How’s it going’, horse? I’m not too bad, thanks for bleedin’ askin’. This vampyre shit is the business, init? Not that I thought so at the start, mind you.
There I was, knocking back pints of Bud at Molly’s in Ballybough, minding my own beeswax, when all of a fuckin’ sudden, I’m a vampyre! It turns out that the blood transfusion I got at the Mater (you should have seen the other fella – I hit his face so hard he was eating from a tube for months) wasn’t the “good stuff,” if you know what I mean. No, it was contaminated with some stem-cell virus shite. Now I suck blood and live like a parasite.
Not much change there, so. I did that when I was human, living off my dole and my ma. But now I don’t age; I get to keep my ladykiller looks, as well as my Burberry.
Fuck sake, boys, Dublin hasn’t changed much in 300 years. Fianna Fail are still in power. Just our luck that Brian Cowen got infected at the same time as me. Now no one can turf him off his throne. Still, at least the Boys In Blue finally won the 2312 All-Ireland GAA Football Championship, their first since 19-fucking-95.
I joined Facebook For Vampyres yesterday. I’ve 450,ooo,ooo,ooo friends now; but if I start getting invites for bleedin’ Farmville there’ll be hell to pay.
The vampyre chicks are a bit of a let-down, though. I’m all for showing off some flesh, but bloody hell, lads, wearing nothing but the smile on your pug-ugly rotten faces is enough to turn me off my shrimp curry. I’ve seen better looking birds at a shooting range.
I still can’t get the hang of Twitter yet. I’ve only two followers: my ma and my best friend, Georgie Sparrow. Georgie is the oldest vampyre in Ireland. We celebrated his 301st birthday last week by getting right and royally hammered in Fairview Park. A right laugh we had.
I better be off; the sun’s coming up and it doesn’t play well with my complexion.
See ya next time, suckers!
(C) James McShane 2010
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