No Valentines for Generation Twilight by Libby Cudmore

THANKS Libby for this sweet-tart Valentine Post; for more V-day fun, scroll down for THE BACHELOR… Breaking News: Twilight’s ROBERT PATTINSON, a la John Mayer, gives his own weird TMI interview…

Libby Cudmore’s recent publications include Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers, Nefarious Muse and Big Pulp (with Matthew Quinn Martin) with future stories in upcoming issues of The MacGuffin and the Yalobusha Review.

No Valentines for Generation Twilight

By Libby Cudmore

I have just seen what might be the saddest valentine on earth.

I was at the drugstore with my boyfriend, Ian, and I was looking in the candy aisle because I love candy.  Turns out they stopped making those big heart-shaped boxes of chocolates with the teddy bears on them, which is a drag because I always wanted one of those.  But what they did have, of course, was Twilight themed boxes of Sweet Tarts.  And on them was the following inscription

“You’re My Valentine . . . But Edward Has My Heart.” (Or Jacob, depending on which team you bat for)

Someone is going to get that this Valentine’s Day.  Someone is going to receive, from their girlfriend, a box of candy proclaiming their love for an imaginary glittery vampire.

Can you imagine being that guy?

I have loved many, many, MANY imaginary men in my life—Han Solo, Detective Elliot Stabler, the Phantom of the Opera, Agent #1 on Fringe, a whole menagerie of Jeff Goldblum characters—but this was always between me and my TV and a group of girlfriends who thought I was a little weird.  I have never once asked a lover to dress in tight pants with a red stripe down the side or wear black glasses and stammer a lot or let me call them “Mr. Protocol” while we do it.

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UNDYING VAMPIRE LOVE by Susan Lilley

Susan Lilley is a poet and a Florida native.  She is author of the chapbook Night Windows (Yellow Jacket Press) and her work can be found in Poet Lore, The Florida Review, Passager, and The Southern Review.

Undying Vampire Love By Susan Lilley

I won’t be shelling out my entertainment dollars for New Moon, the latest in the Twilight films based on novels that females around the country are sucking down like Bloody Marys on New Year’s Day.

First of all, I’m terrified I might love it. I already indulge in enough ridiculous age-inappropriate obsessions, like Mad Libs, Pee-wee’s Playhouse reruns, and rock bands for which I may well be the oldest fan. As much as I love the sound of Vampire Weekend, I am holding out for something even better, the return of Dark Shadows.

In my youth, I secretly loved vampire Barnabas Collins, the menacing centrifuge of the gloriously gothic late-60s TV soap that aired every day after school. I never missed an episode.

My best friend, Kate, and I would dash to my house in her four-on-the-floor black Chevy, with Cat Stevens or Sly and the Family Stone blaring on the eight-track. As the maudlin strains of the ending-credits theme of The Guiding Light played, we hurriedly prepared our refreshments: a gallon of Tab and a jumbo bag of taco-flavored Doritos, which our boyfriends said turned our breath to battery acid. We didn’t care – we were on our way to Collinwood, the moody estate where Barnabas lurked as a tormented, lonely, forever-old but ageless, blood-sucking anti-hero.

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