This blog has moved

I've moved this blog to http://www.dagmarkrauss.com. Fuck me, I've got my own domain name now. I'm one of those people.

Fuck me, I'm back.

It's been a little more than two years since I last posted here. I'd imagine the 4 people I had reading this thing have long since fucked off, but I honestly couldn't care less. Their lives are probably better off now that they've convinced themselves this site was horseshit, written by some crapweasel novelty blogger with too much time on their hands.

Truth is, I got locked out of this account. Went to post one day, and found out that my damned password was no longer valid, that my email address no longer existed, and that every one of those ridiculous made-up words they make you type in to retrieve it was mysteriously wrong.

This is where I'm supposed to say something bugshit like "The Guild is trying to silence me," but I sincerely doubt it's anything as grandiose as that. Probably just pissed somebody off (I have a tendency to do that, charmer that I am), and they thought they'd fuck with me a bit.

In any event, this little hacker asshat owed me a favor - seems like everybody fucking owes me a favor these days - and he thought getting me back in to freakin' blogger of all things would pay it off. Whatever, he can tell himself we're five-by now if he wants; it was probably either this or a free subscription to Horse Porn Monthly.com

Disavowed?

Well, I haven't heard from the Guild in weeks, and I'd like to know what the fuck is going on. Last communication I had from them was right before they stuck me in the fucking hospital. I've still got my phone, and it still works, so they haven't cut me off completely yet, but they did leave me stuck with the hospital bill.

I received the usual check from Furry Fiends, an exterminator company in Georgia that serves as one of the numerous Guild fronts for that sort of shit, so they seem to still think I work for them, but I've not received any assignments since I got back, and the email address I usually send stuff to sends me back "no such address" errors.

In the meantime, I've been doing some aimless hunting, but it's impossible to be productive without the intel I usually get. The few suspicions I have gleaned from newspaper articles and general word of mouth usually turn out to have already been cleaned out by the time I get there, despite that fact that several of them fall under my juristiction.

So I'm confused. After the fuckarow in Nice and the brief stint in New York, the Guild was all "good work, cream of the crop" type shit, so I've got no reason to hope I've been fired (it takes a LOT of incompetence to get fired from a job like this - usually the shitty hunters are naturally weeded out by the dangers of the job), but I can't help but wonder what's going on.

So... if one of you bureaucratic fuckwads is reading this, take five minutes and give me a call, alright? It's not like you don't have the number.

Come to think on it, the communications office there is so thoroughly cocked up, you might have lost the number.

The prodigal vampyr hunter returns...

I'm back. Well, sorta. Went dark for a little while there (as in incommunicado, not in the metaphysical sense). Typing is a bit slow, as I've only got my right hand to type with (no, I still have my left one, but it's bound to my chest). Too tired to type too much, but I'll fill you in a little more once I can start eating the solid food instead of this liquid shit they've got me on now. Meantime, I'm gonna take a look at the comments and deal with that shit first. Baby steps, y'know?

Don't try this at home

I've been getting an alarming number of emails from readers asking for advice on hunting fang-fags.

I cannot stress this enough: Do not go hunting. Leave it to the pros, even if we do occasionally seem like wankers.

Hunting vampyrs is dangerous fucking work. Without proper training - which isn't to say I had proper training, but I've had a quirky ass-load more than you - your chances of surving a hunt are about equal to my chances of getting picked to be the next Bachelor.

Even worse, hunting vampyrs is damn fine way to kill completely innocent - if somewhat creepy - civilians. If I had a nickel for every time some freak went off his meds and stabbed some poor dude just because he was ugly and worked a night shift, I'd have... well, about $4.35.

You want to get some holy water? Fine. Put it in a reliable water pistol and carry it around (keep it hidden, though, unless you want people to think you're a complete ass). Holy water's okay; it won't hurt anybody unless they're the real deal. But don't go around stabbing people with silver, because 9 times out of 10 you'll find out it was an unemployed mother of two with insomnia.

Seriously. If you see some suspicious shit, report it to the police. They might think you're nuts, but odds are we're monitoring the police frequency (yes, we actually pay people to do this shit) and if it raises flags, somebody uglier and more qualified than you will respond. Meanwhile, wear a cross and stay in your house at night. Billy, don't be a hero.

Vampire Hunter Kit - Great eBay Deal!

Do I even have to say anything? This would be hilarious, if it wasn't a damn good way to get eaten.

Look, buddy. What you've got there is a cheap suitcase full of ways to get your dumb ass killed.

Let's take a look:

We got two cheesy "silver" tipped rods for "staking" the vampyr. If those are silver, and I mean sterling, I'll eat my crossbow. Not that it matters; with cheap aluminum shafts, they'd crumple the minute you struck them with a mallet.

There's one of those stupid little paper-back New Testaments that church weirdos hand out on street corners. According to the seller, it "IS USED TO READ THE GOSPEL OVER CHILDRENS HEADS AS A REMEDY AGAINST ATTACKS AND ALSO FOR EXORCISM (his excessive capitalization, not mine)." Look, bud: you can't perform an exorcism without being a priest; even I know that. And reading the bible won't keep vamps from eating your rugrat. It's a nice idea, but it's stupid. What are you, a Christian Scientist?

There is a container of "red liquid," used to (and I quote) "INTISE THE VAMPIRE OR LEAD HIM TO WHERE HE IS MOST VENERABLE." First of all no vampyr in the history of the world has ever been venerable. Buy a dictionary. Secondly, while you're setting up your ET-style trap, the vamp's eating your ugly wife.

There is actually a vial of poppy seeds, which this dude thinks will make the vampyr start to count them and protect you. I'm not sure which is dumber; the idea of vampyrs that can count, or throwing the seeds off your muffin at vampyr to protect yourself.

Some holy water and a cross, not bad. But why be so ornamental about it?

Bags for putting salt in. You know what salt is good for? French fries. Not protection against man-sized predators.

This is my favorite: "THERE ARE 4 LEAD FILLED BRASS TEMPERATURE RELEASED CAPSULES. ONE WAY OF DESTROYING A VAMPIRE IS TO BURN IT IN ITS COFFIN AND BY PLACING ONE OF THESE CAPSULES IN THE EDGE OF THE ENCLOSURE THE LEAD WILL RELEASE AT 255 DEGREES AND SEAL THE COFFIN SHUT" Even if these James Bond firecrackers worked like you said they would, buddy, that is some astounding logic. It would be stupid even if they did sleep in coffins, which they don't - they sleep in piles of newspaper and old clothes, like overgrown gerbils. Overgrown gerbils with fangs and halitosis.

There's a cheap hunting knife for - this is great - decapitation. Have you ever tried cutting through spinal column and neck grizzle with a dull 12" blade? In a hurry, no less? A hatchet, yes. A machete, even better. But a knife? Get a grip.

Personally, I think you should stick to making tinfoil hats so the aliens can't read your thoughts.

There's a reason we wear leather.

So, I'm back after another unexpected leave of absence. I haven't felt much like typing in a while, considering that I'm recovering from major lacerations on my right forearm due to an attack from a "wild dog."

I should probably start by telling you about this ridiculous package I received about a week after that fucking book came in the mail. This one contained this shitty black stretchy cotton/spandex type deal with what looked like a ballistic nylon snow vest with a high collar.

It was my new "uniform."

First let me say that it is 150 de-fucking-grees in San Marcos.

But what the hell, y'know? I've gotten enough grief from the damn Guild over the past few months, I figured I'd play along and wear their ridiculous outfit for a hunt or two.

And that's what got me bit.

First of all, wearing this thing, I looked like an extra from Better Off Dead. If you've never heard of this movie, then you should fuck off - you're too young to be reading about vampyrs and stuff. The collar - apparently designed to keep vamps from biting your neck - made me feel as though I was being constantly strangled by someone with the upper-body strength of an 85-year-old woman.

Whoever designed this thing has been watching the movie Monster Squad far too often. Vamps only go for the neck as a matter of convenience, because it's the anatomical location most akin to the tap on a beer keg. If they cannot get at the throat, however, they'll cheerfully bite your leg or your shoulder or your... arm. Fuckers.

See, I usually wear a beat-up leather jacket, which serves three purposes:

1. It's black, so it provides some degree of camo at night. Not against vamps, which go more by sense of smell than anything else, but from cops and people who call cops and other people who might ask you for money or something.


2. It provides a modicum of protection against asphalt, brambles, fangs, and fingernails. Most importantly, it keeps your skin from burning when a vamp goes up in flames.


3. It's much easier to get vampyr ash off of leather than any other textile I've tried.

So I'm out day-hunting in my shiny new Guild fag-vest, and I come across this sleeping vamp. Normally, I'd drag his unconcious ass out to get a tan, but this guy's at least 350 lbs. I could Jeep-winch him out, but that would probably drag him through at least four crumbling drywall partitions and a plate glass window, which might attract some unwanted attention.

So I get out the mallet and stake. I figured this guy was about 72% lard, so it'd slide right in. Unfortunately, the guy was denser than I thought, and the stake didn't make it all the way in the first time. He woke up, screamed like a little girl, and lunged at me with a mouth in desperate need of Listerine.

Instinctively, I blocked with my arm, thinking about the leather cuff that was supposed to be there. Oops.

What made it worse is that the guy's fangs got caught in the stretchy Latino dancer undershirt the Guild included with their useless vest. So he's caught in my sleeve, and I'm trying to use that hand to hammer the stake in. I finally managed to switch mallet hands and clumsily club Shamu into submission, but not before he'd put about 42 stitches worth of bite marks on my arm. Dick.

Needless to say, I'm back in my jacket, and that goddamned "uniform" is being used to clean my toilet... left-handed.