Simo Belmo, vampire hunter extraordinaire, briefly contemplated on the fact that his spell checker didn't recognize the word extraordinaire while taking a small sip of his fine English tea. It was seven in the morning, and he did not have sunglasses on. The sun was dawning, even though it was seven in the morning. Simo Belmo knew, though. This was the work of vampires. He picked up his newspaper and glanced at the headline: Red Sox win the 2104 World Series. Simo Belmo knew. This was the work of vampires. He went into the kitchen and flicked on the light, which immediately popped out on him. Simo Belmo knew. This was the work of vampires. With honed reflexes he threw open the door of his refrigerator and in one fluid motion plunged a perfectly carved stake directly into the heart of the vampire that was hiding in there, replacing his refrigerator light bulb with a faulty one. God damn vampires. With that thought he poured himself another cup of tea and went back into the sitting room to read more of the newspaper. OJ was getting himself arrested again.
GOD DAMN VAMPIRES.
The phone rang. Simo Belmo knew. This was the work of... the Mayor! With honed reflexes he grabbed the receiver and in one fluid motion said the word, "Hello." The Mayor said:
"Simo Belmo," the Mayor said, "We need your help."
Simo Belmo knew. This was the work of vampires. Because, seriously, he was a vampire hunter, and what the hell else do you need a vampire hunter's help for?
"My cat is stuck in a tree!" the Mayor said.
God damn vampires.
With honed reflexes Simo Belmo got up from his chair and in one fluid motion found his keys, his wallet, his watch, his cell phone, his lucky worry stone, a granola bar for the road, some Cocaine-Cola for later, two smelly T-shirts that needed to be put away, and about ten condoms for the Mayor's daughter (Jessica that slut), then in one fluid motion he opened the door, leapt 10 stories down the side of his bungalow apartment building, ran back up 10 stories to his flat, threw open the door, ran to his computer and mule-kicked right through his monitor because the motherfucking thing wanted to spell "leapt" as "lea pt." Fortunately Simo Belmo had a Mac so crushing the monitor destroyed the CPU instantly. Seriously what's with that?
Simo Belmo raised an eyebrow. He didn't own a Mac. Then he knew. This was the work of vampires.
He did not, however, have the time to deal with the dastardly Computer-Brand-Switching-Vampire (easily the most dastardly fiend in all of Trans-American-Brittania). He was late for kitten-saving duty, and the condoms in his pocket were rapidly deteriorating, because they were just that cheap. He had bought then for 10 cents and a blowjob from a vending machine in the bathroom at Denny's, and if you've never given a blowjob to a vending machine before, well, what the fuck is wrong with you?
With honed reflexes and in one fluid motion Simo Belmo slumped off to his car, a 1904 Chevy Malibu. Simo Belmo noted with a grin the irony of him owning a car that was 200 years old. His car was a vampire.
The 1904 Chevy Malibu, meanwhile, wished that Simo Belmo would stop noting the irony of him owning a vampire car with a grin every morning, while it finished draining the blood out of a virgin 2007 Ford Corolla. The Malibu only sucked the blood of Corollas because they were almost always virgins. Boring little shits.
Simo Belmo got into car with much effort, his bones creaking and cracking under the strain. The 1904 Chevy Malibu grinned. "You've been doing things in one fluid motion again, haven't you?" said the 1904 Chevy Malibu. "That's not good for your puny human skeletal system."
"Shut up. The Mayor's cat is stuck in a tree."
"OH MY GOD I'M ON IT!"
With new invigoration the 1904 Chevy Malibu peeled out of the bungalow parking lot and crashed through the automatic gate, leaving a panting, sighing vampire Corolla behind to roll around the empty, trash-filled lot. Turning the corner sharply, the 1904 Chevy Malibu power-slided down to 10th street, made a sharp right onto 10th avenue, barreled over the other cars on its way to 10th boulevard, made a sharp U-turn and then a left onto 10th way, continued until it turned into 10th drive, and finally hung a sharp right to get to Pine.
The Mayor's residence was on Grover, but there was this really good bar on Pine that Simo Belmo and his 1904 Chevy Malibu always stopped at to get drunk before putting up with the Mayor's shit. Simo Belmo threw open the wooden double doors to The Goopy Swallow and sidled up to the plastic bar. A bartender with huge hook hands in his hands set down his hook hands and stared hard at Simo Belmo and his 1904 Chevy Malibu.
"Well," the bartender said one word, and then another bunch of words, "What will it be, Simo Belmo and his 1904 Chevy Malibu?"
"Milk," said Simo Belmo.
"Apple juice," said the 1904 Chevy Malibu.
"And a full bottle of Everclear!" they shouted together.
The bartender picked up one of his hands, made it into a fist and slammed it down on the bar, then stomped off to fetch some pussy drinks and a bottle of idiot's gin. Simo Belmo looked at his 1904 Chevy Malibu.
"So," he said.
"So," said the 1904 Chevy Malibu.
And Simo Belmo, vampire hunter extraordinaire, asked the question, "Seen any good movies?"
The 1904 Chevy Malibu had not. The bartender returned with a glass of milk, a mug of apple juice, a bottle of Everclear, and two perfect puncture marks on his neck. "Vill zere be anysing else for zu, gentlemen? Pairhaps... blood?"
Simo Belmo cried, "Shit! It's the Horrible Accent Vampire!" He burst from his chair, causing widespread collateral damage, whipped out his daggers and staked out his whip. The 1904 Chevy Malibu did not give a shit. It was a vampire, and amused itself by taking the bartender up on his offer of blood. Unfortunately Simo Belmo had already stabbed the bartender in the eye, so the 1904 Chevy Malibu just grumbled and ate the bottle of Everclear. Simo jumped behind the bar, crushing broken glass and a few leg bones as he landed, and slowly advanced into the kitchen where the Horrible Accent Vampire and some extremely yummy smelling chicken tenders were. With honed reflexes, he spun around in one fluid motion, turning one hundred and eighty degrees to face back into the bar area, then tried it again, spinning another two hundred and seventy degrees so that he no longer knew which direction he was facing. He spun on his heel counter-clockwise and completed three rotations before falling over and whacking the side of his head on the cold, hard, unforgiving ground. He cursed gravity. Gravity was the work of vampires. He also briefly regretted drinking all of that Everclear, but then realized he hadn't and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion. SIMO WHIPPED HIS HEAD AROUND> SLOWLY HE REALIZED THAT THE MOTHERFUCKING STICKY KEYS OPTION HAD BEEN ACTIVATED ON THE AUTHOR"S KEYBOARD AND WAS CAUSING HIM TO BE UNABLE TO DEACTIVATE THE SHIFT KEY> WITH HONED REFLEXES< SIMO BELMO TORE THROUGH THE FOURTH WALL IN ONE FLUID MOTION AND WHIPPED THE HORRIBLE MICROSOFT WINDOWS ACCESSIBILITY FEATURE VAMPIRE RIGHT IN THE FREAKIN" NUTS! THAT"LL LARN HIM> With honed reflexes the author of the story turned off StickyKeys in one fluid motion. Then Simo Belmo went back to the kitchen and found what he was looking for. There, in a vat of boiling grease, were the most delicious chicken tenders he had ever laid eyes on. In one fluid motion he reached his hand into the vat, giving himself horrible fifth-degree burns, and pulled out a handful of greasy breast strips, which he shoved directly into his mouth with honed reflexes. Immediately his wounds healed, and Simo Belmo was back to 100% health. Yes, eating food healed him. You didn't think that was a real thing, did you? Well, fuck you. That's why you're not a vampire hunter.
Simo Belmo realized that what he needed was a paragraph break. After taking care of this, and grabbing a used can of Cocaine-Cola from one of the immigrant cooks - who were still confused by his being back in the kitchen "“ to wash down his extremely hot tender fingers, he finally went in search of the Horrible Accent Vampire. He didn't have far to look. Or rather, Simo Belmo did not have far to listen. Already he could hear the gabble of Spanish-speaking voices around the kitchen.
"Simo Belmo es no bien si no?"
"Su madre!"
"NO, SU MADRE!"
"...Si senor, mi madre."
"Hola, amigos! I es Juan! I es no vampiyah! Juu belee me, si?"
"...Que pasa?"
"I es no vampiyah!"
"...Que?"
With honed reflexes Simo Belmo stuck a stake into Juan's back with one fluid motion. Then he grabbed Juan by the shoulder, spun him around kneed him in the stomach, punched his face a few times, spun him upside down and stuck a sombrero up his ass. Then finally, he shoved the vampire's mouth full of garlic and hot sauce, and burned him with one of those crosses that always has a perfect likeness of Jesus getting his ass killed on it. Simo stood there, panting, as the vampire faded into dust. He felt a tap on his shoulder. With honed reflexes Simo Belmo turned around and said, "What?"
"Hello," said an unfamiliar Hispanic male in his mid-20s. "My name is Mario Sera. I'm going to be your sidekick from now on." Simo Belmo just blinked. Mario continued. "You see, that whole last paragraph was so racially offensive that the author felt he needed to add a more level headed Mexican to the story to show that he didn't really think everybody from Mexico was a short order cook with a ridiculous accent. Well, ready to go, Mr. Belmo?"
Simo Belmo blinked again. And then he just shook his head. He already knew.
This was the work of vampires.
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Topic: TF2 Days (Read 1614 times)