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[Astronomy Reference] Something Vampire Whatever


Beth sighed as she peered glumly out of her frost-streaked bedroom window into the sleety, fog-draped world beyond. Past the half-frozen glass, the wind howled out in high gusting sighs that sounded through the thin walls of her father’s small house. All she could think about was how much she longed for the disgusting sun-baked dirt of Arizona.
“It’s almost time for your first day of school!” her dad called up from downstairs. “You don’t want to be late!”
Beth rolled her eyes and picked up her school bag, making sure to check out her rocking hot bod and quirky-but-totally-not-poseur-quirky clothes in the mirror before heading downstairs.
“Rocking. Check. Hot. Check. And my clothes belie my quirkiness while still firmly asserting that it’s a completely unique chain boutique quirky rather than a calculated teenybopper mall store quirky.” She thought, enjoying the confidence engendered by each successive bounce of her tits as she made her way, step by step, jiggle by jiggle, into her father’s kitchen.
“There she is!” her dad croaked out through the boozy chrysalis of a half-formed bender that he was still shaping and feeding into a thick-winged gray-and-brown-patterned hangover. “I ripped up a hoagie roll and poured some beer over it for you. It’ll dock the ears right off those first-day jitters.”
Beth stared at the cold, hop-infused bread stew sitting on the kitchen table. The stew stared back, its snotty meniscus quivering with lachrymal despair.
In her chest, just behind her luscious, heaving girl bags, anger-lava breached the outer casing of a PMS hydrogen bomb, causing a mushroom cloud of rage to blossom inside of her.
“I hate you!” she screamed, blanketing the kitchen with a leveling shockwave of grrl power-radiation, “I wish I were back in Phoenix with all the booty shorts and desert stuff and fat people with skin cancer! And mom! And I wish there were hot sparkly vampires that would jump into trees with me and subdue my horny angst!”
Her dad burped to himself and then coughed into his armpit. “I guess I’m supposed to make her breakfast AND microwave it.” he grumbled under his 120 proof breath.
Beth turned to complete her pissy teenaged storm-out, but was stopped halfway to the front door by her dad’s guttural, choking baritone.
“Wait up, cheesecake! I won you a present.”
Beth shook her head without even turning around and seethed out the front door. Her dad lurched up in a staggering stumble and followed her outside.
He found his daughter standing on the front walkway, leering at the hulking red rusted-out pick-up truck that was parked sideways across the lawn.
“Now, listen Beth, that’s the finest truck in Washington state that you can win in a spontaneous game of Russian Roulette that starts in the handicapped bathroom at the bowling alley and then finds its way out into the street.”
Beth turned to look at her father. In her chest, just behind her ripe, bountiful gazongas, a happy-quake dissembled the structural integrity of her YAY! dam, causing rushing torrents of joy to level and drown the small town that ire had built in her heart just moments prior.
“For me?” she smiled, flooding the yard with glad water. “Now I don’t have to hitchhike to school with an anti-rape knife concealed in my snatch! I wish I could replace it with vegetarian vampire cock!”
“You bitches and your vampires!” her dad chuckled, turning to wink at you, the reader.
Beth climbed up into the front seat of her new ancient heap of oxidized sun damage. The interior smelled like an outhouse ash tray.
“How’s she feel?” her dad asked, handing her the key through the window.
“The seats are a bit lumpy.”
“Yeah. The guy I won it from was a drug mule. The upholstery is pretty well stuffed with street-cut heroin and counterfeit reais. But trust me, ice cream, the blood Swiffered right out and the engine purs like Tiger King, king of the tigers.”
“Thanks, Daddy!”
“Sure, kiddo. Just don’t get pulled over or near any black lights.”
Beth started the truck, which gagged and shuttered and farted a smell like a recently cauterized wound, then backed out into the street and towards HER DESTINY!


Yeah. I’m blogging. What’s fat, unemployed and prone to bonering over movie scenes where prostitutes get dismembered by animal robots?

Stay tuned to this blog and you’ll find out!

I’ll give you hint: It isn’t me.

I’ll give you another hint: If I say, “It isn’t me,” within the context of my own blog, you need to consider that I have a strong bias towards NOT revealing my own proclivity towards movie scenes where prostitutes get dismembered by animal robots.

I’ll give you yet another hint: movie scenes where prostitutes get dismembered by animal robots give me boners.