On December 11th, 1922, a huge black bat dropped out of the sky and left a smoldering crater upon impact. Emerging from the smoke was none other than Vampira, fully formed and ready to present herself to the public as a mistress of the dark, put on this earth to provide ghoulish puns and introductions to bad televised horror films in the 1950s.

Her fame might have been fleeting, according to this Wikipedia entry, but her legacy is eternal. She was an inspirational figure to anyone who has ever loved dangerously arched fake eyebrow lines and a waist that is so small that it defies logic and reason. Her waist, supposedly seventeen inches around, belongs in a Lovecraft story that loves to not-describe the indescribable geometries of things which are cursed. Her waist could bring on madness, and that is what happened to me after I saw a random simple picture of her today, which I will draw for your amusement so that I am not infringing on a photographer’s copyright. I am not exaggerating her angles in any way.

Vampira! How! Did you not have organs? Could you eat? Inside, were you simply a few scoops of sawdust and faux-Satanic prayers? Whatever the cause and whatever the circumstances, hearing that she had a seventeen inch waist caused me (in a fit of insanity) to measure the Captain, who, with his twenty-one inch barrel, would split her precious black garments if he tried to wear them. The Captain is bigger around than at least one adult human woman who has existed, and I told him that to his face. I measured him, and told him that while drowning out his meows requesting kibble. And there is the story of how I wound up drawing the dumbest thing I have drawn all year.

vampira

One of the most commonly viewed horror films belonging to the silent film era, Nosferatu is, without a doubt, a creepy creepy German film. We have all at least seen footage of it, have seen still images of that awful Count Orlok lurching around all wide-eyed and gangly and long-horrible-fingered. Dreadful. But what of the film itself? Well, for those of you not in the know, I’ll tell you.

count orlok

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Anyone who knows anything about Marilyn Monroe is probably aware that she was insecure, tormented by fame, and battling addictions that were rooted in an unhappy childhood and an unhappy adulthood. A classic tale, was she, of the sorrows and stresses of the Hollywood Machine. If you didn’t know that, now you do. She probably had actual clinical depression, and mental illness is no laughing matter, but as I read through her various quotes the other day, I couldn’t help but notice that she said some pretty sad things! My heart went “boohoo” as I saw her pleas for help which I can only assume went ignored. She had to be the Blonde Bombshell when, had she been a pretty young thing any time after the 1980s, she could have been a goth-punk, a Suicide Girl, or a generic mall goth. Instead of quotes immortalized on imdb, her quotes could have been unseen on deadjournal, or carved into the skin of her own tummy and shown only to her myspace friends. Marilyn Monroe might have suffered so much because she felt out of place in every way, yearning for a subculture that didn’t exist, and then she was taken from the world far too young.

vampire goth

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