Date: 2010-01-03, 7:53PM KT
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You know, it was bad enough with all that Anne Rice crap. I can't tell you how many dates I went on with goth chicks who thought I was used to having orgies in Parisian Mausoleums between midnight readings of Lord Byron. Hell, back in those days I thought to myself: nosferatu-kind has hit rock bottom. There's no way it will get worse. We've been reduced to an undead minstrel show. Little did I know did some talentless hack closet-Christian would come and slap me in the face a few decades later with this....abomination known as "Twilight".
First of all, I'm not like Edward, or Eduoard, or however the shit you spell it. I'm not an effeminate emo kid who looks more suited to a modeling gig for Ambercrombie than as a remorseless stalker and slayer of the innocent. I can't go into the sunlight. Why? Because I'm a fucking vampire, that's why, dumb-ass. And when I say pale, I mean PALE - we're talking British-person-at-the-beach pale. I'm also a little paunchy. Nothing that a few months on the treadmill won't fix, but it's obvious I've been eating a lot of Mexican lately.
Also, I'm not really the dark and brooding type. You know why nosferatu are so tormented? Because we have to kill people and we can never see the sun. Those Twilight vampires don't even need blood and can walk in the daylight. Oooooh, boo-hoo, you have every right to be depressed with your eternity of youth and beauty. Hey, maybe I should follow your example and go for a hike to cheer myself up. Oh wait, I can't, because if I did I would probably slaughter a score of nature-goers before bursting into flames from exposure to the sun. But no, Edward, by all means, go ahead and wallow in the angst of your god-like existence.
You know what has me depressed lately? Last week the thirst was upon me, so I went to my favorite overpass to ambush fresh prey. When I finally found her - a young woman walking alone through the abandoned, wind-swept streets - I pounced, bearing my fangs down upon her soft, supple neck. I drank from her, wallowing in the shame and delight of her horrible, perverse, wonderful life-essence draining into me. One minute later, my ghoulish task seen to completion, my keen ears still heard a heartbeat. How could this be? My victim lay cold in the snow, and my heart certainly hasn't pumped an ounce since that fateful night in Hungary so many years ago. Turns out the lady was pregnant. Did I call an ambulance? No sir. I was too busy fleeing the sound of approaching dogs pawing and baying as they strained against the leashes of their masters. But no, really Twilight vampires, you have it just as bad. Sure, you haven't murdered as many people as Klaus Barbie, but it must be hard keeping those tips so perfectly frosted. Fags.
Anyways, I'm not really into the whole dark-and-tormented thing. Know how I deal with the hundreds of monstrous crimes on my conscience? Like everyone else, I just don't think about it. I have pottery class, Spanish lessons, and fantasy football to occupy my time. Also, I don't live in a crypt, or a castle, or in some kind of gilded palace flanged with towering gargoyles. I live in a one bedroom apartment with my dog Herby and my cat Jed. I don't have any lavish, baroque paintings hanging over my bed, but rather a framed photograph of my personal hero, Nelson Mandella.
I think the worst part about this whole Twilight phenomenon is the romance. First of all, why the hell is an 80-year-old nosferatu in high school, and why is he dating a high school girl? We have a name for those kinds of people, the same name you usually see attached to people whose pictures are in front of the post office and get beat up in prison a lot. Hell, my last girlfriend was fifty years old. What the dick would I want with a teenager? Oh yeah baby, I've been hounded across the globe and seen the birth, and death, of empires, but why not tell me a little bit more about what Becky said about you in Biology class? No, really, I find that soooooo interesting.
In conclusion, if you want some real nosferatu romance, feel free to send me a message. I know a great little coffee-house that has live jazz on Thursday nights, and after that we could sign up for samba lessons, or a midnight volleyball league. Heck, if things go really well, I may even allow you to drink from me, transforming you into my dusky queen, destined to be with me everlasting as the haunted, abominable corruption of life known as nosferatu. Or some shit like that.
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I've read your long but very interesting post on CL and thought I'd get to know you. That whole being pale thing I can safely say I can relate to, I'm the palest one in my family, just because I'm hispanic don't mean I was blessed with a natural tan like my relatives, tried to tan but I always sun-burn so easily, I get picked on alot :( . I do agree with you about the Twilight matter, never saw the movies, never read the books, don't even know who the author is, but I do admit that I did follow up on Anne Rice and her books (At least I'm honest), it was a way to escape boredom, I lived a sheltered life, so that's all I had. I'm not goth, punk, rocker or w/e...I'm just XXXXXXX, a 21 y/o puerto rican/peruvian, 5'2 shrimp lol. Vampires, I've always been curious about that, but I don't go out of my way and coslay them like some ignorant people do nowadays, with the long black trench coats, the boots, the spikes, make-up...ect. Well, I hope to recieve a message back from you, if not then that's ok too. Till next time.
colin heintze to XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX
When you say that people who cosplay are ignorant, you have no idea how much that means to me. So, they think dressing up like Lestat and speaking in a poncy 19th-century cant will make them true denizens of the night? Hell, I was alive during the 19th century, and people didn’t talk like that anyways. The entire century was basically just one long conversation about tuberculosis, potatoes, and how to avoid one while finding the other. That, and how to keep out the Irish.
Yes, these so-called “role-players” would likely be horrified at a few week’s worth of true nosferatu living (or should I say un-living). Perhaps, for realism’s sake, they should hide beneath the waters of a peat bog, not knowing whether it is day or night, not knowing yet if the hunters have moved on or if their blasted mystics are simply honing in on your exact location more and more by each passing moment. Or, maybe they should try murdering a lonely widow only to look up from their ghastly supper to see her children have wandered into the room, still rubbing their sleepy eyes, only moments away from realizing that the nightmare they have stumbled into is horribly, horribly real. Trust me, it’s depressing.
So yeah, I’m pretty much just a normal guy if you discount the odd schedule and murder. I’m definitely not some fey adolescent heartthrob who skulks around picking up high-school chicks and acting like an all-around emo little fairy. Seriously, fuck that guy.