Gee it's been forever since I posted an update. I've been so lazy I can hardly believe it. That's what getting a job will do to you. Hopefully I won't have to work anymore 40 hour weeks. Also I took on another novel…wish me luck!

Disclaimer: For Sale. 5'11" gothic monster. Blk/Bl Housebroken. AKA papers. Good with kids. $25 obo. Moving must sell.


"Go away. You're violating the restraining order!" Verona challenges loudly. She waves the diaper bag around in a menacing fashion.

"But Dearest!"

"I caught you making out with that Anna Valerious slut. Don't deny it! I was home watching the kids and you were groping some whore at a fancy dress ball."

"But dearest!"

"You were planning to elope with her and leave me all alone! I won't stand for it Vlad. It's a bad influence on the children. I'm leaving you and never coming back. You can go fornicate with that tramp. Just forget all your children and your wife."

"But dearest…"

Verona slaps Dracula in the face, morphs into the creepy-no-eyebrows-Verona and musters the children. They all fly off in the direction of Pinocchio's Great Adventure.

"Hey wait…" Van Helsing ruminates loudly in Dracula's direction, "You were going to elope with Anna?"

Anna snorts.

Dracula straightenes his coat and buttons a couple of buttons nervously. "It was a mid-life crisis, a one night stand, a youthful indiscretion."

Carl's mind explodes as he tries to comprehend how something can be a mid-life crisis and a youthful indiscretion at the same time. Some gunk gets on Monster/James Bond but everyone else is fine.

Carl absently begins wandering toward Fantasyland.

Several people, namely Dracula, Anna, and Velkan, try to hold him back, but it is to no avail.

They end up sandwiched between thousands of people and cunningly clipped creatively crafted carnival topiaries which were once self respecting plants.

Some of the mouse pilgrims begin hypnotically humming the theme song heard round the world…because it's a small world…after all.

"Quick we must chop down a tree and storm the queue barricades!" Van Helsing reaches for his can openers.

"Nobody panic, just take deep breaths, we shall be all right." Dracula says calmly. He is rather enjoying the idea of being in the dark with several hundred people so enamored by the colorful cultural citizens of foreign countries that they might not notice someone snacking on their neck.

"Hey that's a catchy tune." Carl points out.

Denethor Steward of Gondor jumps off the pages of Lord of the Rings, scampers across the author's room, leaps onto h/s/I's computer, through the screen, into the story, and tries to douse Carl in kerosene and burn him on a ceremonial pyre.

Disney employees quietly cart him away. He is never heard from again.

"That was harsh." Velkan comments.

"The author is random like that."

For that nasty little comment, the author sweeps them into the ride with a sweep of the keyboard. The music starts playing and our hero is swallowed in inane midi ditties.


Random camera that is floating around Disneyland blinks on.

"Is my hair ok? I thought I saw a curl in it today?" Verona is asking a yougurt covered Portuguese speaking conga dancing Star-Wars pantsing cameraman.

(Star Wars is best when you replace key words of Lucas' crappy dialogue with the word 'pants' It's really much better. There need to be more pantsed versions of Star Wars-end author rant)

Verona looks into the camera, stretches her jaw rather luxuriously, and clears her throat. "Welcome my comrades. This is a special edition of the DVD commentaries on the movie Van Helsing. I am here to give you a feminist perspective on my role as a vampire bride."

A passing tourist laughs at Verona and gets eaten alive by some of the vampire babies.

"I," Verona says dramatically, waving her boob-exposing lingerie around equally dramatically and moving her mouth in a w i d e l y and puckering dramatic and breathy manner. "Am a liberated modern female."

The vampire babies cheer.

"I am not a housewife. I have a useful career." Verona hefts her diaperbag over her shoulder. "I do not pander myself carnally. I have a college degree in law and I have won the Nobel Peace prize in Interpersonal Communication." She pauses to flutter her eyelashes as a vampire baby lands on her outstretched arm.

"Oh," say the cameramen, naturally a little confused, "Is that why you wear boob exposing lingerie. I wish more feminists were like you."

"Hey," say the camerawomen, "We think you are all clueless, and we're going to go and be cameramen on Oscar winning films."

"Oh I wear boob exposing lingerie because my polygamist husband beats me if I don't." Verona shakes her hair out of her eyes. "It's really quite comfortable. Sorta a combination daytime/nighttime wear."

"Oh," say the cameramen, "That makes sense. Very empowered of you."

The camerawomen have already left and are negotiating a contract with Spyglass Entertainment. The cameramen don't care because they never liked the camerawomen anyway.

"So," the cameramen say, zooming in for a closeup of Verona's sultry eyes, "How many children do you have anyways?"

"Oh, I'm pretty much always pregnant," Verona poses daintily, "But I really kept my

girlish pre-pubescent figure. I prefer the natural, renaissance look. I never wear shoes."

"Barefoot and pregnant." The cameramen say admiringly, "Turns me on."

"Oh thank you. I feel fulfilled when men admire me." Verona smiles, "Oh, would you excuse me for a moment? I think I just smeared my lipstick."


"Van Helsing? Van Helsing? I can't see! I can't see!"

"It's dark, you moron."

"Dark? Shouldn't we do something?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I'm only a friar. Maybe we should kill it."

"Why should we kill it?"

"Is it the son of the devil?"

"I don't know."

"Will anything created by it also die?"

"Probably not."

"Oh, well nevermind then. What's that amazingly beautiful music that I hear?"

"I don't hear anything. Whoa check out that hula dancer!"


Deep in the dismal dingy depressing darkness of a water filled tunnel, there is a rustling struggling noise. No it's not what you think. Yet.

"May I help you with that child Ma'am?" Dracula says meekly and reaches for the squirming screaming squishy and sorrowful seven-year-old.

Through the faint light of torch holding singing mechanical Eskimos (who are sort of like Portuguese speaking yogurt covered cameramen, only shorter) A frazzled grandmother looks as pleased as pleased can be. "Oh thank you young man."

Dracula grins at the kid and sends him cowering against the seat, "Now what's the problem sonny?"

The boy takes one look at Dracula's very spikey looking mouthful of barracuda teeth closes his eyes and starts shaking.

"I love to see a young man that is so good with children," the grandmother smiles and her wrinkles smile and their wrinkles children's wrinkles smile. "These modern young people are so self absorbed. They don't know how to relate to children. Why back in my day," here she laughs a little, "In my day, it was very common that your parents died and you had to raise your younger children by yourself."

Dracula nods excitedly, "I remember that!"

"Young man, I'm speaking of almost a hundred years ago."

Dracula laughs, "Oh I'm not as young as I look. I'm almost five hundred years old."

"Eh? What was that? Stupid hearing aid."

Dracula leans closer and shouts louder, "I said I remember murdering my father and raising my brothers because I'm a five-hundred year old vampire!"

At that moment the boat emerges once again into the blazing sunshine, the music stops, and total silence descends upon the passengers.

The pilgrims in the vicinity of Dracula edge away, squishing some people out of the boat and into the manky looking water. The mouse police come and drag them away never to be seen again.

The stooped little grandmother looks up at Dracula with a confused expression, "You're a five hundred year old vampire? And you murdered your father and raised you brothers?"

Dracula looks around uncomfortably, but nods.

"You wouldn't be Dracula, would you?"

"Draculea," Dracula corrects her pronunciation and tries to strike the author with a bolt of lighting because h/s/I won't correct h/s/I's spelling.

"I remember when you book was first printed." The grandmother sighs and snuggles closer to Dracula, squishing aside the seven-year-old. "I'm a huge fan."

"Ah." Dracula is inordinately pleased with himself. "Would you care to hear some old Transylvanian war stories? Even though I'm actually a Wallachian Prince, not a Transylvanian Count."

"Erm what? Oh yes, my name is Maude. I'd love to have lunch with you." The grandmother looks around conspiratorially for a moment, then seizes the frightened child, "You can eat him."


It was only when they got off of the Teacups that Van Helsing and Velkan knew they were lost.

"I don't even like you." Van Helsing immediately looks over at Velkan, "I'm supposed to have Carl for a sidekick. He's more comedic."

"What you didn't think it was funny when I went rolling around on the wall and pulled all my skin off?"

"I thought ripping my shirt off and lunging for Drac was more impressive." Van Helsing straightens his hat, for lack of anything better to do. Also because he is obsessive compulsive and a psychotic perfectionist.

Velkan looks hurt. He doesn't have a hat to straighten, so he folds his arms across his chest and pouts. "I could so kick your butt with tour jetes."

Van Helsing pauses dramatically and sniffs the wind. "I believe the lost and found is that direction."

"Why?"

"Because I have super werewolf senses."

Velkan thinks about this. "But I have super werewolf senses and I can't smell anything."

"That's because you're not in your werewolf form." Van Helsing says smugly.

Velkan thinks a little harder. "…but you're not in your werewolf form." He says triumphantly after a few minutes.

"That's because I'm the Left Hand of God." Van Helsing grins, reaches in his pocket, fishes around for a bottle of Draino and drinks it.

Velkan asks Van Helsing for the Draino and uses it to moisturize his skin. "I never really understood about the Left Hand of God thing. Does it mean that you're like worse than the Right Hand of God which would be…Michael? And if he's off killing gothic monsters then how could God dial a telephone? It just doesn't make sense."

At the mention of the word 'Michael', Van Helsing goes pale, sways around a little, staggers to a nearby drinking fountain, leans on it and pants, falls to his knees, crawls painfully across the concrete, reaches out with his hands despairingly, goes into a semi-death rattle, rolls his eyes up and collapses face first into the pavement.

Velkan screams and jumps back.

Some pilgrims of the mouse throw park maps at him and step on Van Helsing.

Van Helsing wakes up with a shoe in his mouth. "All of the sudden I just had this really cool thought."

Velkan is still trembling. "Stay away from me you scary person."

Van Helsing scratches his forehead in the most clichéd way imaginable. "For some reason I had this crazy idea that I'd suddenly gotten my memory back and that….oh crap." He gets to his feet and morphs into a rather enraged rabid werewolf.

The Disney guards take no notice of this because it would be racial profiling.

Having nothing else to do, Velkan changes into a werewolf and follows Van Helsing. They lope off toward the Pirates of the Carribean Blue Bayou Restaurant. People throw sticks for them to fetch. It takes a while for them to reach the restauraunt.


"Oh actually it means 'Son of the Dragon', not 'Son of the Devil'." Dracula explains patiently, taking another long sip from his straw. "You see my father was knighted by King Sigismund of Luxembourg as a special Knight of the order of the Dragon in the war against the Turkish Ottoman Empire."

"So in English, your name would be Draculson?" Maude the Grandmother takes another bite of clam chowder. Her dentures are floating in her waterglass.

Dracula nods, "You would have no idea what a mess my last name has gotten me into over the years. Everybody thinks I've made some kind of pact with Satan."

"Eh? Should I turn up my hearing aid?" Maude leans over and smiles drippily at Dracula, who seems very pleased to have a woman so much younger than him interested in him.

"And the name 'Vlad' too. That's an awful name. Did you know that not only my father and great-great-grandfather were named Vlad, but I also had TWO younger brothers named Vlad?" Dracula drops his head into his hands, "My family has no imagination. I was so happy when I got my angelic commission." He reaches for his straw. "I say, boy, would you hold still for a moment?"

"Now eat your ice cream so Mr. Dracula won't have to go chasing after you again." Maude scolds the boy, who, considering the circumstances, seemes rather happy to be eating three large ice cream sundaes with fudge and peanuts and sprinkles and candybars.

"What a happy looking family," the Disney waiters comment, mainly because they just immigrated to the United States from France last month and in France things like this happen all the time.


Outside the Pirates of the Carribean Ride, in one of the gift shops, an animal control officer is standing over two rather large grungy looking computer generated dogs writing on a notepad. He has a tranquilizer gun slung over his shoulder.

"Yup, that should do it." He says. "I'll take 'em off to the shelter and see if they get claimed." He peers into the digitalized scraggley faces, "Do you know that one of these puppies looks exactly like Hugh Jackman? It's so weird."

One of the nasty german-shepherd/Monster's Inc. mixes begins mumbling. "Michael! Michael! I remember now! I should have known it! I'm sooo going to kill him!"

The animal control officer looks at it quizzically and shoots it again with the gun. "Man I hate it when they do that. Last week had one talking about how all the dolphins had left earth and flown up to the sky."

Pilgrims of the mouse elbow the animal control officer out of the way to get to the swirly light-up toys.


"Wait, they said they would meet us at Space Mountain in three hours, right?" Anna looks at the sun and discerns the exact atomic time because she has unnaturally curly hair and is a gypsy.

"Maybe Van Helsing is getting his memory back. I had a religious experience on that Star Wars ride and I think I saw a vision of him." Carl looks cute and completely unwilling to fight a hundred thousand orcs just because he was feeling rejected.

"Why should he get his memory back!" Stephen Sommers says peevishly, "No one would be interested in that. It wouldn't sell! He wouldn't be a two dimensional character if he had a backround. That would be stupid. Just look at George Lucas. He hasn't written a three dimensional character in decades. He's a millionaire! I want to be a millionaire! More computer generated objects! Less plot!"

Trixie and Igor are sitting forlornly in a corner because the Author doesn't particularly like them. They are making out, though, so they shouldn't be having too terrible a time.

"Oooh you are sooo ugly!"

"I love the way you wear peasant rags!"

"Does your skin just rot like that or do you use Mary Kay?"

"You sleep in a corset?…oh man I've gotta get me some of that."


Will Stephen Sommers ever become a millionaire? Where is Verona and the kids? Does anyone hear the name Michael Draculson whispered on the winds of the near future? Is this just a stupid and sorta hilarious coincidence or is it the fact that he has black hair and pasty white skin?

Well I suppose you could find out next time in…. A Comedy of Terrors, or I'm Glad I'm Not Young Anymore.