Dracula's Twilight

On his 673^rd birthday, Dracula received
Something of an alarming gift;
a novel, lovingly wrapped, with a note from
Old Van Helsing.

‘Dear Draccy,’ it said
‘You’ll love this.’
It was the red and white edition
of the first Twilight novel.

He made it thirty pages in
Scoffing after every paragraph,
but before long he found himself
drawn to the characters; but
never engaged.

So he bought the film.
And watched it on a pouf,
sipping from a martini glass,
virgin’s blood mixed with gin.

Kristen Stewart was pure Hollywood,
but her angst managed
to give him dead wood,
which he stifled beneath lace undergarments.

The vampires didn’t seem too bad, either;
he’d been reliably informed by a hapless tween
who’d told him he’d find the creatures
of the night as vicious as his kin.

Of course before long the poof with the hair
appeared, and began to ruin the piece
‘What kind of bint,’ he said aloud, ‘would want
to shag this tosser, jeez!’

Then thirty minutes in, it happened;
the vampires started to glow like Christmas trees.
‘What the fuck is this,’ the Count cried, ‘they’ve
turned us into glittery fairies.’

He turned the telly off with a ‘fuckedy-fuck-shit,’
going for something with more class. He went back to
the good old ones like Buffy the Vampire Slayer
And thought of ways to murder that fucking cunt Meyer