Count Dracula is on the prowl in London. He spends the night drinking Bloody Marys in various clubs and biting on unsuspecting womens' necks.

He is heading for home, wandering along Argyle street sometime before sunrise. Suddenly he is hit on the back of the head. He looks round and sees nothing. He looks down and sees a small sausage roll. Mmmm, he thinks. What’s going on here?

A few yards further on and … BANG. Smacked on the back of the head again! He whirls round as quick as he can, nothing. Again he looks down and there is a small triangular sandwich lying on the ground. How odd!!

A few yards further along the street and …. crash. Smacked on the back of the head again!! He whirls round as quick as he can, nothing. He’s getting really angry now. Again he looks down and there is a cocktail sausage lying on the ground. He stands and peers into the darkness of the night. Nothing.

He walks a few yards further on when he gets a tap on the shoulder. With a swirl of his cape and a cloud of mist he turns as fast as he can. He feels a sharp pain in his heart. He falls to the ground clutching his chest, which is punctured by a small cocktail stick laden with a chunk of cheese and a pickle.

On the ground dying, he looks up and sees a young female. With his dying breath he gasps, who are you?

She replies, “Buffet, the vampire slayer.”