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The hardest part about being a vampire is neither the running-water thing (easy enough to avoid in a swamp state) nor the garlic (a myth). It’s the techno. You have to listen to very angry techno or your teeth fall out.

“I dream about Kenny G sometimes,” says Gared wistfully, pitching his voice to carry over the endless 4/4 thump. “And not even in a subtly homoerotic way.”

“Can’t be helped,” says Endymion. “Techno is the closest we can get to a musical heartbeat.”

“I suppose you’re right,” sighs Gared. “More blood?”

“Of course!” says Endymion.

(Vampires love blood.)


“But Margaret Thatcher isn’t dead,” says Statler.

“I know,” says Waldorf, “I said the late Margaret Thatcher.”

Statler blinks. “That’s… what that means.”

“No it doesn’t! It’s like… somebody you speak of with respect. You know, somebody who’s been around for a while, so they’ve earned it, later in life.” He smiles. “The late Jim Henson. The late Coretta Scott King.”

“Both dead,” says Statler gently.

Waldorf grabs the laptop and googles fiercely. “Here!” he says. “The late James Brown!”

“Last December, right before Gerald Ford–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” hisses Waldorf. “I will make you late as hell.”