For the last year’s Champions League quarterfinal, we speculated that Barcelona just may embody the spirit of a high school full of vampires. We were pretty close in the comparison and the prediction. Ultimately, despite solid Arsenal resistance, the Cules drove a stake through their hearts.
But the Clasico exceeds in self-appointed grandiosity any old run-of-the-mill Champions League quarterfinal clash. Thus, flash forward several months and add millions of dollars to the movie’s budget. Plot-wise, the vampires have since graduated from high school. They and their werewolf double agent allies have plotted to take over a small pioneer town by the name of Bernabo Bay. Only one thing can stop them: Cowboys. And one more thing: Aliens. And one last thing: Predator.
Of course, we can never fathom why this macabre collection of nocturnal monsters desires to take over Bernabo Bay. Tis a quaint town with humble hardworking folks that work hard in mines. The vampire leader, the fanged and immaculately-eye-brow plucked Count Xavi Nosferatu, has perhaps grown restless in his old age and got bored with his haunted Castle Nou near Mont Thabor. Regardless, he brashly believes that Draculiniesta and fierce werewolves Masher and Busk will make quick work of the townfolk.
They are in for a rude awakening. Bernabo Bay is aware of the impending attack thanks to their own double agent: skinny and socially awkward vampire heartthrob Angel de Muerte. De Muerte looks like an emaciated kid with a tapeworm or a teenager who went vegan to impress a goth chick, but don’t let appearances fool you – he is as quick with his mind as with his feat. He cleverly befriended Lord Leo, a knight of the vampire order, and learned of their attack.
He reported the pending vampire & werewolf invasion to Joe Mayorinho, the town mayor. Mayorinho held a town hall meeting that at times grew rowdy. Peppy, a local ruffian, suggested that they all just kick and step on the vampires until cracking their shins and every metatarsal in their feet. Rancher Sammy the Kid suggested they merely body slam the werewolves into a million pieces. Mayroinho listened to their suggestions, and he liked them. But he also had his own grand plan.
During the meeting, at the back of the town hall stood the cool and eternally calm cowboy Shabby Lonzo. He smirked from time-to-time and puffed on a cigar.
Shabby and Mayorinho both knew the inherent difficulties of vampire combat – any single one could bite you at any single time. Even a prick from vampirocito Alex Sancho would be fatal. The vampires would form a long and spread-out line, appearing thin in ranks. However, at the first sign of success at any single link in the chain, they would then shift their formation to fully press that particular spot. They attacked like water – first a drop, then a flood. The townsfolk did not have time to construct a metaphorical dam, but they would need to stay compact and prioritize the City Hall, the Grain Depository, and the Post Office (with its telegram in case reinforcements had to be called). United, they had a chance. Separated, they would fail.
They would also need help. Each vampire posed a threat, but the Lord Leo and Count Xavi Nosferatu must be divided and accounted for at all times. No human being could stop Lord Leo in flight. Not even a hungry werewolf. They would need help from out of this world. They would need an alien.
Not just any alien would be able to tail Lord Leo. The alien must be fleet of foot but also incorporate unique cloaking techniques so as to render itself invisible at key moments, but also blind Lord Leo at appropriate times. Ideally, the species of alien would have a white cranium that could reflect light to accomplish both those tasks. Thus, Shabby Lonso, despite the inherent frailty and great risk of any cowboy-alien alliance, sent smoke signals into the sky. And sure enough, an alien ship responded, landed, and down came the white-craniumed Coentraooooo. His bleached scalp temporarily blinded Shabby. Perfect, Shabby thought, rubbing his eyes.
Alien forces would also be necessary for any hope of attack. The rear of the vampire legion was guarded by two ferocious werewolves, Masher and Busk. No man could get past them. Even for an alien, battling hand-to-hand with werewolves was a fool’s errand. The alien species must defeat them through slipperiness, not strength. Shabby needed an alien ally with an incredibly moist and slick cranium that could avoid werewolf teeth, and also fake-baked smooth and plasticy skin that could avoid werewolf claws.
He knew who he needed. And, with assistance from Coentraooooo, he coaxed the slimy Crishtano into landing on Earth and forming an alliance with the folk of Bernabo Bay. Still, Crishtano would not start the fight. Rather, he would lurk in a bunker at the end of a very long tunnel and wait for the right moment to spring forth. Joe Mayorinho organized and rallied his men, designated Shabby as lieutenant, and prayed for victory.
A full moon peaked through the clouds. The witching hour approached. The vampires stealthily crept closer. For all the moon’s whiteness, a sea of red soon flooded the town of Bernabo Bay. The townsfolk unleashed an ambush. Ruffians and ranchers and cowboys and vampires and aliens did battle. It was a battling battle of battles that can only be described as battlerific. On a ten-point scale of battleosity, it would have ranked just above Hannibal’s crossing of the alps and just below the Battle of Carthage. 7.8, to be precise.
On the field of battle, the battlers battled valiantly. The townsfolk swarmed Lord Leo at every available instant. At one critical juncture, Peppy tossed a special wooden, silver-lined stake (designed to be deadly for both vampires and werewolves) at the young Lord. His compatriots screamed in horror as the wooden, silver-linted stake flew through the air.
Masher, the werewolf, sensed the danger and sprinted towards his ally, Lord Leo, intending to heroically throw himself in the line of danger. He was willing to sacrifice his own tortured existence for the greater vampire-werewolf good. He galloped a might gallop, with all his might. However, he inexplicably fell to the ground and clutched his ankle, despite no contact whatsoever from any other person or object. Nobody knows why he fell.
Busk, the other werewolf, also alert to the danger. He saw the wooden, silver-lined stake flying towards Lord Leo. He also saw Mash inexplicably laying on the ground. He began a mad dash towards Lord Leo, hoping that he could heroically toss his body in the line of fire and protect him. He ran and ran and ran. However, he too inexplicably fell and clutched his ankle.
Lord Leo appeared doomed. The stake flew closer. However, at that time, Angel De Muerte shouted “Noooooo” and showed his true triple agent colors! Yes, he had tipped off the townsfolk to the vampire attack, but he had also tipped off the vampires that he had tipped off the towns folk to the vampire attack. That’s how they had survived the initial ambush! Apparently, Angel valued his friendship with Lord Leo above all else. He sprinted as fast as he could, intending to valiantly toss his body between the wooden, silver-lined stake and Lord Leo. He sprinted and ran and moved his legs as fast as he could. However, he too fell inexplicably and clutched his knee.
Angel De Muerte, Masher, and Busk writhed on the field in made up agony. The stake flew ever closer to Lord Leo, but in the blink of an eye he sidestepped the stake and made Peppy look like an idiot. For the millionth time. Lord Leo then set his sites on the last hope of the Bernabo Bay: prodigious child of the force Iker Skywalker. He targeted the unsuspecting Iker, prepared to deliver a fatal blow, but then was brutally and savagely taken down from behind by none other than Sergio Han Ramosolo!
This shocks everybody – vampire and aliens and cowboys alike. The night before the big battle, Sergio Han Ramosolo had been all “I’m a cagey bad-ass rebel who is leaving Dodge” and all the cowboys were heartbroken because they thought after all they had experienced that Sergio would have developed bonds of affection. Thus, for Sergio Han Ramosolo to come out of the blue and foul the hell out of Lord Leo was pretty neat. He got a red card for it, but still.
And then came the end game. The pawns cleared the board and out came the true daggers: Jose Mayorinho vs. Pepator, the preppiest and best dressed Predator ever.They circled. They grunted. Before the day of the battle, they had exchanged obtuse banter and indirect barbs via press conferences. Now it was time to fulfill their word.
Then came a fight scene so awkward, so fully of shitty special effects, that it could easily pass for the end of a Star Wars Prequel. At the end, it turned out that Bernabo Bay was built on top of some sort of pyramid or some crap. Nothing important was resolved. Everybody left, disappointed.
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