The Big Fat Gay Vampire, Episode One: The Gay Foog, or One Cold October Night Heterosexual Baseball Cap Joe Went to the Gas Station and Talked to an Imaginary Old Man Whilst Contemplating His Sexual Identity... (1708 hits)
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Submitted by icarus1987 (View user info) at 2005-10-17 17:06:09 EDT
Every now and then, an idea creeps up that's so god-awful you just HAVE to make it work. I was in my senior year when I picked up a copy of Prologue, the college's literary paper. It was the October issue, and at least half the submissions were of the from-the-vampire's-perspective variety. I thumbed through the pages, and observed that melodramatic dialogue and flowery adjectives - the kind people pick from a Thesaurus before they even know the meaning— were pretty much the only norm. . Some were set in medieval Transylvania, others in post-apocalyptic LA. Some stories had protagonists so vague and corny they could have jumped off the back of a Count Chocula box, while others gave a detailed catalog of each character's appearance, thoughts and possessions (often contradicting themselves).
Each story had a different style and angle, so how did they all manage to be crap? That got me thinking; if you could isolate those elements, refine them, perfect them, make a literary cannonball into an A-bomb?
What began that day in the student's lounge wasn't an obsession, but it was a quest. Ever since that day years ago, I've been reading college literary mags, raiding web forums and second-hand bookstores, trying to come up with the recipe for the ultimate in crappy horror stories. Can't say I succeeded yet, and don't know if I ever will, but I did manage to get this published in various places, including the college mag - all under an assumed name of course.
As a side-note, the obesity and homosexuality were inevitable. The majority of vampire stories contain anorexic, well-groomed protagonists who flap around in outfits that would make Liberace blush. Combine bloodsuckers, and you exponentially decrease the anorexic quotient, and increase the homosexuality quotient.
***
The Big Fat Gay Vampire, Episode One: The Gay Foog, or One Cold October Night Heterosexual Baseball Cap Joe Went to the Gas Station and Talked to an Imaginary Old Man Whilst Contemplating His Sexual Identity...
The fog crept in like drunk prostitute, staggering on a broken heel and singing off key. It made its fat, slovenly way down the alleys,streets and sidewalks of Willernie, Minnesota wearing the ugliest gray liptstick you've ever seen.
Baseball Cap Joe sighed as he pulled his beaten 87 sky blue Buick Skylark into the service station. He flipped open the gas cap and shoved the hard nozzle of the gas pump into the eager orifice of the car's gas tank.
An eerie wind whispered through the whispy that lined Stillwater Rd; their skeletal boughs not yet bare of leaves that were now red and orange --candy corn that shivered in the cold and crisp October wind. Joe leaned back against his car as the cold, hard nozzle gushed fluid into his car's waiting sphincter, pulling his lacrosse jacket tight against his taut, heterosexual frame.The fog was as thick as bad perfume; a funeral shroud which muffled the sounds of automobiles and distorted the blue and brimstone red neon of the Holiday Station into vague, hazy shapes. It seemed to seep through his jacket and cling to his skin like an angora sweater.
Geez, Joe thought, what a creepy thought to have! He certainly didn't like angora -- he wasn't even completely sure what it was. It sounded so...
"Cold as th' devuhl t'night." An eerie voice observed from behind Joe.
Joe, not expecting the voice to come behind him as he had been deep in thought regarding his sexual orientation, jumped and spun around, looking for the unseen source of the phantom voice. A wizened old man stood at the pump behind him, gassing up his Subaru. Besides being old, he was truly nondescript. He had whispy white hair, a crooked nose, and a clean-shaven, wrinkly face like a rotting pumpkin. Bushy brows hid sickly yellow eyes that regarded Joe with cold, sardonic amusement. Or maybe malice -- he wasn't sure. His cracked lips were set into a stolid scowl, and there was a cancerous mole on his chin. He wore a black trenchcoat that ruffled in the screaming October wind, and white socks.
"Yeah cold." Joe muttered.
"Not a night t' be caught out. No sir. Not fer man ner beast!" The old man's voice was nasal and raspy in a gravely sort of way. He seemed to have an accent, as though he were from Hungary or Los Angeles, or possibly Jamaica. He was also chewing tobacco, which he spit, which was a bad habit. Joe was suddenly glad he didn't smoke or chew tobacco, and that he wasn't fat. The old guy also had an eyepatch and a beard like a rhododendron -- particularly a gray one. Joe hadn't noticed that before.
"Yeah." It was a perfunctory response -- as if he cared.
"Y' know they say that on nights like this, right 'round Hallereen, that the Foog creeps inter Willernah."
"The Fog?" Joe asked.
The old man cackled. His wizened old hand, which was really a hook by the way, darted up to wipe some of the chaw juice off his chin. "LOL. You ain't nevuh heard o' it, boy? Well, let Ol' Bruce tell ye. Thirteen years ago t' this night, Reg'nuld Braflofski wuz livin' in the very same apartment up on Bates Avenue that yer livin' in terday! He was gettin' involved in sum hanky-panky with his man-friend in the bathtub when a water main blew, shootin' boiling hot water on to them both.
"Now I ain't no religious type, but I do listen to Billy Graham and Pat Rober'sin and send them e'ery other soshil secur'ty check. I know that gay homersekshuls don't go 2neither heaven ner hell, but are doomed to walk th' urth 's the undead! Wampeers! Y'know boy that they kin change into bats and fog! It was said that 's they lifted Reg'nuld's cerspy corpse they hurd him say 'Because of yer lack of confermince t' the city plumbin' code, I will be back to haunt all who stay in this here room, and get my revenge on th' town of Willurnie!' "Then he dun keeled o'er dead. Some say he was buried, but if you ask me, and peeple at gas stashons do, I say he turned into a flamboyeently gay foog and drifted awee oot the windah. I know, a'coz I was a cabin buoy on dat very ship!"
"What?" Joe asked.
But the old man would not stop his story for continuity errors. "Ever since Reg'nuld flamed his last, nobody 'round here goes out on foogy days in October, and nobody who stays in them apartments lives long. Y'see, they cover it up, boy! Don't think they want yer knowin' boot the hauntin' of Reg'nuld?" He laughed. "Just ask y'r landlord 'bout apartmernt three ninetern!"
"Why, what a coincidence!" Joe said. "I live in the only apartment building in Willernie, and my apartment number happens to be three-ninetern--"
He looked back, and saw that the old man had disappeared into the eerie foggy night as mysteriously as he had appeared. Maybe the old man was an apparition meant to foreshadow Joe's impending fate. Or maybe he had gassed up and driven away while Joe was standing around like a goon. Either way he was gone.
Joe thought back. He had purchased his sexy bachelor pad on Forest Ave for a very low price, and the caretaker had always faked epilepsy when he tried to get her to take care of the blood-colored stains in the bath tub, or the annoying bloody letters on the wall that spelled out "DOOM", but she had always been so convincing that Joe had never suspected any cover-up.
"What took so long?" Asked Bambi Petumpki, Joe's cosmetologist girlfriend who had been waiting in the car while Joe pumped gas and contemplated his sexual orientation and talked to imaginary old men.
"Nothin'." Joe said putting on his safety belt as he always did. "Let's go back to my place and make out, baby."
"Okay." Laughed Bambi. He layed on the gas, and the fog sucked them in like a cheap hooker. As they drove closer and closer to the apartment, and the fog got thicker and thicker, she seemed to lose her nerve. "Joey, I'm scared." She said, folding her arms over her red turtleneck sweater so that Joe could see the outline of her double nipple piercings. It usually turned him on, but right now he was too busy thinking about the many kinds of truffles. "Maybe it's just my feminine intuition Joey," said Bambi, who was thin and tan and painted her toenails green; "but I don't like how thick this fog is. It's like it's reaching out, Joey. Reaching out for you!"
"Ha ha! You are just imagining things." Joe laughed, though the hairs were standing up on the back of his thick football player's neck. It was indeed true that they hadn't seen a soul since they'd made the left on Stillwater Ave.
"Joey," She said. "Let's turn around. Let's go back to my parent's house and make out."
"I could never do that!" Joe said, "Your parents have those paisley drapes, and that is a total mood killer!"
"You are not the Joey I know." Bambi said.
"Babe--"
"No!" The insistance in her voice was like a slap to the face. "The Joey I know would chug my dad's Schlitz and grope me without permission! Let me off here, Joey! I'll walk home!"
With a sigh, Joe pulled over, and watched as she stepped out of the car and stormed up the hill towards her house.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon!" He said. "We'll go antiquing!"
He shook his head as he pulled off the shoulder. He didn't know what she was going on about. He could still chug cheap beer and grope without permission. He just couldn't do it around something as gauce as plaid or paisley.
He slid his car into the garage. As he stepped out into the parking lot, he found that the fog had grown even thicker. It was hot and musty like a pair of used gym shorts. It brought him back to the locker room -- to the smell of his fusball team, right after a good game with lots of contact -- the smell of sweat and deoderant and musty boxer shorts. He was lost for a moment, drifting alone in the misty fog. His mind swam with images of his showering team mates, dancing among a sea of yellow daffodils that smelled of Right Guard. Elton John music played in background, softly like a sexy angora sweater. Their hips bumped as they danced in a daisy chain, their fusball-callused hands intertwined.
He slammed the door to his apartment and sighed. Someone, probably the maintenance repair guy, had left the window open, and the floor was carpeted with a faintly pinkish fog that swirled about his ankles. He sighed and went to the fix himself a half caf skinny mocha red eye over ice. He was halfway to the kitchenette before he realized that he had no idea what that was or how to make it.
Cap sank down on the couch, turning on a local sporting event to try to take his spinning mind off Broadway musicals and interior design.
***
Overhead, Big Fat Rubbery Gay Vampire Bat Reginald was flopping about in the sky on the way to a Cher concert when he spotted young Baseball Cap Joe watching a televised sporting event in a small straight bachelor pad below. He could see him, of course, as he had sonar. He also had bright red eyes that shone like tiki torches. That helped too.
Reginald swooped down to the patio and returned to fat vampire form. His purple sequined cape was very gay, as were his yellow hot pants and queer rhinestone boots.
FWOOSH!
He opened the patio door
SHWOOP!
and crouched behind the blinds
CROUCH!
and clandestinely sashayed across the room and hid himself beside the big straight pizza boxes and girly magazines on the coffee table
SASHAY!
Big Fat Gay Rubbery Gay Vampire Bat Reginald capered in front of the TV as Joe dipped his hand into a bag of straight Fritos and hid beside the couch.
CARDAMON!
And stealthily pranced in front of the TV again and skulked behind a floor lamp on the other side of the TV.
TINKYWINKY!
"VWA!"
Cried Big Fat Gay Vampire Reginald, pouncing ambiguously from his remotely homosexual hiding place.
TO BE CONTINUED...
User Reviews
Submitted by Hookhand (user info) at 2005-10-18 03:43:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
too long
Submitted by trent_nz (user info) at 2005-10-17 21:49:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2005-10-17 18:33:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sashay!!!!!!!!
Submitted by ahumblefool (user info) at 2005-10-17 18:14:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am game for a Halloween story contest.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:38:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know . . . the "and white sox," was beautiful, and the "CROUCH!" was incredible . . . there is just too much to love/hate here.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:32:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
this piece of crap inspired something useful?..
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:30:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:14:45 (#)
Ranking: 2
this is just painful
we should have a Halloween story contest
------
Agreed.
Hallowmadness, anyone?
Submitted by Confuzitron (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:27:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OMG LONG TITLE!!!
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-10-17 17:14:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
this is just painful
we should have a Halloween story contest