Joe Vampire

POST 10



Eatin' Ain't Cheatin'

As everyone who has ever heard the folklore knows, there’s a real push for the idea that vampires have to drink blood to survive. Human blood is preferable, but animal blood will do in a pinch. Neither is fine with me, no matter how undead I might be. I’d really like to avoid human blood if at all possible, since I can think of only two things that would be worse to put in your mouth and consider food: human flesh and human feces. I should be thankful I didn’t become a zombie or a… whatever it is that eats poop. I’m sure there’s a name for it. Google it if you want.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to look it up.

In the last few months I’ve experimented with several alternatives, none of which has been very fulfilling. At first I just went where my cravings led me, though after the cat incident I was careful to keep the front door closed at mealtime. I learned right away that I have no idea how to stock a refrigerator. I’m like a three year-old with my food choices; olives, ramen noodles and Junior Mints do not make a fitting diet for a fully-living person, let alone one whose soul has been compromised. No wonder I succumbed to this vampire thing so easily. My body must have already been halfway dead from eating nothing but crap.

I do love me some Junior Mints, though.

Grocery shopping was tricky initially, since the scent of blood drew me straight to the meat section. I could smell it through the packaging, and even though I didn’t want to I was slobbing down the front of myself at the aroma. The human parts of me must have fought back pretty hard, since I also felt like I was going to puke. It didn’t seem to stop me from picking up a package of filets and licking the droplets that had leaked through the plastic wrap.

But having the deli guy give me the stink eye did.

So I put them in the cart, and then dumped in pretty much the rest of the freezer. I didn’t know then how it would all work out, but I knew I couldn’t stay hungry forever. It’s funny finding out that the undead have to eat – you’d think that part would go away. But no; it only gets worse once you’re on the Other Side. So I approached the check stand with a cart full of the bloodiest meat I’d ever seen, wary of the judgment that might come along with my purchase. Sure enough, the cashier flashed me a face that said Really? in that special, condescending way that only a minimum wage-earning teenager can. But when I laid a twelve pack of MGD on the counter to go with it, her eyes lit up and she chattily though incorrectly assumed I was planning a massive barbeque. I figured this could be my way through the humiliation: buy a trolley-load of sliced cow all in one trip, and people might think you have some sort of problem; add a little beer, and they think you’re having a party. So loading up on raw meat in what I hoped would be a satisfying quantity wouldn’t be a problem as long as I camouflaged it with a couple of brewskis.

Good to know.

When I got home, I spread it all out on the counter, tore open the packages and molested every piece, from the shoulder cuts to the rump roast to the tenderloins. I had no idea the possibility of e-coli exposure wouldn’t keep from such a ripe occasion for hot, nasty, carnivorous food sex. But it so totally didn’t. I slurped and licked every last spot of juice out of everything, in some sort of raw meat mouth-f*ck frenzy. And what do you know? I was still hungry after it was all over. It was at least sixty pounds of uncooked animal flesh that I sucked dry, and it might as well have been a Hot Pocket – and not the calzone kind; the shitty kind with broccoli in it that no one ever buys twice.

This wasn’t going to work.

So I wiped down the counter with Lysol (I’m not an animal), threw all the steaks in a skillet two at a time, stuck the roast and everything else in one of those big turkey roasting pans and sizzled me up some dry-ass dinner. It was all like unseasoned jerky at that point, tough and stringy and flavorless, even after I garnished it with olives and Junior Mints. And I devoured every bite like it was the first time I’d ever eaten. The beer barely washed it down. I felt full finally, if not particularly energized… kind of gross, actually, thick and lethargic. But not hungry, at least. I’ve never been a big eater – I was a three-bean salad shy of being vegetarian before This came along – so eating this much food after sucking the blood out of it just to slake off hunger was a revelation. A nasty, beef-sucking, gullet-stuffed-with-dry-meat revelation. I did find that it took a few days before I felt hungry again, so something must have worked. But I knew I couldn’t keep doing this; I’d go broke buying that much meat every week. Plus, the Vampire Death Gas hit me up hard soon after my binge, so I thought it best to moderate the flesh consumption, if only for the sake of the people I work with. I’d have to supplement with something else, something not quite so arousing. Or bacteria-filled.

And so I tinkered and tampered, like a mad food scientist, adding this, removing that. Still working on it, in fact. Soft things work best, and I figured out how to thicken blood into a sort of gravy that seemed to work for a while. But nothing hits the spot like the raw stuff, even though my energy level is not exactly where I’d like it to be. Hopefully there’ll be a rebound for that. And smells have started to take on more definition… and confusion. It sounds totally insane – though not more than anything else in this whole vampire deal, I guess – but recently I’ll smell what seems to be something baking, like a cake just ready to be taken out of the oven, or cookies, maybe. We have a kitchenette at work, and people are always microwaving stuff for snack time. So when the smell hits, I’ll get up and follow my nose, hoping there might be something good at the end of the trail. And inevitably there is, but it’s not in the microwave. Hell, it’s not even baked goods. It’s a person. Usually a woman.

Sometimes it’s a dude.

I want this to go away – all of it would be nice, but this smell thing for sure. I’ve taken it as a sign that I’m maybe one step removed from chowing down on people, and I am so not going to let this vampire shit go that far. But I’m sort of at a loss here, not knowing what else to expect.

And I f*cking hate surprises.

I did find out a little more, though, after the unsuccessful trip to the doctor. I knew Hube was upset that I wasn’t taking care of myself like I told him I would, but I also knew that there was more going on here than an after-flu letdown. I’d have to tell him about all of it at some point. He’s my best friend; he was always checking in to see how I was doing. He wasn’t going to take “meh” as an answer forever. So instead of trying again with a doctor, I figured I should consult with someone else, the only one who might have any real answers about what was going on. There would be no nurse to protect my balls from this time.

Another vampire maybe, but no nurse.

I needed to talk to Don.