by Lacy Maran
"Wow. My ex boyfriend's so dumb it makes me wish I'd never fallen in love with him."
"You could still run off with me and we could have cute werewolf pups together."
"Oh Second Fiddle. Now you're just being silly. Off to Italy I go."
***
"Hey vampire royalty, I will moon you and show my pale white butt cheeks as a sign of hygienic disrespect," Hunky said, smiting the universe with wild disregard.
"Uh, Hunky--you do realize we'll have you impaled if you keep acting out in this manner," the Vulture leader said, uber pissed.
"I've lost the woman I love. You think I care about threats from Italian vampires sipping on double decaf cappuccino’s? I'll dance around in a demented tutu if that's what it takes to get my point across."
"If you make me miss my orgy you will come to rue the day you flashed your butt cheeks at me."
"Oh yeah? Well I had a burrito for lunch. I smell a juicy fart of vengeance coming on."
Just then, I swung open the doors with my trusty sidekick to talk sense into Hunky.
"Hunky, don't do it. Hold that fart in. Clench those cheeks oh sweet love of mine," I said.
Hunky turned, trou completely dropped, with a big hello boner waving hi. "Oh my God, you're alive...and with just as nonexistent of a personality as I remembered."
"I don't even understand why you care anyway. You don't even love me."
"You bought that lie? You must be a bigger bone head than I ever realized. But you're my favorite dumbass in all the world. I love you more than my own existential ennui. More than pouting uncontrollably. More than making an army of demented balloon animals bent on world domination."
"That's probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Let's bump nasties," I said.
But before we had time to so much as kiss, the Vulture leader went totally ape.
"A human and a vampire together? I would rather eat monkey poo than allow such an abomination. Hunky, you know the rules. Humans must not know about our existence...or our addiction to paper mache. She either dies, or must become one of us...oh, and for God's sake, pull up your pants. You're sporting more wood than a frat guy at a wet t-shirt contest."
***
The O'Buzzkill's moved back to Spork with a heady decision on their plate--eat me, or let me join their paper mache ranks. With the prospect of Hunky whining like a little bitch if they killed me, the O'Buzzkill's voted to turn me into a vampire (yay, I got to be a soulless bloodsucker too).
But all was not hunky dory. The vampires and werewolves had a combustible truce (how did both vampires and werewolves slip under the radar in a town of only 4000 people by the way?). The pact would be broken if the O'Buzzkill's ever turned a human. In other words, things were about to get epically bitey all because of me. But did I care that I caused an all out war? Nah. After all, I had my brooding buddy back. Swoon!
The End.
Stop This Love Triangle, I'm Getting Off
Why couldn't psychotic vampires just let me make out in peace? Instead they had to go form an army of undead grump-a-lumps to take out my pouty ass. So not cool. And I was working on a seriously stylish hickey too.
While Psycho Von Wantsmedead started biting up a storm in Seattle to build up her fang base, I snuck in a couple of weeks of serious face sucking. And even though I was perfectly happy getting lost in Hunky's eyes, the love of my life wanted to waste perfectly good dry humping time talking about dumb stuff like the future. The council of stuffy vampires with no sense of humor declared that I must either be killed or turned super fangy, but instead of just making with the sucky sucky, Hunky had a bucket list for me before I went vamp.
God forbid I turned into a vampire without first experiencing the wonder of getting explosive diarrhea as a human one last time. There were of course other things Hunky wanted me to experience. The acknowledgement that a great many people's lives had gone bye bye over my humdrum existence, the philosophical ramifications of being immortally whiny, and of course finally getting around to taking that underwater basket weaving class.
Hunky also thought it would be pretty neato if we got hitched. Then we could bump nasties the respectable way. But did I really want to get married so young? What would the other vampires think of me just giving my genital giblets away to honeymoon horniness at the first sign of adulthood? Then again, it wasn't everyday you ran into an impossibly hot 104 year old (and bravo on living over a century without even developing even a hint of a personality).
So the stage was set for the epic shotgun marriage of the year (yippee for haphazard matrimony). But unfortunately I had to go and get two dreamy hunks to fall in love with me (my dateless friends just didn't understand how hard it was having shirtless hot men fall all over themselves for you). My old wolfie buddy took time away from sniffing other werewolves butts long enough to declare his undying love for me. Now back in the days when I had the worst perm in the history of hair gel, I used to dream about hot guys fighting over me. But as someone who hated math, love triangles sucked.
Still, I let Second Fiddle and his shirtless hunkiness say his piece:
"The wolf in me wants to hump your leg like a wanton jackhammer," Second Fiddle said. "But the six packed hunk in me wants to love the shit out of you--even when you get so old that you're pooping in your adult diapers and can't remember where you left your dentures."
"Wow. That's a creepy amount of love." But instead of being put off, I was totally giddy. "A girl can never have enough over the top grandstanding."
"Does that mean you'll run off with me into a field of daisies where we can giggle at each others stupidity and take each others reproductive organs for a spin?"
"I'm sorry, but you know my ovaries are already reserved for Hunky McBrooding. Besides, I only run through fields of pussy willows. Daisies? Sheesh, what kind of a hussy do you take me for?"
"No no no. I respect every inch of your exquisite deliciousness. And I worship the magnificent symphony of your irrepressible being. Even your farts bring me unmitigated glee. Not to mention that time you had pink eye--absolute rapture," Second Fiddle cooed.
"Second Fiddle, you could find a way to make projectile vomiting sound sweet. Surely you could find a much more chipper girl to want to stick your naughty bits into."
"I don't want a nicer, smarter, hotter girlfriend. I want you. Besides, I've been doing dong pushups just for you."
"You have such convincing arguments. It's going to be really hard to crush your soul beyond recognition."
"Did I mention I'm friends with some unicorns? I could probably introduce you if give my wang a chance."
"I'm sorry. But as I mercilessly turn your heart into mulch, just know that you never had a shot to begin with. Now, off to my brooding bedfellow."
"Fine. Then you leave me no choice but to convince you with my soft tender lips." Second Fiddle then gave me a big time smoocheroo.
The kiss hijacked my body with giddy bliss, then my brain went and got in the way (see, thinking really was bad for you). What about my hunk at home? Could I really picture spending the rest of my life with a wolf that enjoyed sticking his head out the window on car rides? Besides, imagine how hairy out kids would be.
I immediately put a stop to the peckeroo in progress and gave Second Fiddle a look of righteous anger for good measure before slugging his ruggedly handsome face.
***
Hunky was none too happy about a sly dog trying to put the moves on my tonsils. I acted offended too, but really my taste buds were intrigued. So while Hunky furiously told Second Fiddle off, my head took a field trip to the magical of "what if?" Things only got more complicated when Second Fiddle profusely apologized, leaving me with a lot of thinking to do (gosh, using my brain was a real bummer).
Unfortunately my good for nothing noggin hadn't decided which impossibly hunky guy to lust after for eternity by the time vampire civil war came to Spork (yay, more people trying to kill me). And amazingly enough, it wasn't all just some big mistake. The en
tire paranormal world of vampires and werewolves were about to duel to the death over my bone headed life (apparently they didn't realize I was the plainest girl in the history of ordinary).
So with Psycho and her newfangled army of sparklies, I was sent off to hide with Hunky and Second Fiddle while the local wolves and vampires scratched their heads trying to figure out what was so special about me (surprise--absolutely nothing). Meanwhile in the super secret hiding place that Psycho would have no trouble finding later, I was in the middle of a hunk hoagie. Unfortunately, my sausage sandwich was not nearly as satisfying as I'd always fantasized. I guess that was what happened when the two beefcakes you loved hated each others guts. With disaster looming though, the two formed an unlikely truce.
"Hey, so I hate your undead guts," Second Fiddle said to Hunky, as I pretended to sleep.
"Yeah. Well I think you're a shirtless schmuck," Hunky fired back.
"Wow. This truce has gone completely different than I envisioned. Maybe that's because you're a pretentious twit."
"Oh shut up, you brawny bozo. Remember, this truce is what's best for Nella. Namely, her still being alive to twaddle my magic wand later."
"I always do what's best for Nella, you brooding nincompoop. And I'm going to do everything to keep her alive so she can feast on my hoo ha."
"Yeah. Well thanks for risking your life even though you have no shot of ever getting into her pants, turd-a-saurus rex."
"Don't worry. I won't her get a scratch on her, douche magoosh."
"Ha. Maybe this truce won't be so bad after all. Now rest up. It would be a shame if you bit the big one tomorrow, numb nuts."
***
With the loves of my life able to strike a half assed alliance, I was free to forget the battle at hand and talk about important things like my upcoming nuptials.
"Just so you know, I'm going to be completely worthless during this fight," I said over breakfast. "You'll probably have to save my ass a lot."
"What else is new?" Hunky responded. "Good thing you're amazingly ordinary or I would have never fallen in love with you."
"Just think of all the terrible new ways I can risk our lives with once we're married."
"Your mind is a scary scary thing," Hunky said. "Now, back to our wedding. I was thinking we should have an erotic balloon animal display right at the entrance."
"Well, duh."
"Then maybe a corn maze leading up the alter."
"Exactly. We should make people really have to work to see us tie the knot. God, it's like we're speaking the same twisted language."
"Yeah. The language of melodramatic love."
"Wow. Immortality is going to be so awesome."
"Now, let's spoon and make Second Fiddle furiously jealous," Hunky said.
But Second Fiddle had been listening in the whole time and wanted to kill himself like it was nobody's business. As far as he was concerned, the friend zone could kiss his ass. He thought maybe he'd be lucky enough to die in the heat of battle and find an afterlife babe to bone.
I sensed Second Fiddle's inner turmoil though (plus he had this really agonizingly constipated face) and didn't want the poor schmuck to die. After all, I wasn't done cock teasing him yet. So I pulled him close and told him to kiss me. He went balls to the wall, planting a huge wet one on me. Yowza, not making up my mind was actually pretty fun, and I had the kisses to prove it. But with war looming, the smooching had to stop. One thing was certain though, if Fiddle's fangs weren't ready to do battle, his dong sure was.
***
Eventually even the most half assed of plots had to get around to staging an unnecessary war. I couldn't tell you much about that since I was an epic pipsqueak. Plus, the whole dying thing seemed like a real bummer. So I just curled up in the fetal position until someone came around and saved me like always. Besides, a moody emo brat like me couldn't be expected to fight. Then the repercussions of sending the undead world into all out war might actually cross my mind. I couldn't waste time with that. I had a seating chart for my shotgun wedding to lay out.
Eventually after a whole mess of icky bloodshed, Psycho found my hiding place (see, I even sucked at hide and seek). But, after some menacing threats and diabolically bad one liners, my pasty prince took that wack jobs ass out. As much as I wanted to discuss with Hunky my choice for Goth wedding dj's though, I had a panting werewolf waiting in the wings.
"Hey Second Fiddle. I'm sorry you got seriously injured fighting for my love, but I'm going to have to break your heart now," I said, to the wounded Wolf.
"Wow. I never saw this coming. Otherwise I wouldn't have turned down that invitation to go to the Shirtless Six Packed Singles Cruise," Wolf.
"Look. There will be other plain looking dimwits out there for you to date. Throw a rock in a mall and you'll probably hit ten of them."
"But you're the most beautiful plain looking dimwit ever."
"Wow. That was probably the most idiotic sentence I've ever heard. Gosh, we really could have made a great dumbass couple."
"We still can. You should start a war with the leprechauns next. I'd be happy to save your temperamental tushy from those drunk buggers."
"Second Fiddle, I have an undead wedding to plan. Do you have any idea how many blood banks I have to raid just to just to get a toast going?"
"But Nella, you let me put my tongue down your throat. Doesn't that mean anything anymore?"
I shook my head in disbelief. "You poor naive schmuck. At least you have your six pack to fall back on."
"Fine. I guess I'll have to respect your moronic decision and let you moon for eternity with Professor McBrood over there. But damn, this sucks worse than when my chinchilla went to the big haystack in the sky."
***
"Well, now that we've finally run out of people trying to kill you, what do you say we gyrate some genitals?" Hunky said to me.
But I put up a roadblock on Hunky's hormones. "Whoa there Horny Mclustyloins. I haven't even told you about my favorite emo ice sculptor yet. Sheesh, this shotgun wedding isn't going to plan itself."
The End.
Same Melodrama, All New Lame Ending
You'd think with all the unnecessary drama I'd caused over the years that the story of my mopey life would finally have a happy ending. But surprise, more melodrama awaited. Before the hair pulling, hand wringing, and outright sulking could resume though, a little smidge of happiness had the nerve to waltz into my life.
Of course if you couldn't have fun at your own wedding, then maybe you picked the wrong soulless bloodsucker to spend the rest of your life with. That, or the universe hated your guts. Still, every sourpuss was entitled to a day that didn't suck every once in a while.
Now I had to say, in the short history of sparkling vampires and whiny girls shacking up, we were definitely in the Top 100. But sweet as the erotic balloon animals, interpretive dance ice sculpture, and bad ass corn maze were at the wedding, the honeymoon was like a trip to heaven on Icarus' wings...no wait, that was a bad metaphor. Then again, my life story was riddled with bad metaphors, shameless happenstance, and hollow plotting, so what else was new?
Besides, there was some seriously hot and heavy humping to do, and my naughty bits could not have been more ecstatic. And, as an added benefit, it turned out having a 104 year old husband meant he'd had over a century to master the art of getting jiggy with it. But, all good sex came to an end though. And, shocker of shockers, sometimes boinking had some permanent repercussions (no, not the wacky siph dog). That's right, I caught a nasty case of baby fever.
If you could believe it, with one completely improbable plot twist, I had a fanged bun in my oven right there on my wanton honeymoon. It turned out vampire sperm sure knew how to throw ovaries one hell of a party. Then it was just like wham, bam, thank you zygote. Suddenly my life would never be the same. Now if having an overactive fetus wasn't enough of a sign that the honeymoon was over, morning sickness was the final stake through my happy go lucky heart.
***
Just like that, the soggy Northwest was calling our names. Although nothing could have prepared us for the spork in the road we came to next.
"My vagina hurts," I kept saying to myself as my pregnancy went completely off the rails. But I wasn't the only one concerned with the turbo charged trimesters I was enduring.
"Wow, pregnancy really blows," Hunky said, as comforting as a cactus in my crotch.
"Yeah. This must be really awful for you not having a watermelon-sized half fanged creature growing in your belly. Let me cry you a crocodile tear river."
"Now is not the time for sarcasm. I know you've always wanted children, but if we don't do something, that fanged freak might kill you."
"Oh no you don't. We can't just bail on our unborn bundle of joy at the first sign of complicated pregnancy."
"Honey, you've been throwing up confetti puke all morning and your uterus has been shopping online for a designer casket. We seriously have to consider giving up this baby."
"Did Second Fiddle give up wanting to bone me even though I carved his heart out with a toothpick? No. Have psychotic vampires given up trying to kill me even though I'm the least special person in the history of ordinary? Hell no. And has this fetus given up making me sicker than a dog even though I asked it nicely to calm the hell down? Absotively not. So I ask you, should we be the only ones to give up around here?"
"Yes."
"Well, so much for that online course I took in rousing speech giving. Look, I know you're worried I might do something melodramatic like die on you, but despite the fact that I should have been killed about ten times right now, I'm alive and kicking."
"Actually, that's your baby using your digestive tract as a deadly playpen."
"Fine, Mr. Brooding Vondoomster. Have it your way and be educated and smart and crap. But I'll have you know that I have a connection to this baby. So if you want it, you'll just have to go into my womb and get it."
***
Meanwhile, on the other end of the soap opera spectrum, Second Fiddle was having a hell of a time adjusting to life as a shirtless hunky bachelor. Yet there the luscious lunk was, pining for the pregnant one that got away. Never mind that he could have been swinging his dingaling into any number of women’s orifices at that very moment. He wanted to smolder passionately over a girl that took projectile vomiting to a whole new level.