ain't that right?"

"You betcha," Lippy said.

"There ain't no real vampires, though. Right?"

"If there are you gonna fuckin' show 'em how we roll in the city with no pity. Now who's down for toots and Double Dewars!!?!!?!?"

That Saturday night we all caravanned to the county fair. It was alright. They had all kinds of rides and carny booths and funnel cakes and shit and at some point I found myself separated from everybody. We'd been drinking a massive amount of Rolling Rock minis and I realized my waterbill was desperately overdue.

I wandered to the edge of the fair and then disappeared into the treeline looking for a water bill payment center.

I suddenly felt a chill pass by me but I attributed it to my overfull bladder.

I found a suitable tree and commenced to drain the vein.

"Aaaahh.......... like money from home," I said to myself.

Then I heard a twig snap. Then another.

I put my shvantz away and looked around. I didn't see nothing. I got a cigarette out and everytime I got a match lit a sudden gust of wind blew it out.

I finally ripped off all the matches and got them lit at once. I got my cigarette going even though that gust threatened to derail my Nicotine jones express.

I took a deep drag and heard a voice say, "Got a butt?"

I spun around.

"Mindy? Is that your brother?"

"I'm sorry Danny. The hunger was too much."

"Yeah, well...."

"So you got a butt?"

I tossed a half empty pack of Marlboro Reds at Mike and said, "Keep 'em. I gotta go."

I turned to walk away and there was Mike and Mindy.

"You wouldn't feed my sister. I don't like that."

"Yer fuckin' crackers, son."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I don't want these cigarettes," he said shaking the pack like a maraca. "Give me yours."

"Oh? You want my cigarette?"

"Do I stutter?"

I tried to dislodge the cigarette from between my big dry lips. It was stuck a little and my fingers slid past the filter right to the glowing head. They burned a little and it made me angry.

I pinched the filter and pulled it out.

"Yeah, punk. Hand it over."

"You want this cigarette? This one right here?"

Mike took a step closer and got in my face.

Washington Heights Brawling Tip: #234: In the land of the blind they'll never see it coming...

"Here bro, you can have it," I said reaching out, "in your fucking eye!"

Mike howled. He frantically swiped at his eyeball but I had smushed it in real good.

I stepped to his side and dug a hook in his ribs. It made a nice snapping sound; much louder than a twig.

Mike tried to backhand me but I knew what to do. I reached down to pick up a big tree branch from the muddy ground.

"Don't do it, Danny. Please," Mindy pleaded.

I got in my Willie Randolph stance and said, "I ate the fucking chicken, bitch!" and clobbered Mike in the back of the head.

He hissed and dropped to one knee.

He kept swinging his arms at me and fussing with his eye.

I was about to let him have it again when I felt nails dig into my chest. Mindy had jumped on my back from behind like she wanted the piggy back ride from hell.

I turned my neck to the left and right.

Then I ran backwards into a big tree. Mindy hissed and bit me in the neck. I reached my hands behind my head and grabbed her by the hair.

I then threw my head between my knees as I dropped to my left one. Mindy went flying over my head and landed in a heap next to Mike.

I checked my neck and it seemed like she didn't break the skin but it felt pretty bruised.

"I could have loved you forever, Danny. Why wouldn't you feed me?"

And then Mike pulled a knife out of his back pocket and charged me.

I stepped to the side and guided him into the tree. Then I grabbed the back of his head and began pounding his nose into the trunk. Blood spurted everywhere and I heard someone say, "Go. To. Fucking. Hell. You. Hillbilly. Mother. Fucking. Fucker." Whaddya know? It was me.

I pounded and pounded and Mindy didn't try to stop me again. I felt all the fight go out of Mike and I kicked the knife away.

"It's not too late, Danny. Just feed me. I'm so hungry!"

I grabbed Mike by his hair. Blood was pouring down his face and I was pretty sure his nose was busted.

"You're fucking hungry?"

I threw Mike at her feet and said, "Go for the gusto," and then I backpedaled my way out of the woods.

Mindy began feasting on her brother's bloody beezer. She gave me a final glance with sad eyes and then seemed to remember her hunger. Our eyes never met again.

I made my way back to the fair and found my friends.

"Yo, Tarzan. You look all scuffed up. What's up?"

I told them what happened and Chris and Lippy were adamant we go back to the woods to finish them off.

"You don't leave an injured enemy, bro. Number one rule. You wreck them."

The three of us went back to the scene of the feast and they were gone. The blood was gone too. The knife was gone three.

"Yo. I swear they were here."

"Easy now. I believe ya; you betcha," Lippy said, looking around.

"I gotta drain the vein," Chris said. He went off behind the tree and Lippy said, "Seriously," and joined him.

I went for a cigarette but realized I had abandoned them earlier.

"Holy shit!"

"Yo! Tarzan. Check this out!"

I walked over to where Chris and Lippy were. I didn't see anything. "What?"

Lippy pointed at the ground.

There was a chewed off nose between two big knotted roots of the tree they had finished pissing on.

"Oh shit; you betcha!"

"Welp," Chris said, putting his big arm around my shoulder. "Let's do some fat lines for those with no nose, whaddya whaddya?"

Lippy smiled and said, "The nose knows yo's!"

And we did. And that was the end of my flirtation with bloodsuckers but definitely not chicks with fine asses; you betcha!

From Crucifiction by Krafto Matix.