Feel the Mouth of Dracula
It’s in 1926!
Man on stage. He wears latex gloves. He sits and stands. He is joyous throughout.
Sitting on floor:
Count Dracula and me are sitting on the living room floor, eating blood out of bowls- NO SPOONS!- gettin it all over our face and beards like degenerate goddamn animals. I go “SHIT! What the hell is wrong with us! We gotta go play outside, the rain just stopped!” Dracula goes “Yes.” I happen to be seeing how far I can bend over the ottoman backwards like this and POOOOF Count Dracula kicks it out from under my spine! AG! And he runs to the door, me racin after him and we tumble out onto the front yard wrestlin and gigglin in the wet grass.
Sitting on table:
Count Dracula and me are sitting on the front porch railing, and the sky up in the sky is a magic sky, like the sky looks after a rain stops OR you are drunk on bathtub gin gin-and-tonics, both of which is me and Count Dracula’s situation. We got a picture of movie star Clara Bow on the big black walnut tree in the front yard. We’re lookin at it! We nailed it to the tree so we can go “Sounds like someone’s coming up the sidewalk! I wonner who can it be!” then look outside and holy jellyhole it’s Clara Bow! That magic wind is flappin at the Oxford bags worn by me and Count Dracula the fabric of those baggy-style pants ripplin around our legs, wrapped around the porch railing. We got a circular-saw blade and we’re frisbeein it at the black walnut tree and Count Dracula whings that saw blade THUCK into Clara Bow’s fuckin twat! No WONDER we’re friends!
Sitting in chair:
Count Dracula and me are sitting on the front seat of our Model A Ford smoking opium from a tobacco pipe. We wrote on the pipe “for Opium ONLY” as an inside joke. Fuckin ritzy. Dracula is driving the Model A... (SHH! He’s speeding.) I have a problem in my psychological makeup of peer pressure. I’m always tryin to fight it when Dracula comes up with a cool idea! “We are at this moment dying.” That’s what Dracula always says when I’m like “I dunno, Coney Island is real busy on Saturday...” Dracula just grabs me by the scruff and left tit and says “We are at this moment dying, and do you want to die having missed the first in-the-dark roller coaster ever at Coney Island?” (shakes head “no”) Fuckin ritzy! So here we are speeding through Long Island with an angry Oriental rickshaw driver waving his fist at us cause we threw his ass down and stole his opium. And his Ford. He’s gettin smaller and fainter down the Brooklyn streets.
Sitting in different chair:
Count Dracula and me are sitting in the first in-the-dark roller coaster at Coney Island waiting for the ride to start, rocking hard back and forth against the sides of our car, hoping to tip over the train which is painted powder blue and labia pink. Count Dracula’s tellin about his castle he has in Scotland; got a moat, icebox and... paper towel dispenser. A big veiny hand clamps on our train car! The Coney Island In-the-Dark Roller Coaster Operator leans up in our collective face: “Fellas?” He walks off to start the ride. We start breathin through our teeth HRRRRR. I’m grumblin! If we had that circular saw blade! SCHRINN! “I’d go for the head” says Dracula. The coaster bucks forward, we chuckle about a cut-loose flap of forehead and the guy trying to flop it out of his eyes so he can see to run the first-ever in-the-dark roller-coaster. Fuckin ritzy.
Bucking chair wildly:
Count Dracula and me are sitting in a dark tunnel, flying up and down invisible hills at speeds thrilling by mid-1920s standards. So spooky that we’re clutchin on each other’s bodies in terror... and because it’s giving us majestic hard-ons. We start rubbing those hard-ons together like Boys Scouts starting a fire. Our teeth are chatterin with the rolly coastyness and public sexy of it all! My hand gets too close to Count Dracula’s face and his chatterin tooth does like this:
Bites through latex glove.
That does it! We’re just bleeding and fuckin each other all over that first-ever in-the-dark roller coaster like degenerate goddamn animals. The ride is over! We jump out and run run run. That powder blue train is all splattered with blood and semen, gatherin in pools. Next in line is a little kid in a sailor suit. He sits right in it. End of story.
Flopping front-and-center in chair:
Count Dracula and me are sitting at a shoeshine stand, in front of a ornate fountain in Coney Island. A black boy with rope for a belt scrapes the blood and ejaculate off our wingtips. He does cause he’s poor! Shit. (to Dracula?) At this moment we’re dyin... me and you... Count Dracula. (to audience?) Yeah! Dracula!
BLACKTHIS SCRIPT IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR
Performed by Chris Stangl.