Cast
Dragula: that infamous Transylvanian — an ocker Aussie turned the king of the vampires.

Scene
(as Dragula) Greetings pathetic, unworthy mortals. My name is Drag-oula, Lord of Transylvania, Lord of the Vampires and retired Lord of the Rings. You are lucky to share my presence and those few who survive this night are the luckiest of all. You have paid to hear my story and so you shall have it!

Before I became Dragula, the tyrannical Transylvanian, I was known as (as Barry) Barry, the thirty-five-year-old virgin plumber from Cootamundra. Me mates would say I pulled more turds than birds. “Whatever,” I’d say, “there isn’t a porn star in the world who’s unclogged more drains than me.” They slapped me on the back and laughed at me jokes.

I hated those wankers.

On me thirty-sixth birthday the boys found this broad at the pub and talked her into going home with me. I thought I was finally going to get me some but she was really under the weather and right when I got to second base she threw up in me mouth. Bloody uncharming stuff but I cleaned her up and gave her me best futon. Thought she might be up for it in the morning but she buggered off before I woke up. Stole me favourite pillow and got chunder all over me clean overalls.

Few months later me and me mate Jonno are in a Sydney pub and he makes this real interesting observation. All the pretty broads have a queer guy with them. It’s like all these city chicks wear gays as wristwatches or something. I gets me an idea. What if I pretend to be a queer to get close to them? Jonno reckons it’s a cracker of a plan so the next night I return to the pub wearing a black dress. Cotton On. Tight fitting around the waist, cut down one side. Made me bum look real nice.

I sat there with Jonno like we were a pair of poofs and eventually we get to talking to a group of sheilas. They were a bit rough around the edges but they kept talking about their friend Simone, a model who’d just broke up with her fancy photographer boyfriend. Simone came in while I was sitting on a barstool chatting to her fat friend Lisa or Sandra or whatever. Lisa-Sandra says “Simone!” I turn around and lock eyes with the most beautiful sheila I’ve seen in years. I smile at her. She starts to smile back, but then she screams.

“Oh my god. I thought you were a monster! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting the beard.”

I might’ve hit a few branches on the ugly tree on me way down but I’m a little offended she calls me a monster. But wait… this gives me an idea. A really good idea. An idea so freaking good I sell me house, pack up all me gear and catch a flight to (as Dragula) Russia. I wear black clothes and grow my hair long and catch the train to Romania. My old life was lucrative so I change my Australian dollars into gold bars and lease a castle near a village filled with young women. Centuries have passed since the legends of old and the people are no longer scared. In fact, many tourists come to the area to see where it all began. And also for the cheeses.

I make friends with Igor, an old gypsy who lives by the river. I’m not sure his name is Igor ’cause I never asked but there’s a high likelihood it is.

END OF EXCERPT