Sir William Welles’ Nocturnal Diary

A Day-Crawling Salesman stopped at an isolated hotel to ask for a room for the night. The hotel owner said there wasn’t any vacancy but suggested: “I could let you sleep with my daughter if you promise not to bother her.”

The Day-Crawler agreed, quietly went to the room, undressed in the dark, slipped into bed and felt the owner’s daughter by his side. The next morning he asked the Hotel owner for his bill.

“It’ll be just ten dollars,” said the owner, “since you had to share the bed.”

“Your daughter was very cold in that bed,” said the Day-Crawler.

“Yes, I know,” replied the owner, “We’re gonna bury her today.”

A leper walked into Don Hill’s at Salvation and sat down at the bar, whereupon the bartender threw up all over himself and the floor.
The leper looked hurt and said: “Hey, I know I’m not exactly handsome, but I do have feelings!”
Wiping the vomit from his mouth with his sleeve, the bartender replied:

“I’m sorry, man, but it wasn’t you. It’s just that Dj Cyn next to you keeps dipping his crackers in your neck.”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

As some of you have heard via my Facebook profile, some fucked up Day-Crawler stole my black tuxedo jacket the other night! Oh…I got it back all right…but let me tell you the bizarre series of events to you to prove once and for all that 95% of Day-Crawlers are absolutely and completely brain fractured!!!

After leaving Absoloution’s Walpurgisnacht celebration down on Ludlow Street, I went to a familiar Irish pub found very close (stumbling distance, I like to call it) to my apartment, to say hello to the owner, who is an old friend of mine. I will withhold the name of the establishment here because they were in no shape or form responsible for what happened.

Now, as I walked into the place, I noticed a sizable crowd of Day-Crawlers at the bar and booths…it was a Friday night, I’ll admit, but, again, I know the owner and the staff very well and always feel comfortable there. They actually all light up when I arrive…I am their breathe of ‘putrid’ air!

Being that the warm summertime climate was thwarted upon us like a vengeful tsunami, I naturally decided to peel off my jacket and place it on the back of a stool by my glass of wine. Then, I thought it a good idea to go to the jukebox and play something “different” to liven up this mundane crowd…Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line,” best remembered from the last scene in Beetlejuice, always seems to be a great crowd pleaser…when I return to my stool –very close to where the owner of the bar is standing, mind you — I find some drunken, pudgy, little Day-Crawling girl, not more than 25 orbits around the sun in existence, sitting at my stool, on which my jacket is perched. I think nothing of it and, being quite the gentleman that I am, I relinquish the stool to her and politely move my jacket to the next available one directly to her right.

Soon enough, a few more songs pop into my head and I hurried back to the jukebox to educate all of these Day-Crawlers that there is indeed music that exists outside of the Lady Gaga and Jay Z realm. To tell you the truth, I don’t even remember what I played. The moment I turned back around, I immediately noticed something amiss…namely my jacket!

I instinctively ran out of the bar in a panic only to find the street perfectly barren as I scanned the horizons. I ran back in to ask the security guard/bouncer if he’d seen anyone leave with a black jacket. He informed me that only a small group of girls just left. I wasn’t so much concerned for my jacket as much as for the invaluable New Goth City Matrix cell phone kidnapped in its pocket!!!! Then it hit me…I’ll call the Matrix phone from my personal cell phone, which I keep in my vest pocket! As I speed dialed the NGC Matrix phone, I thought to myself that the ‘perp’ wouldn’t be foolish enough to answer it so soon after the crime, right? It rang twice…

“Hello?” a girl’s slurred voice answered.
“Hey! You’ve got my jacket,” I snapped back.
“Yeah…”
“Well come back here and give it back to me!” I ordered.
“No…”
“What do you mean no, you crazy bitch?!?”
“I’m not going back…you can come meet me,” she replies right before hanging up on me!

I was seething by now. I have no clue in which direction to head in. I started toward 3rd Avenue since the subways were in that direction as I dialed MY phone back. She picks up again:

“What?” she smugly answers.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“60th and 2nd…”
“Come back to the *** bar this instant,” I barked.
“No…”
“Fine…just stay at 60th and 2nd…I’ll find YOU!!!”

The next few seconds were a blur as I dashed back toward 2nd Avenue where I should find her at a speed that even impressed myself while I was trying to keep her on the line.

Then, as I rounded the corner, I saw, in the distance, the same pudgy drunk Day-Crawler from before…holding my jacket. My eyes and mind locked onto her like an Eagle on its unsuspecting prey. In an instant I found myself snatching back my jacket and phone from her clutches. To add insult to injury, she starts giving ME attitude via a snide look! 

“What the fuck is your malfunction?” I snap at her.
She stumbled a bit as her eyes tried to focus on the both of me and added, “Whatever, dude…”
“Whatever? You fuckin’ stole my jacket! What the fuck do you mean: ‘Whatever, dude?’”

She stumbled around a bit more trying to get her footing on obviously a sidewalk that was moving way too much under her feet for her taste. At this point I just took pity on her drunken stupidity.

“Go home, you stupid Day-Crawler,” I finally state as I slip on my jacket, feeling its welcomed familiarity over my shoulders, and turned back toward the bar…leaving her to find her way home without getting raped or killed. Good luck with that, I thought to myself as she stumbled in the opposite direction.

As I returned toward the original scene of the crime, I notice a small Aqua-Green box of Listerine breath strips lying on the sidewalk before me. This reminds me that I had a small pack of these in my jacket pocket. I check said pocket and indeed…they were gone! I pick up the fallen breathe strips and, sure enough, they were full…these were mine!!! What else is missing, my mind raced once again. In a flash, I took a mental inventory of my belongings while conducting a full upper torso search of myself. Result: Only one thing missing, a pair of very cool, and fragile, purple sunglasses that, fortunately, I just bought two extra pairs of, from the Gothic Renaissance store for only $8.99 each, just three days prior to the incident. Evidently, she was going through my pockets and dumping out stuff she deemed not worthy or uninteresting…fucking KLEPTO!!!

But the lesson in all of this is thus: Even though to most Day-Crawlers I look strange and evil — Hell! Some of these morons think I’m actually Satan walking the Earth! — I am, again, a proper gentleman that has vowed never to hit or strike a woman…except in maybe extreme self-defence…especially not a pathetic drunk one such as this one. This girl will never, ever realize how lucky she was that she picked my jacket to steal and to have been stupid enough to answer my Matrix phone…there a plenty of idiotic misogynists men out there, running loose, who would have gladly beat the shit out of this girl (or worse) for far less than what she did to me!!! And one day, for she is still young and dumb, sadly for her, it shall happen…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Blimey! My Day-Crawling field research almost proved disastrous for me the other night when I foolishly parked myself within striking distance near an elusive and dangerous Day Crawler creature known commonly among them as a Cougar! Here’s what happened…

Just the other night, out of shear boredom, I ventured to the familiar watering-hole at the Times Square W Hotel’s lobby bar to immerse myself within this migratory herd that have taken rest here for the night. As I reached the floor of the, and the elevator doors ‘ding-ed’ open,  my ears were flooded by the sound of a massive herd of day-Crawlers. It was quite deafening, really. I braved onward. All the habitual pack members were present: the Alpha-males, the cunning females, the suits, the wide eyed foreign ones, and the rest of the herd loudly satisfying their thirst and socializing needs. My quiet corner of the bar that I usually take as my my vantage point was heavily populated and I struggled to find an open slot in which I could squeeze into. Quickly enough, at the other end of the bar, I noticed a space for me to conquer. I swiftly occupy the space without really taking into consideration who my watering-hole neighbors were. That was my major faux-pas.

Immediately I felt judgemental eyes upon me. No problem…I’m used to it…it just pure Day-Crawler instinct. I calmly place an order with a bartendress and slowly open my notebook to start writing down some notes. Using my keen peripheral vision I skillfully take notice that to my left is a small pack of 4 young males trying to impress two much smaller females. The males take little or no interest in me, and, a bit surprising to me, relinquish more space at the bar, in turn, closing in further on the unsuspecting females. I take a cautious and slight glance to my right and there she was…The Cougar!

Cougar was probably not the right word for her…mangy Bobcat was more like it! She was in her late 50’s to early 60’s, blond, dressed like any ex-hippie would (think jeans, a suede jacket, and beads), and was drunk. As I penned my notes on my notebook’s blank page, I felt her gaze clumsily trying to focus on my hands and what I was writing. Her gaze then, of course, then combed me from head to toe in efforts to try to drink me in completely…as if she hadn’t drank enough already! I could feel the questions she wanted to ask me percolate in her head.  She was going to engage me conversation, this I was sure of . I continued to write in my ominous looking notebook…trying to avoid eye contact. I then closed my notebook away from her prying eyes as I took a refreshing sip from my glass of wine.

“Excuse me, ” she started…”Oh, here we go,” I thought…”but is that a bible?” she continued.

“No…this  is my notebook. One doesn’t usually writes in a bible,” I pointed out. She wobbled a bit, tried to focus her eyes onto mine, and became rapidly fascinated with me and my actions.

I took a long scan at the rest of the room over my left shoulder, away from the Cougar in a tactful attempt to avert her gaze…I was also searching for another slot at the bar to which I could sneak away to…but with out any luck.  I could sense that she was again staring at my hands. I will admit that my hands, especially my digits are of particular interest to Day-Crawlers — I have long and extremely pointy finger nails, which are painted in a glossy black lacquer, and my fingers are adorned with rather unique silver rings. So yes…my hands are interesting.

The next thing I know, this odd woman scoops up my right hand to have a close examination of it. All of the sudden I’m standing there with my hand in hers as if she’s going to propose marriage to me!  The most comical part was the bartendress’ reaction to this display before her! She gave me a quizzical and bewildered look, and all I could do was return the same.  Moreover, over the course of time that I was there, the Cougar did this odd behavior not once…but THREE TIMES!!!

I must digress here and give a very scientific explanation of what is a “Cougar.” The term of Cougar (Puma Sexualis) was coined approximately three to four years ago to describe a Day-Crawler female over the age 40 who sexually prey on males much younger than she. Technically, a Cougar is lithe, svelte, and quite physically toned to compete with younger, firmer females for the attention of males. The Cougar is adequately armed with experience, wisdom, sultriness, and the money of one or several ex-husbands, making her even more dangerous. The Cougar is apt in moving quite stealthily when seeking when stalking her prey, and no Alpha-male can tame her; plus every day-Crawling boy she successfully hunts down are left confused, drained, and maybe a bit more experienced.

Back to my ordeal: This Cougar is hitting on me hard! I try to make an effort to ignore her, but to no avail. She was persistent. After some back-and-forth she eventually and confidently asked: “Do you want to join me back in my room for some fun?” I instinctively answered, “Of  course I do! Sure…why not?!? Just give me a few minutes to settle my tab and get my coat out of the coat check. What’s you room number? I’ll meet you there.” She whispered the room number in my ear, gave my earlobe a slight nibble, and stumbled off to the elevator. I settled my tab…I got my coat….AND HIGH-TAILED THE FUCK OUT OF THERE LIKE A JACK-RABBIT!!! I literally flew into a cab outside of the Hotel. I escaped unscathed…but rather shaken. Beware the COUGAR!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Last night, while I was helping tend the bar at my family’s restaurant, I received what quickly became the craziest phone call I’ve ever had in my entire insanity and stupidity filled life among the mundanes. Now, usually when I answer the restaurant’s phone to take down a reservation I do get a plethora of idiotic questions or having to speak with people who have little or no phone skills or manners what-so-ever, but this phone call really took the cake!!! Here’s what went down: (I promise you this really happened, my good friend Victor Noirlocke was there to witness this phone call)

The phone rings and I pick up: “Chez Napoleon, bonsoir,” I answer. Pause. Then an accented male voice responds:

“You speak English?” Pause.
“Excuse me?” I reply in confusion.
“You speak English?”
“Yes. I’m speaking English right now.” Then the real wackiness ensues!
“I want to leave a message to Alain Delon…the actor Alain Delon. Please tell him that I am ready to meet him when ever he wants. If he wants me to shoot him I can shoot him. President Obama has given me a gun to do so. I will meet him where ever he wants. Please make sure Mr. Delon gets this message.”
I respond…very simply…”O.k. Will do!” and hang up immediately on this complete FREAK!!!!!! WTF?!?!?!?!?

I swear, 98% of the people in this world are soooooo fucking insane!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

A young Day-Crawler from the city went to to the country to visit his uncle on the farm, but after a few days he quickly became bored. The uncle tried to think of something for the city boy to do and suggested: “Why don’t you grab a rifle, take the dogs, and go shooting in the woods?”
The nephew cheered up immediately and off he went with the dogs in tow. He returned a few hours later.
“How did you enjoy that?” asked the uncle.
“It was great!” exclaimed the nephew, “Got any more dogs?”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

CRICKEY!!! You will never believe the experience I’ve just had last night! What a rare and fascinating experience! Let me explain…I was unaware, but fortunately privileged to observe a multitude of younger, more underdeveloped Day-Crawlers at a watering-hole which gave me much insight to the basic instinctive behaviors of this species. The research data I’ve gathered is rather staggering and remarkable in which I’ve concluded that common social Day-Crawler behavior is indeed forged at the 18 to 21 year stage of life! Let us proceed into my tale…

I arrived at a familiar watering-hole close to my dwellings at approximately 11pm last night (the name and location of said watering-hole shall not be disclosed here for legal purposes…you’ll understand why in a bit). I could witness from across the street that the establishment was thick with a vast herd…a bit unusual, I thought, but reasoned it to being due to the Sunday night ritual of watching a barbaric gamed called the “Foot-Ball” (which oddly enough hardly involves feet what-so-ever) on numerous television screens.

This specific watering-hole, being known as a “Sports Bar” usually tends to attract male Day-Crawlers seeking to witness male-on-male competition, which, in turn, attract single females whom feign interest in said athletic competition in hopes of finding a mate…a rather desperate and futile exercise, in my opinion. But this was not the case, I soon found out. No! As I approached the watering-hole I soon found myself face-to-face with an inexplicable hoard of under-aged Day-Crawlers!

As I entered I found myself pressing forward through a frenzy of bodies that have not yet fully matured, but find themselves in a much sought after adult environment (for the record I gauged the age range to be 18 - 23). Astonishing! What were the chances? This was maybe a once in a lifetime shot to observe less mature Day-Crawlers at a watering-hole which were gathered there illegally. Let me explain how this rare occurrence comes to fruition:

Usually, within this Day-Crawler age bracket, an attractive female will serve as a scout (perhaps accompanied by a small cluster of other females for maximum effect) in search of a watering hole that is rather lax in their age restriction/serving alcohol to those under 21 policies. On a Sunday night most watering-holes don’t bother to hire a Bouncer since most Day-Crawling revelry is ritually done on Friday and Saturday nights. Once said young Day-Crawling female has infiltrated such an establishment using her charms  on either a doorman/bouncer/bartender, or all of the above if skilled enough, she will quickly use her technology to summon others of her flock to her location. Soon enough a swarm of similar males and females overwhelm the watering-hole and its staff…a sad sight, really.

I was forced to witness several of the bar staff struggle against the onslaught of rapid demands and ravenous appetite for libation! They descended on the bar like a fat kid on a happy meal. The bar staff (most of them good acquaintance of mine) were reduced to nothing more than drones trying to keep afloat among the chaos  in which they swam in…they obviously weren’t expecting this…all I could do was watch in horror.

I pushed past the hoard toward the back of the watering-hole in hopes of finding a small cover of refuge. In doing so, I found two acquaintances that are employed at the watering-hole cowering from the invasion of young Day-Crawlers. Being Day-Crawlers themselves, this gave me great cause for alarm. I found a small 2ft. X 2ft. haven which seemed fortunate…but…un-fortunately was situated directly adjacent to the male and female urination area! Now…whilst this might sound unsightly, it did give me the unique opportunity to witness a rather heated conflict between the young Day-Crawler sexes!

As I stood there, quiet and still, in my corner, in close proximity of the Day-Crawling relief sectors, I observed that the sheer volume of herd population was overbearing on the watering-hole’s facilities. Now, it is scientifically proven that a female Day-Crawler’s bladder is much smaller than a male’s, allowing for reproductive organs and such. And it is also architecturally proven that there are far more relief stations for males than females in any given establishment and/or watering-holes…a sad fact…but true…thus, the following happens:

Males have the fortune of relieving themselves less often and are quicker in doing so (thanks largely in part due to their ability to urinate upright, and their clothing are adapted to accommodate such practice), as opposed to their female counterparts, sometimes having to remove several layers of clothing and also taking extra care of hygiene, primping, etc. within an already restrictive are, hence a queue quickly starts to form. Sometimes small packs of two or three females will enter a small lavatory at once which sometimes adds to the time spent inside as opposed to lessening it in theory. Now, in this day in age, especially with the younger generation of Day-Crawler females, they are not so shy to use a male relief area if unoccupied and if pressed, tossing segregation to the wind. However, you will find that (and particularly because females tend to take longer) that the males become quite hostile to this practice…especially after ingesting several beverages, thus the conflict has been formed…and I find myself uncomfortably amidst this scene. I move to another perch…

I manage my way to the front end of the watering-hole with some great difficulty. As I squeeze through the swarm of young day-Crawlers I feel their judgemental gaze upon me, each commenting on my outlandish fashion and appearance. These adolescents know not what to make of me. They have scarcely ever encountered someone like me in their sheltered, trustfund-baby lives. All eyes on me as I make the long and arduous walk through the thickest part of the crowd where I find my new vantage point. Soon enough I overhear the usual comments and snickered insults. This time, for some strange reason, I feel rather boisterous and resilient to this pack…maybe because they are a lot younger, weaker, and far more inebriated than I am.  When I overheard someone whisper to another, “Hey, take a look at that guy standing behind you” I made sure to move in close and make strong eye contact as the Day-Crawler peered over his shoulder to take a gander at me . With me staring at them in this fashion he was immediately intimidated and diverted his gaze elsewhere. But soon something quite amusing happened…

It was approximately 2am when the Day-Crawling younglings started to migrate away to their lairs, and it was about this time that I felt comfortable enough to move freely about the watering-hole. As I passed by the last remaining pack of baby-blue oxford shirt and khaki pant wearing Day-Crawling males, a spindly, baseball capped individual voiced the following comparison about me to his fellow pack members: “Hey, look! It’s Professor Snape!” This particular Day-Crawler was in such ear-shot of me that he was almost shouting it in my face. I stopped dead in my tracks, turned toward his nerdy little frame, leaned in, and said, “Really? A Harry Potter reference? Is that the best you can do? How much of a child are you?!?” I said this rather loudly just as the jukebox music subsided at just the right moment for all his pack brethren hear me berate him. The bar staff, who is well aware of my style, began laughing at this Day-Crawler’s expense…as did the few Day-Crawling females that lingered. In an instant the spindly Day-Crawler vacated the watering-hole rightfully embarrassed and hopefully have had learned a lesson in tact and decorum. Truely a fascinating experience!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Look at what I found…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

At four o’clock in the morning, two Vampire bats were hanging upside down in their cave. The first bat turned to the other and said: “How about you and I getting some nice and tasty blood for a late night snack?”
     “Where are we gonna find blood at this hour?” asked the other.
     “All right, suit yourself,” said the first. “I’ll go off by myself.”
     Half an hour later, the first bat returned to the cave entrance with blood dripping from his mouth and covering his body.
     “Wow!” said the second bat, “Where did you get all that blood?”
     “See that tree over there?”
     “Yeah…”
     “Well, I didn’t.”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Well…it’s that rotten time of year again…so I finally dragged out my favorite Xmas tree out of the closet.

Isn’t it so cute?

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles