Hashtag No Filter
Holy fuck; your skin has never looked better! It’s like you woke up Photoshopped and it’s gonna last until the end of the universe. You even tested it by slathering your hands in lard and bleach, and then rubbing it all over your face like a masque and leaving it on for eight hours. Contrary to urban legend, you DO still have pores, and they’re more perfect than the hypothetical gaybie of Ryan Reynolds and Chris Evans.
Say Maybe To Drugs
The good news is you can pretty much do whatever the fuck you want since you’re immortal and pseudo-indestructible. Always wanted to be a renowned drug trafficker? Awesome! Now no one will ever believe that El Jefe/a is a vampire, and if you get caught for being a murderous narc lord, they won’t know to give you more than a couple life sentences. Wanna take advantage of all the shit that was too expensive to develop a habit of, and too bad for your body, back in the land of the living? Too bad. Cocaine, meth, heroin, bath salts — all of it runs right through you. Good thing you actually like the taste of whiskey, cuz an entire handle of the stuff doesn’t even give you so much as a buzz anymore. Trust me, I’ve tried.
A Thousand Words
You thought that whole “no mirrors, no cameras” thing was an old wives tale, but turns out it’s not and you didn’t even get the chance to take a final selfie before joining team mausoleum. Your last IG pic was of you kissing your cat and god, that’s sad even if it is adorable as fuck.
All Sex Is Period Sex
Know what happens when you consume blood to survive? Your bodily fluids turn to, you guessed it, blood! Tears? Blood! Sweat? Blood! Cum? Blood! The upside is, you already got your red wings before you died because you weren’t a prude little biiiiiatch, so the first time it happened afterward wasn’t too shocking.
You Should Go And Love Yourself
If you weren’t lucky enough to get ripped before the change, you’re stuck the way you were. Your superficial ass better get hella body pos real quick cuz you’re stuck with your love handles foreverrrrrrrr.
Hair Today, Gone tomorr. . . Shoot Me
Remember when you kept putting off that trip to get your hair cut because your cash flow was still with the living and you had rent and bills and a car payment to take care of? Well great job, because now that you’re undead, you’re stuck with that same dumb procrastinator’s haircut for the rest of your unnatural life. Every time you cut it, it immediately grows right back to an uncute, unkempt length. It’s enough to make you wanna run out into the sun covered in baby oil for that extra-crispy touch of eternal self-flagellation.
Nothing Tastes As Good As Anything Feels
The good news is you never have to work out or watch what you eat ever again. The bad news is every single thing that you put into your mouth tastes like a bag of fucking pennies.
Blood Doesn’t Taste Good
In fact, it tastes just like all the sex you have.
The Pied Piper Of Pussy
Cats love you. All of them. No seriously, ALL of them. The only thing they fear is water and being petted against the grain, and now you have 199 of those indifferent little problems. They loiter around outside and flank you like tiny demon bodyguards as you stroll around under cover of night. When you get tired of them you spritz them with a water gun you filled with holy water for shits and giggles. (Because guess what, it doesn’t hurt/burn/sizzle in the slightest.)
Byeeeeee Sunday Funday
No matter how much glitter you put on your hand-calligraphed invitations, no one wants to get day drunk at the lair when it’s nice outside, so you consistently miss dibs on all the hot goss and shade. It’s just not the same catching up via Insta and Twitter.
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Illustrations by Katie Tandy