Nathan Cosby Of The Mountain: July 2010

Seven shots of tequila.

Debbie should've known better, but she and her friends were at the same bar as some dude's bachelor party--the members of which were all trying to get laid--so obviously the girls're gonna get offered shots. But Debbie doesn't fuck around when she drinks. So she found the chubby-chaser in the group and down went the seven Patrons. If only she hadn't had the chicken nachos beforehand, she wouldn't have needed to go to the bathroom to puke, then she wouldn't have been grabbed and thrown out into the alley behind the bar, and she wouldn't be laying on her back, gurgling tequila, stomach acid and chicken nacho bile.

"Oh. Oh my sweet darling. There's no need to cry. This will be over so soon."

The words didn't comfort Debbie in any meaningful way, mainly because they were spoken by the vampire crouched over her.

"You smell so delicious, my sweet. Do you know that? I'd wager that in the entirety of your life up to now, you've never been told how beautiful you are. Your neck, your veins, your girth. Your form makes me quiver."

She was totally terrified of his fangs and strength, but somewhere in the small portion of her mind that wasn't terrified, she couldn't help wondering why this evil, blood-sucking monster was talking like a...like a pussy.

"P-please dun eat, don't (huh) eat me! I won't tell, I'll-"

"Mmm. Your fear is decadent. A meal is so much the more appreciated when it squirms and struggles for its life. I can remember the first time I-"

The vampire's fey reminiscing was interrupted by the dull THUD of the bar's back door slamming open. Out stumbled a guy in jeans and a "Fuck Condoms" t-shirt. He puked roughly eight pounds of beer and blood before falling on his knees and gasping for air. Then he looked at Debbie and the vampire.

"uhGUDDAMMIT," he burped.

"It would be best for you to return inside, my friend," the vampire atop Debbie said.

"Motherfucker, get the fuck off her. Go fuckin' suck fuckin' cow blood."

"I'm...sorry?"

The guy struggled to his feet. "Take. Your lady boots. And your gay-ass leather jacket. And fuckin' march to the pasture. And suck cow blood. Then fuckin' fuck the fuckin' dead cow if you fuckin' feel like it."

"I'm only feeling peckish, good man," the vampire said, "This heavy young lass is plenty to sate me. But I'm willing to gorge myself if you continue to pester."

The drunk guy spat more blood, then noticed he'd gotten a little vomit gravy on his "Fuck Condoms" t-shirt.

"Awww. Son of a fuck."

The vampire felt as though he wasn't being taken seriously. NOTHING makes a vampire more upset than when you don't take them seriously (they're very sensitive). So he got off Debbie and slowwwwly crept towards the guy, teeth brandished, fingernails at the ready.

The guy, REALLY GODDAMN FUCKING PISSED that his favorite shirt had shit on it, looked up and saw the vampire doing his whole Interpretive-Dancer-Pretending-To-Be-A-Hungry-Wolf thing that vampires do. He rolled his eyes.

BLAM

Bullets don't kill vampires, which the guy knew. But bullets distract vampires. So the guy had brandished his gun ("Ass-Cutter") and put nine holes in the vampire while moving towards him. By Bullet #9, he was close enough to grab the vampire, break its arm, and throw it against the wall. The guy didn't have a stake or a blade, so he laid the vampire on its back and began the tedious process of stomping the vampire's neck until its head came off. This took about 90 seconds (he was wearing Asics, not the sharpest of shoes).

Vampire head finally separated from vampire body, the guy stepped back, out of breath. He put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them. He looked down at his newly-bloodied shoes and got pissed again.

"You good?" he asked Debbie.

Debbie was just finishing a dry heave. She'd made the mistake of watching the neck-stomping episode, which she would NEVER forget for the rest of her life.

"Thang you. Thang you fer safing me."

"All good."

"Waz that like a real vampirr? Like a rill one?"

"Yeah."

The guy would've taken advantage of the situation and had sex with Debbie, but he was still pissed about his shirt and shoes. He just wanted a drink.

"I'm getting a beer. You want anything?"

"Shudn't I call cops?"

"Fuck no."

"I thing I should call thum."

The guy threw the cigarette butts on the ground.

"Fine. Fuck. Yeah, fine. You're probably gonna need therapy or something. Give 'em a call."

The guy walked towards the end of the alley, thinking of where else he could get a beer.