As an example (not a finished product), this is what I wrote that made me ashamed of myself and wanting to drag others with me.

The Duke of Phuckton Abbey - A supernatural comedy of manners

Chad Throb arrived at the mansion of his dear friends, the Bluebells, for Saturdays’ soiree in his labia pink Fararri Compensatia. He was fashionably late, as always, pulling directly into the host’s living room at 4:37 on Tuesday. Everyone was there, naturally.
No one would dare miss one of Chad’s arrivals. Any person even rumored to have done so would be driven to suicide by the relentless barrage of misdelivered wedding announcements and imperceptibly raised eyebrows. It was common knowledge that Duchess Thubythighs’s mistimed blinking at the fall kegger quickly resulted in her spontaneously shitting herself to death after one of her maid’s servants gained the courage to cough with mild disrespect within a mile of her hearing. slutty wedding dresses
Everyone was present, though it looked as several of the party goes had either been killed by debris of the front of the house imploding as Chad parked under chandelier, or had been shredded by the poor people spikes attached to the Compensatia’s wheels.
“No matter,” he thought, as the door of the car exploded into a shower of rose petals that took the form of a red carpet. He never drove the same car twice. Let the survivors raffle it off for charity. He would telepathically summon his platinum griffins later.
Chad rose out of the car with unnatural vigor, spraying musk and chest hair as he did so. “Apologies for my late arrival,” he said to the dutiful crowd, who had walked, hopped, or dragged what was remaining of their shattered bodies to greet him. “I tend to forget about the existence of those obviously inferior to myself.”
This was met with the usual round of groveling, bank account transfers and blowjobs, but something felt different. In the corner of the room stood a strange woman who was barely worshipping him as a God. What was this, a woman who had never been painted with his man juice?
How exciting.
Chad Sashayed across the room in a very masculine way. Several of the women, and three of the men, in the room became pregnant from the very sight of it. Arriving within fertilizing distance of the woman, he stopped to behold the beauty before him. She had the classic Roman nose, the striking eyes of an Egyptian queen, and huge titties.
“Greetings,” he said, smiling with teeth as white as an albinio cave troll. “I can’t help but notice you are still alive and unharmed after my entrance. Well done. I prefer my women to be alive, at least at first.”
She laughed, of course, parting lips that were red as a very slutty apple. She also opened her mouth. “I do hope you will forgive me for not joining the crowd,” she breathed huskily. “I have horrible anxiety, as well as asthma. My name is Vagnessa. Countess Vagnessa Moistwom.
“Of course,” said Chad, with half a chub already. “Of the Wilfolk Moistwoms. I had heard tell of your family’s arrival to Sackdrain manor. I should have recognized you straight away. You obviously have superior breeding. I can tell your family tree has fewer branches than flag pole factory. You even have the trademark Moistwom beauty mark and tail.”
Vagnessa blushed at this, with shameful arousal. She beckoned a bucket boy to mop under her dress. “And you must be Lord Chadwick Throbbincok, Count Phukton. I’ve heard much of you and can tell by your leather pants that at least half of it must be true. You might be a grower, but the girth is already impressive.”
“Please,” begged Chad. “Duke Phukton is my father, though I will of course inherit the title after I have him murdered. “Oh,” he said, very vascularly, “I did that last week. No matter. Call me Chad.”
“So, Vaggy,” he purred. “I’m calling you Vaggy both as a term of endearment and to make you feel inferior and willing to perform grotesque sexual acts to gain my approval. Vaggy, Shall we adjourn to my Fuckcastle next door?”
Vagnessa’s lack of screaming and attempts to flee signaled an emphatic, almost slutty, “yes,” so Chad summoned the platinum griffins to take them away, murdering the first 4 in case they had been sent to spy on him by his twin brother, Sir Reginald Lempdeck.
Of course, their departure immediately lead the rest of the guests to have themselves poisoned by their servants, rather than suffer the lack of Chad’s gaze. The servants, as was their duty, took turns violating their corpses before the bombs set in their chests timed to their employer’s heartbeats all exploded.
As the remaining platinum griffins carried Chad and Vagnessa to safety, and then to 7-11 to get some Viagra and wine coolers, they admired the firework show. They had to admit that it almost made an acceptable display to match the explosive passion blossoming in their hearts.
Also, Chad was a were-panther or something, so this counts as paranormal romance.