Interview: Bleeder of the Pack

With fins, fangs and fender skirts, Count Kennedy murders the competition—wherever he can find it.

Words and photos by Cliff Gromer
9/8/05

“No thank you, I do not drink...wine." Count Paul J. Kennedy politely refuses a sampling of some fine California Merlot and pokes his straw through the crimson foam in his glass of Type O Negative.

We arrived for our interview a bit early, as the Count was just getting out of bed.

"Like my mother used to say, drink your blood before it clots." He smiles and his eyes get a faraway look as he re¬members something from his ancient past.

"Life was simpler in the old days," he reminisces. "You didn't have to worry about all the contagious blood diseases like you do now. Sure, you might pick up a mild cold now and then, but nothing like the AIDS thing today. Now, all you can drink is the bottled stuff that's certified virus-free in order to be safe. Believe me, it's not the same.

The Count starts off his day with aerobics. That’s not a bad health tip for all you drag fans. Note the ultra-rare ’58 eyeball option which differed from later years’ more bloodshot offerings.

"Okay, Count, I'll take your word for it. Now, what about the car?"

"Believe me, there's nothing to compare with that moment of anticipation, right before you pierce the skin..."

"The car, Count, the car."

"Oh yes, the car. You know, mechanical conveyances were always shunned by my family. For centuries, they prided themselves in being self-sufficient travelers. You know, don't you, about their unique way of getting around."

"You mean turning themselves into bats?"

"Precisely. You won't believe how hard I worked at that, but I could never get the, er, hang of it, if you know what I mean."