My position at this exquisite publication has led to my fair share of scrapes with the supernatural in the past. There was that nutcase who decided to send me random links to blurry pictures, that wacko who tried to use Einstein to justify ghosts, and that odd site that seemed intent on stupid answers to questions no one asked in the first place. I blame myself, of course, which is fine because I'm a self-loathing press whore. Rather than emote on the mistakes of the past, I've decided to reform. What caused this change of conscience? It all comes down to fear. Self-preservation is the tool of the coward and thus the sole purpose for this column as a whole. Nothing scares me. Well, maybe vampires.
Jeremiah Kenyon, the best name blend between Biblical namesake and misspelled African country ever, is a vampire. Well, not exactly, let's say he likes to write about vampires. The problem is, much like Hunter S. Thompson, he's decided to insert himself into his work. Unfortunately, his work is a collection of random word generation blended with his inherent nature to ramble onward toward nothing in particular. It's harsh, I know, but damn it all, how is he going to learn anything without creative criticism?
To understand the man myth that is FREAK, we must delve into the elusive figure, which even now is probably off lurking in some poorly lit stairwell, wearing a pair of rubber teeth, and dramatically moving about in circles, putting wear on his Halloween costume.
The visual travesty of his webpage gives us our first glimpse into the madness of vampirism. Take one page of horrid artwork, include various Photoshop images of the author in his vampire state, and add random blind links to all your friends. Sure, they may not want to be associated with you at the end of the day, but you are, after all, a celebrity.
Wow, this qualifies him for absolutely nothing except vampire fiction. Granted the International Library of Poetry is a vanity publishing firm bent on putting everything into print, but I digress. He's a poet and a tortured soul, Poe would be proud. As for the underground musical career in California, they elected an actor for Governor, twice. There has to be something in the water.
The real gem of the site is the story, and every story has a beginning. A few lonely words in which to set the scene, to allow us, the readers, to connect with the author on a primal level.
Well, hey there sexy vamp boy. I enjoy ice cream and playing pool with the boys. I like to think of myself as an outgoing person who likes cats over dogs and enjoys watching the sunset. My best quality is my smile and the worst characteristic is the inability to relate with or even understand anything you write.
Moving on, that opening has an air of familiarity about it, something to do with some hack writing I've read somewhere before. Ah yes, Anne Rice. That's the double death my friend, right now I'm shooting you with my laser eyes.
Fear not, women, for in the world of gloom there is indeed room for romance.
With competition like Candyman, worst movie ever, there's only one thing left to do. Kill yourself. Unfortunately, vampires bounce and the result of what would normally be a hilarious physics lesson leads to a vampire birth. What does a newly formed vampire do? Well, if you said he impales himself on a stop sign, that means you probably wrote this story in the first place. The rest of us are alone to our thoughts, wondering when this bastard of a runaway train is finally going to take out that upcoming underpass, releasing us to sweet merciful death. Death, however, remains a promise in the story as we glimpse into the vampire hierarchy.
Sure, this is the worst example of dialogue ever. Now some of you grammatical purest out there would suggest a new paragraph in order to separate the speakers from one another. That's crazy talk. My friends, we are on the cusp of a new era in literature. From here on out, dialogue will be all encompassing, allowing the writer to endlessly type forward, creating a weave of interchanging characters from which there is no distinctive traits. In this new asexual utopia, there will be no change, as the reader will suddenly find himself forced to disassemble the mess of words in order to find something, anything resembling actual plot.
The bar is closed, the coffee is cold, and frankly, there's nothing left to discuss. I leave you with the worst Jerry Springer moment I could create.
We all construct our own fantasy worlds and, for the most part, these worlds remain secrets to ourselves. Unfortunately, every so often, an urge arises to sprout out, test our mystical worlds to the public. Sometimes it works, often times it just proves the point that sometimes the best thing to do is sit back, crack a cold one, and smile to ourselves. We all create fantasy, some of us are just better at the creation process.
Your Moment of Insanity
You experienced puberty; the next thing you know there's going to be new hair growing all over your body. I am so proud of you, practically giddy with glee. On a side note completely unrelated to anything, vampyricly is about as far from the rules of English as you can get.
"I awoke in my vampyricly primal state with my arms and legs reverted to primal physique and my sinew had augmented greatly!!"
Your Musical Moment With The Dead MilkmenJumping Jesus on a pogo stick, everyone knows the burrow owl live in a hole in the ground. Why the hell do you think they call it a burrow owl anyway?
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