Count Dracula’s Cafe by Scot Walker

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This Play is the copyright of the Author and must not be Performed or Copied without the Author’s prior consent

  At Rise, the stage is pitch dark, we hear Count Dracula off stage
      singing loudly

      COUNT DRACULA: Blood, glorious blood, hot plasma and glucose—

      Anton is off stage, yawning, as if being awakened from a deep sleep

      ANTON: Blood? Did you sing about blood, Count Dracula?

      Sound of feet shuffling as Count Dracula and Anton enter the café and
      turn on the lights

      Lights come up full

      Count Dracula fills his lungs deeply as he enters, savoring the taste
      and smell

      COUNT DRACULA: Keep alert. I smell fresh gay blood sauntering nearby.

      ANTON: Sauntering?

      COUNT DRACULA: Yes. . . sauntering . . . or stewing . . . or
      simmering, it’s out there and getting closer. . . and for God’s
      sakes, retract your fangs!

      ANTON: I’m trying to, but they keep hanging out like I’m a tired
      old dog. I just don’t have the energy I used to—

      COUNT DRACULA: Then Straighten up—

      ANTON: You mean “gay-en up” don’t you?

      COUNT DRACULA: Anton! You’re messing with the wrong vampire!

      Anton looks offstage. He’s heard this sermon a thousand times

      COUNT DRACULA: If you continue your back talk, you’ll never become a
      first- class vampire. Remember, you need my seal of approval for that.

      Anton’s mind is far away

      COUNT DRACULA: Well, what are you waiting for? Set up the tables. We
      don’t have all day—the girls will be sashaying in any minute now.

      Anton mimes setting tables, putting out coffee pots, etc. without
      missing a beat

      ANTON: Sashaying, just like Sugar Plum Fairies straight out of the
      Nutcracker Suite.

      COUNT DRACULA: I love those sugar plum fairies!

      ANTON: Give me an hour with the Nutcracker and that prince will never
      be the same!

      Count Dracula licks his lips

      COUNT DRACULA: Are you sure they’re coming?

      ANTON: You’re the one who decided to buy this coffee shop to hook
      the homos with our coffee aromas and lure them in here so we could
      suck their blood, so you tell me, will we suck gay blood today or
      won’t we? I’m getting so withered and sad I’m not even turned on
      by Liza or Ricky Martin or, Oh My God, Lady Gaga doesn’t even excite
      me anymore! What am I to do . . .and we’re short of coffee cups, on
      top of everything else. Is that all I do around here, fetch and serve,
      fetch and serve?

      Anton exits, still mumbling

      ANTON: Fetch and serve (his voice fades as he completely exits) fetch
      and serve . . .

      Count Dracula shouts after him

      COUNT DRACULA: The fags will be here, you can count on that!

      Anton is totally out of vocal range now and Count Dracula sits,
      admiring his new digs

      COUNT DRACULA: It’s coffee shop magnetism, that’s what it
      is—nothing, and I repeat nothing can keep a gay man away from a hot
      cup of café cocoa mocha for long, nothing!

      Count Dracula leans back in his chair and savors the moment

      COUNT DRACULA: It must be the aroma—I think homos are a lot like us,
      Anton, they savor aromas more than straights do. Brew up an extra
      batch of the mocha cocoa chocolate latte—that’s the one they like
      the best—or is it the scent of the fresh brewed raspberry Tutti
      Fruitti comingled with that deep dark lusty Cuban-Costa Rican blend?
      I’ll never figure them out, but as long as they prance their asses
      in here like good little girls, we’ll both be drowning in delicious
      hot creative gay blood—

      Anton enters. He’s holding a cross in his left hand and a stake in his
      right. A huge garlic necklace hangs loosely around his neck

      Anton holds up the cross as if he’s the Pope

      ANTON: In the name of Jesus, I condemn you.

      Anton takes a few steps towards the Count, brandishing the cross

      Anton pauses a moment and then laughs uproariously, joined in by Count

      COUNT DRACULA: What the hell is this? Vampire Comedy Central?

      Still several yards away, Anton hoists the stake above his head and
      jabs it down into an unseen vampire’s heart, making as many gruesome
      sounds as he can, prolonging the death of the unseen victim and mines
      feasting on the blood

      COUNT DRACULA: Stop it with that stake! Bram Stoker created that
      legend centuries ago. It didn’t work then and it doesn’t work now.
      Nothing can kill a vampire . . . nothing!

      ANTON: I know that and you know that but they don’t know that.
      Besides, wouldn’t it be fun to keep a pile of stakes next to the
      coffee urns? It’ll give the girls a false sense of security and make
      their blood flow richer and faster. Think about how much more that
      will give us to swallow.

      Anton lays the cross and stake down, as he brandishes his garlic
      necklace, rubbing it up and down the Count’s face

      Count Dracula laughs

      COUNT DRACULA: You know neither of us is allergic to garlic
      anymore—I think it’s the Sudafed; it’s changed our immune

      ANTON: That and Duncan Donuts.

      COUNT DRACULA: I forgot about the donuts . . . it’s made my blood
      too sweet. Look at me. I can’t even vamp any more.

      Count Dracula tries to flutter his cape and assume the vampire pose,
      but fails abysmally in his attempt to “fly” around the room until
      once again he finds his chair and collapses in it

      COUNT DRACULA: If we keep drinking all this sweet heterosexual blood,
      we’ll turn into giant Ho Hos.

      ANTON: You spell that with an H, right?

      Count Dracula laughs again


      Count Dracula spells out the letters.

      COUNT DRACULA: H, O, H, O, just like Santa’s laughter.

      ANTON: I’m not into Ho Ho’s, I’m more of a Twinkie lover,
      myself! Give me all those hot young twenty-year olds: they’re as
      tender as chicken McFaggots.

      COUNT DRACULA: See, that’s why you’re going to remain a second
      class vampire for another five hundred years. You’ve got to get some
      macho homo protein. Without macho man protein, you’ll remain a
      skinny assed vampire for the rest of eternity.

      Anton pulls a Little Debbie from his pocket

      COUNT DRACULA: Get rid of that before you turn into a diabetic. It’s
      bad enough that New York homos are sweeter than lollipops, don’t add
      Little Debbies to the mix. For God’s sakes, Anton, save your
      appetite for gay blood!

      Anton shrugs

      COUNT DRACULA: It’s bad enough you spend half your life hanging out at
      Baskin Robbins and Cinnabon!


      ANTON: I hate them both, but it’s the only way I can dilute that God
      awful heterosexual blood.

      COUNT DRACULA: Well, if you keep this up, you’ll end up a flabby assed

      Anton mumbles under his breath

      ANTON: Like you!

      COUNT DRACULA: Can you picture what the Twilight stars would look like
      if they were real vampires? Especially with this gay blood shortage
      going on?

      ANTON: Give me a tight assed homo any day!

      COUNT DRACULA: Ah yes . . . you’ll look good with a hottie by your
      side—God knows you need something to improve your looks.

      Anton sulks

      COUNT DRACULA: I’m just messing with you, Anton, but I’m guessing
      you don’t want to end up in the geriatrics ward with a flabby ass,
      rotting fangs and wings that won’t unfurl, do you?

      ANTON: That might be better than becoming insulin dependent. I mean a
      vampire can only eat so many donuts!

      COUNT DRACULA: I guess we should look on the good side, if either of
      us does become a diabetic, we’ll have Obama care, won’t we?

      ANTON: Does it come with Medi-Vamp coverage or is it limited to

      COUNT DRACULA: Of course it covers us. We’ve been paying taxes for
      over five hundred years. We’re equal partners under the law!

      ANTON (under his breath): Right, just like we’re entitled to suck
      gay blood!

      COUNT DRACULA (oblivious to Anton’s previous remark): For God’s
      sakes, we deserve some bang for our buck, don’t we?


      COUNT DRACULA: Just consider our situation as “no deposit, no
      return.” If the government won’t allow us to deposit gay blood
      into our veins, we’ll end up returning to the hospital every night.
      (Pause) Picture a hundred thousand anemic vampires, filling
      America’s hospitals, sucking up the entire blood supply.

      ANTON: No deposit, no return! I get it.

      COUNT DRACULA: But . . . will they get it?

      Count Dracula takes a long deep breath

      ANTON: And once the government agrees to our demands, we’ll be high
      stepping on Broadway—

      COUNT DRACULA: With those glorious care-free girls!

      ANTON: High kicking up and down the runway!

      Anton demonstrates his high kick, but quickly fails in his attempt and
      sits, exhausted

      COUNT DRACULA: I guess we could just set up our own version Leisure
      Vampire World—

      ANTON: And fill it with Jacuzzis oozing with blood.

      Sound of someone approaching

      COUNT DRACULA: Shhhh. Stick with the plan and for God’s sakes hide
      that stake! We don’t want to freak out the girls.

      ANTON: Will do, but—

      COUNT DRACULA: Now what?

      ANTON: It’s just that it makes me feel safe with it in my hand. With
      all the raids on the blood mobiles and the Food and Drug
      Administration refusing to accept gay blood, we’re becoming more and
      more defenseless. You saw me just now. I’m too listless to complete
      a series of high kicks. It’s almost like I’ve become too damned
      straight for my own good.

      COUNT DRACULA (Disbelieving): I know, I know, it’s all a government
      plot, but (more rational now and believing) Maybe you’re right. As
      long as the FDA forces us to suck nothing but heterosexual blood,
      we’ll lose our sensitivity, our joy de vie, our love of
      life—we’ll end up like the (shocked at his own words) straight
      people! Like diabetic farts sitting on our front porches, smoking
      Marlboros and wishing we could remember the words to those marvelous
      Liza Minnelli show tunes.

      Sound of Liza Minnelli singing: “Start spreading the news”

      ANTON: You’re not suggesting that the FDA starts taking faggot blood
      again, are you? You know it has been twenty-five years, right?

      COUNT DRACULA: Twenty-five straight blood sucking years! And yes,
      that’s exactly my point! As Michael Jackson would have said, it’s
      as easy as that stupid alphabet song.

      ANTON: ABC?

      COUNT DRACULA: That’s the one.


      COUNT DRACULA: A, our government is destroying creativity by banning
      homosexual blood. B, America hates vampires almost as much as it hates
      homos. C, the government is literally sucking all our virility out of
      us—My God, Anton, that’s why they’re doing it (he has an
      epiphany): they’re keeping us from breeding!

      Anton touches his privates

      ANTON: I thought something was missing!

[end of extract]

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