Irish-American Worshippers of Moloch
The statue of the ancient Ammonite-Canaanite-Phoenician god Moloch stood at the top of the hill and long lines of parents brought up their babies to be burnt.
The statue was made of bronze and its hands extended over a bronze brazier. The hands stretched out and the baby was put in its hands. The hands then placed the child into the burning fire of the brazier and as it did so, the limbs of the statue contracted and the mouth of the statue opened into a wide grin and laughed.
Dressed in robes of white and holding knives and likewise smiling and laughing at this spectacle were Rhode Island Congressman Patrick Kennedy and former Maryland Lieutenant-Governor Kathleen Kennedy Townsend.
“Hail Moloch,” Congressman Kennedy and Lt.-Gov. Townsend thrust out their right arms in a “Heil Hitler”-like salute towards the statue.
Congressman Kennedy and Lt.-Gov. Townsend then grabbed the cooked remains of the babies from the other end of the brazier and started eating them and smacking their lips in sheer ecstatic orgiastic delight.
“Well done,” Kathleen winked at the statue of Moloch in compliments to the statue’s cooking skills and also in reference to how she liked her meat cooked.
“This is so much better than what we have to digest after one of those Transubstantiation moments that Thomas Aquinas wrote about,” Congressman Kennedy guffawed as he chewed delectably on baby toes.
“Who’s Thomas Aquinas?” his sleezebag airhead cousin asked as she swallowed down mouthfuls of baby liver and kidney with great delight.
“Somebody square old grandmother Rose used to talk about,” Congressman Kennedy spat out a piece of baby ankle as his head rolled back in laughter and he reached for his goblet for another sip of wine.
Suddenly the earth rumbled and shook.
The ground split open and the bodies of unborn babies came out of the ground.
“What the -?” Before Congressman Patrick Kennedy could finish his sentence he was being burnt with saline solution and his arms and legs were being torn apart and sucked into a vacuum cleaner.
“It’s my own personal choice,” spoke the unborn baby holding the vacuum cleaner.
In the meantime, Kathleen Kennedy Townsend was having her ovaries ripped apart.
“To prevent you from becoming a female Cronus towards your own offspring,” an unborn baby girl explained.
* * *
Amadeus Emanon was being awakened from his dream.
Renfield R. Renfield was shaking his shoulders.
“It looked as though you were having a nightmare,” Renfield said, “although I personally enjoy being in nightmares myself.”
“You do?” Amadeus asked.
“Yes, particularly other people’s nightmares,” Renfield winked at Amadeus before heading down to the basement dungeon on the multi-millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s estate where some chained and tied up people awaited the shapeshifting hamster and Chief of Corporate Security for Set Enterprises.
To be continued.
The Headless Horseman
‘Twas the night before Halloween
and ghosts were yet unseen
as Sir Belvedere rode upon the moor
returning from a recent war
covered in blood and gore
no Nobel Peace Prize for him
just more weightlifts down at the gym
but first he’ll stop at the inn.
“Some pumpkin soup!” he said with glee
as he ate some jam from the jamboree.
I’m afraid the king gets the soup
and you are but a dupe
said the barmaid with nice knockers
amid the chat of patron talkers.
Oh merde! oh merde!
said the French chef
whose hair was parted down the clef
no pumpkins left in the kitchen
and the king’s stomach is a-twitchin’.
Sir Belvedere my lovely dear!
The barmaid raised her skirts,
I hope you’re not queer
but you’ll get a better look
if you huff it down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin you do took
and bring it back here.
Sir Belvedere leapt upon his horse,
I’ll be back before the main course
and galloped on down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin he did took
and brought it back to the cook.
But as he handed it to Alphonse
he slipped on some twisted prawns
and with a prance in his pants
the pumpkin smashed like a crash dance.
You fool! Said Alphonse, I’m ruined
I’ll end up a dry pruned
my head upon the king’s castle gate
such will be my dreadful fate.
Why lose your head, Alphonse dear?
The barmaid smiled
a look so wild
she flashed her beaver
and raised the cleaver
and cut off the head of Sir Belvedere.
The knight’s head was served in the king’s pumpkin soup
head of a knight- such a dupe!
and as the chickens leave the coop
they chirp and slirp
at the pumpkin remains
while a new Headless Horseman
grabs the horse’s reins.
-The Headless Horseman
a Halloween poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday October 30th, 2009
The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
He was the cowpoke they called Wayne
who some folks considered a pain,
others asked, where’s his brain?
His doc said, he’s insane.
But as far as living failures went,
he was considered one of the best
and he decided he’d be a-aheadin’ west.
So he saddled up his saddlebag
and climbed up on his horse
took a look at his compass
and decided to set course.
Westward ho! he went,
banjo somewhat bent,
he soon stumbled on a mountain pass,
he surveyed the scene while scratching his ass.
Look! There’s a tunnel there!
he said to his horse, Tiddlesquare.
Get along little Tiddle!
He played his fiddle
as his horse took a piddle.
Soon they arrived at the tunnel dark,
he found his horse a place to park
and then Wayne entered the tunnel dark
Should have brought a match
to add some spark
and a dash of light
this place’s a fright
said Wayne in the midst of this dark tunnel,
so dark, he had to pee using a funnel.
And then Wayne gave a shout of delight
for he suddenly saw a big bright light,
there was light at the end of this tunnel,
Wayne jumped for joy
before he did stumble,
his life flashed
like a clog down the drain.
For the light at the end of the tunnel
was the light from the east bound train.
-The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
A cowboy poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday, September 28th, 2009.
Jack O’Hare
Jack O’ Hare is the name I’ve given the wild jack rabbit who lives in my back yard.
He’s lived in the back yard for the past 3 or 4 years now.
He hangs out all over the neighbourhood but my back yard seems to be his home.
He’ll occasionally watch me through the basement window while I’m downstairs working on my computer.
And he also seems to follow me whenever I walk the four blocks to my local neighbourhood pub.
He may do it in the summer but I can’t tell. However in the winter I can see his tracks in the snow.
A couple of nights ago when my dad and I got home from shopping, he was standing in the middle of the road a couple of doors down from our house with his big ears sticking up in the middle of the air.
I was hoping he wasn’t suicidally depressed and the reason he was standing in the middle of the road wasn’t because he was hoping a car would drive over him and end it all for him, his last words being, “This bunny wabbit can no longer stand the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
But no he’s still alive.
Yesterday on a 32 degrees Celsius day, I looked through the kitchen window about 5:30 PM and saw him resting under the shadow of one of the apple trees in the back yard no doubt grateful to get out of the hot blazing sun.
So Jack O’ Hare is alive and well.
And all is right with the world.
O, What CAN This Poem Be About?
Said the little engine that could,
I think I can, I think I can
and he did to the top of the hill.
Said Barack Obama,
“Yes, we can, yes we can”
and he did-
he’s being sworn in on Capitol Hill.
Said the Moulin Rouge owner to the show girls,
“Do the can-can, Do the can-can”
and now Paris gentlemen
are pole vaulting up the hill. 
-Dracul Van Helsing
January 19th, 2009
If A Bollywood Movie Were Filmed In A Canadian Snowstorm
A friend of mine, Natalie from Sydney, Australia recently
posted a YouTube video in which she said her
favourite movie of all from 2008 was a film called
Slumdog Millionaire.
In last night’s newspaper here, they gave a write-up
on the film in which they noted Slumdog Millionaire
won 4 Golden Globe Awards including Best Motion
Picture Drama.
The Golden Globes of course are a good
predictor of the Oscar winners.
The plot of Slumdog Millionaire
is about a teen-ager who lives in the
rougher districts of Mumbai who lands a
spot on the Indian equivalent of the quiz
show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
Anyways this started me thinking about an
ezBlog post Soni Kudi wrote in the past week-
something to the effect about “If life were
like a Bollywood movie…”
One of the amusing things she
mentioned was about being stuck in
a traffic jam in the middle of Mumbai
in the middle of the pouring rain
and jumping out of the taxi cab
you’re in and breaking into song.
I found this highly amusing.
If anyone has actually done this in real life
and has taken a photo of this, please post it
so I can see.
Anyhow this started me thinking what it
would be like if they filmed a Bollywood movie
here in Canada in the middle of winter in the
middle of a typical Canadian snowstorm.
Our hero would be stuck in a taxi in a traffic
jam in downtown not in the middle of the
pouring rain but in the middle of a blizzarding
snowstorm.
He would have trouble opening the door of the
back seat of the cab to break out in song in
the middle of the street because he would be
trying to open the door against 80 kilometre
an hour wind gusts.
The taxi driver would be shouting at him,
“Close the door you idiot. You’re letting snow
into the cab.”
When our hero finally succeeds in opening the cab
door against the 80 kilometre an hour winds,
he bursts into song as he’s pelted with rapidly
falling snow flakes.
As he’s singing, the taxi driver angrily gets out
of the cab, “You idiot. You let a ton of snow into
my cab” and proceeds to start strangling our hero
who never misses a note of the song he’s singing.
As our hero is bravely singing and bravely
being strangled at the same time in the midst
of the ferocious blizzard, Aishwarya Rai wearing
a multicoloured sari struggles in her spiked stiletto
high-heeled shoes through the 40 foot snow drifts
running down the middle of the snow covered street
and shouting, “God, it’s freezing cold out.”
A singing policeman who’s over here on a
Mumbai-Edmonton police exchange program
manages to get the fingers of the strangling
taxi cab driver off the throat of our hero.
Our hero and Aishwarya Rai are about to run
into each other’s arms when suddenly they are both
scooped up by different snow ploughs driving in
opposing directions.
Our hero sings to Aishwarya Rai, “Don’t worry,
darling. I’ll find you in whatever snowpile you’re in.”
The entire city then bursts into a chorus of
“Oh, the weather outside is frightful
but the weather inside’s delightful,
let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”
The End.
Part 6 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
And so Flavius was taken to court
with handcuffs, grunts and a snort
The judge on the bench was Santa
Prosecuting attorney was Banta
For the defense
was Maj. Spence
but despite his impersonation of Perry Mason
and some lying seagulls bussed from the station
the defense all came to nought
like a leopard trying to change his spot.
And Flavius is sentenced to bed
this coming Christmas Eve.
His replacement?
The elf called Steve.
And so in Santa’s sleigh
the night before Christmas Day
there will be no Antonio Flavius
nor any sudden hiccavius
(that’s reindeerese for hiccoughs)
from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
nor Comet nor Blitzen drinking beer.
What is the cause of Rudolph’s red shiny nose?
Licking beer off Antonio Flavius’ toes!
And so Nathan De Burgh is the hero of the hour
and despite the penguin’s voice being sour
sing he will for Obama
not to mention
any future telerama.
And now ’tis the end
of our little drama
and we must bid adieu
to you and you
but on Christmas Eve
watch out for reindeer pooh!
Part 5 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
Nathan looked up holding his cup
with steak and kid for sup
he was in a British pub
yes at the North Pole
aye there’s the rub
and as elves came out of the tub
there was lots of soap suds
as Nathan ate his spuds.
One of the elves stopped to whistle
a sound to make mistletoes shrivel
“that doesn’t sound like an elfen voice!”,
Nathan looked up from reading his James Joyce.
He grabbed a beer from the barmaid Jenna
and looked up at an antenna
GPS would indicate
music copyright syndicate.
The elf’s whistle was Dan Pengin’s voice,
Nathan put down his James Joyce
and pulled a gun out of his underwear
this Ramboesque polar bear.
“Hands up Flavius
you pain in the avius.”
To be continued.
Part 4 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
“Nathan De Burgh here,
I’ll have a beer,”
The bear helped himself to a frozen can
from the reindeer trough
a new brand- Quetzalquotov
Aztec beer
oh so dear
mixed with Vodka Smirnov.
It really gave quite a buzz
but don’t drive
or face the fuzz
“Nathan here,”
he drank the beer
but no reply on his cell phone
so he yawned
and reached for an ice cream cone.
“That’ll be 50 cents,”
said Major Spence
of the North Pole army
an elf the size
of a leprechaun in Killarney.
Nathan reached into his pocket
where he pulled out a light socket
“this is all I have,” Nathan grinned.
“I guess tonight
the Northern Lights will be twinned.”
To be continued.
Part 3 Nathan De Burgh Polar Bear Private Eye
And so Nathan took the case
while the penguin’s huskies
held a race
with penguin following
at great pace.
The penguin whose name was Dan
used for deodorant Ultra-Ban
a good thing
the huskies he couldn’t outran.
And so to the North Pole Nathan went
in his Model T Ford without a dent
this rare gem he did own
along with a ring tone
on his cell phone.
His cell phone went off
like an Irishman’s cough
just as he spotted
Santa’s reindeer trough.
To be continued.
