Other Writing Uncategorized

Happy Halloween

With All Hallows Eve looming, plus that whole vampire craze, this seemed like the best time to present this inquisition. Yesterday is tomorrow.

Interview with the (Supposed) Vampire

[Alternate Working Title: Phat Toilet Humor]


SUPPOSED VAMPIRE (SV)- Obese. Bald. Pale. Asymmetrical. 30 going on 60.

NON-SUPPOSED VAMPIRE (NSV)- Slim. Shaggy. Tan. Symmetrical, mostly. 50 going on 25.


The sun has set… obviously. But according to TikTok, time is relative, so.


An old function hall of sorts. Expansive, with scattered remnants of its various uses over the years. A small film crew is set up in front of the stage at the back.

(NSV reads his notecards while waiting for SV to return from the restroom)

SV: Oof. I would not go in there for a while.

NSV: You had a bowel movement?

SV: No, I had terrible hand-eye coordination. The floor’s soaked.

Takes seat opposite NSV.

You guys don’t have a company janitor you lug around, do you? Like the sound guy’s wonky cousin or something?

NSV: No. We do not. Nor do we have a sound person for that matter.

SV: I noticed that.

Looks around.



Eh, somebody will hear about it. Did this place used to be a church?

NSV: Why? Does that discomfit you?

SV: Well, it confuses me, more than anything. ‘Cause the toilet has one of those religious stained-glass windows, but then there’s a glory hole right there. So I wasn’t really sure.

NSV: (Motions to speak)

SV: I suppose if you used the glory hole expressly to come for the glory of God, maybe that would reconcile. (Wonders) I don’t know. A bit in the weeds for me piety-wise. But to answer your question, no, that does not discomfit me. Though, I’m not a very well-endowed man, to be fair.

NSV: I believe we’re at cross purposes. What I meant was, what do you think makes a building a church? What qualities or characteristics would it require?

SV: Just blowin’ right past that dick joke, huh? Well, (Ponders). I suppose, at a basic level, it would be a building suffused with the Holy Spirit. Maybe. As opposed to the glory holy spirit, (Thumbs to the bathroom), if you catch my drift.

CAMERAGUY [CG]: (Clears throat for attention)

SV: Oh, the camera guy gets speaking lines as well. How democratic. (To CG) You better watch out, that’s how the sound guy got fired, not knowing he should speak only when spoken to.

CG: (Woman looks from behind camera, angry).

SV: Oh. Sorry. Camerawomen should only speak when spoken to.

CW: (Woman looks from behind camera, angry).

SV: Oh, come on. That was just bad timing. (Beat) How about cameraperson?

CP: (Doesn’t look from behind camera, angry).

SV: Okay, good. I was starting to worry a fucking jungle animal might leap out, offended by my bestial biases.

NSV: Sir, there is ample literature we could provide that explains the damage done by pronouns, should you be amenable.

SV: I’ll tell you what, if it’ll make my (Hesitates) significant wife more amenable to blowin’ me, I’ll take all the literature you got.

NSV: (Not amused).

SV: Remember those old women’s magazines that gave stupid little tips like that? “Fellate your husband more, make a better sandwich.” (Pats stomach) My significant wife definitely has that second suggestion down pat.

NSV: I’m sorry, do you have a second wife, whom isn’t significant, or are you still desperately seeking a laugh?

SV: I guess I’m not sure, to be honest. ‘Cause I’ve auditioned for one of these things before and it was not at all what it seemed to be.

NSV: (Cautious) How so?

SV: Well, I went in expecting a weight loss show, but they were actually just looking for hidden abilities.

NSV: (Intrigued)

SV: Like comedians. Or entertainers, basically. People with personalities as big as their waist lines.

NSV: (Less intrigued).

SV: So rather than being really funny, I was just being really fat.

NSV: (Mildly intrigued) And how did that manifest itself?

SV:  Oh, it would manifest itself all over the place. From most of my multitudinous crevices. Like a cornucopia of snacks winding through my girth before succumbing to gravity.

You ever see on TV when someone’s trying to escape a casino with stolen chips? And the guards are chasin’ ‘em and there’s loose chips spilling all over the place?

NSV: I don’t watch television. But I can imagine the chase.

SV: Yeah, just imagine that, but with Flamin’ Hot Cheetos instead of chips. And I’m not even running from anyone, I’m just sitting there, being fat. And they’re just falling out, loose curls and crumbs sprinkling the set like ginger Christmas snow.

CP looks from behind the camera, angry, and pulls up a wig to reveal red hair underneath.

SV: Listen, I’ve already written you off, so do us both a favor and stick to life behind the camera.

NSV: Sir, she’s actually the head writer of the program. Your fate is in her hands.

SV: (To CP, all charm) Did I ever tell you how brilliant that opening line was?

NSV: But sir, we haven’t even started yet.

SV: And that’s just how confident I am in… Cameraperson’s abilities. Let’s hear it.

NSV: Oh. (Caught off guard) Well. (Clears throat and reads from notecards) Welcome, and thank you for your interest in the Bridge Over Troubled Water Program.

SV: Brilliant.

NSV: (Offhand) You still are interested, aren’t you?

SV: You kidding me? After that opening line, how could I resist?

NSV: Okay, great.

SV: But I’d be remiss not to ask. (Pats stomach) What’s your bridge’s maximum capacity?


SV: And to be fair, great comedians, the ones that break through, usually do so because they’re so desperate for that laugh.

NSV: Is that how you cracked your tooth?

SV: (Licks gums) My tooth?

NSV: Yes, one of your fangs. It’s chipped, isn’t it?

SV: (Cautious) What are you implying? It’s my teeth that made me fat?

NSV: (Surprised) Huh?

SV: You don’t see me blaming your eyeballs for your relentless voyeurism, now do you? Maybe that’s what caused that roaming right eye of yours.

NSV: My apologies, sir. I believe we’re at cross purposed once m-

SV: The only thing at cross purposes are your eyeballs. I can’t tell whether you’re-

CP: Would anyone care for a mustard seed and garlic sandwich?

SV: ?

CP: (While chewing) They’re quite good. (More enthusiastic) And good for you, I reckon.

SV: I don’t even use mustard on my hot dogs.

NSV: (Intrigued) What do you use?

SV: Ketchup.

NSV & CP: (Gasps)

SV: So, no, I would not fancy one of your weird fuckin’ sandwiches.

NSV: So, you admit it.

SV: Admit what?

NSV: There are certain foods you avoid at all costs.

SV: (Pats stomach). Do I look like I avoid any food at any cost? I mean, what are we doing here?

NSV: Well, we’ve already established your obesity, but-

SV: (Gasps. Mock offended) How dare you! I told you about my obesity in the strictest confidence. Now everybody’s going to know how fat I am!

Returns to his to normal voice and points at CP’s sandwich.

Wait, did you already have those sandwiches prepared? Or did you have your wonky cousin go make them after I mentioned sandwiches? Because if it’s the former, you really are a great writer.

CP: (Motions to speak)

NSV: Okay, let’s reel it back in.

SV: Fine, sorry.

NSV: Farm animals.

SV: Weird segue from a fishing analogy but go on.

NSV: You grew up on a farm, is that correct?

SV: Why do you think I’m so desperate for a laugh?

NSV: Is that a yes?

SV: (Meekly) Yes.

NSV: And is it also true that many farm animals disappeared in your area when you were growing up?

SV: Well, you see, the way the farm animal industry works is, some farm animals you raise up to a certain point. And then at that certain point you-

NSV: Fair enough. We’ll spare the bloodshed. (Solicitously). Unless you’re into it.

SV: (Eye twitches) I supposed you could put a crown of thorns around it. That way, if people tried to stick their dick in, it would inflict pain at least.

NSV: (Shocked) In the farm animal?!

SV: Oh, no. I’m sorry, I’m still trying to think of ways to reconcile the church and the glory hole. You know, religiously. Like what would it take to completely offset something as irreligious and harmful as a glory hole?

NSV: Suppose we could get back to the farm animals at hand.

SV: Listen, the only thing that disappeared when I was growing up were all the attractive women. People talk about brain drain but they never talk about pussy drain.

NSV: Sure, they have. (Under his breath) In the 1950s.

 SV: I found only one chick in my town that looked like she was raised on a farm but also that I would bang.

NSV: (Shakes head disapprovingly).

SV: (Realization) Wait, is that what intersectionality is? I’ve been trying to figure that out for a while now.

NSV: Not… really. I mean, technically, yes. But that’s not really in the spirit of what contemporary scholars-

SV: Not really in the glory holy spirit… of the… (Smirks).

NSV: Is there anything you do take seriously?

SV: I’ll tell you, I am racking my brain trying to figure out the best way to purge and/or cleanse that glory hole. I mean, sure, we could just caulk it closed and call it a day, but God sees all. He has ultraviolet vision. And after that whole crown of thorns idea, you put any UV light in there and it’s a horror show.

Snaps and points at CP.

How’s that weird sandwich taste?

CP: (Pretending not to chew) Um…

SV: You sick freak! How could you eat at a time like this?

Looks back at NSV.

Maybe you should ask your cameraperson where all the farm animals disappeared to.

CP: There’s not even meat in this…

SV: Probably met up with your chatty former sound guy and started an animal debate society or some shit.

NSV glares at CP.

NSV: I think it’s time we introduced our set. (Flourishes up toward the stage) Cameraperson, if you’re not otherwise consumed…

SV: (Feeling left out) Oh. Well, while y’all do that, I’m gonna hit the bathroom and take some measurements.

NSV: (Confused).

SV: (Defensively) Not of my dick.

NSV: (More confused).

SV: Those measurements are seared into my brain. I wanna see how big of a glory hole we’re up against. And yes, it will almost certainly leave me feeling more inadequate, but we’re doing God’s work.

NSV: (Under his breath) Yes, we are.

SV: What was that?

NSV: I have no response.

SV: Well, I’m just going to take that as consent.

NSV: (Under his breath) I bet you would.

SV: What?

NSV: Go measure your dick!

Upon SV’s return, dim lights now illuminate the red velvet curtain on the stage.

NSV: How’s it hanging?

SV: Ha! Nice. I actually got fired from a job for saying that. I completely forget it was a dick reference, if you can believe that.

NSV: I was talking to my cameraperson. About the curtain.

SV: Oh. (Takes his seat). Well, anyways. Depends on their size, but I think maybe 2 ½, 3 communion wafers would clog that thing right up. Then it would sort of be like…

Stands and gets really animated.

“The body of Christ repels you! The body of Christ repels you!”

Sits back down.

You know, something like that.

NSV: (Says nothing)

SV: I can’t tell if you’re humorless or I’m an asshole.

NSV: (Deadpan) Do they have to be mutually exclusive?

SV: Oh, boom! Double burn. That was a murder-suicide.

NSV: (Shares knowing glance with CP) Whatever it takes to stop you. But we digress.

Shuffles through his notecards.

Actually, before we move on, we were curious about potential sleeping issues. Any problems in bed?

SV: (Half amused) Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said?

NSV: (Wonders, then realizes) Oh, my apologies. I avoid sexual entendre entirely. In no way am I referring to intercourse, this is strictly about food.

SV: (Under his breath) Likely story.

NSV: Any trouble with sleep apnea, mattress incompatibility, sleepwalking…

SV: Is that all option A? Because yeah, I’ll go with that one, all of those. Particularly the sleepwalking. I don’t know, it’s like my desire to feed just overrides even my sleep cycle and shit just gets weird.

I once got up in the middle of the night and took a ride on a virgin horse with a virgin woman. It was… bizarre. I was completely asleep but my significant wife saw the whole thing. And now I have 3 wives.

NSV: How do you know she was a virgin?

SV: (Deadpan) She lived on a farm for 26 years.

NSV: (Whispers under his breath while taking notes) On a horse, potentially a slutty one.

SV: Huh?

NSV: (Putting notes and notecards to the side) Without further ado-

SV: You know, mattress incompatibility may just be the nicest way anybody has ever called me fat.

NSV: Without further ado… We’re thrilled to introduce our bridge!

CP stands stage left and fights with the rope, which pulls the velvet curtain left to right instead of up and down, revealing a life-sized bridge on the stage.

SV: Damn. You guys don’t fuck around, huh? Who’s your carpenter, Jesus himself?


NSV narrates while the curtain screeches along. The bridge spans a placid waterway of sorts.

NSV: Introducing, our Bridge…


NSV: … Over…

More screeching.

NSV: … Troubled?

With the full scene now in view, two giant beavers stand on either side of the dam, staring proudly at their work.

NSV: What the fuck, Cameraperson?

CP: What?

NSV: I told you a running stream. Run-ning. You’ve managed to nullify the single prerequisite for this showcase to work!

SV: (Raises his hand) Interestingly, one could argue we’re dealing with a similar scenario in regards to the glory h-

NSV: Shut it, fatty boom-boom!

SV: Harsh.

NSV: Explain yourself!

SV: Well, you intake more calories than you burned that day, and then you just keep doing that for way too many days.

NSV: Not you. (Points to CP) You!

CP: Well, I just thought…

Hesitates nervously.

It better befit the metaphor.

NSV: What do you mean?

CP: Well, with all the different myths about v-

NSV: No, what you said before. Did you mean you thought this travesty of a motif befit our metaphor in a better fashion? Or did you mean that you thought, quote, “it better befit the metaphor,” unquote, or else something bad would happen? As in a threat of failure should we not include it?

CP: Uh…

SV: (Cups mouth like a megaphone) Just say both.

NSV: (Points finger menacingly at SV, then looks back to CP) You’re supposed to be the writer and yet your language is ambiguous. This is life or death!

SV: (Raises hand) Should I give you two a minute or-

They answer at the same time.

NSV: No!

CP: Yes!

SV shakes his head.

SV: (Under his breath) Clear cut case of ambiguity.

After making some alterations to the set, the coworkers whisper behind the giant beavers, their voices barely audible.

CP: You just watched me move the beavers and the dam and put it back like before.

NSV: Why isn’t it flowing?

CP: It never did. That’s why I figured the dam was okay.

SV: (Raises hand to nobody) Hey, guys.

NSV & CP: What!

SV: I actually think there might be something wrong with the pipes in this place. You know, better explain all the piss on the floor earlier.

CP pops her head out, intrigued.

SV: Any chance your wonky cousin has like a less wonky plumber friend? Maybe one of Jesus’ Apostles or some shit? (Ponders. Then under his breath) What year even is it?

The coworkers argue for several minutes, then return to their respective filming positions.

 SV: Did Jesus die before or after plumbing? I suck at geography.

NSV: After. Why?

SV: Just wondering if there’s a connection. Drowning a glory hole user in their own piss and shit is real Old Testament, but still.

NSV: And what do you think God should do with gluttons?

SV: Well, making every part of your body bigger except for your dick is a pretty good start.

NSV: (Stone-faced)

SV: Was that a wink I just saw?

NSV: Sir, I’ve never winked in my life. I’m an adult.

SV: (Snaps finger in recognition) Maybe some holy water?

NSV: I’m not thirsty, wait what?

SV: We could turn the glory hole into a holy water vessel. You know, bless yourself on the way out. You can even put one of those dividers in there, like the ones they have in confessionals. That way, you’ll retain that very Catholic flavor of sexual abuse.

NSV: Sir! I am at my wit’s end! You may cast aspersions on our motives, pass judgment on our misdeeds, hurl accusations with whimsy, but I will not abide you besmirching our sacred rites with a suggestion so preposterous, so heinous, that one can only reasonably assume-

SV: Well, there’s your first mistake.

NSV: Did you ever think maybe you eat so much because you’re lost? Just reacting on base instinct to satiate yourself in a heathen’s nightmare, with no Lord to guide you away from sin? Isn’t it possible you just avoid or otherwise mock anything that makes you uncomfortable? Religion, for instance?

NSV whips out a crucifix like a rapist whipping out somebody’s dick. SV recoils at first, then scoffs.

SV: You didn’t happen to … 3D-print that cross by chance, did you?

NSV looks at the crucifix, then CP, angry.

SV: I only ask because it doesn’t seem to have that (Affects an Italian accent) How do you say? (Normal accent) That suffusion of the glory holy spirit, if you will.

NSV drops his head in defeat.

SV: But what do I know, I’m a Mormon.

NSV: (Rises with new life) You are?

SV: Well, that sure would explain my three wives, wouldn’t it?

NSV: (Without reserve) You ever do any poltergeist shit?

SV: (Confused and amused) No, I said Mormon, not demon. And what would even be poltergeist shit anyway? Just out of curiosity.

NSV: Uh… (Fumbles in his bag) Just going to look it up real quick. Or not, because my phone’s dead.

SV: Drained of all its energy, I presume?

NSV: Wait, what?

CP: (Points worryingly)

NSV: (Notices)

SV: (Notices noticing) What are you two up to now, you sly devils?

CP: (Points to the notecards) The cards.

NSV: (Picks them up and smacks his head with them) Oh, duh.

SV: (Impressed) Such a good writer.

NSV: Let’s see what we have here. Okay, so we have number one, waking people up while they sleep.

SV raises his hand.

NSV: Other people. Not yourself.

SV: I was gonna say, I heard horse hooves and wedding bells there for a minute.

NSV: Yeah, no. Waking other people up while they sleep is number one. Number two-

SV: Although, that would still work if I was the one who-

NSV: (Drowns out SV) Number two. Floating objects around, with or without the intent of waking other people up while they sleep.

NSV looks at SV expectantly.

SV: (Shrugs shoulders)

NSV: Number three. Tossing pebbles at people. Then there’s a notation scribbled next to that. It says, “preferably at live streamers.”

SV: Oh, that’s a terrific idea. I’m definitely gonna start doing that. Tossing pebbles at live streamers, for sure. But besides that, no. The only thing I haunt is the fridge, of which I have three. One for each wife. And actually, my middle wife is in the middle of a mid-life crisis in her rife work life as a midwife. She’s actually been getting into some really poltergeist shit lately. But what’s any of this got to do with weight loss? I thought this was meant to be a ‘before’ before the ‘after’ type deal. A mere formality.

NSV: Oh, it is. It is. Well, the ad asked for “people with insatiable appetites,” but enough about the vagaries of click bait. Let’s get to the point. You’re simply not the right fit for this program.

SV: Oh, come on. That glory hole is massive. At least five communion wafers worth.

NSV: No. What I mean is you’re exceedingly crude. Don’t get me wrong, you’re extremely fat. Almost too fat, if I’m being honest. But mostly, you’re exceedingly crude. I mean, even a dash of eloquence might have made your weight loss journey more palatable to a general audience, but-

SV motions for NSV to stop talking. Then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he begins, with theatricality.

SV: I know, I know. I have the visage of a corpulent shut-in, a bloated husk that seeks only sustenance anew. I must appear a gaseous thief to the likes of you two, a sweaty succubus latched onto the world’s food production without quit. But I have feelings dammit! Big, fat ones. A farm animal squealing on the chopping block. I have feelings so succulent that I eat my feelings just to cope with eating them. The stress of needing them only begs me need them more, as I drift into the cycle of gluttony and shame, shame and gluttony, each feeling feasting upon the other, while that vaunted six pack­, your ‘after’ shot miracle­—disembodied and laughing at me sideways with its chiseled teeth—reduces my existence to a mere single function.

NSV and CP listen on, mesmerized.

SV: Am I not endowed by my Creator with the same inalienable rights as any man? At least on average? Like if you added up all the lengths and divided by the number of lengths? Doesn’t that divine math allow me to use what I’m working’ with? Can’t I just be what I am?

NSV: (Bewitched) And what are you exactly?

SV: Haven’t you been listening? I’m an obese Mormon with three wives, who hates weird fancy sandwiches, scoffs at modern technology, and has a world-class hangup about his penis size.

I’ll tell you what, if I gained a millimeter for every small dick joke I ever told (Breaks eye contact, deep in thought) Well, I suppose there would be a theoretical limit where I would have gained enough millimeters that the jokes no longer work.

The coworkers snap out of the trance, allowing NSV to claw for his rosary beads. But the moment is simply too tense, and he watches as the beads fall loosely to the ground like Martha Wayne just got mugged.

SV: (Enraged) And I’ll tell you what else!

NSV: (To CP) Don’t look him in the eye!

SV: I know exactly how to deal with that glory hole. What I have here is the Shroud of Turin. (A reasonable facsimile seems to appear out of thin air.) See, because I know you two are agents of the Pope. But what you don’t know is this place is surrounded by my Mormon brethren, winners of the religious marketing wars. We smote your Pope and all his ilk, while a catchy little jingle played in the background.

Now you and your ginger altar-person can watch me drape the Shroud of Turin over that Glory Hole, capital G, capital H, and see all my pals, many of whom are obese, jam their skinny dicks, first through the Shroud of Turin, Mormon style, and then through the Glory Hole, capital G, capital H, where it intersects with their wives’ vajayjays over and over and over. Not all that long really, given their physical fitness.

Which leaves only the coup de grace. Me, fucking my significant wife, as you two, the last defenders of the Holy See, the lone bishopric of a once sacred and hallowed order, must bear witness, aghast, capital G, capital H, as I fuck to death all that you defend.

NSV winks at CP.

SV: And not only that, I better fuck to death-

NSV: Now!

The shaft flies out the camera lens in a flash, the silver-infused wood narrowly missing the Supposed Vampire, whom transforms into a bat, and thus, a Probable Vampire. The Probable Vampire flaps away hurriedly and with surprising speed given the ratio of small bat wings to the fat bat dick dangling a foot below. His final words echo in his wake: “I’m not a Mormon either-r-r-r-r-r-r!”

It would be days later when I got the letter in the mail. No personal correspondence of any kind, simply a news clipping that read: “The fat bat was found dead, lodged in a hole between bathroom stalls. It is unknown whether the bat created the hole or came upon it previously constructed. Either way, there were signs of forced entry.”

The mystery of it all had me wondering about the moral to such a ridiculous sequence of events. Maybe the bat realized there truly was no way to atone for the glory hole, other than to sacrifice himself to destroy it. Maybe dark humor was the only way such horror could translate into meaningful communication in conversations so indirect. Kaleidoscopic responses refracting from questions never even asked. Maybe reductio ad absurdum.

But it was just another story, and stories are just that. Semblance of order to restrain chaos otherwise. The only concrete answer would come from the return address, which was obscured when I first opened the envelope. It was mailed from the rectory over in Bridgewater, where I work my maintenance/janitor job. Seeing my name as sender and recipient, I knew then that if I wanted to keep the job, I had to stop doing such heavy doses of mescalin/acid before work. Particularly on Saturdays, which is when I usually read the week’s news while waiting for the obesity support group to wrap up their meeting. Though, with them, it’s less wrap up and more conjuring up their obese alchemy, turning leftovers into non-leftovers in just one bite!


[DISCLAIMER: No farm animals were hurt during the making of this acid trip. I mean, sure, we tried to put lipstick on the pigs, but that was only because all the farm women were so pretty, they weren’t using the makeup anyway.]