An Open Letter from Dracula

Good evening.

Just finished walking around Transylvania, taking in the Halloween festivities and I have a few thoughts. One, this neighborhood starting going to shit once these castles became Section 8 approved, but that pales in comparison to the bigger issues that have been weighing heavily upon my mind since the mid 1600s. Just in case you weren’t aware, I am COUNT Dracula. Not Dracula, not Mr. Dracula (that’s my father) and certainly not fucking Drac, as at least one of you fucking mutants with an axe to grind against polysyllabic names tends to call me every fucking Halloween. Get it right. It’s Count, cunt.

Now that this name bullshit has been settled, let’s move on to my next issue. No, I am not, nor will I ever again, hand out candy on Halloween. I used to love handing out candy. However, after about the 45th kid in a row told me that he couldn’t have peanut M&M’s because he has a peanut allergy, I had to literally sink my teeth into my own forearm to keep from shapeshifting into a bat and flying into that 45th kid’s mom’s vagina to prevent any semen from ever entering her uterus again and producing more of these peanut sensitive mongrels. Whatever happened to kids who had to eat a half bowl of gruel then walk through town while tapdancing around plague-ravaged bodies just to collect a goddamn pail of water from the hunchback’s well? Pussification of Transylvania if ya ask me!

Finally, and this is a big one, did it ever occur to you mortal jerkoffs that dressing as Count Dracula may be the least bit offensive to me? It’s 2015 and you are still wearing white face? Un-fucking-real. White face is offensive enough, but then plastic fangs too? Do you have any fucking clue how much that shit bothers me? Just so you know, these fangs of mine, which are very fucking real, have ruined my sex life for close to 600 fucking years. I fucking loooovvvveee to eat pussy, but these fangs have cockblocked me since day one. Nothing would make me happier than to bury my face in some clam (if it’s during menstruation then two birds with one stone!) and just take my frustrations out with my tongue on some mortal clit like a boxer working a speed bag. But no, I simply cannot, but that doesn’t stop you assholes from rubbing it in. I recently found out that dentists actually give out Dracula teeth in their treasure chests to reward compliance from children during exams and I wanted to fucking open my curtains and fly through the fucking window into the blinding sunlight and just fucking end it.

These issues are just the tip of the iceberg as to how often I, a fucking Count for Christ’s sake, am disrespected. Just last night, I stopped into Burger King before turning in for the night and a group of teenagers started heckling me. They asked what I was “supposed to be.” I responded, “I am not supposed to be anything. I AM Count Dracula.” One of the young gentleman, and I use the term “gentleman” loosely, responded with, “Dracula? Muthafucka you look more like Scott Bakula!” Before I could even retort amidst the roar of ridicule, I was knocked unconscious, pissed upon and had my loafers stolen.

Walk a mile in my shoes. Well, my fucking socks, because I no longer have shoes. Just because I am undead, it does not mean I do not have feelings. Maybe show me a little respect and perhaps, and that is a big fucking perhaps, I may lighten up and hand out candy next Halloween. And hopefully, I’ll also get the opportunity to start eating pussy, as well. Remember ladies, your time of the month is my time to munch.

Sincerely,

Count Fucking Dracula

 

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