Okay, that’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m done being toyed with. No longer will I sit around and wait for the Cryptkeeper to resurrect my hopes, only to sit by the phone just waiting for him to call, every single night.
Or should I say every single… FRIGHT!
This is the last time I’m going to let that skeletal, voice-box-having, pun-slinging deadbeat break my heart. No matter how much I’m DYING for him to actually treat me like someone worth living for.
I can’t even get that motherfucker to have a nice normal date with me, he only wants a booty call that hasn’t been dead for fifty years. Just last week I said, “Let’s go for some frozen yogurt, babe, we can make it a thing,” and he said, “Nah, I think I’ll stick to something more CHILLING…like ice SCREAM!”
That doesn’t even make sense, they’re both the same temperature.
We met at a meet-cute of sorts: I was at a Halloween party, a little tipsy on pumpkin spice and existential dread, when I noticed him looming in the corner, only the top half of him showing for some inexplicable reason.
His skeletal frame was hard to miss, but it was his puns and odor of rotting flesh that reeled me in. After a few minutes of chatting me up, he just straight-up asked me home, saying “You want to get out of…FEAR? My place is a real dungeon, you know.”
Ugh, classic Cryptkeeper.
I knew then that this would be the start of something… passionate, torrid, and quite frankly, doomed from the start. At first, it felt like a whirlwind romance. We were inseparable, until I caught him whispering sweet nothings into the ears of some ghoul at the club one night.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” I thought, “I’m just your loving, alive partner, over here with a drink in hand, while you shack up with the undead on the dance floor.” It was the third time in a row I’d found him at some late-night haunt, pawing at a pile of hot vampire chicks.
I talked with my friends about it, and I finally put my foot down.
“No matter how hot he is or how his cackle fills me with more erotic charge than anyone else ever could.,” I said, “I can’t keep dating a guy who’s more committed to his crypt than to me!”
They agreed. It was hard, though—he does have that look. You know, the look that says, “My eyeballs rotted away centuries ago… but, like, in a sexy way.”
Ugh.
I deserve better than that. At least from someone who doesn’t have to re-animate every time I call him. And maybe someone who isn’t obsessed with DEPRAVED stories and breaking the fourth wall.
Or should I say…breaking the fourth MAUL!