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Adam Rex: Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story

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Adam Rex Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story

Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Doug Lee is undead quite by accident — attacked by a desperate vampire, he finds himself cursed with being fat and fifteen forever. When he has no luck finding some goth chick with a vampire fetish, he resorts to sucking the blood of cows under cover of the night. But it's just not the same. Then he meets the new Indian exchange student and falls for her — hard. Yeah, he wants to bite her, but he also wants to prove himself to her. But like the laws of life, love, and high school, the laws of vampire existence are complicated — it's not as easy as studying . Especially when the star of is hot on your trail in an attempt to boost ratings. . Searing, hilarious, and always unexpected, is a satirical tour de force from one of the most original writers of fiction today.

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"Yeah."

"Then there’s a scene missing, because the next thing I know I’m back out in the zoo, in the bushes, without any clothes on. So you gotta figure that’s one hell of a missing scene."

"Uh-huh."

"And then I go to find you, but you’re not where I left you—"

"I said we should meet by—"

"—but you are by the exit, and the exit is by the T-shirt stand, so I don’t have to drive home naked. So that’s fine. Ow."

Jay looked glum.

"We should have left money on the stand," he said. "What we did…it was bad enough without stealing a T-shirt."

Doug sighed. "Yeah."

They crossed the train tracks to the convention center.

"But it was a stupid shirt," Doug added. "They can’t expect anybody to actually pay for a shirt that says, ‘I (picture of an elephant) the San Diego Zoo.’ What does that even mean?"

"Oh, man," said Jay. "Look at that line."

Doug looked up, but his glasses went foggy from the smoke suddenly rising off his cheeks.

"AAH! Dammit!"

"Sorry."

It was still ten minutes until the doors opened, but they walked to the front of a grumbling line of fanboys, cosplayers, furries, goths, and a smattering of girlfriends that were there out of curiosity, or there to be supportive of their boyfriends, or maybe there because they had assumed they’d be a singularity — the only queen in the anthill, with all the power that implied. This last type was easy to spot, dressed in clothes so brazenly revealing they could pass for Halloween costumes. Doug knew there would be a lot of girls here who genuinely liked comics, too, though they never seemed to like the same kind he did. Still, it gave him hope that he’d eventually get lucky. He’d be at his local comic shop or maybe (why not?) even at this very convention. He and some beautiful girl would reach for the same back issue of Young X-Men at the same time. They’d have a laugh about it. They’d get to talking and discover they shared a great love of anime and customized action figures. Then they’d have sex on the fucking Batmobile or something.

"No cutting!" shouted Doctor Doom, or someone dressed just like him.

"That’s a really good Doctor Doom costume," said Jay. "Look at those rivets."

"Movie or comics version?" asked Doug.

"Comics."

"Hold on," said a large bald man whose costume was a simple black T-shirt that said his job (or name or personal motto) was Security. "Are you an exhibitor?"

"No—"

"Do you have an exhibitor’s badge?"

They didn’t.

"Back of the line, then."

"My friend can’t stand out in the sun like that," said Jay. "He has really sensitive skin. See?"

Jay lifted the hood of Doug’s poncho just slightly.

"Christ," whispered the man. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. "This is Craig at D stop. I got a situation."

The walkie-talkie squawked something only Craig could understand. He said, "Copy" and returned it to its holster, all the while staring fixedly at Jay.

"It’ll just be a minute."

"Okay," said Jay. "Thanks."

Craig nodded. "So…he likes comics?"

"Yeah."

"He speaks English, too," said Doug.

Craig was joined by another big man in identical clothing, apart from a black baseball cap that said HEAD. Doug thought it seemed awfully literal.

The man said, "I’m head of security, boys."

Oh.

"What’s the problem?"

"These two want in early," said Craig, "on account of this kid can’t be out in the sun."

"Oh, yeah," said the head of security, looking under Doug’s poncho. "He’s got some kind of skin thing, right? They can wait in the lobby."

"You’re not surprised?" said Craig.

"Surprised? Hell, no. This is the big comic book weekend. If the freakin’ boy in the bubble rolled up here, I wouldn’t be surprised. Hey, watch this."

He called out to the queue. "Anyone lose an inhaler?"

About one in ten checked his pockets.

"See?" said Head, loud enough for anyone to hear. "Look at that lineup. It’s like all the kids picked last for every kickball game in America."

"Hey, screw you!" shouted a boy in a Gorillaz T-shirt. "I’m on my high school swim team!"

"Ooh." Head laughed. "Swim team."

"We went to state last year! What’d you ever do, fat ass?!"

"Hey!" said Head. "Watch your mouth or I’ll watch it for ya!"

"He wants to watch your mouth," said another boy.

"Yeah," said a third attendee, one in his twenties, "because that is all he does, right? That’s his job. Watching things. Whereas this line is full of geniuses and software engineers."

"Maybe I’ll hire you to watch my mansion someday, dick-pipe!" someone shouted.

"That’s it! Back of the line!" said Head.

"Maybe I’ll hire you to clean my pool!" said someone else.

"Back of the line! All of you!"

"Can we go in?" Jay asked Craig.

"Knock yourselves out," said Craig.

In minutes they were in a zigzagging line of low curtains, and they slalomed through it, alone; right, left, right, toward a row of tables manned by seated, serious women. Each woman looked like she was someone’s least-favorite aunt. Each woman had something to bestow on Doug and Jay, and the two boys walked in procession and received each of their tokens in turn.

Marjorie gives the Guide to Programming, your companion to the kingdom that awaits.

Wendy grants to each an Official Badge, which Mustn’t Be Lost.

From Ellen comes the Bag of Holding, filled with buttons, key chains, and all manner of promos.

And from Madge, the Book of Coupons. A thirty-dollar value.

Then, part the thin gray curtains and step, if you’re ready, into the Great Hall and taste of all its—

"Jesus," said Doug. "Look."

Almost immediately a girl sauntered by dressed as Femininja — which is to say, in a black bikini with a sword.

"Huh," said Jay.

"My spidey sense is tingling," Doug whispered, and looked over at Jay, who possibly hadn’t heard him. He’d spent an afternoon several weeks ago thinking of funny comic book things to say when girls passed. He had a notebook full of them.

The exhibit space on the ground floor was like three football fields of stands, booths, and tables, behind each of which was something to want, or someone to want, or someone to want to talk to. Directly in front of them now was the original captain’s chair from the set of Gastronauts, a book-brick bunker of manga and imported action figures in packages dashed with Japanese, and Lou Ferrigno.

"Why does everything look cooler with Japanese on it?" asked Doug.

"Huh?" Jay said absently.

They strode forward, slowly, deliberately, taking it all in — this goblin market at the nexus of all realities where a circa 1980s Iron Man and an original 1963 Iron Man and Naruto and Sherlock Holmes could all be waiting for the same bathroom. Would it convey the scale of the thing to know that there was a person who elected to dress as the Kool-Aid Man? Would it convey it better to know there were two?

"Look," said Doug. "Those two Kool-Aid Men are fighting."

"I don’t know what to do," said Jay. "I don’t know what to do."

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