Mug experience weird and uncomfortable, no one surprised

The following story is a completely true one. In no way am I lying or embellishing and exaggerating the facts. This is also a very se­rious matter. It all began last Saturday night, when I was bitten by a vampire in the Mug. I can practically hear you rolling your eyes as you read that last sentence. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Evelyn is batshit.” Well, that’s not that far from the truth, actually. Be­cause I’m now turning into a vampire too. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Last Saturday night, that fateful night, Strong House Team was in our House Pres­ident’s room “eating milk and cookies” and “having a very structured and respectable night.” We were just “listening to Debussy’s ‘Arabesque’” and “playing crosswords” when someone suggested that we all go to the Mug together. “Nothing weird, awkward or un­comfortable has ever happened in the Mug!” I thought to myself. (My judgment clearly im­paired by the five shots of milk I had had.) So I decided that I would go along.

Returning to the Mug for the first time this semester, I felt like I was running into an acquaintance from high school. I recall a few good memories. I recall a few bad mem­ories. There are a lot of memories that I can’t even begin to recall. But mostly, after approx­imately two minutes I’m ready to be literally anywhere else. I should’ve listened to that instinct, but alas I did not. That sweaty den of sin lured me to stay with its shitty club mu­sic (you’re right Sia, I do love cheap thrills) and I paid for it. You see, The Mug is literal­ly the perfect hunting ground for a vampire. It’s worryingly dark, there are no mirrors, no wooden stakes and with the exception of some highly aesthetic people who wear chok­ers, necks that are readily available to chomp on. Like mine.

Basically what happened was this: this vampire successfully disguised himself as a skinny white boy who was dancing pret­ty close to me. After the normal formalities of awkwardly bumping into one another, and then bumping into one another again a little more on purpose, then bumping into each other to the beat of the music, we were grinding. At first it was pleasant, but this was clearly because of his vampiristic charm. A few minutes into it, I turned around to kiss him and weirdly enough his breath was a tinge garlicy, but surely this was a trick just to disguise his undead state. For then, in what must’ve appeared to onlookers as a weird white boy trying to be sexy, the vampire turned his attention from my lips and went in for a midnight snack. He started to gnaw on my neck. At first I thought that I could get into it, like it were handcuffs or calling someone “Daddy.” But he just kept chomping on my neck like it were a particularly tough steak. Clearly he had to be looking for my jug­ular, because there is no other explanation for this behavior. I mean, it’s not like any other male person on this campus would treat me, a woman, as if I were merely a piece of meat, right? To be fair I never saw any fangs, but I also didn’t really see his face either.

Luckily, I pulled out my handy-dandy vial of holy water (no, that’s not a euphemism for a flask) for protection and made my es­cape. Heading to the nearest mirror, I went to check out my neck in hopes that the vampire hadn’t drawn any blood. It did not appear that he had. However, a hickey-looking bruise had started to form at the base of my neck. But there’s no way it could have been a regular hickey, because any normal human would have known that biting someone’s shoulder isn’t anywhere close to sexy. Simply more proof that I was attacked by a member of the undead.

In the aftermath of such a gruesome attack, I thought I was okay. Until the next morning I started exhibiting symptoms. I was light-sen­sitive, slept for the majority of the day, was very pale and dressed in all black. Some of my friends said that I was just extremely hungov­er and being emo. And that I had always been that pale. But I’m not so sure. Then a few days later, I started to feel ill. My throat itched, I became very congested and was irritable. I knew this meant that the vampire must have sucked my blood and that I was dying. I went to say goodbye to my friends and once again they told me that I was always irritable and that I probably just had the cold that was go­ing around. I suppose only time will tell if I am transforming Count Dracula or merely have the common cold. I’ll keep all my avid readers updated. In the meantime, fuck the vampatriarchy.

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