Bob has got to be the worst vampire in the world. Without a guide to learn how to be a good vampire, he's making it up as he goes along... while holding down a day job.
[Previously Featured #2 Vampire ]
*****
Everything I'm about to tell you is a li...
Beatrice's fangs were bared in a grin, and I knew she was getting a kick out of the violence she was about to inflict on me. Her brilliant blue vampire eyes focused on my own as she prepared to drive the sword through my heart.
At least I would go out like I tried to live my life: I raised both of my battered and torn middle fingers and flipped her off.
***
Shit.
Almost everything I just told you is a lie. Not the actual story, just more of a "fact-type thing" if you know what I mean. If you ask Beatrice what happened, believe me, her story would be completely different, and it would not even involve a car speeding through a desert! Like seriously? Who tells a story this epic and leaves out a speeding car in the desert?
Fine! Be that way then.
Look, facts don't matter here, only the truth, and the truth is that my story changes every time I tell it. It's not entirely my fault though. I mean it's not like I'm going out of my way to lie. I just end up editing stuff a little bit here and there, you know, so I look more badass. More like a hero. Everybody does it, just in tiny ways. Sometimes it's just about how you totally got the best of that jackass who cut in front of you at Starbucks with the perfectly timed snide comment (even though you only thought of it twenty minutes after the fact). Or maybe the story about how you finally told off Sara and walked out on her (instead of how you begged for her to stay and she left anyway and took the Xbox with her since she's the one who had actually paid for it). How you tell the story of it shapes how everybody looks at you, and you want to see the look on their faces as they imagine themselves in your shoes and think of how they would have done the exact same thing, only they, of course, imagine that they look even more badass.
People are strange that way.
So anyway, sticking to the facts: the desert thing never happened. The truth is, I'm from Toronto, and there are no deserts anywhere around here, at least not unless you drive a few hours away and even then there's still no real desert to speak of. It just doesn't sound so cool when it's the road to the lakeside beach 20 miles out of town that we're talking about. Kinda super-lame if you ask me. Desert equals epic with the lack of anything around and maybe some of that cool wavery-heat thing in the distance. Beach equals obnoxious seagulls and a few houses here and there, definitely not an epic looking wasteland by any means.
So to be clear, no desert: just a beach.
I didn't escape from a car trunk either, although that would have been way more awesome and a lot less embarrassing than what actually did happen, and then there's the whole sordid mess of how I even got to that point at all. That's a whole story in itself, and I can either give you the cliff notes version or get into all of the gritty detail, but nobody's got time for that, right?
Oh, you do?
Of course, you do.
Fine then. I'll try to be as honest as possible, but don't hold me to that. When there's a chance for me to look like a badass, I'm probably going to take that option, so I'm not making too many promises. Just as long as we agree that everything I'm about to tell you is almost the complete truth.
Ready?
############# AUTHOR'S NOTE: ################
Question of the Day: What's your favorite vampire movie?
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