Once Bitten...

Is there something in Stephanie's bite,
that we're all infected with twilight shite?
I just know I'll get it in the neck,
but all these undead, all over, by heck!

John Polidori must be very sorry
at showing no patience with his former patient.

A dreadful penny, the price of Varney's fame,
produced imitators, so feebly lame
- I dare not even say their name:
gone, forgotten and it's not a shame.

Sheridan - one-time critic of Bram -
had his own version of the blood feast sham.
This nineteenth century metaphor
for sexual disease is such a bore.

Annie Rice must have thought it nice
to coincide with a plague, its origins vague

but laying swathes of people low
their lifestyles deserving of this blow,
as tv preachers loved to say
- their own sins hidden from light of day.

But why now, an ever increasing list
of dentally challenged protaganists?
What allegory are these writers making?
Or are these novels all they're taking?