Part 2 Opening The Box of Shamballa
Part 2 Opening The Box of Shamballa
Russian President Vladimir Putin was busy whistling the song Tomorrow
Belongs To Me as he was driven to FSB Headquarters in Moscow.
President Putin had always considered himself Russia’s greatest
leader since Ivan the Terrible. Now others agreed with him.
The Russian populace agreed with him by handing him a landslide
victory for his United Russia Party in parliamentary elections earlier this
month.
Opinion polls showed that his handpicked successor and young 42-year-old
protoge Dmitri Medvedev would be elected President of Russia in the next Russian
Presidential election.
Putin himself would most likely become Russia’s next Prime Minister.
And last but not least TIME Magazine had named him Vladimir Putin
Person of the Year.
Now by viewing the contents of the Dark Box of Shamballa, he would
probably most likely become Master of the Universe.
He’d like to see Ivan the Terrible, Lenin and Stalin able to top that one.
Putin was all smiles as Col. Azazelenov waved him into his office
and showed him the ancient Tibetan box atop the office desk.
Col. Azazelenov read the translation of the inscription atop the box:
“TO YE WHO SEEK THE DARK BOX OF SHAMBALLA CONTAINING
THE DARK PSYCHIC ENERGIES OF THE UNIVERSE AND YE WHO
VERILY PLAN TO BECOME MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE…”
“Sounds more like King James English than Russian to me for some
reason,” Putin quipped.
Col. Azazelenov took the lid off the box and Putin peered inside…
“That just looks like another inscription written at the bottom of the box,”
Putin stated.
“It is another inscription written at the bottom of the box,” Col. Azazelenov
saluted.
“Well even though I humbly and most modestly consider myself the most brilliant
intelligent person living on planet Earth today,” Putin blushed bashfully, “I can’t
read ancient Tibetan.”
“That’s all right,” Col. Azazelenov beamed like Paris Hilton in a porno video,
“I’ve got an expert in ancient Tibetan on the line who’s just cracked the inscription.”
As Col Azazelenov wrote down the translation, Putin was busy drooling
like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
“That’s it,” Col. Azazelenov looked extremely surprised.
The voice on the phone said Yes.
“Well, what does the inscription say?” Putin smiled contentedly
in a state of megalomaniac bliss.
“Well,” Col Azazelenov answered, “it says…”
… YOU FOUND THE WRONG BOX, IDIOT!
The End.
The Dark Box of Shamballa
The Dark Box of Shamballa
Dec. 19th 1944- Office of the Fuhrer, Berlin
Hitler: Ah, Col. Eckhart, I see you’ve finally returned from the SS
expedition to Tibet. I believe I sent you back in 1939 and you only just
got back to Berlin now?
Col. Eckhart: We took a wrong turn in the Himalayas. And it didn’t help
matters much that our guide also turned out to be afraid of heights.
Hitler: So did you find the Lost City of Shamballa where the Ascended
Masters reside?
Col. Eckhart: We found the Lost City of Shamballa but the Ascended
Masters weren’t residing there when we arrived. Possibly the rents are too
high. A lot of the buildings there seemed to be emblazoned with gold and precious
jewels.
Hitler: Did you find the Dark Box of Shamballa- that box that contains in it all the
dark psychic energies of the universe? A box that whoever opens it will become
Master of the Universe?
Col. Eckhart: We found the Box and brought it back to Berlin. Those brave
SS officers who helped carry it back are currently being treated for massive
hernias.
Hitler: And have you opened the Box yet?
Col Eckhart: We seemed to be having some trouble opening it,
Mein Fuhrer.
Hitler: That Box must be opened. If we can open it, this will ensure that I’ll
win the War.
63 years later on Dec. 19th, 2007, Russian President Vladimir Putin
is sitting in his office in the Kremlin. The phone rings.
Putin (picking up the phone): Yes?
Voice on other end: Mr. President, this is Col. Azazelenov of the FSB.
My men have been going through a warehouse of old Soviet Red Army archives
containing stuff that was found in the Soviet Red Army’s search of Hitler’s Bunker
in Berlin back in May, 1945.
Anyways we found an old box earlier this year which our expert on ancient
languages said appeared to be written in ancient Tibetan insciptions.
We’ve had the darndest time trying to open the thing. And this morning we
finally succeeded. Mr. President, I think you should take a look at what’s inside.
To be continued.
Christmas On My Street
Christmas On My Street
Snow falls gently down the lane
in front of a glowing candy cane
in the window a candle with rainbow coloured flames
on a white lawn reindeer playing games
and on a rooftop a glowing Santa
but no sign of dimwitted Banta
all these are Christmas decorations so neat
such is Christmas on my street.
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Saturday evening
December 22nd, 2007.
Kublai The Tap Dancing Cat
Kublai The Tap-Dancing Cat
Kublai was a tap-dancing cat
but the competition’s judge was a real rat
but let me start at the beginning
Kublai said no to swimming
and signed up for tap dancing
this cool cat known for prancing
so on his four feline feet he wore
just newly bought from the store
taps on his shoes
at first subject to boos
but as he got better and better
he soon wore the No. 1 sweater
in the tap dancing world
he got his fur curled
and entered the National Championships
no steroids either for slambammanships
and he danced like a regular Fred Astaire
dancing in his underwear
it was all part of the show
that and his fur set aglow
with glow in the dark lights
and a nifty pair of tights
he thought he had the Nationals all sewn up
his competition was a mere pup
but the judge was a rat
who voted against the cat
and the pup wore the crown
while Kublai wore a frown
and after the show
the rat hung upside down
over a rainbarrel to drown
while Kublai exited stage left in the night
singing and purring, “Vengeance is my right!”.
So never tick off Kublai the Tap Dancing Cat
or you may find yourself feeling like a drowned rat.
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Sunday afternoon, December 16th, 2007
Definitely Not The Barber of Seville
Definitely Not The Barber of Seville
Harry Woo was visiting London town
he searched for bargains up and down
he sought discounts here
he sought discounts there
he used coupons everywhere
then while standing at a sign marked Stop
Harry did notice a barber shop
The barber pole colours were a bright blood red
The pic in the window showed a judge losing his head
to Harry this seemed a trifle odd
The name of the barber… Sweeney Todd
Free haircuts and shaves for all the sign did say
Harry grinned and said, “Anything for free is definitely my way.”
So Harry entered the shop
and Todd told him to stop
then waved him to a chair
“Now, I’ll cut your hair,”
in his hands scissors
but he was no Edward Scissorhands
nor desert sheikh of burning sands
nor childlike author of Peter Pan
for Harry had jumped into horror’s frying pan
for this barber was no Scotland Yard inspector
nor Greek hero slaying Trojan Hector
but rather from Hell like Jack the Ripper
a hairstylist who forgot to pull up his zipper
“I’ve give you the closest shave you’ve ever had”
he looked at Harry’s neck and pictured a Headless Horseman
but he was no Ichabod Crane or Mexican swordsman
he laughed, “What a wonderful meat pie you’ll make”
but Harry didn’t want to be a new recipe for Shake N’ Bake
so he leapt from the chair
adjusted his hair
and fled out the door
escaping the shop of blood and gore.
Sweeney Todd went next door to Mrs. Lovett’s
where he joined her for tea and crumpets
“Sorry dear,” Todd shrugged, “I know you felt like eating Chinese tonight
but I’m afraid I gave Mr. Woo too much of a fright
and he bolted through the door like a bee in flight.”
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Saturday afternoon, December 15th, 2007
The movie Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street that stars
Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd will soon be opening in theatres
everywhere. Sweeney Todd is the legendary London barber who allegedly gave
his customers an extremely close shave by murdering them. He’d then cut
the bodies up and sell them to Mrs. Lovett next door who’d make meat pies out
of them. If Sweeney Todd were alive today, he’d probably be given the Nobel Peace
Prize for cutting down on surplus population.
Polar Un-bearable
Polar Un-bearable
There was once a polar bear named Nathan
who spent his nights crackin’ safe-en’
he wasn’t always a burglar
who lived off hamburger
He once was a star of a Coca-Cola ad
but interest in polar bears was a passing fad
and he soon lost his job
to a penguin snob
so he turned to crime
and started to rob
till the night he was arrested
then he started to sob
but the judge was having none of that
His Honour a great fat tabby cat
he threw the book at him
despite his innocent grin
now he’s in a prison zoo
where there isn’t much to do
except eat and take a pooh.
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Friday evening, December 14th, 2007
Pedro Sings Santa Lucia
Pedro Sings Santa Lucia
“Santa Lu-ccc-ii-a, Santa Lu-ccc-ii-a”,
Have you ever seen such a sight to see yaaa
Pedro singing Santa Lucia
Pedro was a mouse
he did not live in house
but Mexican hacienda
far from Dubya Bush’s rearend-a
he drank so much tequila
with many of his amig-aaa
that he passed out and then sang
Santa Lucia
and when the cheese was passed around
he danced like a mouse un-bound
free from cat and especially cat- NIP
it really was quite the trip
with too much tequila to sip
and with his vocal cords
he let her rip
singing Santa Lucia
until arrived his girlfriend Sophia
who punched his lights out
to the relief of many senor-ita!
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Thursday afternoon
December 13th, 2007
December 13th being the Feast Day of Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy)
Seashores and Sunsets
Seashores and Sunsets
Seashores and Sunsets
To walk along the seashore
with one that you truly adore
it would really be heavenly bliss
as we stop along the sands and kiss
The waves would pound
surf all around
our hearts would beat as one with the sea
just water and sunset… and you… and me.
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Wednesday afternoon, December 12th, 2007.
The Dancer
The Dancer
A warrior rode across the desert bold
it is said in times of old
and in the midst of blowing sands he thought
that all his life had come to nought
even now he knew not what he sought
a long time he had left lush fields so green
now a distant memory it seemed
and now in the desert straight ahead
loomed palm oasis with flower bed
Is this but a mirage
a paradisical facade
and yet a dancing girl waved him in
he appproached and she danced for him
Swaying hips and swaying skirt
The warrior felt quite alert
This was no dream
no trick of sunbeam
and when he approached
she kissed his lips
like the way that honey drips
and with taste of nectar on his tongue
The warrior’s real life had begun
his battle gear he put away
for LOVE was LIFE
he discovered today.
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Tuesday afternoon, December 11th 2007
Love
Love
Northern lights dance across the sky
beckoning one to look up high
colours gleaming against a starlit night
that cast a wonderous glorious light
out of nowhere they come
in the period of no midnight sun
all seems dark
all seems lost
all around is chilly frost
and when all seems full of cold despair
out of parts of which we are unaware
the lights they come and dance and sing
so unfolds a glorious thing
Is love not like those lights so high
that offers hope against darkened sky?
-A poem written by Christopher
aka Dracul Van Helsing
on Monday evening December 10th, 2007
Dracul Van Helsing 