Renfield’s Dream of The Mexican Pinata
After several days of creating murder and mayhem throughout the City of London following his awakening from a 2 month coma, Renfield R. Renfield was feeling tired so he fell asleep on the couch in the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s living room.
In the Set Laboratories lab, Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster who had spent the day listening to some of Anthony Robbins’ New Age motivational discs on how to get in touch with one’s higher power, the lobster intuitively deduced that Renfield had just fallen asleep.
Michelangelo decided to have some fun and enter Renfield’s dreams again just like he had when the shapeshifter hamster/human was in a coma.
In the dream, Michelangelo created the figure of a very short and very small Mexican pinata.
The pinata itself was shaped like a multicoloured camel without a hump (a similar camel without a hump but minus the multicolours had earlier been genetically engineered by Set Enterprises’ resident mad scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher a few weeks ago who was oblivious to the fact that such a camel already existed in southern Tanzania).
The short pinata was lamenting on the state of his sad and short life by singing a song which was sung to the tune of Lady Gaga’s song Judas,
I’m just a short pinata you can hit with a banana
For me, fiesta is siesta permanent-ly! permanent-ly!
I’m just a short pinata you can hit with a banana
For me, fiesta is siesta permanent-ly! permanent-ly!
When they come to me, I am ready
They’ll bash me with a big stick if they need
candies and treats which they feel they’ve got to eat
Even if they break my head or feet.
They’ll bring me down, bring me down down
A pinata with a frown, frown.
I’m just a short pinata you can hit with a banana
For me, fiesta is siesta permanent-ly! permanent-ly!
I’m just a short pinata you can hit with a banana
For me, fiesta is siesta permanent-ly! permanent-ly!
By this time, Renfield R. Renfield was getting sick of the short pinata’s song and especially his singing so swiping a banana from a nearby organ grinder’s pet monkey, he went over to the pinata and hit it with the banana bringing it down…
down.
As the dead pinata went to its eternal sleep (for it, fiesta was siesta permanently) and spilled its guts all over the place, Amadeus Emanon rushed in to pick up all the candies that had fallen from the dead pinata’s insides.
The movie character Forrest Gump (played by Tom Hanks) walked in at the end of the dream and said, “Death is like a pinata of candies. You never know what you’re going to get.”
To be continued.
The Midnight Wax Museum
This wax museum only opens at Midnight
Hope that doesn’t give you a fright
for you see the wax figures are real
whose skin he did peel
and covered with wax
plus value added tax
for the Revenue Service must get their pound of flesh
and here in the Wax Museum it’s very fresh.
The screams from here will keep you awake
but the freshly amputated limbs
are great with Shake N’ Bake
for the owner lets nothing go to waste
if not used for wax, then for good taste
for a culinary cannibal chef is he
try roasted ankle or knee
it’s very delectable
wouldn’t you agree?
-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Wednesday evening June 29th 2011
The Days of the Prairie Dust Bowl
The sun rises across the sky
while turtle doves sing out their cry
the day is fast approaching noon
intense heat sizzling soon.
Humidity fit for neither man nor beast
one must find shade to say the least
oh crackling sun accompanied by flies
even the locusts seem to be chirping sighs.
Snap! crackle! Pop! on the ground
the grass looks parched and brown
clouds appear but they are but dust
no rain and the land must rust.
Such were the days of the prairie drought
when precious water was scarce about
I look at these old photos before my eyes
and looking up
am grateful to see rain clouds in the skies.
-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Tuesday evening June 28th 2011.
The Rhino Was A Wino
The rhino was a wino
he drank wine so fine
sparkling from the Valley of the Rhine
and dry- a Napa Valley high
whose bouquet was like the sky.
A little Chardonnay here
occasionally a glass of beer
for he was the most interesting rhino in the world
and many an interesting tale he unfurled
in a Milan bistro
or a London disco
or a Paris cafe
or with a San Francisco gay.
His adventures he told
with a little Merlot
and when he got on the Cabernet
with some oysters flambe
he slept in the next day.
With Riesling and Pinot Noir
his nose danced quite far
as he sniffed the aroma
like a winetasters’ diploma.
And then one fine day
while he baked his souffle
his kidneys and liver gave out
he fell over on his snout.
But he died one happy Rhino
unlike his pallbearer
a polar bear called Albino
who developed a hernia- kindo
or maybe kinda
that came from carrying
the intoxicated reminda
of the rhinoceros finda’
of many a fine wine-a.
-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Monday evening June 27th 2011.
Masonry and The Coming Age of Osiris
Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing entered the London fish and chips shop and noticed Amadeus Emanon the personal concert pianist to the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set sitting at a table.
Dracul joined him, “So Amadeus, I hear your fellow employee and colleague Renfield R. Renfield finally awakened from his nearly 2-month long coma?”.
“Yes,” Amadeus nodded, “and the house has felt like a train wreck ever since.”
“Renfield does seem to bring chaos and havoc with him wherever he goes,” Dracul agreed.
“My boss Set often says, “Ordo ab chao,” Amadeus admitted, “so maybe that’s why the boss keeps Renfield around.”
“Ordo ab chao- order out of chaos,” Dracul smiled, “that’s one instance where your boss agrees with his rival brother and brother-in-law Osiris.”
“It is?” Amadeus looked quizzical, “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, in fact that’s one of the Masonic mottoes Ordo ab chao,” Dracul said.
“The Masons do seem to be obsessed with Osiris for some reason,” Amadeus ate his battered cod, “a fact that pisses my boss off.”
“Yes, I just read a blog comment this morning by some sutra loving idiot who had his panties in a knot because he was outraged that Pope Benedict XVI as Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger had issued a document condemning Freemasonry back in 1983 and the sutra loving idiot was whining that this condemned America’s Founding Fathers- most of whom were Masons- as a bad thing,” Dracul smiled, “although as a Canadian whose country was founded by United Empire Loyalists, I don’t see why condemning the rebels against the Crown was a bad thing.”
“Why would Ratzinger condemn Masonry?” Amadeus asked.
“Because the Great Architect of the Universe (G.A.O.T.O.U.) whom Masons worship is Lucifer, a fact admitted by Scottish Rite Masonry’s highest authority Albert Pike in his book Morals and Dogma (a copy of which I own) and also admitted by Masonic historian Albert MacKey and likewise admitted by Masonic historian and philosopher Manly P. Hall,” Dracul replied.
“They worship the Devil?” Amadeus was astounded.
“Yes, they do,” Dracul said, “although they don’t think Lucifer is the Devil. They think the Judeo-Christian god YHWH is the Devil. Or more specifically, they’re pantheists. They see God as the Universal Force with Lucifer being the Light side of the Force while YHWH is the Dark side of the Force.”
“Sort of like George Lucas’ Star Wars,” Amadeus noted.
“Yes, the pantheism of Masonry is actually very similar to the theology of the Force in the Lucas films,” Dracul said, “and they think that Osiris is the most sublime manifestation of Luciferian light in history.”
“Really?” Amadeus was astounded.
“Yes, they think that Osiris was actually the one who built the Temple of Solomon for Solomon,” said Dracul, “although they call him Hiram Abiff in Masonic folklore and legend rather than Osiris. Which is why Masons want to see the Temple of Solomon rebuilt on the Temple Mount. And not a revamped 2nd Temple either. They want an exact replica of the 1st Temple- Solomon’s Temple. It must be Solomon’s Temple all over again.”
“Yes, the Masons seem to be obsessed with Solomon for some reason as well,” Amadeus scratched his chin.
“That’s because Solomon under the influence of his many foreign-born wives and concubines allowed ceremonies and rites to strange foreign gods to be said in the Temple of YHWH the god of his father David,” Dracul explained, “so in that way Solomon acted as history’s first ecumenist. The first interfaith and inter-religion dialogue guy. In its day, the Temple of Solomon under Solomon’s rule and reign acted like the New York City Episcopal Cathedral of Saint John the Divine of its day- worshipped all manner and all sorts of gods.”
“And this would appeal to Masons?” Amadeus asked.
“Yes, because upper level Freemasons believe that all religions are true,” explained Dracul, “or rather all religions are just pale shadows of the one true religion which they say is Masonry. The one true god is Lucifer the light side of the Universal God Force. And Osiris the purest manifestation of Luciferic light.”
“Don’t some Masons believe that Osiris will return in 2012?” Amadeus queried.
“That was a prophecy made by the Worshipful Master of George Washington’s own personal Masonic lodge back in the 1780s,” said Dracul, “and may explain the current fixation with the year 2012. That and the fact the Mayans ended their long calendar on the Gregorian calendar equivalent day of December 21st, 2012.”
To be continued.
Jack O’ Hare On Saint John’s Eve
It’s Saint John’s Eve
said the frog called Steve
The Eve of Saint John the Baptist
and I’ve got the results of my lab test
I’m allergic to flies
so in Japan no fries
so no Twitter photos from Anthony Weiner
or they’ll be using formaldehyde for my cleaner
down at the morgue
where ghouls do gorge.
Agreed Jack O’ Hare
with a touch of flair,
it’s St. John’s Nativity
which we’ll mark with civility
until the carrot wine does flow
and my bunny nose will glow
from much imbibing
amidst good tiding.
It’s Saint John’s Eve in the Enchanted Forest
where Sarah Palin leads a pro-climate change chorus
and Al Gore conducts flatulent cows
whose methane gas wows
the crowd will fall dead
so many zombies a’ head
in a world topsy turvy
like an upside down curry.
It’s Shakespeare’s Midsummer Dream all over again
where the robin will sing in tune with the wren
and it’s Bottom’s up in the glen
he’s made an ass of himself
while Puck grins on the shelf
what fools these mortals be
no stars for Pyramus and Thisbe
but two thumbs down
as Snout adjusts his gown
playing a wall
over which bugs do crawl.
‘Tis fine theatre indeed
as Steve smoked a poppy seed
in opium there’s hope
I ain’t no dope.
HIgher than heaven
and the number seven
observed Jack O’ Hare
as he sipped eau clare
as Steve climbed Heaven’s stair
a lead Zeppelin was he
as he crashed into a tree
enjoying the revelry
of this Bacchic hospitality.
-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Thursday evening, June 23rd 2011
The Eve of the Nativity of Saint John The Baptist.
Renfield Awakens
Renfield R. Renfield was finally awakened by the smell of tuna fish sandwiches coming from the next room.
For almost 2 months now, he had lain comatose and unconscious in the neurosciences unit of King’s College Hospital London after he had knocked himself out when he discovered he wouldn’t be getting an invitation to the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton.
Renfield pulled the intravenous feeding tubes out of his arms and then went to the hospital room next door where he swiped the tuna fish sandwiches and ate them all.
“Ah, this tastes much better than having liquid shoved through the arm,” Renfield belched.
He then left the hospital and went home to the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal London mansion.
No one was home.
Neither his boss Set nor Amadeus Emanon nor Athelstan the butler.
Renfield checked his email to see who had left him get well messages.
None had.
He seemed to have a lot of fair weather friends he reckoned.
Renfield then brought out all his machine guns and his ammunition.
He then wrote down a list of all his supposed friends.
He then jumped into Set’s red Ford Mustang sports car and drove to the addresses of said friends.
On the BBC News that night, BBC was reporting the greatest number of mysterious shootings and killings of various individuals in London in a single day.
Renfield laughed as he looked at the television, “Don’t claim to be a friend of mine unless you really mean it. If you’re one of my worst enemies posing as a friend, you’ll die. Rest assured of that.”
To be continued.
Mazdare The Magician
Mazdare the Magician.
The name and the face gazed out from the poster of the Pantages Theatre.
He had long dark hair, piercing dark eyes and a dark moustache.
In the poster, he doffed his magician’s hat (from which many a rabbit had made a quick exit) and held his magic wand.
Stars circled around him in the poster.
Mazdare the Magician.
“My gosh, you look awfully familiar,” a distinguished voice spoke to the poster and the speaker of that voice doffed his hat.
“Ah, I can see why,” the speaker pointed his finger at the face on the poster and took a sip from his bottle of bourbon, “I believe I see your face in the mirror every morning when I shave. That is after I’ve shaved. I believe I have a lot more stubble on my face before I shave.”
Mazdare the Magician laughed and stumbled along the alleyway before reaching the street.
“Now, the motel is… where is the motel?” Mazdare licked his finger and held his wet finger in the air to tell which way the non-existent wind was blowing, “ah… this way.”
He pointed and moved up the street.
He stopped to take a leak against a lamp post.
As he urinated, he sang, “Old Man River. That old man river… yes, old man river keeps rolling along.”
When he felt no more coming out, he looked down.
“Has old man river finally stopped rolling along?” He looked down and when he decided that Old Man River had indeed stopped rolling along, he put it back and pulled up his zipper.
“Strange,” he thought, “I must be in China because that river sure looked like the Yellow River while it was flowing.”
He continued on down the street towards the motel.
He passed the tavern which was right next to the motel.
He looked at the flashing neon lights of the tavern.
And then at the flashing neon lights of the motel.
Carlotta would be waiting for him on the second floor of the motel.
“Just one drink,” he spoke to the neon light in the tavern window, “just one drinky pooh. I’m sure Carlotta wouldn’t mind.”
He entered the tavern.
Sitting up at the bar was a very attractive red head in a short skirt and dominatrix boots.
“That looks like my type of woman,” he threw the bourbon bottle he had been carrying into a nearby trash can.
Seated next to her was a greasy looking guy in a plaid sports jacket and wearing glasses.
“I hate guys like that,” Mazdare huffed.
He walked up to the nerd in the plaid sports jacket and held his hand at the back of the chair.
“Excuse me,” Mazdare smiled politely, “but has this seat been taken?”.
“Why, yes it has,” replied the nerd.
Mazdare pulled the chair sideways and the nerd fell off to the floor, “You’re right. It has been taken. It’s been taken by me.”
Mazdare sat on the chair and put his hand on the red head’s crossed tan pantyhose legs.
“A pleasure to meet you my dear,” he patted her knee.
“Are you always so brazen?” the red head looked at him in shock.
“I’m only brazen when I’m well cooked in a brazier,” Mazdare smiled at her in reply.
“Who the Hell do you think you are?” the red head asked while the nerd on the floor queried, “Anybody get the license plate number of that truck?”.
He reached behind her ear and pulled out a business card seemingly from behind her ear.
“Mazdare the Magician,” he smiled, “like the card says.”
Indeed the card said MAZDARE THE MAGICIAN.
The woman looked at the card and then at the handsome dark haired dark eyed stranger in front of her.
“I’ve heard about your show,” she said, “They say you’re absolutely incredible. They say you make magic seem so real.”
“Magic is real,” he drew himself closer to her and looked in her eyes.
“Well…” she paused.
“My favourite trick,” he drew himself ever closer towards her, “is to take my big wand and to stick it into holes. You’ll never know what surprises await you inside a hole.”
“I don’t… I…” she edged away from him.
Mazdare brought out a pack of cards from his pocket.
“These are cards,” he said stating the obvious, “they’ve never been open before…”
he flashed the whole deck before her like a skilled Vegas casino dealer, “as you can see, this is not a trick deck. Now…” he handed her the deck, “Pick a card. Any card.”
She picked a card.
He leaned back.
“Now, look at the card,” he commanded, “look at the card very intently. Concentrate on it. Memorize it. Never forget the card.”
He gazed intently into her eyes as she gazed intently at the card.
“Is the number and suite of the card emblazoned into your brain?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He handed her the deck and said, “Now put the card back in the deck.”
She did so.
“Shuffle the deck yourself,” he helped himself to a bottle of beer from a waitress’s passing loaded tray.
She shuffled the deck and then handed the deck back to Mazdare.
Mazdare then re-shuffled the deck himself.
“Now what was the card you chose?” he asked her.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” she smiled at him.
“Well I suppose I could tell you it was the 6 of Clubs,” he smiled at her, “but where’s the fun in that? What was the card you chose?”.
“The 6 of Clubs,” she gasped.
“Pick the top card from the top of the deck,” he said.
She did so.
And flipped it over.
She gasped again.
“The 6 of Clubs,” she gazed at him thunderstruck, “how did you do that?”.
“Magic,” he smiled at her.
He looked at his watch.
“Oops…” Mazdare frowned, “I’m late for an appointment.”
He looked at the redhead, kissed her hand and bowed, “It’s been a very charming evening. Hope to see you again in the very near future.”
He ran from the tavern and up to the 2nd level of the motel using the outside steps and outside walkway.
He pounded on Door 229.
A fiery eyed sultry sexy and steamy brunette Latina woman in a red dress opened the door and screamed at him, “You bastard!”.
“Now that is very unfair,” he wagged his finger at her as he spoke, “I’ll have you know my parents were both legally married when I was conceived and when I was born. Making me grow up a misfit in this society of increasingly common law partnerships.”
“I suppose you think just because I’m a whore that my time isn’t worth anything,” she slapped his face, “but my time is precious. I have other clients besides you, you know.”
“But none who are as charming as I am,” Mazdare started to take off his shoes.
“But we can’t do it now,” she said.
“What are you ticked off at me for being a few minutes late?” Mazdare held up his hands in protest.
Carlotta opened the bedroom door and there stood a little girl about 8 years old.
“What is a child doing here?” Mazdare asked in shock.
“She’s my niece,” Carlotta answered, “my sister was put in jail this evening and will no doubt be remanded for compulsory treatment in drug rehab by the judge tomorrow morning. Social services brought Andrea to me.”
“Social Services left her in the care of the town whore?” Mazdare was incredulous.
“I’m her nearest relative,” she said.
“So because of your crackhead sister, I won’t be allowed to unclog my pipes tonight?” Mazdare raised his arms in disbelief.
“That’s right,” Carlotta nodded as she smoothed her dress.
“This is outrageous,” Mazdare kicked over a garbage can, “I’m no Vulcan like in Star Trek. I just don’t mate every 7 years like they did. No wonder Mr. Spock’s ears were so pointed. It was all backed up that far.”
He slammed the door behind him, walked along the motel’s outside walkway and walked down the motel’s outside stairwell.
He then walked in a huff through the motel parking lot and as he did so, Carlotta came running out of her motel room, leaned over the balcony in her low-cut red dress and screamed at him, “The next time you think you’re perfect, try walking on water.”
Mazdare immediately walked over to the motel swimming pool and started walking on top of the water in the pool.
“How the Hell are you able to do that?” Carlotta screamed at him in wonder.
“It’s magic,” Mazdare held out his arms in triumph as he stood on top of the water in the pool.
“Magicians,” she shook her head and went back in the motel room and slammed the door.
* * *
It was Mazdare’s magic act inside the Pantages Theatre.
Mazdare held a small paper cage with a dove between his hands and then invited members of the audience to likewise come and hold their hands against the cage.
Suddenly Mazdare slammed his hand down on top of the cage and poof! the cage was gone.
Then Mazdare raised his hat and a dove flew out from inside his hat.
The audience applauded.
* * *
As Mazdare left the back stage of the Pantages Theatre, a small boy probably about 8 or 9 was blubbering on the steps outside the back door.
“What are you snivelling about, you obnoxious little brat?” Mazdare asked.
“Is that any way to talk to paying members of your audience?” the boy bawled.
“Hey, I have to pretend to like kids inside the theatre,” Mazdare reached for a bottle of bourbon from underneath his cape, “but out here in the real world, I don’t have to like you, you bawling screaming whiny cretins with your runny noses.”
The boy continued to sob.
“What are you bawling about anyways?” Mazdare asked.
“I know how you did the trick with the dove inside the cage,” the boy cried, “I read magic books. The dove inside the cage died. That dove that flew out from inside your hat was another dove. The dove inside the cage died. Died for the sake of your magic act. I should report you to PETA,” the boy snivelled.
“PETA?” Mazdare blinked in disbelief, “those people are terrorists!”.
“Terrorists?” the boy looked up at Mazdare.
“Yes,” Mazdare nodded, “they had the audacity to steal a steak sandwich from my hands once and to call me a cow killer.”
“Well, now you’re a dove killer,” the boy bawled.
* * *
The next day inside the theatre.
Mazdare asked for a volunteer.
He noticed several hands go up.
And one of them was the boy who had been bawling outside the back stage door of the theatre the day before.
Mazdare smiled.
“Come up, lad,” he invited.
The boy’s mother look worried but the boy ran up on the stage.
He was then placed inside a box.
And soon Mazdare and his lovely blonde female assistant in the slit sparkly sequined cream coloured evening dress started sticking swords all through the box.
The boy’s mother looked pensive.
Mazdare’s assistant then opened the box and a little girl stepped out.
The audience burst into applause.
* * *
Outside the back stage of the theatre, the boy’s mother waited with the little girl.
“Where is my son?” the boy’s mother demanded to know as Mazdare emerged from the stage door.
“That is your son,” Mazdare pointed at the girl.
“But she’s a girl,” the mother protested.
“Still, she’s now your child,” Mazdare threw his cloak around himself, “As a woman named Carlotta recently told me… let me rephrase that… recently implied, I’m not perfect. So Madam, let me tell you, I’m not perfect. I’m not perfect. And neither is magic.”
“You mean you’ve turned my son into a girl permanently?” the woman gasped.
“Madam,” Mazdare threw his cloak around his neck and then rubbed his hands together with glee, “think of it as an experiment in transgenderism gone wild.”
He doffed his hat towards the woman, winked at the girl and then walked down the back alley towards the open street.
* * *
The old man looked out the window of his motel room in Room 228.
Outside he noticed standing in the motel rose garden was that mysterious individual that was always visiting the woman in the room next door.
The man looked at his old Coca-Cola neon clock from the 1950s. It said 12 Midnight.
He then looked back at the dark haired figure dressed in black.
The man seemed to be digging a deep hole in the garden where he dropped several bags that seemed to contain meat and bones or at least so the old man concluded from his vantage point.
The figure in black then used the shovel to put dirt back over the hole.
When he had finished, the figure in black doffed his hat towards the hole, put the shovel he was carrying in the trunk of a car and then headed upstairs.
The old man’s neighbour Carlotta greeted the dark figure at the door of Room 229.
She wore a tight fitting red evening dress that accentuated every curve in her body.
“I found your niece a new home,” Mazdare the Magician said as he stood at the door.
“Oh, darling,” Carlotta embraced and kissed him.
She kicked the door closed with one of her red spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.
The old man put on the late movie on the TV, grabbed a beer and sat down and watched.
No use going to sleep he figured.
The noise those two made as they did it.
And no doubt they would be at it all night.
Like always.
-A short story written by Christopher Van Helsing
Monday evening June 20th 2011.
The Nun Who Danced To Judas
Sister Agnes stood in the hallway of the orphanage and looked at the statue of Jesus with His Sacred Heart.
The nun was standing in spiked stiletto high-heels which was unusual for a nun of her order.
She reached down and ripped the bottom part of her robe from her ankle up to her pelvis.
She ripped it on both sides this way.
The rips exposed black silk nylons that she was wearing underneath her robe.
She then started to dance in front of the statue of the Sacred Heart Jesus.
She danced and she sang.
She sang,
I’m just a Holy Fool
Oh, baby, it’s so cruel
But I’m still in love with Judas, baby
I’m just a Holy Fool
Oh, baby, it’s so cruel
But I’m still in love with Judas, baby.
She spun around on her stilettos and her nun’s robe whirled like a belly dancer’s dress as she sensuously moved her arms back and forth.
She approached the statue of the Sacred Heart Jesus and kissed it on the lips with her ruby rouge red lipstick lips.
She sang,
I wanna love you,
But something’s pulling me away from you…
She then turned her back on the statue and embraced nothing but air in her arms as she sang,
Jesus is my virtue…
She then opened her eyes which she had closed and her eyes seemed to be looking at something that she was embracing but would have appeared invisible to any other observer that might have been standing in the hallway.
She sang as she embraced the nothingness she caressed in her arms,
And Judas is the demon I cling to
I cling to
She then opened the door and entered the room where all the young children were sleeping in the orphanage.
She lifted her robes and pulled a huge butcher knife from a black lingerie garter belt tied around her right knee.
She then went from bed to bed quickly slitting the throats of all the children- baby, toddler, boy, girl, 6-year-old, 7-year-old.
Each time she slit a throat, she’d click her heels together and sing,
I’m just a Holy Fool,
Oh, baby, it’s so cruel
But I’m still in love with Judas, baby
I’m just a Holy Fool,
Oh, baby, it’s so cruel
But I’m still in love with Judas, baby.
She then left the nursery after she had slain all the children, threw the statue of the Sacred Heart Jesus in the hallway to the floor and broke it as she sang,
Jesus is my virtue…
She then went running outside the orphanage into the garden where a tall dark haired handsome stranger waited by the fountain whose top was a cherubic angel with an arrow.
The very beautiful 30-year-old nun went running into the arms of the tall dark haired handsome stranger and kissed him passionately on the lips.
She then caressed his neck and embraced him tightly singing,
And Judas is the demon I cling to
I cling to
As she did so, she kissed him on the cheek oblivious to the fact that the tall dark haired handsome stranger was now turning into a red reptilian thing with bat like wings and clawed talons and spiked tail.
The thing burst into flames turning Sister Agnes into flames with it.
A two-year-old who had escaped the slaughter in the nursery by hiding under the bed poked his head out from under the bed and said in baby talk,
Ga-Ga, Ga-Ga.
The End.
-A short story written by Christopher Van Helsing
Sunday evening June 19th 2011.
Dracul Van Helsing 
How World War III Will Begin
June 17, 2011 at 8:07 pm (Commentary, Humour, Vampire novel) (City of Vancouver, hockey riots, Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster, Renfield R. Renfield, Stanley Cup, Vancouver Canucks, Vancouver riots, World War III)
Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster was spending YET another boring Friday night hooked up to the computer in the Set Laboratories Lab.
Michelangelo decided yet again that he’d entertain himself by entering the dreams of the comatose Renfield R. Renfield who was laying in a hospital bed in King’s College Hospital, London.
Using current events from watching BBC World News, Michelangelo decided that he would project a documentary from the far future into Renfield R. Renfield’s dreaming mind.
The female BBC Documentary Announcer from the future intoned, “Coming up next on BBC Documentary Channel our award-winning documentary How World War III Began…”
The program starts.
The voice of the male narrator began the intro,
“World War III would start in the year 2100. It would begin when the City of Vancouver lost yet another game 7 of a Stanley Cup NHL Hockey Championship- the 21st time in history it had done so. This time however the rioters in the streets would have access to nuclear weapons which they would use and send the whole world into a nuclear conflagration of the worst magnitude that would take the Earth centuries to recover…”
Renfield R. Renfied being the deranged psychopathic shapeshifter hamster/human that he was could not help but grin in his sleep as he watched all the carnage and destruction being shown him in his dream.
To be continued.
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