Friday, March 9, 2018

The Dragon Impaler

As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.

Of course you have never heard of me you fool. I am Sorina Dracul Tepes. It is my business to not be known!", the woman spat as she stood glaring over her gold rimmed sunglasses.

It was all a bit much for me, as, well, my name is Wainwright Waynsebrough, and it is my job to check luggage of international travelers coming into Heathrow from the Continent. My supervisor this day, Mrs. Counselor Hayes Batton Smig, was out for the day with an acute attack of pork sausage, and I was left to accomplish service to King and Country.

It was just that, the scanning machine detected some things as the bags were quite heavy, and the things were bullets, silver bullets in fact, 300 pounds of silver bullets, and there was this firearm, a sort of thing that had a name on it, Dracul Manufacturing, Transvaal Transylvania, Romania, and it was, had these bullets as large as my thumb, and silver grenades as large as an American Twinkie.
Then there were these knives, something which said, conuenere aqua sanctus, which she said was concentrated Holy Water and those knives which were all shaped like crucifixes, and these bags of garlic, lots of bags of garlic, like 5 stone of garlic.

I asked Miss Dracul Tepes about the guns, but she was instead explaining about the garlic. I would not have minded so much, but the garlic was pealing the paint off the ceiling where I could see these heat plumes coming from it. It was like nuclear garlic as you could see the waves radiating from it.

"Don't touch the garlic!" she ordered. "That is special order garlic. That is the problem with you English in you are like the Americans in only cooking with white garlic. You get that from the French and that is why you use so many cloves in cooking. For real garlic you need to buy German Red and Purple garlic. The Czechs and Poles have a good purple variety too, but for the kind of work I do, I need the high octane stuff. I get this grown in Chernobyl. Now there was a good bit of fortune in that nuclear plant meltdown, and all that radioactive waste fertilizing the landscape. Yes, that is where I get my vânătoare de usturoi. Yes that is real hunting garlic. Grown in the finest atomic waste, deprived of water, harvested at perfect peak and shipped to me in special lead lined containers for the work governments employ me to do.

At this point, I attempted to close the lid on the garlic with my Bobbie stick, but the stick melted......

"Numele lui Dumnezeu!!!!', she screamed at me, "If you plastic coat my garlic, I will rip off your leg and beat you with it until you cry!!!!"

I apologized for my stick melting, but it did have a 1000 degree temperature limit as insured by Lloyds of London and guaranteed by Rolls Royce, but as I could see vapours coming off the plastic as it vaporized, I did not believe I had hurt this rather glowing purplish garlic which was raising the temperature in the room by a degree per minute.

"You know you have a vampyre right?", she queried.

"No," I answered blinking and thinking if she really just asked me if I had a vampire.

"Not a vampire with an I, you dolt, a vampyre with a Y", she corrected by my annunciation of I and Y, "That is the problem with all of you. You don't know the real vampires from vampyres and you go off hunting them with Hungarian garlic. Name of God!!!! Hungary is for paprika not garlic!!! Hitting them with the wrong garlic only builds up resistance. It makes it all a messy business then. Nothing worse than a vampyre with resistance. They smell like rotten garlic which is the way most Italian food tastes. You can always tell a real vampire by their scent, a real vampire smells of the forests of Romania in spring. It is these vampyres that smell of death. They sell their souls and that is where these damned ghouls come from, smelling all rotten flesh. A real vampire hangs from high places to sleep. It is these pretenders, these soul sellers who slumber in coffins. It is why they sleep in coffins as the dead all stink, and it used to confuse the hounds, as a good hound would reveal them as certain as a cloud of blow flies."

"Do you have a permit for importing this garlic?" I asked.

"I do not need a permit for my lunch no more than for a Coke," she replied.

"You said it was for vampire, I mean vampyre hunting," I corrected.

"No I am saying it is my lunch," she answered.

".....and the gun with grenades?" I asked. "Is that your lunch too?"

"Don't be stupid!!!" she set off again. "Here are my credentials-" and she threw them down on the table.

I could not read Romanian, but they did look official.

"I am Chief Forest Warden of Cappercaille Grouse, the Black Grouse, Protection, of the District of Transylvania, I am authorized to use all means and measures to protect this Grouse, including armed intervention, with addition of nuclear materials, as so mandated by the United Nations endangered species treaty," she said again looking over her sunglasses at me.

I sighed.

"You see it is the Americans, the CIA, FBI, NSA, Homeland and the Department of Interior who have called upon me, as you English let one of your vampyres escape like you did that Jack the Ripper.  Let him escape on a military transport. Your MI6 was warned and I never did believe you should be allowed access to such a device as a vampyre, but those Rothschilds always get what they want, and the next thing you know is a vampyre escapes and there is a new American scandal about to bring down the government in all those Americans have is that California garlic...", she trailed off.

"Madam, you are setting off radiation detection devices in this area........."

"Which is all the more important reason to send me on my way!" she exclaimed.

I looked that Chernobyl garlic, the gun that was shooting 999 caliber silver bullets, the Twinkie size silver grenades, the razor sharp crucifix knives and wondered about my civil service retirement.
Dudley Horzgrove had not wanted to bother his supervisor when that Muslim was telling him that the thing that looked like a rifle was a walking stick, and that did not turn out very well in not contacting the supervisor. Then there was Jayne Burn, who did contact her supervisor over those African parrots which had diamonds in their crops, but how was Inspector Burn to know that a prince liked watching his bird poop out a diamond as a way to start out the day.

It is very difficult being a civil service inspector in England with a pension to think of and all of those Muslims taking jobs.

I said to Madam Dracul Tepes as the solution, "Look here Madam, I must now take my mandated tea break. Civil Service Inspector Taffaney Wilkes Cornshire will finish with this matter," and with that I went to have my English blend, as I had enough of a problem to try and explain why my bobbie stick had vapourized, and I concluded I could lift one down in the dressing room, as CSI Wilkes Cornshire liked to shag other Inspectors there and that would provide a diversion.

I never did see Madam Dracul Tepes again.  I esteemed the English Common Sense that if one was a real vampyre hunter, that they would be intelligent enough to not wait around for the government to sort things out nor catch them.

I ponder sometimes how one gets a job in the Forest Department and obtains a license and vocation to protect large grouse with full import of radioactive garlic, because I never seem to find employment as such. The employment like watching models bathe all seem to be off the books for the children of very rich people and the jobs involving garlic, real garlic, are never open to the public.