Christopher Moore - Bite Me

And the Momster is all, “What? What? Nosferatu? What? Money? What?”

And Rivera is all, “Excuse us a moment, Mrs. Green, we need to have a word with Allison.”

So the Mombot starts to go into the bedroom and I’m all, “Oh I don’t think so. You can wait outside,” or something like that, because it turns out I didn’t want her to see the inner sanctum of our love nest, because she’s a nurse and seeing the dog collars, test tubes, centrifuge, and whatnot might give her the wrong idea. (Foo and I like to get our mad scientist freak on in the privacy of the boudoir.)

So Mom steps outside.

And Foo is all, “Owned, bitches!” And he did a pathetic imitation of my own superb booty dance of ownage, and I was, at once, touched by his support, yet embarrassed by his tragic lack of rhythm and booticuity.

And Rivera is all, “Allison, how did you know about the money and the old vampyre and the yacht and you have no proof and blah, blah, I so can’t decide whether I’m the good cop or the bad cop, or if I’m going to still pretend to be badass or totally crap my pants from the verbal death grip you just put on my man sac, blah, blah.”

And I’m all, “I know it all, cop,” popping the p in cop because it makes both of them flinch a little. “You need to exit and take the Mombot home or I will be forced to expose your evil shit to your masters, and not in the fun way.”

And the Hispano cop was all chill, nodding and smiling, which harshed my confidence somewhat. And he’s all, “That so, Allison? Well, Mr. Wong here is twenty-one, and you are still a minor, so among other things, we can take him in for contributing to the delinquency of a minor, kidnapping, and statutory rape.” And he folds his arms all, “Take that, bee-atch.” Hip-hop superior.

So I’m like, “You’re right, he is totally taking advantage of my innocence. Foo, you ginormous perve!” Then I slapped him, but for the drama, not because he might think I was a slut. “I should have known when you had me shave my va-jay-jay into the shape of a beaver!”

And Foo’s all, “I did not!”

“Pervy and redundant, don’t you think?” I asked the big gay cop, who wouldn’t know a va-jay-jay if it bounced up to him and sang the “Star-Spangled Banner.” (You ever notice that hardly anything besides the “Star-Spangled Banner” is spangled? There’s no, like, the Raisin-Spangled Scone, or the Flea-Spangled Beagle. I’m just saying.) So, I, like, start to pull up my skirt to further freak him out, like I’m going to flash the beav, which was a bluff, because I am totally trimmed bat-shape and dyed lavender and I was wearing my hot-pink fishnets, which are full-on tights and put the PG-13 on my no-no place.

But instead of hiding his head and screaming like a little bitch, which is what I was going for, the big gay cop is across the room and has Foo in handcuffs in like seconds, cranking them down tight.

So Foo is all, “Ow! Ow! Ow!”

And I’m heartsick at his suffering, so I’m like, “Unhand him, you fascist-ass bear.”

And Rivera is all, “Allison, we need to come to an understanding, or your boyfriend is going to jail, and even if the charges don’t stick, he can kiss his master’s degree good-bye.”

Powned! I was forced to lower my skirt in defeat. Foo’s eyes were all anime-huge and started to get tear-spangled, and my noble love ninja looked all pleading to me like, “Please, do not abandon me, despite my obvious emo tendencies.”

So I’m like, “We’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars to leave our love lair like nothing happened.”

And Rivera is like, “We’re not interested in your money.”

And gay bear cop is like, “Wait, where did you get that kind of money, anyway?”

And Rivera is like, “Never mind, Nick, it’s not about money.”

And I’m like, “OMG Rivera, your bad cop skills suck ass. It’s always about the money. Don’t you have a TV?”

And he’s like, “What happened out there this morning?”

And I’m all, “You know, vampyre kitties, meter maid sucked to dust, samurai in orange socks, Abby’s kung-fu of solar ass-kicking.” Then to Foo: “Foo, the jacket is the sickest shit ever!”

“Which is a good thing,” Foo translated for the cops.

And Rivera is all, “Vampyre cats? That’s what the Emperor said.”

’Kayso, it’s clear that the cops have doubts, so I explain the whole battle, and Foo’s theory of how Chet is making vampyre kitties, and how we are pretty much fucked nine ways to Kwanzaa because it’s the end of the world and whatnot, and there are metric buttloads of kitties in the City, and only two fly, vampyre-frying solar jackets, mine and Foo’s, and we are being detained by law enforcement assbags instead of saving humanity.

So Rivera’s all, “What about Flood and the redhead? You helped them, right?”

Kudos to Inspector Obvious, we’re only living in their loft, spending their money, and hanging our damp towels on their bronzed bodies. I was all, “They left. All the vampyres left. Didn’t you talk to the Emperor? He saw them get on a boat at the Marina?”

“The Emperor isn’t the most dependable witness,” Rivera says. “And he didn’t say anything about those two, but I find it hard to believe that a cat, even a vampyre cat, even a gang of vampyre house cats took down a full-grown parking enforcement officer.”

So I was like, “Chet is not a normal vampyre kitty. He’s huge. More huge than normal. He’s getting huger. If you don’t let Foo work his mad science skills to cure him, by next week Chet might be dry-humping the Transamerica Pyramid.”

Foo was nodding like a manga-haired bobblehead. He was all, “Truth.”

The big gay Cavuto cop is all, “Can you do that, kid? Can you put this shit storm back in the box?”

“Absolutely,” says Foo, when he totally has no clue how to catch Chet. “I’ll need some time, but leave the handcuffs on, because that’s how I work best.”

Foo can be most sarcastic when faced with day dwellers less intelligent than himself, which is almost everyone.

’Kayso, Rivera takes the sleeve of my jacket and starts turning it over, looking at it, all Neanderthal discovers fire face. And he’s all, “Can you make one of these in a leather sport coat? Forty long?”

And I’m all, “Are you coming on to me?”

And he gagged a little (which was mean), and he’s all, “No. I am definitely not coming on to you, Allison. Not only are you the most irritating creature on the planet, you are a child.”

And I’m all, “A child?! A child?! Do these belong to a child?” And I pulled up my top and flashed him. And not just a flash, a full, glorious boobosity.

And he didn’t say anything. So I turned my headlights on Foo and the big gay cop.

And they’re all, “Um-uhr-uhr-um-”

I’m like, “ Et tu, Foo?” Which is Shakespearean for, “You traitor!”

And I ran into the bedroom and locked the door. I was kind of wishing I’d taken a hostage, except really the only weapon I had was a jacket with little light warts all over it, so I was limited to being dangerous to vampyres and emos who get their feelings hurt really easily by my snarky wit.

’Kayso, then I stared into the dark abyss that is the meaninglessness of human existence, because there was nothing on cable. And in searching the depths of my soul, I saw that I must stop using sex as a weapon, and that I must only use my powers of seduction for good, unless Foo wants to do something freaky, in which case, I can have him sign a waiver. Now, I realize that the only way for me to righteously explore my strength as a woman is to become nosferatu. And since the Countess and Lord Flood wouldn’t bring me into the fold, I must find my own way to the blood power.