The Brilliant Quiggly Prim

Random Musing

Vampires for the Responsible Slaughter of Humans, also known as the V.R.S.H. league, was the result of Quiggly Prim's absolute disgust with the irresponsible feeding techniques of Vampires the world over. One of the free services that this NewYork city based non profit offered was a bib which adorned a funnel at the base. The plastic mold of the funnel had been pressed to include threading along the narrow end of the spout onto which a small jar could be screwed. The whole apparatus was made out of a durable Kevlar thread weave as to not tear upon contact with the thrashing and flailing victim.

Why would such a device exist you ask? Quiggly was absolutely fed up with the constant complaints by vampires of their impending hunger. I'm hungry, I must feed or I killed this or that person because I was driven to it by my insatiable appetite, were the common excuses and it was bull s**t if you asked him. Especially when you examined the scene after one such feeding, I mean the blood would be EVERYWHERE! Eight pints of blood surged through each human walking around on a daily basis. But do to the irresponsibility of these harbingers of death, at least four of those pints would end up on the sidewalk or on any number of seedy ally walls, soaked into the carpet or permeating the entirety of otherwise perfectly good sets of clothing. So the funnel bib's aim was simple; isolate blood splatter and collect as much of the coagulant as possible into the funneled beacon. Therefor turning one snack into two and halving vampire related deaths and vampire complaints in general.

All of this blood soaked carnage, while a boom for city clean up workers, cops needing overtime and local stores specializing in seventeenth century apparel actually presented a small drag on the economy as a whole. The night feeder, you see, made the same judgements about who or what they ate as you, I or even our brilliant little Mr. Quiggly Prim would make about the subject of dinner. No one would choose a dog covered in mange over a fatted calf. Therefor those baring fangs would also choose the finely attired, cologne doused accountant or the bedazzled specked lady about town and the socialite as opposed to the shadow of a man marinating in his own gin sauce and filth. Vacancies of the most educated most financially vibrant members of society left outstanding credit unpaid and skilled labor unrepresented.

It was with this in mind that Mr. Quiggly Prim, being one part economist and one part social activist, used the little pull he had to establish a line of credit with Generic City Wide Bank and Trust. It was a bank he felt comfortable doing business with even though every bank in town had a set of operating standards that were so questionably alike that it raised doubts as to the tenacity of free market economy.

So the subject of our brief narrative now flush with cash, drafted out his design and flew to old motor city which had been forever, it seems, in the throws of economic upheaval with the hope of being the very crest of a flood of white nights to come rushing grandly to her rescue.

After months of hard work, Mr. Prim had made the necessary business contacts, allying production managers, a network of independent investors who could be swayed by the allure of easy money and a logistical network of shipping to guarantee that boxes and boxes of these bibs would be available in every city in the world that had need of them. The initial I.P.O was publicly disappointing to the untrained eye, however Hemo-Box would soon have a market and every one rested assured knowing that it would be only a matter of time before revenue began to flow like a great, unbound river. Mr. Prim sold off a majority of his share in Hemo-Box to avoid conflict of interest concerns and flew back to the Big Apple.

To those who stood outside peering into the giant crushing gears of a daunting system, what happened next would have appeared to be the beginning wrap on the drums signaling the march to class warfare. Quiggly Prim, flush with cash from his sale of stock in Hemo-Box, paid his loans in full to Generic City Wide Bank and Trust. With just enough money left over, Prim for brevity, quickly set to work aligning members of local government with those more liberal leaning members of a certain Democratic Party. The debonair lobbyist had been worth the exorbitant cost, a matter of years had been reduced to months. The now established 501 c 3 (called a non-profit by you and I) began its public plea to those more conservative elements of society; in fact the very synonyms to the liberal bent previously mentioned now begged for a place to dump off loads of cash to avoid otherwise stiff earnings penalties. Oh how they danced in tandem. If you or I had been in the throws of our secondary school, the drama would have unfolded like the couple who talked as though they hated one another when apart but when together complimented the other as though they shared the same flesh.

The system was now in place and well funded; it was with great pride that Mr. Quiggly Prim and his staff opened the doors to the first V.R.S.H. clinic on June 29th 2014; the first of a global network of clinics that would rise to meet and minimize this threat that vampires presented to the social fabric of humanity.

Here is where we began our story. Mr. Quiggly Prim sat at the reception desk and wondered hour after hour, day after day, why vampires would refuse to take advantage of this free service. Could they really be that selfish? Maybe they felt as though they were being judged.

Quiggly Prim became bored and concerned. He needed to start moving these bib's. Even though money was plentiful there was no money in the budget for storage of unused bib's and with this he began to ask his staff for input on how to reach out and offer the leagues services. Working through the rank and file he asked for suggestions starting from oldest to youngest. The first three staff members offered only trivial advice. They were yes men with families to think about, in there thirties and above.

Finally Prim came to the copy boy. It was with great pride in his ability to value even the least of his staff and their opinion that he inquired, " How about you boy, how do you think we could reach out the vampire people around us; let them know of the services we offer?" The copy boy starred back with the common place look of indifference of this younger generation and said with a lazy draw, " Vampires don't exist dude."

Who did this little s**t think he was!? He, Prim, had built this company from the ground up through hard work and the sweat of his brow! Now, this simple boy was going to come along and speak on something he new nothing about. Prim was able too keep his cool through it all. He mustn't give it away but the copy boy's fate was sealed. In a couple months he would find grounds for the copy boys dismissal.

A sneaking suspicion had wedged its way into Quiggly Prim's mind after his communique with the copy boy however. A small worry in his mind asked, "What if the vampire population wasn't as big as he thought it to be?" He had bills to pay, he had grown accustom to a certain lifestyle. What about the people who now worked for him, they too relied on him for there livelihoods. Damn it the problem was real, and if it wasn't, he would make it real until people realized they needed the bib's, they needed him! It was with these thoughts in mind that our dear Mr. Quiggly Prim came to a place where he could justify what would happen next.

Francine waded through the mounds of new, hot accessorized clothing inner mingled among piles of once top of the line cell phones, stacks of flashy shoes and once used make-up containers. What a drag, how had her T.V. remote ended up across the room? Power button pressed and depressed, ninety-six inches of reality avoidance now lent light to the already colorful pastel vibrancy of her room. A rapid succession of images portray very young girls, dressed for a night out on a town that aimed to appease the desires of young ladies twice their age. The narrative faded in as the television completed it's translation of the digital format, "Because your young and sexy, your powerful and you don't take attitude from anyone...New,
BITES, do it yourself insert fangs. There power is yours when you take it by force!" On cue, the young girls previously mentioned and inappropriately adorned, were now shown biting into the rigid flesh of there independently selected male counterparts while looking into the camera seductively. BITES by Hemo-Box slow faded onto the screen.

Francine stopped, turned and stood mesmerized by the screen. Her friends had already begun to get BITES, she would have them, it was settled, "MOOoooom!"

Author's Note

Throw a punch, I can take it. :)

Reviews

[Tempeste Mavys]

It's a really interesting plot idea, it catches your attention easily. My advice would be to research info dumps and how to avoid them. It not that the information is irrelevant, it's just dropped fast and all at once and most the time it's a good idea to avoid that. You should take info and stretch it out over the story, if it's only a short story then it's okay though. Also Francine kinda came out of nowhere and ended with her abruptly and we didn't really get an introduction to her and how she related to the story, ya know? But other then that it was pretty good.

[MeathooksMcGee]

Thanks Chelsey. Yeah every one has been telling me that my previous work is too in depth, I'm struggling with writing Drieser in a Reddit-sub world. Send me a read request on your next piece, k? :)

[Tempeste Mavys]

Okay! And don't worry, like all things writing just takes practice.