Vampiric Correspondences

FROM: Jimmy Jacks
TO: Van Bradley

Yo,

I’ve been thinking about this a long time and it’s been bothering me and I just need to vent:

Why the fuck is no one afraid of a vampire apocalypse?

Pop-culture is inundated with stories of zombie apocalypses; situations in which zombies successfully run rampant over human society, leaving a twisted dystopia of brain eating bitches that small groups of humans have to spend most of their time avoiding. Think “Zombieland” “The Walking Dead” and “Pride & Prejudice & Zombies” to name but a few.

But let’s review. Zombies are:

1) Slow.
2) Not particularly strong.
3) Stupid.
4) Rotting carcasses.

They’re maybe even worse equipped at killing humans than lions and any number of other animal species which roam the earth right this minute.

Meanwhile, we vampires are:

1) Fast as fuck.
2) Super strong.
3) Smart. Really damn smart. Some of us have gathered centuries of experience!
4) Not rotting carcasses.

Sure, we have our weaknesses. But it’s only daylight half the time. We have more than enough hours every night to make a dent, before taking a nap. And, in an increasingly atheistic world, we’re less likely to run into crosses and holy water. But zombies can be taken out by a pre-teen with a baseball bat or a dumb hick with a shotgun.

Oh, they can feel secure surrounding their houses with garlic to keep us away. Yet not one of them thinks that all you need for zombies are a few bear traps. Or fucking mouse traps! Since, as previously mentioned, most are rotting carcasses anyway that can barely walk.

Ok, vampires need to be invited in. No biggie. Again, we’re smart. Convincing humans to either invite us in or come outside isn’t exactly rocket science. Zombies, on the other hand, are stymied by deadbolts.

This is some FUCKING BULLSHIT. The only redeeming thing is that they cast a major box office leading man in “I Am Legend” — the sole vampire apocalypse flick. Which is totally unrealistic anyway because we love the Fresh Prince and wouldn’t turn him against his will (no pun intended). Not that Jayden or Willow would get a free pass. Can you believe they thought remaking “The Karate Kid” with that little shit was a good idea? Or that people actually bought her record?

Speaking of people named Willow, what an insult was “Buffy”? Every season had a vampire apocalypse on the horizon that a bunch of high school rejects would thwart. Do humans not think we could take out a few pimply faced fucks who are having a hard enough time going through puberty?

I’m getting pretty angry right now so I should stop. I just needed to get that off my chest. Hope all is well, buddy. Next time you’re in town, we should turn some Hollywood producers and get the story told right. You know what I’m saying?

Laters,
JJacks

FROM: Van Bradley
TO: Jimmy Jacks

It’s because we’re more interested in sex than world domination. See: “Tru Blood.”

Similarly, Buffy is actually pretty realistic. There are other things of Sarah Michelle Gellar’s we rather be eating than her neck. In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like do next time I’m in town.

We’re lovers, not fighters.

Peace,

VB

Five: asleep in the trees

One: clouds.
Two: lawnmower.
Three: mantic.
Four: title.

Leader Frank looked the alien in the eye, from across the battlefield. This is what it came down to. If pronounced in the alien’s native tongue, the name of the game would have made human ears bleed. In English the game was know as “Beer Pong.”

Yes, the fate of these poor men came down to an epic, winner-take-all game of beer pong. I think it’s fair to say the women of Earth may not have necessarily missed these guys if they were never returned. But to Frank, Jon and the rest of the human misfits this was their one chance to change their fate.

The alien was down to two cups and Frank still had five. The deficit grew larger as Frank’s ball flew through the air and landed in one of the alien’s cups.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” chanted the humans.

The alien grunted but drank.

“Heh, he’s totally drinking Frank’s ball,” giggled Jon.

A little woozy from the beer, the alien wobbled back and forth, trying to aim for Frank’s cups. He launched the little, white ball through the air but missed. The humans cheered. This is what it all came down to.

What the alien didn’t realize was that these men didn’t know how to mow lawns or take out the trash. They didn’t know how to do these household chores because they, unlike him, never got laid enough to learn what women wanted. And men who don’t get laid, well, they need to fill their time with other things. Like smoking grass, watching television and… playing stupid drinking games.

Frank took the ball between his fingers and effortlessly tossed it through in the air directly into the final cup on the alien’s side. Enraged, their alien captured chugged his last beer and slammed the cup on the table. “Very well, assholes, I will send you back home.”

A few hours later, the men were back in the club. The women were freed from their trance and didn’t remember a thing. Frank and Jon looked across the crowded dance floor and saw the leggy brunette having a drink with the hipster chick.

“What do you think?” Jon asked Frank.

“Dude, we just took on an alien and saved the world,” actually, they didn’t save the world just their own asses but Frank was on a high. “Let’s do this.”

They walked through the crowd and up to the women. “Hey, ladies,” said Frank as suavely as he could (which was still not very suave), “my friend and I thought you looked lonely.”

The girls looked them up and down. The hipster chick finally spoke up: “Really? Do the math, losers.”

“What?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Frank was besides himself. He turned to Jon. “Dude, how come I never, ever get laid?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’m gonna go smoke some trees and pass out in the car. Come get me when you’re ready to go home and pleasure yourself. No, wait, that didn’t come out right. You know what I mean. Whatever.”

In the end, somethings never change.

Every part of this story incorporated a different day’s prompt from storypraxis. Today’s prompt was title.

Tags: storypraxis, storypraxis epic

Four: title

One: clouds.
Two: lawnmower.
Three: mantic.

Frank and Jon woke up inside a jail cell, surrounded by mouth-breathing nerds and spray tanned douchebags. The combined smell of sweat and hair gel made them both a little queasy.

Somehow they’d ended up in a place where they weren’t the saddest sacks. They let it soak in for a minute. In fact, they were about to high-five until they remembered why they were there.

“Awwww, fuck,” said Frank, disheartened.

“I still blame you, dude,” said Jon. “I told you something was wrong but no, you had to think you were actually gonna get laid.”

“My fault? We were home free and you got us caught.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“It’s your fault!”

“No, your fault!”

Soon the adolescents-stuck-in-adult-bodies were wrestling ineptly while the rest of the prisoners cheered on. This was the most exciting thing they’d seen in a long while.

“Quiet!” bellowed an inhuman voice from outside the cell. It was their alien captor. Standing about seven feet tall with purple skin covered in hideous boils, he was more barf-inducing than the collection of basement dwelling man-boys he held captive. Maybe not. But close.

“You will sit quietly until my recruitment drive is done. Understood human males?”

“No,” said Frank, taking a stand. Even Jon was surprised by the conviction in his voice. “Every Saturday night I go out looking for girls. Every Saturday night I end up home alone–”

“–jerking off!” interjected Jon. He couldn’t help himself.

“Shut up!” Frank yelled so sternly that Jon actually took notice. “Although he’s right. I do end up home alone, pleasuring myself, thinking of all the beautiful women I didn’t come home with. Then I fall asleep and begin my miserable week over again, looking forward to the next Saturday night. Which is almost never different. But you know what keeps me going?”

“Pathetic self delusion?” asked Jon.

“Yes!” said Frank, pointing a Jon. “The same pathetic self delusion that keeps you going, and keeps him going,” Frank pointed to a greasy dude with a faux hawk then pointed at a fat guy with thick glasses “and keeps him going and him and him,” he kept pointing around the room. “The pathetic self delusion we all call HOPE! And I won’t let some alien bastard who is getting laid but is too lazy to mow a lawn take that away from me!”

“YEAH!” the rest of the imprisoned men screamed in unison. They began rattling the cell bars and screaming like a bunch of lunatics. It was as if being kidnapped by an alien and forced into slavery doing menial chores for women without even getting laid was the final affront their dignity could take.

“Very well,” the alien acquiesced. “I will give you all an opportunity to regain your freedom. Name one of yourselves as the leader and he will face me in battle. If he wins you all go free and I will never return to your planet. Choose now.”

Frank realized the cell at gone quiet and all the men were pointing at him, including Jon. “Get to it, Leader Frank.”

“Screw you guys.” Frank flipped them the bird as he was lead away from the cell by the alien.

Five: asleep in the trees.

Every part of this story incorporates a different day’s prompt from storypraxis. Today’s prompt was title.

Tags: storypraxis, storypraxis epic

Three: mantic

One: clouds.
Two: lawnmower.

In the alley, Jon took a long pull from the joint, held it until he couldn’t anymore, then blew it out.

“Here you go, baby,” he said to the hipster chick (in an unexpectedly smooth tone for him).

She giggled as she took the joint from him. “I bet you love to get stoned and fix things around the house,” she said before taking a toke and passing it back.

“Oh yeah, I’m a regular handyman when I’m blazed.” He took another deep hit.

“We should go someplace private,” she giggled into his ear.

Jon looked at her closely. He put the joint up to his lips and inhaled so long that it burned down to the tip of his fingers. As he held the smoke deep inside his lungs he looked like he was contemplating her offer. Finally, he exhaled a thick, foggy cloud, tossed away the roach and spoke:

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go save my friend.”

The hipster chick did not see that coming. Jon may have been the first stoner in history to pass up sex that came to him wrapped in the package of an attractive girl and a fat joint. She got in his way, her blood red eyes half open but trying to be intimidating nonetheless.

“You’re not going to save anyone,” she said, trying to sound serious and sober.

In yet another unexpected maneuver, Jon came back at her with a question: “Did you ever think that our entire universe could be a atom inside of a molecule of another conscious being?”

The hipster chick’s jaw dropped, her eyes glazed over. “Whoooooooa.”

“Lightweight,” said Jon as he entered the club.

Inside, Frank was still paying for his foolishness. The pack of women were trying to force him back into the bathroom. Jon walked past them to the DJ booth and took the mic from the woman spinning records.

“Hey ladies,” he began, “there are a bunch of guys outside who really want to do chores but they can’t find anyone interested in their offer.”

Instantly, the women lost all interest in Frank and Jon and stampeded out the front door. Jon brought up the rear of the pack and locked the door behind the last one.

“What the hell is going on?” Franked asked. “You’ll never believe what’s in the bathroom!”

“A giant, ugly alien trying to transport you up to his ship,” answered Jon in a totally matter-of-fact tone.

“Yeah!” screamed Frank.

“He’s controlling the women in this club so they will seduce men and bring them back to him. He wants to take us to his home planet so that we will do all the men’s chores so they can relax when they get home. We would be enslaved, spending a lifetime mowing lawns, taking out the trash and all sorts of boring, daily tasks that get between us and television.”

“How did you figure it out?” asked Frank.

Jon puffed up his chest, triumphantly. “They tried to seduce me with weed. But they didn’t realize grass is my super power! If I smoke enough of it, I know all!”

Unsurprisingly, Jon was barely done trumpeting his stoner brilliance when he was smashed upside the head and knocked unconscious by an alien fist.

“Dumbass,” Frank said, kind of glad to see his friend’s ridiculous rant cut short. It was also the last think Frank managed to say before the alien’s fist knocked him unconscious too.

Four: title.

Every part of this story incorporates a different day’s prompt from storypraxis. Today’s prompt was mantic.

Tags: storypraxis, storypraxis epic

Two: lawnmower

One: clouds.

“You have such nice muscles,” the leggy brunette whispered in Frank’s ear as she caressed his actually-not-very-defined-at-all biceps. Frank, unaccustomed to this kind of attention from a woman, smiled like an excited toddler.

“I bet you could mow a lot of lawns with those muscles,” the brunette continued.

“Are you picturing me mowing your lawn, all sweaty with a manly musk coming off me?” Frank asked. Apparently he believed people really spoke like they did in pornography.

“I am,” the brunette replied. Even Frank was shocked at that. But pleased.

Jon, on the other hand, was still freaking out at the realization that they were the only men in the club. “Keep it together,” he mumbled to himself. “I wish I didn’t leave my grass in the car.”

As if on cue, a gorgeous hipster chick, complete with thick black plastic frame glasses, approached him. Jon stared, confused (genuinely confused, that is, not the general state of confusion he was usually in). The hipster chick pulled a beautifully rolled joint from her purse.

“Wanna smoke?” she asked him.

Jon smiled, at ease for a moment. Maybe things aren’t so bad, he thought. Then he blurted out: “no, do the math Jon, do the math!” and bolted away from the hipster chick.

“Those muscles would also be great for taking out the trash,” the brunette was saying to Frank as Jon jumped in between them.

“We gotta get outta here. Something is really wrong!”

“The only thing wrong is you’re blowing up my spot!” yelled Frank. Immediately realizing he didn’t want to come off as angry or anything, he put on an even dumber smile than before and essentially begged the brunette not to leave while he spoke to Jon for a minute.

“Why are you trying to fuck this up for me, Jon?”

“Look around, we’re the only men in the club! And it’s not a lesbian bar!”

Frank shrugged. “So? That’s good! Go with it. I saw a hipster chick that you’d like around here somewhere.”

“Do the math, Frank!”

“Math? You’re so stoned.”

“Look…” Jon reached over the bar and grabbed some napkins then flagged down the waitress for a pen. “Don’t look her in the eyes, man!” he warned Frank, before taking the pen and doodling. When he was done, he held the napkin up. “See?”

First there was a stick figure with the name “Frank” scribbled over it. Next to it was a plus sign, followed by another stick figure with long hair and a skirt. Finally there was an equal sign with a line through it followed by the stick figures horizontally stacked on top of each other.

“Frank plus girl DOES NOT equal sex. But that girl,” he pointed at the brunette, “seems like she’d have sex with you. The math doesn’t add up!”

“Fuck you,” Frank said and turned back to the brunette.

“Let’s find someplace private,” she suggested. Frank agreed (obviously) and followed her… into the men’s room.

Moments later, Frank came running out, pale and terrified, only to find himself blocked by a pack of women. He yelled for Jon but it was too late: Jon had given in to the hipster chick and they were outside smoking that joint.

Three: mantic.

Every day this (work)week I will be writing & posting the next entry in this story. To make it challenging, I will incorporate each day’s prompt from storypraxis. Today’s prompt was lawnmower.

Tags: storypraxis, storypraxis epic

One: clouds

Frank waited outside the car as inside, Jon puffed on joint. The smoke filled the car until Frank couldn’t see Jon through the windows. After a minute or two, the door opened and Jon stepped out of a thick cloud of reefer. He had a big, goofy grin on his face. Frank just hurried him up as they left the public parking garage and walked towards the club.

This was a typical Saturday night for Frank and Jon. Frank, a square shaped young guy in his twenties, got dressed in khakis and a collared shirt (untucked, sleeves rolled up). He’d drive over to Jon’s apartment. Jon would take half an hour to put on some black shoes and pull whatever clean shirt he had over his doughy frame. Frank would drive them to the club. Jon would get stoned in the parking lot. They’d go into the club where Frank would get drunk, rejected by women, then proceed to whine about not meeting anyone. Jon would sneak out occasionally to smoke some more weed then sit by the bar and take shots while Frank complained.

But this wasn’t destined to be a typical Saturday night for these two man-boys with no social skills.

Jon sensed something was wrong the moment they walked in to the club. “Dude, I think that girl is smiling at me,” he told Frank. “And that one, too! And that one!” He pointed around the room, at one cute girl after the next. “What’s going on, man?!”

“They’re not looking at you,” Frank assured him. “They’re looking at me. It’s the haircut and the new style of shirt I just bought. It cuts in around the waist and gives me that ‘V’ shape.”

“I feel like everyone’s look at me…” murmured Jon, still unconvinced that the attention was directed at Frank’s supposedly outstanding fashion sense.

That’s when thing took a truly unlikely turn: a beautiful brunette, tall, with long legs barely covered by a bouncy skirt, came over to Frank and offered to buy him a drink. Despite Jon’s pleas not to be left alone, Frank took the brunette up on her offer and the two of them made their way to the bar. They didn’t go far but with the music getting louder and the bass thumping deeper, they may as well have been a million miles away from Jon.

Paranoid and alone, Jon found a corner of the club, stood with his back against it and buried his head in his chest. He took a few deep breaths before reminding himself “dude, really? One joint can’t make you that paranoid.” A little more relaxed, he raised his head and got a good look at the place. That’s when he realized — duh — what it was that seemed so strange: he and Frank were the only men in the club.

Two: lawnmower.

Every day this (work)week I will be writing & posting the next entry in this story. To make it challenging, I will incorporate each day’s prompt from storypraxis. Today’s prompt was clouds.

Tags: clubbing, storypraxis, storypraxis epic, storytelling, writing experiment

My Interview with a Telephone Psychic

Image created by compositing pictures found in The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal*

This is fiction. Not a real interview. I wish it was. But the idea did come from listening to a story on an old episode of This American Life. It’s a rough first draft of something I’d like to develop further, so any feedback would be awesome. Use the comments section below. Thanks for reading.

The phone rings. Donnie smiles at me as he puts on his headset.

“Showtime.”

With one hand, Donnie presses a button to answer the phone. With the other he starts a stopwatch — the kind your gym teacher used to have around his neck all the time.

“I actually got this from a gym teacher I conned,” Donnie told me during one of our first interviews. “I told him I needed it to synchronize the watches we’d be using to coordinate buying and selling the stocks he helped us ‘invest’ in.”

I asked him what synchronized watches have to do with selling stocks. “Nothing that I know of. But I made it sound legit and that’s all that matters. Some people are just ready to believe. Find those people and all you have to do is make something sound real. Their imagination does the rest.” But why take his stop watch? Read more…

Pick Your Path: Eden

This is a format I’ve been wanting to explore for a while. To play along you’ll have to grab the PDF. I’m still looking for a solution to do this all embedded, so if you know of any, drop me a line. Here’s the first part of the story:

Eve sat on a rock and finished the apple. She was flooded with knowledge and understood… The snake had long since slithered away. She looked around. Nothing looked the same anymore.

Adam walked into the clearing. He saw Eve, smiled and ran over to her. She was taken off guard but quickly stood up to meet him. He was so happy and excited every time he saw her, Eve thought. Why had she never noticed?

“Hi!” Adam looked at the tree. “You come here often?”

Eve realized they were naked. She snuck a look at Adam, and grew red with embarrassment. Adam was oblivious.

“I do,” he continued. “I think about it all the time. Even though we’re not supposed to.” This caught Eve’s attention. “Have you ever thought about eating an apple to see what happens?” Adam asked her. Eve looks Adam in the eyes and

tells him everything. “I just did…”

lies: “No, I never have.”

Tags: Adam, Bible, Choose your own adventure, Eden, Eve, folklore, Genesis, myth

MEMORIAL, Part 3 of 3

Tags: 3, 3 of 3, memorial, part, part 3

MEMORIAL, Part 2 of 3

Tags: 2, 2 of 3, memorial, part, part 2