News Update On Hurricane Ophelia
News Update on Hurricane Ophelia
presented by the Christopher Van Helsing News Network
Announcer: Here’s the latest update on Hurricane Ophelia… earlier this evening as an existentially angst ridden Danish prince was walking along a beach pondering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, he was blown away by Hurricane Ophelia as a Danish politician named Polonius remarked, “Me thinks it does look like a cloud.” Was the event caught on videocam and uploaded to YouTube… well… we can only ask… youtube be… or not… youtube be…. ?
Jack O’ Hare On Mount Kinabalu
Jack O’ Hare On Mount Kinabalu
A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Wednesday evening September 28th 2011
Inspired by an old Kadazandusun legend
related by Quareztina Sandai
Jack O’ Hare was wondering where his friend went
he did not know Chris was paying apartment rent
so he set off to the big city in search of his pal
oblivious to Swiss CERN reactors raising Hell
they caused a warp in time
and sent Jack crashing into lime
on the top of Mount Kinabalu
and as a cow did moo
there was Prince Wu
practicing Kung Fu.
With a whack the prince hit a dragon on the head
so hard the dragon was very soon dead
and then the prince found a pearl of great price
while Jack ordered some Borneo fried rice.
The prince found a Kadazan woman so pretty
he married her in front of a priest so witty
that Jack laughed so hard his pants he pissed
while the happy couple kissed and kissed.
But Prince Wu already had a girl back home in Beijing
and after his honeymoon night left without packing
the jilted bride
cried and cried
wandering Mount Kinabalu
her tears turned to dew
and she turned to stone
causing Jack to moan.
Jack set out to avenge the girl
and hopped over mountains to whirl
like the wind of rage that he was
he met his Chinese hare coz
and aunts and uncles
sailing small junkles
he reached the Forbidden City
his determination gritty.
He found Prince Wu
near the Imperial Zoo
he found a baker and baked the prince a cake
then he found the prince near a lake
and said, “Have a piece…
your hunger will cease.”
So the Prince ate the cake
which baker did shake and bake
and Jack filled with laxatives
amidst the ancient Plaxadives
(what those were now lost to history)
and like twinkling eye full of mystery
the Prince died of a massive bowel movement
while Jack happy danced the groove-ment
(a groovy dance on the pavement
eating donuts filled with jellymint).
And so ends our sad tale…
now lost like history’s mail
the Kadazan woman avenged
after she turned to Stonehenge
on Mount Kinabalu
where her tears are the dew.
A Letter To Jack O’ Hare
This is a letter I’m writing to Jack O’ Hare the wild hare jack rabbit who used to live in my back yard but doesn’t hang out as often since my dad died.
Dear Jack,
I hope all is well. How long have we known each other now? About 4 or 5 years?
I didn’t know jack rabbits lived that long.
But you were the same rabbit.
For what other rabbit in the wintertime would I see his footprints in the snow following me?
You had followed me 4 blocks up to the neighbourhood pub. For I could see your footprints in the snow.
You may have followed me in summer too but I had no way of knowing unless I saw you.
My dad got a kick when he used to look out the window and see you down on the ground.
While he watched you, you were busy watching through the basement window watching me work on my computer.
At first I didn’t believe my dad but then on at least 2 or 3 occasions, I used to look behind me at the basement window and see you there watching me.
You in many ways acted like my guardian angel.
Watching me when I walked to and from the pub.
Watching me as I worked on the computer.
You vanished when my dad got sick with cancer.
And only showed up again on the day my dad died to pay your condolences.
You did the same thing the day of my dad’s funeral.
For the first living creature I saw when I exited the house that day was you.
The past year I would occasionally see you again and always on days that were crucial in the past year.
You showed up the day I received the call my dad’s house had to be sold and I would have to move.
It’s strange how I never did see too many jack rabbits in downtown Edmonton.
Well in fact none at all until the past week.
Then in the space of the past week, I’ve seen 3 different jack rabbits in downtown Edmonton.
Now that I’m moving from the suburbs to the City’s downtown itself, I guess you sent the message to your cousins in the big City to start looking out for me.
Well as you know Jack- things move quickly when they happen.
My godfather and I went to see the Estate lawyer last Thursday.
The lawyer wants me out of the house pronto to begin the process of selling.
Within the space of 24 hours, I found the apartment I wouldn’t mind calling home.
And next Wednesday September 14th 2011, I shall be moving into that apartment.
So I guess this is good-bye, Jack.
Will I ever see you again?
Probably not unless we meet in Heaven?
Do I believe animals go to Heaven?
Well writer and theologian C.S. Lewis believed that.
So if it’s good enough for C. S. Lewis.
It’s good enough for me.
You may not know it, Jack but you developed a base of fans here at Xanga.
All the short stories and poems I wrote about you, they were the most popular among many Xangans.
@Daniella_Aalyiah_Li loved hearing about you.
@RestlessButterfly my good friend Rez loved hearing about you.
And so did her two nieces Arrabella @Arrabella_Lyka and Jessenia @PrincessDiyanaAleeya.
So you had a devoted fan club here at Xanga, Jack.
I hope Jack for your sake that I do become a famous writer.
Because if the world hears about me, then the world will read about you since I’ve written so much about you.
This remarkable rabbit who befriended a human being.
This rabbit who watched the human as he worked at his computer.
This rabbit who followed the human to the pub to ensure his safety in the dregs of winter.
This rabbit who befriended a human being.
And vice versa.
It was a privilege to have known you, Jack.
Good bye my friend.
Should I say with the French au revoir?
Until we meet again?
I think so.
For I’d love to meet you again.
In the meantime we have the words of assurance from that old animated cartoon I saw as a kid An American Tale, “Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s thinking of you… we’re still underneath the same big sky.”
Your friend,
Christopher
Amadeus Practices His Iban and Malay
Amadeus had been invited to eat at the same dinner table this evening as his boss the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
Amadeus normally had a very healthy appetite but watching his boss eat, he’d always lose his appetite.
“Udah makai lemai nuan?” Amadeus asked as Athelstan brought Set his dessert.
“What?” Set looked perplexed.
“That’s a phrase in the Iban language,” Amadeus answered.
“Iban? Aren’t those the people who used to hunt for human heads?” Set asked as he munched on a human foot.
Amadeus winced and looked the other direction.
He then picked up a puppet figure of Tony Blair and using a ventriloquist voice said, “Sudah makan petang kamu?”.
“What’s that?” Set asked.
“It’s Malay,” Amadeus replied.
“What do those phrases mean in English?” Set inquired.
“Have you had your dinner already?” Amadeus answered with a question.
“Well, obviously,” Set belched.
To be continued.
The General And The CIA Special Archives
The General was touring CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
He was the director designate of the CIA.
He had served in both Iraq and Afghanistan and was a decorated soldier.
He had been called to Headquarters in Langley to receive a special briefing on a theft that had occurred at the CIA Special Archives.
“Special Archives?” the General asked his briefer.
“These are items that are so sensitive to national security that they’re not even put on computer for fear of attack by hackers,” the briefer explained, “so they’re kept as paper documents in a special secure fire proof safe on this floor.”
“And someone recently broke in and stole one of the documents?” the General asked.
“That is correct, sir,” said the briefer, “although one might use the term some thing. It was a hamster that walked into the safe when one of our agents was going through the Special Archives and helped himself to the file- that is the hamster helped himself to the file.”
“Hamster?” the General was flabbergasted, “you mean like one of those furry-?…”
“Exactly sir,” the briefer nodded, “one of those cute cuddly furry little things that are so popular with children. That ride their hamster wheels around and around in cages.”
“And you’ve got photos and videos of the hamster stealing the file?” the General asked.
“Indeed we do, sir,” the briefer said, “otherwise we wouldn’t have suspected a hamster. Hamsters are rather small in size as you no doubt know sir so that’s why no one saw it. But after the theft was detected, we re-checked the security cameras on this floor and through close-ups spotted the hamster.”
“And I suppose you lost track of the hamster?” the General sighed.
“We lost track of the hamster, yes, sir,” the briefer answered, “but not our rodent sniffing cat special agent whom we call Bourne Feline.”
“The CIA has a rodent sniffing cat special agent called Bourne Feline?” the General shook his head.
“Yes, sir, the cost of his cat food which comes under CIA special appropriations was a subject of intense heated debate earlier this summer between Republican and Democrat over whether it should be subject to cuts if the U.S. debt ceiling was to be raised,” the briefer explained, “it was almost a deal killer for the debt deal that is until President Obama asked his daughter Malia to step in and speak to a closed session of Congress and tell members of both parties what an extremely cute kitty cat it was.”
“A little child shall lead them,” the General quoted Scripture.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” his briefer blinked.
“Continue,” the General waved his hand.
“So Bourne Feline using his rodent sniffing skills tracked the scent of the hamster down to a motel room in the town of Mineral, Virginia which coincidentally was also the epicenter of last month’s major East Coast earthquake,” the briefer noted.
“And when our agents got there, did they find a hamster?” the General asked.
“No, sir, the hamster appears to have dropped off the face of the Earth,” the briefer answered, “when our agents got there, a British subject by the name of Renfield R. Renfield was busy banging the town’s very beautiful local lady of the evening.”
“And what are Mr. Renfield’s last known whereabouts?” the General inquired.
“Mr. Renfield was last seen floating down a flooded highway in Vermont,” the briefer briefed.
“Best to concentrate our efforts on recapturing the scent of the hamster,” the General ordered.
“Very good, sir,” the briefer saluted.
“Oh, one more thing,” the General turned around, “what was in the file that was stolen?”.
“The file relates how when Apollo 11 landed on the moon in July, 1969, they found a casket containing a vampire on the lunar surface,” the briefer related.
“Really?” now it was the General’s turn to blink.
“Yes, sir,” the briefer nodded, “when Commander Neil Armstrong asked what was to be done about the coffin, one of NASA’s senior higher-ups ordered Armstrong to put the casket and the respective vampire aboard the lunar module and bring it back to Earth.”
“A NASA top official ordered that a casket containing a vampire be brought back to Earth?” the General was incredulous.
“Yes, sir,” the briefer acknowledged, “in retrospect the decision wouldn’t exactly be considered rocket science.”
To be continued.
Dinner Is Set Or Rather A Dinner For Set
The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set was preparing to feed.
He just didn’t suck blood.
He had a virtual blood bath with his victims.
The man and woman were chained in the dungeon of his mansion.
He had swooped down when he saw them kissing in Hyde Park and grabbed both of them in his taloned hands.
He shredded their clothes after he chained them.
He then used his long taloned nails to cut through and pierce every single inch of skins on their bodies.
The blood squirted out and Set thirstily drank.
Eventually after a couple of hours, the couple finally died.
Set wiped a trace of blood off his satisfied smile.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” Athelstan his valet and butler called from the top of the stairs, “it’s your loyal servant Col. Muammar Gaddafi calling for help.”
“He’s no longer in control of the country of Libya is he?” Set asked sneeringly.
“That is correct, sir,” Athelstan nodded.
“Then he is no longer of any use to us,” Set helped himself to an ear, a nose and an eyeball and started chewing.
To be continued.
The Magician
He stands there in the dark
a sizzling human spark
he has come to perform for you
a stage taming of the shrew
by sawing a lovely damsel in half
though sawn she wiggles her calf
sex and violence seem to merge
satisfying some primeval urge
that is why we stand and clap
seeing this and the water trap
for to death he seemingly sends the girl
with a wave of baton and moustache twirl
but then he brings her back
with speed of lightning crack.
Saw, whip, torture seems fun
underneath the shot of circus gun
there our dark passions come out to play
sending into shadows shades of gray
but when the spot light shines and curtains part
we realize why magic is a seductive art
for one moment frozen in time
thanatos and eros dance sublime
and two urges
civility submerges
go down in the depths with the girl in slit dress
the magician does things we wouldn’t confess
so that’s why we keep coming back
to watch her emerge from a torturer’s rack.
-The Magician
a poem written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
Thursday evening, September 1st 2011.
Dracul Van Helsing 