Okay, so vampires. Vampires are supposedly people who were either infected with a condition by the bite of an existing vampire, or poisoned by something contained in the blood of a vampire that they were induced to drink after a bite. So, who made the first vampire? Somebody just woke up one day and it was actually night and they had fangs and were wearing a tux? Were they made from a vampire bat? The vampire bats have no special power, do they? Maybe their leathery wings, and maybe the fact that they look like a chihuahua rat bird. I am not sure that is a power, though. I mean nobody enters a dimly-lit cave and goes, “Awwww, look at the cute little chihuahua rat bird! Such a cute widdle blood-sucking bitey thing! Look at it zoom towards my face!” I know some people think they are fascinating, but much like hummingbirds, nothing is beautiful when it is pointy and heading towards your eye in a threatening way. Not even nipples.

Anyhow, although they have a fairly specific story after they are made vampire, I wonder what the reality of that would be. Assume that they are only drinking blood for nutrition. We assume their vampire nature somehow changes their stomach so it can absorb and digest that much blood. Blood has about 400-500 calories per pint, which is what people donate and what is in the little bags that get put on the pole during surgery when they yell, “Two units of O Neg STAT!” Also, what the hell was wrong with saying “now”? Is “STAT!” easier to say or hear? It seems to me that it wouldn’t be. Much like when they tell you that you have “increasing borborygmus” instead of a rumbly tummy. My favorite of those kinds of terms is “vasovagal syncope,” which means fainting, but sounds like some weird sex thing for which you need to be in the kitchen with something to hold a bouquet of flowers in and a full bladder.

So, back to vampires. If they have the same basic caloric requirements as we do, they need four or five pints of blood to get to 2000+ calories, which means that they would need to drink a little less than half a person of blood per day. But that would be like eating all your meals in a day at once. So like for breakfast you have coffee, two eggs, two buttered toasts, four pieces of bacon (okay six, but nobody saw you steal those from your son’s plate, so they have no idea), a submarine sandwich, some potato chips (not the Maui Onion ones, because they were out), a Snapple, a chocolate with almonds candy bar from the box that a co-worker left out as a fundraiser for their kid’s school, a beer, and a plate and a half of Spaghetti Carbonara with garlic bread and roasted asparagus, and possibly some tiramisu if you could shove it in there with a spatula or a plunger or something. However, just the size of your stomach would likely prevent this from happening. As would trying to drink a gallon or more of any liquid, especially a thick, clotty one. Like, think of drinking a gallon of Kombucha. Wait, don’t. That would be disgusting.

Plus, the intrepid vampire hunter that finds the victim usually says they were completely drained of blood. Every drop. How do they know that just from looking? Did they turn them upside down and see if any came out? Hyperbole sir, the sheerest unforgiveable hyperbole. But imagine if they were, that would mean that the vampire had eaten the equivalent of two Thanksgiving dinners in a row. Seriously, wouldn’t they be easy to find? They would be on the recliner next to the body snoring with their tuxedo pants button undone and their tie and shoes off for sure. But instead, they have somehow made a miraculous getaway.

Of course this assumes that all vampires are cunning and evil. Since they were presumably at one time normal people before they became the undead, it makes no sense. Where are the low self-esteem vampires that are like, “Um, if I could have some of your blood, that would be cool, but only if it is OK with you?” Or the ones that only drink the finest blood from PhD candidates, or vegans or that claim they have gluten intolerance and it is really hard to find gluten-free blood? Or the ones who won’t drink from vaccinated people because of chemtrails or something?

If I were a vampire, I would be the one that has to be reminded to go hunting, and that would be more fascinated with the flying around and such than knowing when the sun was coming up. I would probably be tossing and turning in my coffin, and eventually giving up and just watching another three or four episodes of Dirk Gently because I find clearing stuff off the DVR unusually satisfying, even at 3am. Plus the formalwear would totally be out. I would probably look like a geek vampire with jeans or sweats and a t-shirt explaining the physics behind a swallow being able to carry a coconut, and an Oakland A’s hat on. Not really that scary looking, but then again, I would also probably just figure out how to get a bunch of blood to put in the refrigerator instead of hunting. Seems like owning a mortuary would do the trick. You could build up a huge stockpile, and then spend your nights doing other stuff. I would probably stay home and cook bloodsagna or something. Actually, scratch that. It wouldn’t be good without the garlic, and that would be a problem.

Like this. I have this shirt.

I could also start a subscription dinner in a box service for other vampires too, and call it like Hello Blood, or Red Apron or something. It would have blood, and some spices and such and instructions on how to prepare delicious meals in about a half an hour. Or I could start a craft blood brewery, where by IPB would be made from only free-range anemia patients with just a touch of coriander and wolfsbane aftertaste, and I would make a stout from stout people and a porter from the guys that take your bags at the airport. One business I would have to give some thoughts to would be how to make blood chips, because technically those would be scabs, and that is probably poor branding. Maybe we call them “healers,” or “blood leather,” or “human rinds” or something.

But maybe I am overthinking this.

Tony Moir is a cyborg who holds world records in synchronized luge and panda steeplechase. Or maybe he isn’t. But he lives in San Francisco with his lovely wife and three outstanding sons.

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