In a time, before time was measured, on an island that later, when time was measured, broke up to form the land masses (continents) that are known today; lived a very lonely vampire. Legend has been told of well - we can’t pronounce his name without the installation of an extra nostril in our ear canal - Bob, to his mates - of which he won’t have any for some time. Not because he is an entirely unpleasant being, more so that he is the only being in existence, another term that was not around when he was sitting on the lonely mass of land waiting for time to begin being measured. One legend, more of a myth really, is that while he was passing what was later to be called time by occupying himself on great big pile of rocks in the middle of a sulfuric sea playing solitaire and singing a mournful repetitive chant of made up sounds, which sounded very much like what would one day become 98 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. This of course was an impossible coincidence, since there was not yet such a thing as walls, bottles, 98 or even beer (for that matter); Bob suffered a miniscule paper cut from the cards. The, almost, microscopic drop of blood fell onto a single cell protozoa causing a series of entirely incalculable mutations which resulted in the spontaneous growth of the vampire known as Nosferatu.