by Constantin von Hoffmeister

Act I

Germany is a place of fit for fun. It exudes an air of elegance buried in soot. The darkness has Germany firm in its grip. Germany once had grand opera houses that staged classical operas in a classical fashion. Germany exuded an air of elegance in certain places like Baden-Baden where Russian aristocrats blew out their brains in the suicide room at the casino. Stiff-necked Prussian officers strolled down Unter den Linden in Berlin, discussing the strategic advantage of an army retreating under heavy artillery bombardment. The Napoleonic Code on their inebriated minds, the young students in Heidelberg proceeded to liberally duel each other with freshly sharpened rapiers. Goethe and Schiller drank beer at Auerbach's Cellar in Leipzig, both well aware of the promising state of the world and discussing the sorry state that Faust was in when he died destitute (strangled by the devil!) in his house in Wittenberg, watched over only by his only son Michael (who later became the Archangel's disciple in the War To End All Wars). The new lane to the villa opened up new vistas: in the evening dragons on the horizons all slain by Siegfrieds, in the morning cows peacefully grazing amidst the horror and shell holes of a war long past, in the afternoon some Bavarians pull up in a limousine and set up a picnic table, eating hearty sausages and drinking heavy (wheat) beer.

Act II

Nosferatu finally settled in Berlin. He frequented all the seedy nightclubs and homosexual joints where the clientele thought vampires were really "sexy" and "manly" to boot. His fangs were the main attraction at the ELDORADO bar for a while. Transvestites would like to have their stockings ripped by Nosferatu's fangs. Nosferatu even had a wig made for him, a classic one, similar to the one that Marie Antoinette used to wear in her glory days (when she said, "I am not a bitch, I am a real dog, ne pas?"). Nosferatu was a lonely soul who had many male lovers but no offspring (being a creature of the night and all). Nosferatu felt ill in the winter of 1929, but he recovered in the spring of 1930, even going out at night to Wannsee to take a dip in the fresh cool water. Sometimes he would bite lovers making love on one of the beaches overlooking Wannsee. But in the winter of 1931 Nosferatu felt ill again, sometimes vomiting up pale blood in his coffin during the day. At night he was so weak, he could barely drag himself to a homosexual bar, much less take a dip in the cold waters of the Wannsee. Nosferatu died in March that year. The monocled head of the Society That Deals With The Needs Of The Creatures Of The Night arranged the transfer of his ashes back to Romania.


Hans bought an apple. Hans ate the apple. Hans walked deep into the dark Black Forest. Hans came across a lonely cottage. An old and wrinkled woman was looking out a window. "Come here, boy, so I can have a look at your lean figure," the old and wrinkled woman said. "I'm not thin. I'm fat," Hans said. And the old and wrinkled woman coaxed Hans into the lonely wooden cottage where she fattened him up even more and then ate him.