Posts Tagged ‘humor’

Teenage vampires are pathetic

I was just explaining to my husband how all teenage vampires are pathetic and whiny and not very clever. I said many things, some of which were maybe a tad insulting (for the vampires, not for the hubby), so now I wonder if those creatures, although all pitiful and pathetic, can hear me from wherever they are?

Maybe they are in the cellar? We moved to our new house recently and I am not sure which moving boxes are my husband’s and which may be Mr Teenage Vampire’s. So many are still unpacked.

Should I go to the cellar and make the sign of the cross or something on all the boxes? Does it count if I am an atheist? I mean, I CAN draw a cross, in spite of being an atheist; drawing a cross is not beneath me. Cross is a nice symbol and I like to draw. But, there are many different crosses. Which one is the best against vampires? Especially – teenage vampires?

Oh, my head hurts and burns. I have a fever.

My dear teenage vampire reader; you from the cellar; you that I suspect are sitting down in one of your boxes with the new MacBook Air and using my wireless network to surf for vampire porn and read everything I write; if you get pissed off with me and come here to bite me, I hope that you too will get fever and start burning from the inside (I suspect I have a swine flu, and everyone says that is bad). Ha! How pathetic would you be then? A teenage vampire burning from the inside with the swine flu. Oh, wait, that would be – heartbreaking. They should make a movie about you. No – you deserve a whole trilogy!

I need paracetamol. And maybe some garlic. And a pen. Which color should that cross have? Is red too provocative? You can never go wrong with black, right?

My head. My head! I have a fever and I want that guy out of my cellar!

Not my shoes! (Bad bad George)


I went to bathroom #4 and saw the clothes tossed all over the floor; the shower was on, steam crawling over the walls; my black and white satin shoes with small quirky bows were getting exposed to the humidity in large amounts; why were they not in their box and what were they doing here?!

The whole search for my shoes started when I could not find them this morning so I went from room to room trying to trace them; and – George.

I was sure he snatched them; I saw how he looked at them yesterday when I had them on when we met him for dinner; but we had a deal – play with whatever you want; you may borrow my hats, my sunglasses, or even dresses as much as you please; but NOT MY SHOES!

George, that prick with wide hairy feet, who kidnapped my shoes, must have had plenty of time to try them on while I was sleeping (a mental note – inspect the shoes for yucky hair traces after you find that lying cross-dresser and pull his ears out) and when I came in he must have just dropped them on the floor and hid in the shower!

George, you coward and thief, you so crossed the limit this time; we will never be staying at your place when we are in Como again; you may try to sweet-talk me, but good luck with that!

I do not care that my hubby is delighted that I am pissed off with someone else (for a change) this early in the morning, and is not likely to support my decision to end our friendship with you; I do not care that your precious arse is naked and no one who does not pay you 25 million dollars or is not intimate with you gets to see it; get out of the shower and explain what you did to my shoes; NOW!