dr. vampire sez. no

[oonh]

Ilyakov had been referred to an Old Guard Transylvanian Clinic. His
insurance covered it, though the copay still seemed somewhat ridiculous.
He handed thre three packets of blood plasma over to the desk staff and
filled out the twenty page form. "Have you turned any humans into vampires?"
"What is your blood type?" and a list of excessive and probably silly
questions.

A few hour laters, Dr. Vladimir met with him. "I have what is either
terrible or great news for you, depending on your point of view."

Ilyakov gulped. "You are not a vampire. You have no antigens, the
Burali-Forti test came back negative, and the San Francisco protocol
swipe B also returned nonreactive."

"So what the hell am I?" barked Ilyakov.

Dr. Vladimir, in his best Boris-Karloff/Addams family impression, with
cigar in his mouth and magnifying glass in hand said "You sir, are a
lymphpire."

"A *what*?" bleated Ilyakov incredulously.

"A lymphpire. You survive by consumption of the lymph of the living.
There is not much we know about lymphires, except that there's a clinic
in Oregon which specializes in their care. Your GP will have to give you
a referral to see them. You must have been bitten by a piece of pizza
with lymphpirism, because that's about the only way to catch it."



(in the distant a flock of butterflies apoplectic with paroxysms of
laughter could be heard, the ones clustering on the trees were so taken
aback that they fell to the ground)

oonh