We have secured copies of Count Dracula’s deed to the estate known as Carfax, located in Purfleet, England. Printed on a brilliant blood red paper with black ink and metallic gold, this immeasurably pleasant print is 8.5" x 11" acid-free 100# paper.
ON SALE for $10.00
We are re-configuring our art prints and about to move shipping offices. When this goes to re-print (it will be months from now, at least), it will be smaller – so if you would like it large, snag it now!
Print quantities are extremely limited. Our previous print at this size and cost (“Be the Villain…” sold out in about 36 hours with a similar quantity).
Yo, I went on Miiverse not that long ago and saw this! I snapped a screenshot of it because it’s Sunday, so I thought Sakurai made a mistake and meant to upload it tomorrow. It was deleted immediately after. Sakurai’s really going all out on these alt costumes! Can’t wait for Smash!
This is a true story, a quite disturbing occurrence I had the
misfortune to experience when I was at the impressionable – and, mind
you, easily frightened – age of 7. The entire spectacle is centered
around a road trip. This I must explain to you immediately, so that I
can tell you the background of the story.
A month prior, my father had entered a contest. The contest was launched
by a chain of failing gas stations in my area as a means of
advertising. The concept was to distribute bumper stickers that bore the
name of the gas station, (which I recall as “Iron-Pump” or something
similarly cheesy), and at the end of the promotion, the first person
they saw on the road sporting one of these poorly craft automobile
accessories would be given free gas for a year. I suppose their
intention was to make back their money with the free advertising, as
they didn’t expect anyone could use very much gas in one year. They
obviously had no idea the kind of person my father was. As you can
probably assume, he won the contest, and was given a contract to sign
giving him permission to use all Iron-Pump gas pumps free of charge for
exactly twelve months.
The very next day, my father rented a tanker truck that is usually used
to transport oil. Then my dear old dad set about emptying every single
pump at our local Iron Pump into he truck. The attendants tried to stop
him, and of course threatened lawsuit, but my father was a smart man,
albeit a filthy crook, and had found multiple loopholes in the contract
that essentially allowed him to take as much gas as he wanted. The
idiots hadn’t specified a maximum.
Now, our family wasn’t very rich. My father was a genius, but he was
lazy, and his law degree served the sole purpose of dust collection in
his bedroom closet. Because we weren’t the most frugal family in the
neighborhood, we rarely went on vacations, or family outings. So we were
quite excited when our father announced we’d be embarking on a
nationwide road trip beginning next week. I could hardly contain my
glee. Ah, the irony.
So we set off in my mother’s disheveled Range Rover, an old piece of
junk that worked once in a blue moon, and filled a trailer full of gas
tanks my dad had filled up in the week proceeding that we hitched behind
us. No more running on empty for this family! I remember packing not
enough clothes, and too many crosswords. I was obsessed with word games
at that point. I had quite the vocabulary for someone who couldn’t ride
the tea cups when the circus came around.
It was about four days in that the car troubles started. And it was four
hours in that the boredom began, so our irritation at my mother’s poor
excuse for a vehicle was only inflated by our restlessness. It got to
the point that we’d stall out three or four times in one hour. It only
took about two hours of this for my dad to lose what little patience he
could fit into his mind. He concocted a plan that involved selling some
of the extra gas we had brought along to passerby’s, and renting another
car to continue the O’Reilly family outing extravaganza.
“What about mum’s car?” I remember my little sister asking. My father
chuckled and told of the glee it would fill him with to never have to
see that piece of garbage again. My mother passively agreed. They, of
course, implied by this that they would be abandoning the MomMobile.
We eventually sold enough gas to rent a car. My scoundrel dad filled up
half the tank with rocks to make more profit, so it wasn’t difficult. A
suspicious state trooper came by, asking what we were doing. He got a
tremendously good deal; two tanks free. What a good person my dad was.
We walked up to the car Rental place, which was literally in the middle
of no where. A dirt road on a flat plane that expanded to all visible
horizons was the only other thing of interest. Completely devoid of
life. The first thing I remember about the rental place was that it
reeked of something dead. We could smell this even before entering the
property. I had to hold my shirt to my nose, and clenched my mother’s
hand extra tight. I felt a sense of uneasiness immediately. How was this
rental place still open? All the cars were completely cloaked in dust.
They looked as though they’d been there so long, i was surprised they
hadn’t eroded. The building itself was completely devoid of windows, and
looked to be a part of some prison complex. “Watch out!” my mother
said, as I almost tripped and fell on some rusty razor wire that was
sticking out of the sand on the ground.
“Hello?” My dad called out. No answer, save for a rustling in the tall
grass on the side of the road opposite the car dealership.
“We need a car! Are you open?”
“Why yes, I am!” My entire family jumped in unison, and even my
headstrong father flinched instinctively. We all spun around to face a
grinning salesman in an indigo blue pressed suit who was emerging from
the grass on the opposite side of the road.
There was a moment of tense silence. We were awestruck. Why was the sole
employee of this run down car dealership across the street? And there
was something about his voice, something… artificial… that I couldn’t
quite put my finger on.
“Um… we’re looking to rent a car. Could you help us out?”
The man didn’t budge from his spot across the road, his legs still
concealed by the tall grass. Come to think of it, he didn’t budge from
his expression either. He had sustained the same grin and widened eyes
as before. Now that I had a moment to really inspect his face, he was
downright unsettling. His hair was in such a perfect wave it looked like
he had dunked it in craft glue and let it harden. His smile was
stretched to a physically painful extent, and his eyes were watery from
being open so… so wide. So impossibly wide. I remember thinking how it
was possible to tense the muscles of one’s face so much and not
physically shake. Then I noticed that his face WAS shaking. It wasn’t
noticeable at first, but his whole head seemed to be vibrating, in the
way someone’s arm would who was clenching their fist as hard as they
“Well of couuuuuuurse!” The man replied. The way he said “course”, he
modulated his voice throughout the final syllable, adding extra
inflections, so that it sounded more like “CouUUuUUuuuUuUUurSSE!”
It’s true what they say about a mother’s instinct, for as soon as the
man said this, my mother stood in front of my sister and I
instinctively. I later asked her about his sudden protective stance, and
she told me she hadn’t thought about it at all. Something inside her
had known this man had the most despicable of intentions.
“Okay, well… It’s getting kind of troublesome to have to shout across
this road, so could you come over here and we can discuss it face to
I’ve never seen someone’s expression change so quickly. In the blink of
an eye, his happy go lucky smile had whipped around into a menacing
frown. This frown was stretched just as painfully wide as the grin, and
his head shook with an intensity about equal to when he had been Mr.
“Nnnnoo.” He said very calmly. It sounded like “uhNoooeee’w.”
“Please? This deosn’t seem very professiona-”
All of a sudden the Salesman punched himself in the face with full
force. “Jesus!” my dad exclaimed. At this point, my mom covered my
sister and I’s eyes and walked us away from the man, so my memory of the
dialogue from this point on is vague. But I’ll try to remember some of
what I heard.
“Listen, we can just … it’s not necessary to …”
Thwack! (presumably the man injuring himself again)
“Fuck, stop! Stop …”
“… Two Nights, three fiftyyyyyy”
“That’s fine … keys… family”
“enjoy … rides well, but ….”
“Yeah, you too…”
I heard my dad’s feet crunching on the dirt towards us. “Fucking
lunatic…” he said under his breath. I also heard the jingling of keys,
signifying my dad’s success in renting a car from someone who was
obviously mentally deranged.
My mother’s hand had been removed from my eyes at this point, but it
made no difference, as my eyes had been shut as tight as possible
throughout the entirety of the debate, and I was going to keep them that
way until we were out of sight of the dealership. I heard a car door
open, and I stepped in and buckled up. My dad hooked on our trailer,
started the car, and backed out. I thought I felt eyes on me, so I
decided to open my lids instantaneously to make sure I wasn’t being
watched. It was one of the worst decisions of my life, for at that
moment my window was approximately two feet away from the salesman. I
screamed in terror, because his head was now undergoing tremors of
impossible magnitude, his neck bending in ways I didn’t think possible,
sometimes whipping his head so far forward that it whacked upon my
window. My dad gunned it out of there so fast that the State Trooper
couldn’t have morally accepted a bribe if he saw us this time.
Being a child, I lived in the moment, and before long, my tears of
fright had dried and I had effectively forgotten most of the experience.
I was now happily singing along to the wheels on the bus with my mother
and sister, although we weren’t joined by my father, who was having
difficulty navigating our expedition.
“Shut the hell up a minute, will you?” he cried in a frustrated rage.
The car was immediately silent. “Martha, see if there’s a map in the
glove box. Middluh’ frickin nowhere…” my mother complied silently, but
didn’t get far in her quest, as the glovebox turned out to be locked. It
was locked not by a mechanism of the car itself, but with a physical
rusted padlock that looked more ancient than my grandfather.
My mom opened her mouth to relay her findings, but my dad saw it before she could open her mouth.
“Oh, for the love of…! Everyone look around your seats, the key’s bound to be somewhere!”
And so we initiated our rental car Easter egg hunt, in which there was
only one egg, and we were harnessed in place by seatbelts that were too
tight and chaffed our necks. My sister was the one to find it, tucked
into a slit in her seat’s leather. It bore no markings.
My mother hurriedly inserted it into the padlock, which opened with more
ease than we imagined. She yanked it off, not realizing that her
efforts to open the glovebox earlier had technically “opened” it, and
that the only thing really keeping it closed was the padlock. And so,
onto my mother’s fine linens, their fell jars upon jars of human
appendages. Now, I remember identifying the body parts progressively
during the duration of my mother’s blood curdling scream, so that is how
I’ll present my findings to you below. Both lines of dialogue happened
My mother:OH GOOD CHRIST! GOOD LORD! FUCK! FUCK! AHHHH! AAAAH FUCKING GOD FUCK!
Me (inwardly): Fingers, Toes, Oh that’s an eye, More eyes, that just looks like red paste.
Of course, I was screaming too, so it was mainly my subconscious
mind that calmly separated the contents of the morbid jars into neat
mental categories. So by the time my mother was done assaulting our
eardrums, I had a pretty good understanding of just exactly was in those
And it’s a good thing, too, because before my sister (who didn’t see the
jars because she was only 5 and was sitting behind my mother) could
tell what the fuss was about, all 6 jars of human body parts were flung
out the window with such speed that they could’ve been mistaken for a
Yankee candle. My father had kept his eyes on the road, so the only two
people in the car who had any recollection of the contents of the jars
were me and my mother. Me because I had made a subconscious effort to
remember, and my mom because it was burned into her mind for eternity.
This was helpful later, when we had to explain to the police what was in
there. One person could easily be mistaken, but two who saw the same
thing were more likely to be taken seriously by the authorities.
This rapid propulsion of the contents of the glovebox out the window was
succeeded by several minutes of terrified silence. Well, from my mother
and I. My father was yelling with a ferocious anger, demanding to know
what the hell that was all about, and my sister was doing the same, but
with the cute, still developing language skills of a toddler who just
wanted to know “What happen, mommy? Why’d throwum the windoe?”
Eventually, we were able to communicate what we’d seen, and my dad
calmed down enough to calm US down. He told us it was probably fake,
meant to scare people, that the Salesman was probably a practical joker
of sorts. But to ease our simple, simple minds, he would go to the
police and get the car inspected to make sure there were no more spooky
surprises lurking in our newly rented vehicle.
Here is the exact list of items found by the police in our car, which
they photocopied and gave to my dad, who gave it to me when I turned 18
as a keepsake:
2 legs, human, severed at thigh, vacuum sealed -Trunk
4 Containers of Industrial Strength Razor Blades -Trunk
Three vacuum sealed plastic cubes of unknown meat(later found to be human fat) – Underneath Driver’s Seat
1 copy of unmarked book, poor condition, written in unknown language
(they never figured out what it was, though some speculated Latin)
2 pints of human blood- taped under vehicle (This was the most
disturbing part, as this blood lab tested positive for countless
diseases; HIV, measles, mumps, and others that I don’t remember how to
spell nor pronounce)
The vehicle was unregistered. When the cops got to the dealership, there
was no sign of the man. Records showed that the dealership had been
abandoned for 23 years prior, which explain the dust coated cars, broken
glass, razor wire, and why the car we rented was the only one not
covered in dirt and grime. My dad now admits it was a stupid decision to
to rent from there.
The K-9 unit had dogs try and track the man’s footprints, which looked
promising at first. But they started getting farther and farther apart,
mysteriously, and then disappeared into a lake. They closed our case
when it became evident that no more was going to come of it. The police
triple checked with us to make sure the man had no way of knowing any of
our personal information, and we confirmed that we never even told him
our first names.
To this day, that man’s expression still haunts me, and I only buy
from car dealerships where you can see your reflection in the hoods.