Mr. Mush Found At Last
As the PETA protestors set themselves upon the
fur-coat wearing Britney Spears in this blistering
heat, Miss Spears screamed, “I’m not crazy. I tell
you I’m not crazy.”
I walked down a back alley way.
Well, Mr. Mush’s horse was gone.
And I was partly to blame.
The last clue we had to the whereabouts of Mr.
Mush according to the tight skirt wearing dame
(who was now getting her marshmallowed covered
skirt cleaned at Mr. Lee’s Drycleaning), Mr. Mush
was last seen on a horse before he was kidnapped
or killed or whatever had happened to him.
And now the horse was no more.
It was my good fortune that I happened to
walk by a Sri Lankan restaurant.
The proprietor directed me down to the
wine cellar.
I guess he thought I needed a drink.
When I was down in the wine cellar, there tied
up and sitting next to a bottle of chardonay
was the missing Mr. Mush.
I turned and there stood… the ancient demon
Ravana a notorious demon king of Sri Lanka
who had kidnapped Princess Sita the fiancee
of Lord Rama the ruler of the ancient Indian
kingdom of Ayodhya millenia earlier.
The Hindu monkey god Hanuman had helped
Lord Rama rescue his beloved Sita from the
clutches of the demonic Ravana.
It was a good thing I had taken that course
A Comparative Study in World Religions in
my first year of University or otherwise I
wouldn’t have recognized the strange entity.
“You’re Ravana aren’t you?” I asked as I helped
myself to a bottle of German Reisling.
The demonic entity belched, “Excuse me.”
And then bowed, “Yes, I am Ravana.”
“And you’ve kidnapped Mr. Mush?” I popped
the cork off the Reisling, “has living in the
state of California changed your sexual orientation?
You’re going after guys now instead of princesses?”.
Ravana shook his head, “Mr. Mush here is a well
known writer of romantic love poetry. I thought if I couldn’t
win Princess Sita’s heart through abduction, I thought I
might win her heart by sending her some of Mr. Mush’s love
poems saying that I had written them.”
“May I see some of Mr. Mush’s poems?” I asked.
Ravana handed me a whole bunch with his clawed
hands.
After reading the first half-dozen, I was rolling
on the floor in great gales of laughter.
Mr. Mush’s face turned bright red.
It couldn’t have been the wine.
As having a gag in his mouth probably prevented him
from imbibing.
“You were planning to win her over with this mush?” I roared,
“tell me, Ravana, how does it feel to be an idiot?”.
Now it was Ravana’s turn for his face to turn red.
“Just one thing,” something had occurred to me,
“I thought Lord Rama had slain you. How is it you’re
alive?”.
“I was brought back to life by a Hollywood film producer,”
Ravana explained.
That was plausible. Hollywood film producers
were bringing ancient demons back to life all the time.
“Let Mr. Mush go,” I told Ravana.
“No,” Ravana shook his head.
Ravana had had his chance. I always carried a bottle
of Holy Water with me ever since I was attacked by
the ancient Aztec serpent god Quetzalcoatl while making out
with Jessica Alba in the back of a red Corvette in Hollywood
years ago.
I sprayed Ravana with the Holy Water. He quickly
disintegrated into mush- almost as mushy as Mr.
Mush’s love poems.
I untied Mr. Mush.
He quickly ran upstairs and out the door.
I gathered up the scraps of paper on which were written The
Collected Works of Mr. Mush.
I thought I could use them for a bon fire to roast
marshmallows later as the evening heat seemed to have
died down.
As I walked out the door of the Sri Lankan restaurant,
I noticed Mr. Mush was run over by a car driven by
Lindsay Lohan. After running over Mr. Mush, Lindsay
Lohan then wrapped her car around a light pole.
Well two mysteries were solved tonight.
Who kidnapped Mr. Mush?
The ancient Hindu demon Ravana.
Who killed Mr. Mush?
Alcoholic airhead drunk driver Lindsay Lohan.
Cheval Avec Les Marshmallows
So I entered the restaurant.
Gov. Schwarzeneggar was attempting to pay his bill,
“Anyone know where I can get some extra credit?
The banks are locked up like a tight end on a gay
football team!”.
The lounge singer was singing the latest Hardy
Drew and Nancy Boys song, “There’s no one as
Irish as Barack O’bama.”
The French maitre’d directed me to a table.
What was a French maitre’d doing working in
a Chinese restaurant?
“Tonight’s special, Monsieur, is Roasted
Cheval in an Orange Duck and Marshmallow
sauce,” he handed me a menu.
“I’ll try the special then,” I answered him.
I had never had Roasted Cheval before.
Although it had been a few years since
I had taken High School French. I couldn’t remember
what cheval was.
I looked around the restaurant.
There were a bunch of men (they all looked like
hairdressers) who wore t-shirts that said, “Vote
No to Proposition 8.” I noticed they all seemed
to go to the men’s room together. On the table,
they were sharing a large fruit salad between them.
But no sign of a horse.
“Your Roasted Cheval in Orange Duck
and Marshmallow sauce, Monsieur,” the waiter brought
me the plate.
“Thanks,” I ate it. It was delicious.
I paid my bill in dimes and nickels which quite discombobulated
the cashier.
I walked out the restaurant door wondering where that
horse could have possibly got to.
It was then that I remembered what cheval meant in English.
“Murderer,” a group of protestors from PETA shouted.
Were they talking to me?
Or to Britney Spears who was walking down the street wearing
a fur coat in this hot muggy sultry weather?
To be continued.
A Man And His Horse
and I went out to buy a new bag of marshmallows.
It was a stifling hot night.
Some guy wearing a lone ranger mask was
frying an egg on his bald head in the middle of
this heat wave.
A lone ranger but no horse.
What had become of the horse?
Mr. Mush was last seen on a horse.
The horse was the answer to everything,
I thought as I observed the huge piles of
manure going down the street.
I followed them to a Chinese restaurant.
No horse but California Gov. Arnold
Schwarzeneggar was inside the restaurant.
To be continued.
Who Killed Mr. Mush? – Philip Marlow Investigates
It was a hot sultry night, the kind which sends people
skinny dipping into fountains and ordering buckets of
Tequila Sunrise at sunset!
I was sitting in my private eye office, my fedora off, my trenchcoat
on the floor and my suspenders down.
I was wiping my brow, the fan was going up and down
like Paris Hilton’s dress on a ferris wheel
(even when the wheel’s not in operation!).
It was then that this dame walks in- tight blouse, tight skirt and spiked stilettos!
She sat down on the chair right in front of my desk right
on top of a bag of marshmallows!
I had planned to roast the marshmallows later by sticking them
on a stick and holding them out the window in the stifling night air!
“I want to know who killed Mr. Mush?” she spoke in a voice as sultry as the night.
“Speaking of mush, you might want to check the back of your skirt,”
I handed her a business card with the address
of a neighbourhood dry cleaning establishment.
To be continued.
Part 2 Singularity And The Robotic Zombie
“Tell me, have you ever heard of an individual called
Renfield R. Renfield?” Akira Lane asked.
“Yes, I have,” Dracul replied.
Renfield R. Renfield (the R. stood for Renfield) was
the evil shapeshifting hamster who served as Chief
of Security and CyberIntelligence for the London-based
ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
“He’s apparently been digging up dead bodies
in the local cemetery here and hooking them up
to robots,” Akira explained.
“Sort of creating a cyborg robotic zombie then,”
Dracul thought aloud, “where did you say that
you were calling from again?”.
“Roswell, New Mexico,” Akira Lane replied.
“Roswell, New Mexico?” Dracul was incredulous,
“the site of the supposed 1947 UFO crash?”.
“That’s right,” Akira nodded although since she was
speaking over the phone, Dracul couldn’t see her
nodding.
“Knowing the type of individual we’re dealing with here,”
Dracul said in reference to Renfield, “I wouldn’t be
surprised if those weren’t the dead bodies of ET aliens
that Renfield was digging up and hooking up with robots.”
“Would the U.S. government have actually buried the bodies
of the UFO occupants in a local cemetery where any ET
hunting grave-digger could have easily got at them?”
Akira asked.
“This is the U.S. government we’re talking about,” Dracul noted,
“they do think like a typical bureaucracy at times which is to
say they don’t think at all.”
And in a cemetery in Roswell, New Mexico, Renfield hooked
up the body of the dead gray ET to the Japanese built robot
(the Japanese and the South Koreans built the best robots
in the world) and then generated an electrical shock
into the creature.
The combined ET alien-automaton stirred and
mumbled, “ET… foam… groan… “
Singularity And The Robotic Zombie
“What is singularity?” reporter Akira Lane asked
the vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.
“Singularity?” Dracul Van Helsing’s voice
sounded quizzical over the phone.
“Yes, and I’m not talking about being single,”
Akira laughed, “I’ve heard Singularity as a term
that is currently being talked about in philosophical
circles.”
“There’s a current branch of scientist-philosophers
who call themselves Transhumanists,” Dracul
Van Helsing explained, “Singularity is a term they
often use. Singularity is the term given to the point
in our advancing science and technology where
either man and machine become one or where
a machine genuinely becomes more intelligent
than man or more powerful than man.”
“Really?” Akira Lane sounded incredulous.
“The advances in our science and technology are
happening so fast, that these Transhumanist scientists
and philosophers think it will happen any day now,”
Dracul stated, “there really will be a cyborg with a human brain
or a computer where AI (artificial intelligence) and human
consciousness have joined together.”
“Why do they call themselves Transhumanists?” Akira Lane asked.
“Because they believe in the advent of the Transhuman,” Dracul
Van Helsing answered, “and really what the Transhuman is- is
the 21st Century term for the German ubermensch- the Nietzschean
superman. Naziism and Hitler’s Third Reich gave a bad name
to what these social Darwinist Nietzschean fascists believe
so they’re re-invented themselves and their terms.
The ubermensch and the Supermen of Nietsche are now called
Transhumans. Instead of the Superman advancing by wiping
out what they consider inferior classes of people, the
Transhumanists believe that the elite- those people who
should have the right to rule (for some reason these people
think it’s themselves) will instead be merged with immortal
machines and computers and they shall live forever and they shall
rule forever.”
“There are people who actually believe that?” Akira Lane asked.
“Let’s call one such person Richard Dawkins and another such
person Christopher Hitchens,” Dracul said, “this is what these
two militant atheists tell transhumanists when they’re speaking to
their fellow travellers. They are the new deities- the new gods of
the new age- who will have their brains merged with artificial
intelligence and live forever supposedly. That’s why they look
down their noses at people who still believe in the existence
of a supernatural God that exists outside the universe. In
order for them to become the everlasting deities of the new
order of the Universe, there can’t exist any Supernatural
Creator or deity outside it because this might upset their
plans and they can’t have that.”
To be continued.
What Is A Friend?
A friend will never let you down…
even when you’re stuck in a tree!
-Observations of Felix the Cat
on the Activities of Rover the Dog.
Dracul Van Helsing 