Have dispatched last of Count Chocula's minions. Used up all defenses intended for chocopire in previous battles. Going into showdown with Count unprepared. No choice. Will have to be resourceful.
Navigate crypts beneath Coco Castle. A maze of winding tunnels and corridors. Could take years to locate Chocula's tomb at current rate. Catch scent. Like packet of Swiss Miss. Faint due to musty air, but unmistakable. Recall epitaph on Tucan Sam's headstone: "Follow your nose". Poor Sam. Murdered by own trio of scheming nephews in effort to commit inheritence fraud. Solved Sam's murder. Brats got life. Sudden recollection of Sam's epitaph...like Sam attempting to give thanks from beyond grave. Hurm.
Lift face above nose and follow the faintly sweet odor of coco powder. Aroma grows stronger as I traverse crypt. Eventually becomes nauseatingly dense and perverted with stench of decay, like bathroom at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.
Finally arrive at entrance to Chocula's tomb. Carved in stone above great bronze double doors is ominous warning: "Blah! I vant to suck your chocolate! Blah!"
Very on the nose.
Burst through both doors with single massive shove. Chocula already knows I'm here. Might as well advertise it. Resting in middle of chamber is large cardboard cereal box. There is a prize inside this box. Not a whistle. Not a yo-yo. A chocolate-sucking undead tyrant.
Plan is simple. Will tear open box and punch sleeping Chocula in face. See where things go from there.
Don't even make it to box. Feel hot breath upon neck. Stink is tremendous, like Whitman's Sampler left out in sun, then stepped on, thrown in garbage, eaten by sufferer of halitosis, then puked into compost heap.
Ironically, foul aroma proved savior. Alerted me to Count's presence in time to dodge before fangs could sink into jugular. Step several feet backward. Keep eyes on Count. He is floating just above ground. Grim smile on lips. Does not consider LOLSCHACH threat. Begins to speak.
"Blah! Velcome to Chocovania! I vill suck your chocolate! Blah!"
Constant use of "Blah!", very annoying. No time to be annoyed. Chocula already diving toward me. Roll to side and avoid pounce. Exit tomb at high speed and sprint down crypt. Don't have to look back. Know Chocula is following. Will have to think of something.
Chocula is upon me. Clutches throat. Hoists me into air. We are hovering above rubble covering remains of Franken Berry. Chocula smiles and with a "Blah!", floats up into massive hole made by Franken Berry, still gripping me by throat.
We float up several levels, eventually surfacing in dark meadow just beyond Coco Castle. Tunnels of crypt reached out further than realized. Chocula slams me into ground. Toying with me. Won't stop saying "Blah!" Still do not have plan. Begin to wonder what having all chocolate sucked from body through neck might feel like.
No. That is defeatist thinking. Must improvise. Take inventory of resources: Dirt. Grass. Oxygen. Pebbles. Cow? Lone cow. Must have been separated from herd.
Race toward bovine with chocopire a hair's width behind me. Tackle cow with last remaining strength. Cow spits out cudd in surprise and lets out tremendous "Moo!" Tips over.
Chocula laughs. Thinks I have lost mind. Reach for cow's utters. Unpleasant appendage to touch. Too much like breasts. Too sexual. Feel dirty. Squeeze teets. Feel dirtier. Ugh.
Raw, unpasturized, unhomogenized milk squirts from utters directly into face of Count Chocula. Milk: the holy water of the chocopire.
The Count let's out an ear-splitting "Blaaaaaaaaaah!" Screams like little girl with skinned knee. Amusing. Continue milking cow, ensuring every drop strikes the already smoking and dissolving Count.
Chocula is done for. Will never forget final look on face before he explodes in a cloud of hellfire and hot chocolate mix.
As arranged, Dreiberg arrives with Archie at eight o'clock to pick me up. Asks me how it went. Reply with "Hurm" and tell him he's getting fatter. Dreiberg drops me off a block from apartment.
With Count Chocula destroyed once and for all, perhaps the world of cereal mascots will return to state resembling peace.
As this thought crosses mind, am approached by short, red haired Irish man dressed in green. Possible leprechaun. The man, named Lucky, is in terrible shape. As if having been pursued by tireless foes across an untold distance for many days and sleepless nights. Lucky is on verge of collapse. Screams to me, "Faith n Begorrah, sir! You got to be helpin' me! They're after me lucky charms! They're always after me lucky charms!"
Leprechaun breaks down into sobs. Just then, spot a pair of juvenile delinquents rounding corner. Trying to steal poor slob's golden pot of marshmallows.
Not on LOLSCHACH's watch.
Crack knuckles, approach delinquents and prepare to balance their breakfasts. With fists.