Beno Udrih waited at the doorstep of Tony Parker's spacious northside home. The ravishing auburn haired beauty, ostensibly his date, refused to take his arm. She spoke quickly, fangs in her voice, "Remember minion, I am only here for Ginobili. You can have the rest."

Beno licked his lips. They both smelled Tony's warm blood as he approached. But less than a moment after opening the door, Tony sprinted back into the house. "The snails are burning!" he yelled as he ran to the grill.

Beno and the slender form stood panting at the threshold. "Tony, invite us in!" Beno pleaded.

"No need to stand on ceremony," Eva Longoria-Parker sing-songed from the kitchen. Still they waited.

The wind behind the pair picked up and gusted with malevolence. "Come inside, Beno, the air is freezing," Eva politely demanded.

The two shades smirked and stepped into the Parkers' living room. Their hungry looks and red eyes found ornamental cross hanging on every wall. Every square inch of end-table and mantle space displayed either an artisan crucifix or a statuette of the Virgin Mary.

Eva met the two with a smile like a summer sun, "My Abuelita's collection! Do you like it? I am from Corpus Christi, you know." She dipped a Wendy's french fry in her Frosty. "Timmy and Michael Finley are in the kitchen."

The peppy Eva was oblivious to her guests' discomfort. "Manu can't make it, but we have HEB Christmas cookies."

"I am out of here, fool!" The lithe shade snapped at the hapless Beno. She flipped a black silk shawl over her shoulders and vanished.

Eva  looked up from her Frosty. "Where's your date, Beno?" She offered him a bowl on a silver platter, "You have to try Tony's garlic dip."

Beno quivered and ran for the yard. Eva's bichon frise followed barking. "Oh good! Will you make sure Terri does her doggy business outside, Beno?"

Beno turned and lunged for the lap dog with fangs barred and desperate hunger in his red eyes. The small dog squealed as it squeezed from his grip. It flipped in the air and sunk its teeth into Beno's posterior.

Gregg Popovich stepped from his car in time to see Beno rolling on the grass haplessly lunging at the growling, snapping dog. Pop peered down at the back-up point guard he traded to the Kings for cap relief.

Coach Popovich's withering look said it all: Beno failed even as a vampire. Beno threw himself on top a wooden twig.

Pop stepped over Beno and into the home. "I brought wine, guys -- a California malbec Phil Jackson sent me last month."

"I'm going to say Phil Jackson is the greatest, smartest coach of all time," Lakers forward Luke Walton said to the LA Times writer, smiling.

Luke held that smile convincingly until the last of the reporters left the locker-room. Then he added the determined brow he learned from aping his father's expressions as a small child. Luke crank-rolled the newly-tinted windows of his pimped purple and gold 1994 Jeep Cherokee. He pulled onto I-10 and found a pace in the fast lane. Only then did the smile supernova into escalating sobs.