I saved my buddy from vampires in Timmins once a few years ago. We'd finished playing in a bar there and struck up a conversation with a dark couple (who we didn't know were a couple at first) and, when we found out they had beer at home, agreed to come over for a visit after closing time.

As usual, after declaring an all-nighter, my buddy passed out in a chair and I was left trying to make conversation with these two Necrons. No fun, I can tell you. So I was trying to kick my pal awake when the female turned on me, saying he was staying right there and I could leave if I wanted.

I said I'd be damned if I was going home without him and had to explain to his wife and kids how I'd left him with two refugees from a Bruce MacDonald film up north. And, besides, the friends we were staying with there were actually friends of his, primarily.

Then followed a psychic battle consisting of stubborn glares and strange throaty noises from her. The guy was just trying to look tough. I wasn't worried about him. One kick in his fat pussgut would've taken him out of the fight for the weekend. But I thought I might have to knock the bitch out.

She was all: "He's staying here!"

And I was, like: "Bullshit! I'm taking him outta here! We gotta play Kingston next weekend."

Finally he came to, and I dragged his groggy ass out of there and poured him into the car. An inhuman screetch followed us out of the driveway and a dark shadow passed over the moon (it was actually my buddy's hat he'd forgotten and they threw it after us).

When we got back to our friends' apartment, and I apologized for getting them out of bed at that hour (they were used to it, actually), he spent the next half-hour yakking in the bog. Good on him, I thought and went to bed.

He thanks me all the time for the rescue from whatever weird menage those 2 were planning for him that night. He still owes me and I hope I never have to collect.