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| - Today I arrived at last in the little village of Butpluk in the Carpathian Mountains. This is the village nominated by Count Dracula as the place I should meet his agent, Michael Fate of Grim, Black, Fate and Associates, who will convey me to the Count's castle in a Ford hire carriage. The Castle - arrived at last at my destination, a crumbling, overgrown castle surrounded by flocks of bats and packs of wolves. It has promise though. Remove the bats, wolves, crumbling and overgrown - set to work with a bit of WD-40, a buzz saw and a lick of paint - it could be a lovely place.
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| abstract
| - Today I arrived at last in the little village of Butpluk in the Carpathian Mountains. This is the village nominated by Count Dracula as the place I should meet his agent, Michael Fate of Grim, Black, Fate and Associates, who will convey me to the Count's castle in a Ford hire carriage. How I do hope that I am successful in this enterprise! If my firm is happy with me I shall have a promotion! At long last, I shall be Junior Undersoliciter grade IIb! With an extra four shillings thruppence per annum I will at long last be making enough money to buy my beloved Mina a fruit bowl! Perhaps, when she realises how I have triumphed in the organisation of her melons, she will wish to marry me! The locals are rather withdrawn. The landlord was friendly at first, but since I mentioned my business with Count Dracula he has treated me very oddly. Every time he sees me, he waves a crucifix or a string of garlic at me. I imagine that perhaps this is some form of local menu. I mouth "NOT HUNGRY" back at him and point at my stomach, but then he just laughs and makes a throat cutting gesture, and then mimes dying, while his wife tries not to weep helplessly. It's perplexing but there's nothing you can't solve with a smile. Glad I brought some sandwiches, though. Explored the village, somewhat. The local children followed me around, pointing and laughing. Some fashioned little sets of canine fangs from orange peel, and mimed biting each other. After this strange act they would point at me and laugh again. Eventually, I put some peel in my mouth and sang "The British Grenadiers". How we all laughed and laughed then! Passing the town church, the village priest stopped me and handed me a crucifix, a string of rosaries, a string of garlic, a jeroboam of holy water, a wooden stake and a book entitled Vampires for Dummies. I thanked him as best I could for this traditional present, whereupon he slapped me. He told me that this is a local custom called svorkua, or 'the slapping into sense'. What queer customs these foreigners have! I tried slapping him back but he just ducked and kicked me in my manroot. I managed to choke a "thank you", though. I don't want any trouble. Dracula's coachman arrived shortly after nightfall. He is a tall man with glowing red eyes, huge horns, cloven feet, a black cape and a mocking laugh. I waved goodbye to the Innkeeper, who was making the traditional gesture of farewell, which involves standing in a predatory pose, baring the upper teeth and pointing to the coachman. I responded in kind, whereupon he rolled his eyes and returned to his inn to board up the windows with his wife and children. What a nice man! The Castle - arrived at last at my destination, a crumbling, overgrown castle surrounded by flocks of bats and packs of wolves. It has promise though. Remove the bats, wolves, crumbling and overgrown - set to work with a bit of WD-40, a buzz saw and a lick of paint - it could be a lovely place. I was met by the Count himself, a tall, dark sinister looking man with nasty sharp pointy teeth and an indefinable aura of evil. No business cards though. Not professional. He took mine and pocketed it. I complimented him on his cape, stepped over his threshold and sat down to dinner. He served a fine local wine, but would not have any himself. 'I do not drink wine,' he said, adding 'Just the blood of the innocent' under his breath. "What's that?" I asked, "Some kind of local tipple"? "Er, yes, he replied, embarrassed. It's a kind of ...ummmm... plum brandy". I told him about the WD-40, but he didn't seem interested. Have sorted out the conveyancing on Count Dracula's new home in England. I would rather like to go home, but every time I try to leave the castle, I find my way blocked by wolves. What rotten luck. Maybe they're migrating. Give it a few weeks, and they'll have left the hallway. I have yet to receive any mail from my beloved Mina, in spite of having given the Count several letters which he put right into his 'wroklu' or 'letter-fireplace'. I expect the mails here must be awfully slow, since the postmen are bats. Today I saw the Count and his three ghoulish brides feasting upon the blood of babies; as well as well as crawl downwards.. Thought "Oh". Weather continues fine. Finally got around to reading that vampire book the priest gave me. It seems that, upon mature reflection, I am a fucktard. Yes indeed. A complete fucktard. A dimwatt, a blasted onion, a fool's scrotum and a fuckity fuck fucking fucktard. Dracula has left for England; I suppose I'd better try to escape. If he gets to Mina's melons before I do, he could cause all kinds of havoc.
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