I lay stricken in my coffin as the train

I lay stricken in my coffin as the train rolled through the night. No storms, no derailment, no service. The passengers were all commonplace, and lacking in life force. I hoped for

a fat auntie or a drunk uncle. Their blood is best on train rides. But mostly, it was the grey "blood-milk" of commuters. Heavy and greasy. My fangs cry out for something zesty

not, as I bent over the sink for the 5th time that day, rinsing my mouth of her aftertaste. These "auditions" to get work on the comedy circuit had to stop. Wanda Sykes made me

long for the days of labor camps, when women in labor were sequestered in the periphery. Sykes, with her seventeen wombs, was a hell of a juggler; this made her dangerous in more

Ways than any man who met her at a bar could ever imagine. Sykes had eaten men alive and her seventeen wombs hid the evidence. She was trimming her tentacle-toes before going out.

"You've painted up your lips and rolled and curled your tinted hair, Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere?" said Sykes, but she undulated right by him and out the door.

Sykes asked for Pandora to hand him is rifle and to plant him in the ground facing the North gate. Pandora refused but he insisted until she did. Ruby's jeep got hit by his bullets

as she rolled past, pucturing a tire and causing Ruby to veer off the road & down into a ravine filled with pestilence, strife, & misfortune. Sykes laughed but Pandora went to help

with repairs. Seeing her reach for her toolkit brought home what shit they were all in. "NO-OO!!" screamed Ruby & Sykes. The creaking open of the box was the last sound they heard.