With a skeptical brow raised, the count begrudgingly sipped from a glass of Coca-Cola, a recently invented American beverage vastly different from the Romanian wines of his cellar. “Passable,” he muttered under his breath, with a reluctant nod, betraying centuries of noble pride. Yet, as the night unfolded, a subtle smile crept over his pale face.

Dracula in an otherwise realistic sci-fi setting would also have some potential.

Just wait till your child rips and tears through your partner’s vagina