It’s Vampire Season, folks. Finally. Well, it’s ALWAYS Vampire Season if you’re me, but at this time of year, the rest of the world seems to not only tolerate my bizarre fixation, but to share it. This is fantastic news, because honestly? It’s exhausting trying to nourish a non-seasonal craving – ever tried to find a candy cane in July, when its minty-freshness would make a most refreshing treat? Exactly. This shit just doesn’t make sense. It would obviously be much easier to seduce – I mean, terminate a sexy-as-hell – I mean psychotic immortal murderer using my luscious carotid cleavage as bait during the warmer months, but this is not the hand I’ve been dealt. I have a friend with the titanium nutsack to rock a full-on cape year-round, for virtually any reason at all, and without the slightest concern for societal or seasonal raised eyebrows. He’s all, “Yes, I am wearing a cape. And?” I envy his bravado. And his collection of fine opera-wear.
This is the time of year when I can voice some of my pressing concerns about the undead without people thinking I’m any weirder than they usually think I am. Which is pretty fucking weird, but that’s beside the point. The media have, frankly, confounded me to the point where I don’t even really KNOW the proper way to dispatch a vampire anymore. There are too many choices, too many discrepancies, too many liberties being taken in the modern lore. It’s irresponsible, honestly. I mean, isn’t this kind of a matter of life and death? I would simply like a straight answer on a few things. Used to be, a wooden stake through the heart – and ONLY a wooden stake through the heart – would do the trick. And while this method of termination is still considered a fail-safe classic, it seems it’s not our only choice anymore. And let’s face it, who really ever HAS a pointy wooden stake on hand unless you live in Sunnydale or Transylvania or Mystic Falls? Nobody, that’s who.
Speaking of Mystic Falls, let’s check in with the sexy Salvatore Brothers for a moment. Damon is snarky, hilarious, uber-hot and makes the hands-down best Crazy Eyes I have ever seen, ever. Brother Stephan is broody, dark, romantic and deep, which totally doesn’t matter because all you can do is stare at his abs. Stephan’s insider-vamp-nickname is The Ripper, due to his savage feeding style and fondness for leaving brutal carnage behind after a kill. And you’re all “Yeah, I’m totally OK with that? As long as he takes his shirt off at some point.” These teen vamps drink a lot of alcohol (in addition to blood) – from very fancy crystal decanters. I like to think it’s bourbon, because that’s totally what I would drink if I were a sexy, misunderstood vampire just trying to fit in. They also eat. Like, food. This is in direct violation of every rule we’ve ever been taught about the undead. EVERYONE KNOWS VAMPIRES DO NOT EAT. GOD!
This is where I get pissy. Because you can also kill these fuckers with wooden bullets and some botanical concoction called vervain. Is vervain even a thing (My spellcheck suggests not.)? And if it is, may I please have some so that I can tranquilize and have my way with – I mean, kill some goddamn vampires? And the sunlight thing just enrages me. The ever-growing vampire population of Mystic Falls can freely walk in daylight as long as they are wearing a magic ring made for them by the town witch. (Yep. Mystic Falls has witches. Werewolves too. I know, it’s pretty much the fucking awesomest place ever.) Sans ring, things get ugly and the usual sizzling flesh and festering face-melt ensues. The Twilight crew, as we all know, sparkles when direct sunlight is applied. Sparkles. I…can’t…let’s just move on. John Mitchell, the second-hottest-vampire-ever and his nasty undead colleagues on Being Human (UK version, obvsies) don’t seem to even address the sunlight issue at all, which is really inconsiderate, honestly. Because there might be someone out there who is earnestly trying to understand, and who feels confused by this glaring omission and cannot really even concentrate on the awesome vampires because they should NOT BE WALKING AROUND OUTSIDE.
Anyway, I’m totally just pretending to want to know how to kill vampires because that’s what a normal person should do when faced with a ravenous immortal lunatic who is trying to exsanguinate her. But clearly, I am not the only sicko out there. Women go bananas for this shit. The Cullen Crew of Forks, WA has probably saved more marriages than Oprah just by virtue of their utter bang-ability (sorry, fellas – unless you ARE one of the Cullen Crew of Forks, WA, your wife is probably not thinking about you when you’re having sex. Just FYI.). Edward, is of course, everyone’s undead It Boy, but the moment in Part 2 when he removes his shirt and exposes what can only politely be called a “Nipular Incongruity,” I’ve devoted my life to trying to unsee that. It’s not going well. Angel? Total babe. Michael from Lost Boys is so sexy that his 80s ‘do actually still looks good on him. Vampire Brad Pitt is just Brad Pitt with like, exponentially cracked-out hotness. Vampire Tom Cruise is….a pale, frilly fancy-man who…yeah. Never mind. Still better than regular Tom Cruise, I suppose. Finally, with no offense to all of the undead eye-candy aforementioned, ALL other vampires are merely immortal buffoons next to the inimitable Gary Oldman, who will always be my top pick for escort to the Prom of Eternal Damnation. His portrayal of the Count is flawless, heartbreaking, super-sexy and terrifying all at once – and does not leave me wondering how I would kill him, at ALL, because I am totally trying to figure out a way to get him to kill ME so I can be his Dark Lady Succubus forever. And ever. And ever. Don’t lie. You do it too.
I could go on, but I shan’t. There is, I believe, only one fitting way to end this post – and that’s with the wise, immortal words of Sam Emerson: “You’re a vampire, Michael. My own brother, a goddamn shit suckin’ vampire. You wait ’till Mom finds out, buddy.” Because she’ll totally want to sleep with you.