Most modern portrayals of the vampire would have you believe that they are little more than slightly pale, hipster-haired sex fiends who just really want to make out with misunderstood teenage girls. But that’s certainly not how the original folklore depicted them and, thanks to a few new archeological finds, we might be able to (God forgive me,) shed a little light on the reasons why.

The old-timey vampire couldn’t have been further from the pseudo-goth nancy-boys of today. Ancient  folklore depicted vampires as bloated, discolored, blotchy-skinned, stinking animated corpses covered in rotting death shrouds. But then, if we kept with that story, what would our pre-teen girls masturbate to when they outgrew boy bands?
 

 
This modern fantasy – the gaunt, pale,  noble vampire heartthrob – didn’t become popular until much later, when The Vampyre, a novel written by John Polidori, was published in the 19th century. This work established much of the current vampire mythos, including all of the Romantic affectations, the seductive associations, and their ritualistic origins.But before that time, the origin of the vampire varied greatly, with different cultures believing them to be anything from the angry spirits of evil men, to regretful suicides, to the Chinese belief that a dead body jumped over by a dog would arise as the living dead. But then, the phrase “similar to a vampire” should be taken with a grain of salt as well. What people thought constituted a ‘vampire,’ varied even greater than what they thought spawned them.

The Bulgarians, for example, believed vampires only had one nostril, while the Moravian vampires were all nudists. Albanian vampires wore high-heeled shoes exclusively, and Mexican vampires had skulls in place of heads. Brazilian vampires had furry feet like hobbits, and early American vampires were thought to suck blood from their victims’ ears using their vampiric noses. There were common traits across all cultures, however. Red hair was often thought to be a sign of vampirism, as well as the ability to sleep with one eye open. All Southeastern Asian vampires shared a bizarre kind of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in common: They could be stopped by spilling bags of rice, sand, or seeds in front of them, because they’d have to count every single particle before they could move on.

But more importantly, the common traits of bloating flesh, ceaselessly staring eyes, sharp teeth and fingernails were all cornerstones of these tales. And we’re recently discovered a reason for that.

A Venetian archaeological find in back in 2006 turned up an ancient plague pit, (a mass grave for disease victims,) wherein a woman was buried with a brick shoved between her teeth, presumably to prevent her from feeding. This intrigued forensic scientists, who then began investigating possible reasons for the ancient gravediggers to suspect this particular corpse amongst the dozens present. They found that the brick was placed in this specific woman’s mouth several years after she was buried, when a resurgence of plague hit the area. The gravediggers, faced with an influx of new bodies, began exhuming older, pre-existing mass graves to inter the fresh ones.

When they came across a body that seemed much more well-preserved than the others, but still bloated due to the decomposition process, they assumed this was a sign of a fresh feeding. And since seemingly fresh blood was seeping from the face, and a hole was eaten through the burial shroud – as though she’d been chewing it – you can start to see why they were unsettled. So they assumed it was a vampire, and teenagers suddenly had one more way to express their parental angst.

But the bloating they saw was actually little more than the post-mortem build up of gases in the body, and the blood is really a slurry of bodily fluids pushed up through the mouth by decomposing organs. After death, the body also loses fluids and skin, gums, and facial features begin to contort and shrink, which explains the illusion of the sharp teeth and long nails, Finally, the burial shroud was decayed about the mouth due to the higher presence of bacteria there, especially after death. As for the unnerving, ceaseless stare? Well, all right. That one is just plain vampirism. Feel free to panic and start staking everything that looks a little pekid.

That brings up the subject of killing vampires: It’s easy to see where the holy associations-  like crosses and holy water came from – people still turn to religion to combat perceived evil in modern times. And fire… well, fire burns, doesn’t it?

Got a scary thing? Burn with fire. Problem solved!

But then, where did the practice of wooden staking come from? That just seems so bizarrely specific, and yet it’s also a common theme all across the world. This, again, can be explained by the nature of human decomposition. Penetrating the body at an advanced stage of decay, and with a suitably large instrument, would cause the body to “bleed” and deflate as the internal pressures suddenly expelled the dead fluids inside. As the gases escaped the body, they would also produce a groaning, hissing, screaming noise, which could have either sounded like an unearthly death cry or, in some cases, sound quite similar to flatulence.

So, does it take away a little of the magic knowing that ancient vampires were fat, purple nudists in high heels with hobbit feet, who would fart through their mouths when you killed them?
 

 
As stupid as this may seem – misinterpreting all of these normal, natural stages of death as proof of mythical monsters – it’s not like this was limited to ancient times. In 2005, Romanian villagers were prosecuted for mutilating a corpse, which they explained to the authorities was the body of a relative recently passed. Sickness, ill fortune, and disease plagued the family immediately after their uncle died, and so they assumed it was the evildoing of a dark spirit. Operating under this belief, they dug him up, staked him with a pitchfork, and pulled out his heart. Then, because if something is worth doing, it’s worth insanely overdoing, they also burned the heart and mixed the ashes into some Peppermint Schnappes…which they all drank! Hey, listen: if you’re going to lose a relative, be arrested for human vandalism, and get cursed by a demon, the least you could do is get fucked up on his monsterjuice. When asked why, exactly, they were so convinced their uncle was a vampire, the family cited some familiar reasoning: He was bloated and discolored, yet looked plump and recently fed. His teeth and nails were long, and there was blood about his mouth. When they staked him, he moaned, screamed, and twitched – as though alive. That’s when they knew for sure.

So clearly, while the vampire myth may have evolved so drastically as to be all but unrecognizable from its origins, apparently human stupidity has not. We’re all still falling for the same trick, 500 years later. But we are gettin’ fucked up on vampires now, and that’s a new twist: Nobody from ancient times can say they were taking Dracula shots, can they? I guess humanity has made some progress, after all.
 

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots

Through metaphor, simile, or analogy, comic books reflect our meager human dramas in grandiose terms. They drive their simple points home in complicated ways – reflecting on the nature of good, the balance of power, and the personal responsibility of modern man. By virtue of outlandish scenarios and ridiculous plot points, they lay bare the reality of everyday life. Other times, real life says “fuck that noise,” and decides to show comic books how this shit is done. This is one of those times:

Thomas Leopold is the dean of an English tutorial college in Harrow, Middlesex. He is a wanted sex offender, and a pedophile. He is also so radioactive that he poses a danger to himself and others. And he is also, unfortunately, an escaped convict.

Start taking notes here, comic books, because this is how you write the perfect super-villain.

Leopold recently received an intensive radiation treatment, after he was given large doses of radioactive liquid iodine to combat a thyroid condition. Normally you’d be hospitalized for about six weeks after this kind of treatment, and your contact with others would be strictly monitored so that you don’t sicken your loved ones with your poisonous aura, but not Leopold. No, he’s most likely roaming the Irish countryside right now, probably not blasting kittens with his evil radiation pulses, (but one can be forgiven for assuming so.)

The real danger of Leopold comes from any first or even secondhand contact. Thomas Leopold is quite literally a radioactive man, and his physical body is easily capable of radiating others in his immediate vicinity. Whether that poisoning is from physically touching him, being too near him, or just using a seat soon after him, is really up to you and the metaphorical Russian Roulette you want to play with the nuclear man. The radiation can be passed by other means than strict contact, though – including saliva, sweat, or even urine. So, not only could he strangle you with his child-touching cancer hands, but the man literally pees nuclear poison!

He truly is the perfect antagonist: Point me to a more reviled villain than a child molester; point me to a more intimidating profession for that villain than a professor; now point me to better super-powers than the ability to sweat out a slow nebulous death, or just smothering your foes in a radioactive headlock.

Thomas Leopold, (or as I like to call him, Professor Polonium Pornography,) escaped the police while taking a ferry to Ireland in early February, 2009. Seeing as how he was radioactive and needed to be contained for public safety, he requested to remain in his own vehicle for the journey, which he was allowed to do after he showed his radiation card to ferry operators.

Which, incidentally, is the single most intimidating card a man can possess. Picture it: A sickly man stands before you – physically frail, though his intellect is still apparent by the keen dart of his eyes. He rubs his hands together and lewdly eyes your child across the room. You demand to see this man’s credentials, for what right does this horrible creature have to be here? He smiles amiably for the first time, his cruel face breaking at the seams with this obviously unfamiliar expression.

“My card,” he says, handing you a slip of faded white paper.

You turn it over and recognize the intimidating iconography of the international symbol for nuclear energy.

And as the lights suddenly begin to flicker and dim, you can see his bony hands – now glowing in the twilight – reach for his fly. Your throat tightens in fear; your mouth becomes impossibly dry.

“I’ve got to take a leak,” he cackles, “a reactor leak!”

But listen, even if you despise my inane ramblings, I want you to come away from this blog knowing one simple, undeniable thing: Any way you cut it, there is a British professor out there, right this second, who is pretty much a nuclear powered child molester. And  the world is simultaneously just a little more awesome, and a fuck-ton more terrifying because of it.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, but nothing’s going to top the radioactive death urine.

As a child, did you ever get one of those crappy knock-off Radio Shack remote control cars as a gift? Nothing but kinked up wires attached to a 3 foot long cord, plastic wheels, and a made in Ukraine sticker on the bottom? Well, it’s time to start making up for it. How about starting off with an R.C. tiger? An actual, literal, remote controlled tiger. We’re not there yet, but we’re not as far off as you might think. Scientists are delving ever deeper into the somewhat disturbing realm of remote control animals, and here’s how they’re doing so far…

One of the early successful attempts at remotely controlling another living creature was conducted by Yale scientists, who started things off small, and began experimenting on fruit flies.

Fruit flies are pretty basic creatures, so it makes sense to start with them when you ultimately decide to try your hand at both animal programming and blasphemy. They stimulated the neurons of the flies with laser pulses, which did prove successful in a small way. They could provoke periods of activity or inactivity, but that was pretty much it. And, because playing god is just no fun unless there’s a bit of terror in it, they then continued on to prove that the fruit fly doesn’t even need a brain to be controlled… by chopping its god damn head off!

So, undead laser controlled insects? Pretty good for a first try at horror, Yale! But, never content to leave well enough alone, scientists at Berkley went ahead and upped the terror ante by doing similar experiments with a Rhinoceros Beetle. Because if you’re trying to win the Fear Olympics, then tiny, nearly invisible, insect zombies definitely take second place to the World’s Largest Cyborg Beetle.

But unlike Yale, the Berkeley scientists didn’t kill their monster-thing. They just mounted radio-actuated electrodes in the beetle’s limbs and brain. This also gave them much more accurate control of the insect – actually allowing them to steer the beetle once they kickstarted it into motion. So good news for everybody that’s always wanted to be chased down by giant weaponized beetles controlled by hidden enemies! Not so good news for sanity and unshit pants.
 

What, you think that’s an exaggeration? The project was entirely funded by DARPA… for primary use in military applications. They chose this particular beetle because it can carry up to 3 grams worth of equipment, but the Control Rig only weighs 1.3. This leaves them with a relatively small, but still pretty useable amount of cargo weight in which to pack all sorts of things. For the time being, that cargo is likely going to be little more than a camera or microphone for surveillance purposes, but it’s not hard to conceive of other uses. How much can a needle and an effective poison weigh? How much C4 does it take to blow up a face? Somewhat disturbing questions, to be sure, but now at least you have an excuse that’ll make you look like a bit less of a pussy when you run away from spiders screaming: They could very well be explosive assassins controlled by the government.

So far remote control seems to be limited to the insect realm, and making that leap to a mammalian brain has to be a much more complicated process. So it’s likely a fair ways off before you’re able to buy your kid his first R.C. Grizzly Bear…right?

No!

Ha! Science got you again!

Scientists at the State University of New York have already trained rats to obey remote signals at a distance of up to 500 yards. 

They achieved this by wiring the rat’s brain up with three sensors – one to the area that controls the right whiskers, one to the left, and one to the reward center. They stimulate the area of the brain associated with which direction the rat needs to turn, and stimulate the reward center if it obeys. After about five sessions, the rats obeyed without question. A human operator was then able to navigate them blindly through a maze, force them to leap from high ledges, or just shut them down completely.

The best part?

All of the equipment only cost them about $40 bucks. That’s right! For less than the price of a video game, you could suck the free will from a living creature and replace it with your own instead! Hey, don’t say the future never gave you nothing: Because even if you’re not into defying morality in order to possess similar powers to Aquaman and the Rat King – the future will now, at the very least, give you some pretty kickin’ nightmares.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots

Condido Godoi, (or Candido Godui,) is a small farming town in Brazil populated mostly by German-speaking immigrants. It’s notable in that it has the highest rate of twin births per capita of any region in the world. There are 38 pairs of twins in Condido Godoi, and only 80 families, that means that for every two families, there is a pair of twins, and geneticists, locals, and historians are at a complete loss as to why.

Nazis fleeing criminal persecution settled all around Brazil, including the area of Condido Godoi, decades ago. Because hey, if you have to flee the ghosts of unconscionable genocide, you might as well flee to someplace warm, and famous for the roundness of their asses. So the population of some regions, like Condido Godoi, is largely Germanic in appearance. They’re blond-haired, they’re blue-eyed, and as you can see from the data, about half of them are completely indistinguishable from one another.

There’s nothing in the water (that was the locals’ theory,) and it has nothing to do with inbreeding, (that was the geneticists’ theory,) but it’s inarguable: Something strange is going on with the children there. Residents of the area insist that the Angel of Death, one of Mengele’s charming nicknames, was travelling their countryside in the mid 1960s posing as a veterinarian, a doctor from another town, a volunteer aid worker, and a slew of other identities, and he spent a large chunk of his time with the local women. With a face like Josef’s up there – resembling something halfway between a gopher and Gollum – you know it probably wasn’t anything sexual.

Mengele was particularly obsessed with twins during his career in the Third Reich, and some of his most sinister experiments in the death camps focused around this obsession. And, though there’s certainly no hard evidence to prove it, most of the residents of Condido Godoi do believe that Mengele had something to do with the insanely high birth rate of these freaks of nature. Sexy freaks, maybe, but twins are still freaks in the strictest sense of the word.

Considering that the twins are predominantly blond-haired, blue-eyed, Aryan cookie cutter people, and that they began appearing in the mid 1960s – the same time that a twin-obsessed mad scientist was touring the area posing as a veterinarian who’s suspiciously interested in pregnant women instead of sickly horses – well, it’s not entirely out of the question that right now, as you read this, there is a small village in Brazil whose residents have been engineered by the Angel of Death… though it’s unlikely they’re going to adopt that as their town motto anytime soon.

So, when the inevitable Nazi Clone Armies arise and trample over the earth, their bloodthirsty pursuit of power resurrected, don’t be surprised if this time around they’re nicely tanned, wearing thongs, and generally just much more festive about this whole genocide thing.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, but for Christ’s sake, hurry! When Nazi Carnivale arrives, there will be no time for idle entertainment – only G-strings and death. So much death…

As any insomniac, cokehead, chronic drunk, or really boring vampire could tell you, late night informercials are the best entertainment value for the dollar. Considering that they are not only free, but in most cases actually cost you money, that may not be saying much. So we tend to think of them as scams; beautiful lies just there to bilk us out of our hard-earned money, so that men with expensive teeth can purchase tacky landscaping for their McMansions. But that’s not always the truth – not for Vince Offer anyway: A man who, along with Slap Chops and ShamWows, is also hawking freedom from cultish rule, and long-awated justice for those suffering at the hands of religious oppression .

Though his name seems to suggest that he was pre-destined for late-night gadget-whoring, Vince Offer was not always an Infomercial Adonis. He began his career as a comedy writer, (and if the reviews are to be believed, an exceptionally shitty one,) whose first endeavour was authoring, directing and starring in a film called Underground Comedy Movie, a hackish sketch comedy collection that, when released, immediately Tanked like it had a wounded Healer to protect.

But that’s not the whole story: See, at the time, Vince was a recent convert to Scientology (for those of you unfamiliar with group, Scientology is like a secret club where celebrity Sci-fi nerds go to suck off each other’s massive egos,) and he was counting on the support of the church to back his film. The Church of Scientology, being in favor of all things horrible, of course agreed to back Vince’s terrible comedy film and provided him with all the assistance he needed, like funds, and access to massive celebrities like… Slash and… Joey Buttafucco.

Okay, so maybe "celebrities" is the wrong term here.

They provided him with "marginally recognizable people that had nothing else going for them." That’s better.

But when it was far too late to turn back, they suddenly decided that they didn’t actually want to invest in a sub-par Kentucky Fried Movie rip-off, and promptly left Vince hanging with the bill. Now, nobody likes getting dumped – be it from a girlfriend, a job, or a made-up religion that hates free will – but if that was all that happened, Vince would’ve probably just moved on.

But no, far from content to leave it at simple neglect, the Church of Scientology actively pursued criminal charges against Vince for general tastelessness and lack of tact…in the Court of Scientology.

That’s right! They made up their own judicial system, too!

And apparently it’s one that both tries and convicts you for crimes of personality. This is another indicator that your "religion" is probably not too legit: Catholicism doesn’t courtmarshall you for telling shitty jokes, and Christianity doesn’t give a dishonorable discharge for picking your teeth in public, but Scientology will go all out – mock trial, jury and all – to bring you up on charges of sucking at comedy. As I’m sure you can guess, Vince was found guilty and sentenced. His workers abandoned him, his assigned PR firm switched gears from promoting him to bashing him, and all of his money disappeared like Fanta at a Futbol game.

But Vince wasn’t broken, he just started again in a different direction. He started selling towels at a local flea market, and it turned out that his bizarre, surreal, confrontational nature inexplicably led to the perfect sales pitch. Apparently, incoherent rambling, faulty logic, and feigned rage are really effective at hawking linens. So effective, in fact, that Vince became an informercial idol overnight. Now he has an even bigger success on his hands than the ShamWow! He’s begun selling a food processing gadget called the Slap Chop, with which he is slapping, chopping and dick-joking (his tag-line is “you’re gonna love my nuts!”) his way to a fortune. 

So, what? It’s tacky landscaping time for another bleach-blonde attention whore, right? Not at all! This is the part where Vince’s tale strays from the norm:

He’s currently using all of the proceeds from his many ventures to fund his own personal war against Scientology!

He knows first-hand what it’s like to have his life ripped away by a maniacal cult just because he was briefly gullible enough to believe that spaceships were more awesome than free will.

Is this vendetta fueled by vengeance, charity, or just psychosis? Somehow all three?

Does it matter?

Scientology does severe damage to ordinary (if somewhat impressionable) people; Vince does damage to Scientology. Regardless of his motive, you have to respect the sheer balls of a man who is attempting to tear down a faulty – but nonetheless international and extremely influential – religion armed only with the ability to slap vegetables apart into tiny cubes, and soak up unreasonable amounts of liquid with glorified carpet foam.

And if you have to respect his balls, then in a sense, Vince was right all along:

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots