October 1993
"I'd cast my own daughter in a made-for-TV porno if I thought there was an Emmy in it for me." After hours of wrestling with my conscience, I finally pinned it for the three count. I had made up my mind. I was going to...
Teach them sanscrit! Ha! A brilliant scheme. Only one small problem, I don't speak sanscrit. Then, French! My French is fluent. No, then they would be able to terrorize the Quebecers, countrymen in spite of all their whining. So then I had decided I would just have to make up a language. Here are a few examples of the vocabulary list I used in our lessons.
blood - A & W Rootbeer
neck - butt
hell - Vegas
vampire - republican
wolf - poodle
bat - showgirl
evil - frothy
suck - snort
bite - lick
dawn - noon
fear - spank
kill - stroke
night - hose
shadow - shower
So I set out to teach them the new language I had invented. They studied hard. They learned fast. But, I encouraged them not to try out their new language skills right away. I said that if they made a mistake they would be laughed at. You see, I was trying to drag it out as long as possible. I thought the longer I could keep them away from my foreign comrades the better. Also, the longer I could pocket an extra \150,000/month, the better.
There were three aspects of this ghoulish night'baito' that I found almost impossible to deal with. First: the money. I knew where they were getting it. From the victims that they would suck dry like some kind of walking amalgam of a tax collector. My conscience and my wallet wrestled every payday.
Number 'B': Keeping a straight face while we did the pronunciation drills. For example, they would chant, "I am pure frothy," in chorus, and I could barely hold in the cacophony of laughter. They would ask me why I was smiling, and I would say it was an expression of joy over the progress of my brilliant students. They would look confused; and I would grunt, "Student good, Tarzan happy. Ungh." And they would all grunt in delight.
And thirdly, they had a hell of a time with the 'L & R' thing.
Time passed. One month, I learned that garlic and crucifixes don't really affect vampires. They said that that was just something Horrywood had come up with. Three months, I learned that vampires have no interest in sex. I mean I showed up to every lesson with my shirt buttoned up only a little past my navel and with musk oil rubbed all over my chest toupe , and not once did any of those vampire babes try to jump my bones. This obviously means that vampire chicks either have no interest in sex or they're all a bunch of dikes. Six months, the vampires started getting impatient and wanted to try some of the English I taught them on Western victims. I told them that they weren't ready but they insisted. It was finally time for my plan to come to fruition. I would liked to have milked them for a few hundred thousand more, but them's the breaks.
So I talked a buddy of mine into organizing a foreigners hike up Akiyama. I drew a map that would lead them right through the old tunnel into the vampires' lair and into my crafty trap.
On the morning of the hike I called my buddy and told him that I couldn't go because of a dental appointment I had forgotten all about. Then I started laying the groundwork for my brilliant scheme. First I had to think of a perfect disguise. So I covered myself with wet cement and rolled around in the dirt so that I would blend in with the tunnel's old concrete wall. Then I grabbed all of my video equipment and sloshed up to the tunnel. Luckily, the vampires were still asleep. Oh, the thing about sunlight killing them was just another example of Horrywood bunk. But they did like to sleep very late, and they had an affinity for dark sunglasses.
Then came the trap disguised as bait, foreigners marching and whistling like the cast of F-troop. I filmed it all as the vampires bubbled with anticipation. Some of the vamps took the forms of bats and knocked the torches out of the victims hands. Others became wolves and howled and snapped. Some retained human shape and lay their death-cold hands on arms and faces; to give the victims the feel of the eternal sleep they would soon know all too well. Watching those vampire babes going after the necks of their would-be victims I really started getting hard. That damn cement was setting faster than I thought it would. And I think I saw Inoue copping a feel.
After they had sufficiently startled the piss out of all the victims, they corralled them to be properly taunted before being killed.
One vampire stepped forward, "I am Kobayashi, oldest of all Republicans. Spank me!" The victims started snickering. "Silence! And bow before me while I lick your butt." More laughter.
The ghastly undead beasts shrunk with hazukashii. They consulted their notebooks and verified phrases with each other. But they all seemed reluctant to speak again. Finally, Inoue stepped forward. "You laugh, while we stand here ready to snort your A & W Rootbeer? I will stroke you and send you to Vegas." And with this, the foreigners were literally rolling on the ground with laughter. One of the vampires shouted, "Poodles, showgirls, children of the hose, to the showers!" The vampires, beaten with embarrassment, defeated with shame, shrunk into the shadows and whimpered until the gaijin regained enough composure to walk back down the mountain.
Perfectly disguised against the cave wall, I heard everything. The vampires threatened to kill me for a lousy teacher. And they all swore that they would never speak to, much less drink the blood of, another foreigner as long as they would 'live'. The next day, they packed up their caskets and moved off to Toyama prefecture. I was trapped in my concrete leotard for six more days. I survived by drinking water dripping down the tunnel wall and nibbling the occasional roach and/or silverfish that crawled over my mouth. Finally someone heard me screaming, "Roaches, grubs, my kingdom for a Bigmac!" and came in and set me free with a tire tool. I held onto the video as insurance. If the vampires ever tried to kill me, I would tell them that if I died, a copy of the tape would go public. And they would all be more famous than Nipsey Russel.
I haven't heard from them in about six years; so I decided the time was right to tell the tale. I hate to blow my own horn but: beep beep. If it wasn't for my brilliant linguistic micky, you guys would be falling victim to bi-lingual, undead, dictionary-totin', sunlight-shunning, nocturnal terrors. Thanks to me, you can walk the streets at night with impunity. So the next time you want to say, "Hey Spim, this article sucks!" just remember what, thanks to my efforts, doesn't suck. I'm Spim Ramsley, and these are my thoughts.Å@