*clickety*

Three fat, ugly, wrinkled, old women and one cute blond sat around a small, 
coffee-table-shaped object. The oldest and the ugliest begins to speak.

"Welcome the View, I'm you're sexy host, Bahbwa Waltahs."

"I'm Meredith V-something, a single mom with a drinking problem." she said as 
she spilled a glass of water down the front of her blouse.

"Mm'hm. Yo check dis, foo' I is the sassy black chick lawyer, Starr Jones. Oh 
yeah!" She and Barbara high-five, then go into one of those eclectic handshake 
greeting things, that involve a lot of slapping and resembles a game of 
paddy-cake.

"And I'm Debbie Mattenopoloptagusenhiemersteindeberg. I like shiny things!"

Barbara, after smacking the ditzy blond upside the head, began her dissertation.
"Today on the View, we awe going to show you how to tuwn thwee pounds of toxic
waste into a nice quiche de la morte, how to macweme youw ass into the sofa and 
how to laugh politely at what one can only assume to be jokes coming fwom thwee 
talentless hacks. Plus, the music of Weevus. A wockin' young group of go-getters
with tight asses."

Meredith put in her contractually mandated two cents: "Our special guest host to
day comes to us all the way from Umloch, North Dakota, he's the self-proclaimed 
master of funk," she paused momentarily and looked down at the card. "What the 
heck is a handjive?"

"I'm a lawyer." Starr guessed, nodding sagely.

Debbie ventured a guess, "Well, when my boyfriend asks for one, he wants me to 
unzip his pants and use my hand to... no wait, you said _jive_, sorry."

Barbara smacked her over the head with a giant spatula.

Meredith continued, "Anyway, our special guest is the second in command of the 
tenth rising of one Count Dracula. Not only is he a bad mutha-"

"I'm a lawyer!" Starr interrupted, with much self-confidence and sagely nodding.

"Shut up, Starr. Tonight, on his first talk show appearance ever, Black Priest 
Shaft!"

Shaft's latest single, "Stayin' Undead" played, skipping to the good parts, as 
he emerged from the side stage and crossed the set to the designated guest 
sitting area. Tossing back his cloak with great flourish, he sat dramatically 
in the chair.

"Shaft! Gweat to have you on the show! Have you met the giwls?"

"Hi! I'm Meredith, (you male chauvinist pig)," Meredith said in a militant 
feminist sort-of way.

"I'm a lawyer! Word up!" Starr went for a high-five which Shaft quickly stared 
down.

"I have a kitty named Shopping, which almost sounds like your name!" Debbie 
bounced.

Barbara shot her. "So, have you come to pwomote youw new single?"

Shaft's gaze drifted towards Barbara. Not a word left his mouth.

"You'we... okay. So what awe youw plans fow the-"

"You will all die."

"-futuwe, gonna... pawdon?"

"Your oblivion is at hand. Soon, Drac's bad self will conquer the earth and lead
it into an era of blackness and eternal suffering. Where the party will never 
end and the blood will flow like wine. You will all become nothing more than 
puppets for our amusement."

Fire flowed from Shaft's hands and flames soon engulfed all the View girls. They
all died viciously, except for Debbie, who was already dead. No one seemed to
notice.

*clickety*


~!@#$%^&*()_+

Improfanfic couldn't give a rat's ass about:

Castlevania 1970: Disco of Evil

This chapter is #9 on your FM Radio dial.

Send all hate mail to: ELRutt, (elsteven@pacbell.net)

Responsibility for this rests solely on: Gaijin Dan Mastriani

+_)(*&^%$#@!~


*clickety*

Gerald Reinhart checked his hair in the mirror hanging outside the final door. 
Flawless, as always.

"I am a sexy bitch," he said to himself, in an overly deep and masculine voice. 
"Yes, I am a magnificent, wonderful, manly, macho, entirely butch, and not at 
all homosexual or gay in any way, shape or form, a man whose love for women with
large breasts and not little boys in sailor outfits is only matched by the size
of his enormous wang. Damn, I am a straight man!" he finished off with a slight 
lisp. Obvious deep-seeded personal issues were seeping to the surface. He had 
been like this ever since that party on that fateful night. Too much alcohol 
combined with the Village People, made for an extremely traumatizing experience.
He wasn't really... you know, that way, he often told himself. Really he wasn't.
Looking back into the mirror, he adjusted his eyebrows and flicked his wrist 
slightly. 'NO!' his mind screamed. Proudly, with a broad grin plastered under 
his thin mustache, he flung open the main door and sauntered into the chamber of
Lord Dracula.

"You bastard! How dare you come back into my life!" Drac greeted his guest.

"Monster! How can you say such a thing when I'm carrying your baby?" Gerald 
motioned towards the stroller that he wheeled in that I didn't mention earlier. 
Faint crying could be heard from within.

"Yo man, chill out. Why do you have to be so uptight? Don't you know that I love
you?"

"If only I could believe that."

"You know I'd never do anything to harm you!"

"AAAGGHH!" Death burst into the scene, "I have amnesia!"

"Death? Are you back from the war?" Dracula ran to the side of his forgetting 
comrade.

"Death! How dare you show your bony bitch-ass around here!" Gerald grabbed the 
Reaper firmly by the shoulders.

"Who... are you?" Death looked lost, lost for an expressionless skeleton, 
anyway.

"Hold on, how do you _know_ you have amnesia?" Gerald looked deeply into Death's
empty eye holes.

"I don't know... I must have forgotten!" Death would have looked nervous, if he 
had a face, that is.

Dracula, not wanting to be left out of the dialogue, stated, "It's not my baby! 
I stole it from Death after sleeping with his mother!"

"It doesn't matter, I've come to kill you both!" Gerald announced.

"... what about the baby?" Dracula asked.

"There is no baby, it was a red herring!" Gerald pulled a fish out of the crib.

"Gimme back my baby!" Death rushed at Dracula.

"I gave it to him, stupid." Dracula pointed to Gerald.

"I thought he stole it..." Death wondered.

Before Death had a chance to rush a Gerald, he (Gerald) announced, "It's too 
late! Your baby is no more!"

"What?!" Death cried out.

"What do you think is in that cake you're eating?"

Death looked down at the cake which conveniently appeared in his hand. "..." A 
massive sweatdrop would've appeared on the back of his skull, had he possessed 
pores. A low rumble emanated from within Death, soon it built it's way to a high
pitched scream. The pair of glasses Dracula was wearing for some reason, 
shattered.  

"It's nothing personal really, it's all a part of my character, now stand back 
as I speech!" Gerald posed dramatically for heightened visual effects. "I, the 
massively legendary and extremely mighty- Well, when I say massive and extreme, 
I use those terms relatively. I mean that while the levels of my legendariness 
compared to my mightiness are not exactly equal, they are both on much grander 
of scale than other persons legendariness and mightiness. Look, I don't think 
I'm making myself very clear here, hold on a second." Gerald pulled from within 
his cape a stand and a stack of cards and set them up. Dracula tapped his foot 
impatiently. Pulling out a point, Gerald began his presentation. "Now you see on
this pie graph how the amount of legendariness is less than my level of 
mightiness on a three to five ratio." He removed the pie graph to reveal a new 
card. "Now you see on this graph that column A represents the average level of 
legendariness for the normal person, and column B shows my level of 
legendariness. You see how the two compare? Now this next card..."

*clickety*

"Welcome back to Forgive or Forget, I'm your host Mother Love. Let's meet 
today's guest."

Bob Belmont wandered confusedly onto the set.

"His name is Robert Belmont and he hails from... I can't read the card. Anyway, 
shake your thing for us Bob!"

The audience cheered loudly and many cat-calls were heard. Bob looked around, a
bit scared.

"Come on, boy! What are you, a wussy?"

Timidly, Bob stood up and wiggled his hips a little. The audience nearly 
exploded with delight.

"Oh, you can do better than that! Come on, show us what you got!"

Pop music piped in from mysteriously hidden speakers and Bob, still quite unsure
of himself, shook his groove thing like there was no tomorrow.

"Yeah, baby, you know how to please Mother Love!"

The music fades out slowly, leaving behind a bewildered Bob. Slowly, he sits 
back down.

"Now, you don't know who you're on the show to forgive or forget, do you Bob?"

"...No."

"Would you like to find out?"

"...Okay."

"Well we won't tell you directly, first we'll tell you how she's wronged you."

"Why?"

This caught Mother Love off guard. "...It's how we run the show, now shut up and
listen."

A deep, masculine, unearthly voice flowed into the theatre from the land that 
such voices like to flow from (the sound system).

"Robert Belmont, this is your life. You met her in the eighth grade, from the 
beginning you thought she was an angel. You'd follow her everyday and know she 
was yours. Sadly, it was never meant to be. You were too much of a wussy. You 
wouldn't even talk to her. You'd just giggle incoherently when she wore a tight 
shirt you could see her bra through. You weren't going to get laid by this Fine 
Fox, baby. The closest thing to sex you ever got was masturbating under the 
sheets with a flashlight."

"You saw that?" Bob was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"Shh. I haven't finished. But things were not to last, soon she moved away and 
left you alone, holding your willy."

"You mean, Debra is hear?" Bob's spirits perked up.

"No. We just wanted to make fun of you." *Flush* went Bob's hopes down the 
toilet. "The girl you are here to meet is one who you knew only passingly. She 
has come here tonight... err, this afternoon to seek your forgiveness. She never
could return the love you gave her. She broke your heart into a million pieces, 
set fire to it and pissed on the ashes. Worst of all, she brutally murdered your
whole family-"

"My... parents are... dead?"

"Yes. She has since realized the error in her-"

"I... can't believe they're gone..." Tears welled in Bob's eyes.

"Would you shut up for just five minutes? I'm trying to earn a paycheck here!"

"I'm sorry, please continue." Bob silently wept to himself.

"She realized the error in her ways, and only seeks redemption. She is deeply 
sorry for becoming a minion of your arch-nemesis. Her name, for those of you who
are complete morons and haven't figured it out yet, is Sally! Sally T. Vampire! 
Do you forgive her or forget her?"

"I-"

"Let me remind you before you answer, that _if_ you forgive her, both of you 
will win a week on the Exotic Caribbean Cruise Ship the Thightanic!"

Stock commercial cruise footage is shown.

Bob hesitantly gave his reply, "I... I... I forgive!"

The audience erupted in applause and odd hooting noises. Enough confetti to 
soffocate three large water buffalo and the entire population of Arizona rained 
down from the ceiling. A beautiful model in a bathing suit walked out onto the 
set, handed Bob a bouquet of flowers and put a glittery tiara on his head.

During all this, the voice continued. "Congratulations Bob! You win the grand 
prize! Now let's let our lucky bachelor meet his dream date! Come on out Sally!"

Sally rushes onto the set from the wings.

"Die Slayer Bitch!" she screamed as she lunged at Bob with a spear.

Bob quickly whipped out his... whip and whipped the whippings out the blood-
sucking whore. Once he finished with Mother Love, he turned to Sally.

"What's a matter, lover? You found me beautiful once," she sneered and teased 
and that sort of thing. 

"Honey, you got real ugly." His whip lashed out as whips tend to do and little
"-34"s became a quick death for the vampiric man-user.

*clickety*

Hecubus is shown in a series of provocative poses, each more alluring than the 
last.

A voice typical of this sort of thing, but different than the last voice heard 
says stuff, "The Plaintiff is an ex-evil mastermind, hell-bent on revenge for 
something involving his sister which has no bearing on this case. He's five-foot
seven and a mean shuffleboard player. He enjoys long walks on the beach and 
teaching old dogs new tricks. Evil is his middle name, it's Hecu- "Evil" -bus! 
He is suing the defendant for emotional damages summing up to thirty trillion 
yen and forty-seven Canadian pennies."

The pictures shift to shots of Alucard, none are very provocative, mostly just 
him staring blankly at the camera.

The voice continues so as to establish a narrative pattern. "The defendant is a 
hero of the ages. His sexy looks combined with his quiet, brooding personality 
make him a firecracker just waiting to pop. He is an ancient half breed whose 
long hair and impeccable taste in dress have made him the talk of the town since
fourteen fifty-eight. His name is Alucard and his style is as quick as his 
slashing-things ability! Let's give him a big round of applause!"

Typical fake canned applause is played and then cut off abruptly.

The same voice speaks again, but says different words. "But they are both really
screwed now, because they are about to enter the courtroom of Judge Judith 
Sheindlin, and she's going to tear them a new one, tonight, on Judge Judy!"

An opening theme, typical of opening themes for shows such as this, runs. When 
it quits (after way too many excruciating verses and an extremely painful 
seventeen minute drum solo) the courtroom is shown. People fill the audience to 
the point where it is full and not at all empty. When they notice the camera is 
on, they begin to talk loudly.

Judge Judy banged her little gavel, "Hey! Hey! Order in the damn court! Shut the
hell up, people!" Silence filled the courtroom like a fat man would fill one of 
those funny little clown cars. She turned to the bailiff. "Alright, what's the 
next case, bailiff?"

"Yo, yo, yo, check dis. That pale dude over there with the salad bowl haircut 
and the black long johns is suin' dat foo' over there with the long hair and 
protrudin' pectoral muscles."

"Thank you, Rap-Master Bailiff."

"Word up."

"So you are suing this guy?" Judy pointed towards Alucard. 

Hecubus responded quickly, "That is correct."

"Shut up! Did I give you permission to speak? Sit your ass down and shut the 
hell up! Now, why are you suing this man?"

"Can... can I speak now?"

"You speak only when I tell you can speak or else you'll find a size seven pump 
shoved so far up your ass, you'll be tasting what I stepped in for the next 
three weeks!"

Hecubus looked around nervously.

"Well?"

Hecubus continued looking nervous.

"Are you going to answer my question or am I going to have to hold you in 
contempt of court?"

"... Yes, your honor. A... Alucard, the defendant, interrupted my work and got 
me fired from the job I had held for twenty years. He pretty much got me 
blacklisted in the entire business. I have nothing left of my life anymore." 
Hecubus began to put on a poor display of crying.

"No phony dramatics in my courtroom!"

"Yes... your honor."

"Sir, are you drunk?"

"A little bit, yes."

"Why the hell do you come into my courtroom drunk? What the hell is your 
problem? I hope you brought enough for everybody."

Hecubus pulled out a bottle with two large 'X's on it and passed it around the 
courtroom.

"Now you." Judy pointed at Alucard. "What the hell do you want?"

Alucard, seeing the opportunity to expound, opened up his big yapper. "I, your 
honor, am the hero of ages, the defender of the free, champion of those who need
championing, savior of-"

"No long-winded exposition in my courtroom!"

"Yes, your honor."

"Defendant, are you chewing gum?"

"No ma'am, it's just the bad American dubbing."

"Very well, let's hear your side of the story."

"I-" Alucard began and didn't get much farther.

Interrupting, Hecubus interrupted, "I haven't finished, though-"

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SPEAKING OUT OF TURN, YOU DRUNKEN PILE OF MONKEY 
SPIT?!" Judy threw a large book containing many words, and not all of them in 
English, at Hecubus. "Continue, please, Mr. Alucard."

"Please, call me Kenny."

"Why Kenny?"

"Fine, don't call me Kenny. This man is evil." Kenny, er... Alucard stated, 
indicating the evil man (Hecubus). "I put a stop to his evil doings. That is all
there is to it."

"So you think it's your place to judge people and put labels onto their 
activities?"

"Isn't that what you do?"

"Yes, but I'm certified." Judy held up her Bar certificate or whatever the hell 
is the equivalent of that.

*clickety*

A red-headed, spiky-haired, freak of a man smiled darkly at the camera, as a 
leather and chains clad duo exited the set. "There's going to lots of sex, guns 
and violence in that High School tonight!"

Obligatory laughter poured out from the audience.

"So, do you folks want to meet the next contestant? (Correct answer: Yes.)"

The audience paused for a moment to consider for a moment, this rather difficult
brain teaser. The jeopardy theme played quietly in the background. Just when the
host was about to say something stupid, the reply blasted out from the stands.

"Nes!"

"Yo!"

"Could you repeat the question?"

'This is job just doesn't pay enough. Even if I'm being blackmailed to be here.'
The brightly clothed host thought to himself through the magic of Narrated Inner
Monologue.

One has to pause to explain things to all two of you who haven't noticed that 
the current program being mocked is none other than-

*static*

FEED LOST

*static*

Just kidding. Thought I'd screw with both of you. Anyway it's-

*static*

ERROR!

...

...

...

...

I'm such a bastard! (Insert obligatory maniacal laughter here.)

*static*

"Jack! Put down the remote control and get back to hosting the show!" the 
associate producer called from off stage.

A voice from the heavens (in stage terms, that is) called down, "That's right! 
And the show he's hosting is the one and only show he hosts (except for that 
_other_ show) the-"

*static*

Okay, I'm done really.

*static*

"Welcome back to the Impro Dating Game! I'm your host Controversial Jack and I 
haven't been to England, but I'm willing to pass judgement on it's people all 
the same!" Jack smiled his typical pompous game show host smile. "Our next 
contestant really has some personal issues. Is it a man or a she? A lady or an 
it? A horse or a super-powerful, omnipresent being? It's probably not the last 
one... Give a big round of applause for, Syphilis Q. Beldandy!"

As he... sh... _it_ walked out (currently in male form, it being daytime and 
all) and calmly corrected, "IT'S FERNANDEZ!!!!!!" As Jack picked himself up off 
the floor, Plaz regained it's composure. "but you can call me, Plaz." It smiled 
in a way that would have been kawaii, had it been in girl form. Since it was the
male form, however, it just looked... you know, that way.

"(Must fake amusement for Mr. Duck's sake. Must fake amusement for Mr. Duck's 
sake. Must fake...)" Jack slowly returned to what most people considered normal 
(for Jack). "Let's meet the androgynous bachelor... -ettes? Whatever. I'll just 
use Guinea Pigs. Guinea Pig number one comes all the way here from New York, New
York. It's bumbling antics amused us all, let here it for... it..." Jack's smile
seemed to waver as visions of jumbled pronouns danced around his head.

The first subject for vigorous scrutinization wandered meagerly out onto the 
set. It's loose khaki pants and neutral-shaped blue shirt left a [LOT] to the 
imagination. As it sat on it's designated stool, it adjusted it thick framed 
glasses and ran a quivering hand through it greasy black curls. The audience 
looked as if it was going to be sick.

As Jack suppressed the urge to vomit, he continued with the introductions. "Our 
second Guinea Pig comes from a 'What-if?' land of the future and enjoys running 
stuff over and blowing things up! Clap for him as the APPLAUSE sign demands it."

The second option walked... er, rolled out onto stage. Very loudly, I might add,
but didn't because it would be rude. It's metallic body glistened as metallic 
things are wont to do. A grand cheer rose from the audience as they were easily 
amused by the large shiny object.

Jack moved onto the third card in his stack of cards listing things he should be
paying attention to if he really cared. "Our third Guinea Pig or Guinea Pig 
Number Three, as his friends like to call him, comes all the way from the super 
market. It's part of a balanced breakfast and stays crunchy even in milk! Let's 
give him a big- no, it a big- Oh, screw this show!" Jack threw his cards in the 
air and tromped off the stage.

Plaz looked around confusedly. The bachelor(ettes) didn't seem to notice.

The assistant peeked her head out. "Ask the questions," she whispered.

"What?" Plaz asked confused.

"Ask the questions," she hissed a bit louder.

Plaz looked around, lost.

"On the cards, stupid!"

Just now noticing the card on it's lap, Plaz smiled in a weak 'I knew that' 
attempt. Slowly, it read, "Eh heh, bachelor... uh, Guinea Pig number one, if you
were a grapefruit on the first manned mission to Mars and you had with you only 
one coloring book, what kind of rock would you say best represents Abraham 
Lincoln?"

The first... thing on the other side of the stage looked around. "Ehhh, well I 
um... oh, I can't stand everyone looking at me... ohh."

Plaz pretended it had something to write on the card. "Number Two, same 
question, different language."

A hollow mechanical voice replied, "Computing... Requested answer: Der Stein."

"...Right. Number three if you were a firework, what would you sound like?"

*SNAP CRACKLE POP*

"How exciting."

Jack wandered back onto the stage, extremely drunk, despite the fact that he had
only been gone for five minutes.

"Llllook, ah'll tell ya somefing... dis show is a sham and I know 's realll 
secret." Jack stumbled across the stage and awkwardly opened up camera number 
two. Inside was a hamster running on wheel. When the hamster paused to sniff the
air the lights dimmed considerably. "Seee?" Jack stammered, "slave labor..." and
promptly passed out in a pile of his own drool.

The Associate Producer rushed out onto the set and tried to speak but only ended
up laughing nervously for twenty minutes. Finally, she spit out: "Well, heh heh,
that's our show. Tune in next week-" she looked down at Plaz sitting frightened 
on it's stool. "Oh yeah, pick a number between one and three."

"Huh?" Plaz was lost.

"Don't question me, just pick the damn number, already!"

"Three?"

"Great! You win a dream date with bache... the third perso... thing, 
congratulations!" The AP crossed to the other side of the screen in time to 
witness the first... "it" scarfing down the last of the third... "it".

"Sorry, I got a little hungry... ooohh..." Number one apologized.

"Great!" the AP turned to face Plaz. "One or two?"

"Two?"

"Good, you win, blah blah blah. The one you didn't pick was Pat from Saturday 
Night Live and the one you tried to pick was a bowl of Rice Krispies. Meet your 
blah blah blah, Sherman the Tank from FAQing Hostile. Now piss off, the show's 
over."

Plaz smiled weakly a she stood in front of the enormous tank.

*clickety*

"... Now if you look at the graph here, you'll see that the X-axis represents my
legendariness, while the Y-axis represents my mightiness. You see this point 
here I have labeled 'A'? Now, look at the curve. As X approaches A, the ratio 
decreases and the numbers begin to even out. A is a crucial point, because after
A my mightiness would reach a level which does not exist in the real world.
Every point after A would be a theoretical quantity, and thus be discounted in 
Pasviscoti's Theorem, which states that, while all egos are infinite, the 
definable character levels can only reach a specified point before things start 
to get silly. Using this Theorem and applying the basic principles of bullshit 
calculus (which I've always felt to be a redundant term) we get the equation-"

"Shut up!" Dracula demanded. "You've been talking for three _days_ now and you 
haven't even told us your name!"

"Oh, right. It's Gerald Reinhart. Now, if you examine this table here, which we 
made from computing-"

"Prepare to die, Gerald Reinhart!" Dracula lunged at Gerald.

Before Gerald had the chance to say something pompous, Dracula tore out his 
intestines and used them to strangle the vampire hunter. Much blood squirted out
in all the directions.

Death screamed, "You sonnovabitch! You killed him!"

"So?" Dracula replied.

"I see your point," Death stated and both of the beings of evil began playing 
Ping-Pong.

*clickety*

Bob, who would have screamed "Nooo!" in slow motion for forty minutes, had he 
witnessed the preceding scene, was instead wondering what he was going to do 
with two tickets for a cruise. He opened the door to the Church of Scientology 
and stepped outside it to the sunlight.

Behind him, Plaz and Alucard stepped out as well.

"Wow," Plaz expounded in much the same way as Bob had in previous segments.

Bob turned to greet his companions. "That has to be one of the weirdest dungeons
I've ever been in."

"Really?" Alucard asked, "And just how many dungeons _have_ you been in?"

"Well... I... uh... shut up."

"That's what I thought. But it was a success!"

"You mean, you found the key?" Plaz asked.

"I..." Alucard began, "...shit."

"Looks like it's back into the church for us." Bob stated the obvious, for like 
the fifth time this chapter.

"Can't we just get a key made somewhere?"

"No." Alucard answered.

"You really suck, you know that." Plaz crossed his arms and stamped his foot in 
an effeminate way.

"You know what else sucks?" Bob said in the best transition I could come up 
with. "I found out that my whole family is dead and I was forced to kill my 
first girlfriend today."

"Wow, that sucks," Plaz said in an incredibly bad attempt to comfort Bob.

"Hey guys," Alucard broke in, "let's not say sucks anymore, okay?"

"Yeah, but at least it's not a total loss. I did get Debra's phone number of one
of the producers, before Sally poked a bunch of holes in his chest."

Alucard and Plaz nodded like they knew who Sally was.

All three heroes rode of into the sunset on their mighty steeds.

*clickety*

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish."

And fish he did. Death drew from the deck a three of... one of the four suits. 
"Ha ha! I got a three! I get to go again! In your face! Hoo hoo hoo!" Death 
chanted as he danced on the table.

"Just go, already," Dracula demanded.

"Got any queens?"

"Who are you calling a queen? I am most certain not a poof!" Gerald exclaimed, 
leaping to his feet.

"I killed you!" Dracula pointed out that fact to those who had skipped the 
middle section.

"Oh yeah?" Gerald countered.

"Fine, I'll do it again."

And so Dracula ground Gerald into a fine paste-like substance and ate him on 
toast with peanut butter. Death had some too, but no one I told that to seemed 
to care.

*clickety*

END OF PART.

STOP READING NOW.

...

...

...

...

HOLD ON, READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES AND _THEN_ STOP READING.

Author's Notes: Boy, do I love writing chibi! Wai!

Rags n' stuff! Prereading and whatever!

Swordfish too! Even though he told me everything was A-OK!

*clickety*

Wait, did I say into the sunset? I meant back into the church...

Without the horses.

*clickety*