Categories > Original > Humor

The Cliche Killer

by PeregrinChopkins 3 reviews

I don't like vampires... I think they're lame and overrated. So I write a parody. Enjoy (or don't... depends on how seriously you're gonna take this)

Category: Humor - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Parody,Sci-fi - Warnings: [V] [X] - Published: 2007-08-20 - Updated: 2007-08-20 - 550 words - Complete

“Oh Vladimir, I love you so!” An attractive bimbo professed to her dark and brooding lover in some graveyard somewhere in Middle America.
“As do I, my lovely Philomena—but alas! It can never be, for I eat people like you.” He replied.
“… Pardon?” Philomena stuttered.
“I… eat people?” He reiterated.
“What? You didn’t know?”
“I’m a fucking vampire, how could you not know that I eat people?!”
“I’m a naïve floozy with not much going for me besides my Aryan good looks and full, perky breasts!” She explained.
“Hmm… I see.” Vlad took a minute to contemplate and be brooding, as archetypes like him often do.
“… Well? … What now?” Philomena asked.
“Uhh… Well…” Vladimir took another moment to ponder, before deciding to devour Philomena whole, without a second thought… and so he did!


Several years later, while in Paris or one of those excessively dramatized European cities where I guess all vampires hang out, Vladimir was approached in a café or bistro or something overtly bohemian like that, by an attractive girl in her mid-twenties.
“Hello poppet.” Vlad greeted, because all vampires say things like that.
“Hello fucker.” The lass replied. “My name is Wilma Huffington-Smith. Several years ago, you killed my sister and I’ve come to seek revenge, as is the duty of soap opera-esque heroines like myself.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Hmm… Which one was your sister, love?”
“Philomena Huffington.”
“Hmm… Philomena, eh?”
“And you’re Wilma, you say?”
“Then I have a question for you, Wilma.”
“What is it?”
“… What in bloody hell were your parents smoking when they named you?” Vladimir asked, using the British expression “bloody” both to be ironic (because he’s a vampire, remember?) and because the adolescent girls who read this tripe all think that that most Western European dialects are attractive, or something.
“Enough talk! I’m here to kill you!” Wilma exclaimed.
“Not unless I make sweet, passionate love to you first!” Vlad retorted.
“… Oh really?”
And so they did—fornicate, that is—right there in café, on the table, and during dinner rush, no less. Of course, no one paid much attention to them, being that they were in France and that’s just how they say hello over there.
“Well darling, was it good for you?” Vladimir asked once they had finished and were sharing a cigarette, as they lay naked on the table in the café.
“… ‘Ehh’? … ‘Ehh’?! What does that mean?!”
“I donno… I’ve had better.” Wilma explained.
“‘Had better’?! I’ve never been so insulted in all my two-thousand-and-some-odd years!” And with that, the charmingly effeminate vampire marched out of the café. Unfortunately for him, more time had passed that he realized and the sun was already beginning to rise, and thus he slowly began to burn to death.
“AHAHAHAHAH!” Wilma cackled as she dashed outside to watch him burn up. “You fell right into my trap! I knew if I could keep you here long enough the sun would come up and you’d be turned into nothing more than a burned piece of toast on the Parisian sidewalk and I would have my revenge!”
“Jokes on you! I’ve got herpes! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!” And thus, Vladimir had the last laugh.
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