How The Headless Motorcyclist Spent Halloween
Halloween in London town
Headless Motorcyclist rides around
looking for his head
and a comfortable bed
He’d been riding for many a day
cross-town, uptown, every which way
he even ran into a stack of hay
and so as night descends along the Thames
he ran into some prostitute femmes
and one of them gave him head
while another filled his ass with lead.
-An erotic and kinky Halloween poem
written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
this Halloween night, October 31st 2011.
Vampire Set Gets A Food Bill For 4500 British Pounds
The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set almost had a heart attack (he would have if he had been a mere mortal) when he noticed his estate’s food bill.
“In the name of Amun-Ra,” Set swore, “we paid 4500 pounds sterling just for one single piece of fish.”
“Apparently,” Renfield nodded, “the fish was a 10 kilogram Empurau or Emperor fish. It’s an exotic variety of fish that’s found in the Malaysian province of Sarawak on the island of Borneo. It can apparently cost up to RM 6,000 in Malaysian currency or roughly $2,000 in U.S. currency. So it’s no surprise that it cost us 4500 pounds sterling.”
“But who the Hell ordered it?” Set asked.
“Amadeus,” Renfield answered, “he’s developed an appetite for Malaysian cuisine recently.”
“Well please tell Amadeus to develop an appetite for a less expensive form of cuisine,” Set ordered.
“Will do, sir,” Renfield made a note of that on his iPad.
“By the way,” Set asked, “did you or I or Athelstan get to taste a piece of this Empurau fish?”.
“No,” Renfield shook his head, “Amadeus ate all 10 kilograms of it by himself at one sitting.”
“Amadeus,” it was the voice of Amadeus’s date for the evening the New Orleans singer Angelique Dumont at the front door of the mansion, “you seem to have put on a lot of weight since I last saw you.”
To be continued.
Little Red Riding Hood Updated
Little Red Riding Hood went walking through the forest
listening on her iPod to the Hallelujah chorus
she was wearing a red short skirt
she was wanting to flirt
being a girl of 24
she walked to the Wolf’s door
She banged on the door and said “Let me in, let me in
for I feel inclined to sin, sin, sin!”
Hallelujah said the Big Bad Wolf opening the door-us
in accompaniment to the Hallelujah chorus
He noticed her red short skirt, red silk nylons and red spiked stilettos
such as was never seen before in these here forest ghettoes
My wolfie, what a big – – – – you have
she bent down and rubbed her calve
when you do that it’s even bigger
said Wolfie with a swigger
she bent down on all fours on the rug
and gave his leg a playful tug
the bigger the better she said
this playful girl dressed in red
now I want to see your bed.
she looked at the ornaments on his open door
what big knockers you have
she dropped her shawl to the floor.
Not as big as yours my dear
I feel it getting hot in here
the wolf took off his sheep sweater
she smiled sweetly the bigger the better
the tighter the sweater
do you like to play with leather?
she brought out a riding crop
and then unbuttoned her see-through top
and poor Wolfie came so quickly
his cottage floor needed a mop.
-An erotic poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Friday evening October 28th 2011.
For Andrea CorvyusMorte: Requiem For A Poetess
Upon hearing of John Keats’ death
Shelley wrote, “I weep for Adonais- he is dead”
on this rainy rainy night devoid of stars
I weep for Andrea- she is dead
Beautiful poetess, beautiful soul
I wish you were around still to tell you so.
You wrote from the heart
and what a beautiful heart it was
a heart that had been broken and felt pain
a heart that flowed with passion like dew and pouring rain
it can be truly said, this world won’t see your like again.
You wrote real poetry in an age of text messages and mundane emails
you found kernels of buried truth under lies of hidden veils
your words burst with the range and gaunt of human emotions
but your own poor soul found no healing lotions.
O weep for Andrea- she is dead
now poetry has nowhere to lay its head
the finger no longer moves nor writes
and all your tears can no longer bring back the muse
that wrote of life and death and wine and song
where did this world go so terribly wrong?
Your words were finally drowned in a pool of despair
I wept tears for you in the pool downstair
now back in my room on this rainy rainy night
a pounding gloom devoid of light.
In my mind the voice of Josh Groban singing Vincent,
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry starry night
you took your life as lovers often do
but I could have told you Vincent
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
but I would change the lyrics of the song…
I would have changed the lyrics to something I should have done…
I would change the lyrics to…
I should have told you Andrea,
this world NEEDS someone as beautiful as you.
When In Rome Do As The Werewolves Do
At the door of Set’s colossal London mansion, Renfield was signing for an extremely long package from Purolator courier.
“What’s inside?” Amadeus asked while eating a chocolate eclair.
“The body of the Were-Zomb-ire,” Renfield replied as he opened it.
“It’s dead again?” Amadeus wiped some chocolate off his mouth.
“Yes, it got electrocuted yesterday after it tripped over a black cat and fell into a large fount of Holy Water in the Vatican garden,” Renfield answered.
“I wonder how it got to Rome?” Amadeus reached into a box and helped himself to his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
“Moloch the demon took possession of its body and then used the creature’s bat wings to fly to Rome,” Renfield answered.
“Wow,” Amadeus looked at the body of the Were-Zomb-ire in the very long box, “when Purolator says they can deliver anything, they really mean it.”
“Of course they do,” Renfield laughed, “how do you think I manage to get the products grown on my cocaine field in Colombia past U.S. customs.”
“Really?” Amadeus momentarily stopped eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
“Really,” Renfield nodded.
“Wow,” Amadeus continued eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
“So I wonder what the poor demon Moloch will do since his host body of the Were-Zomb-ire has died?” Renfield started to read the Last Rites from the Necronomicon over the creature’s body.
* * *
Welsh Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley was in Rome on a mission for the British government.
He was to meet a representative of the Libyan Transitional Council in Rome and sign an agreement with the new Libyan government.
Rhys Petley was also a werewolf- a malady he suffered from ever since he was bitten by the demon Rahu many months ago.
This particular variation of the lycanthropy gene he received through the bite could turn him into a werewolf at any time- not only during the full moon.
While sitting in a cybercafe in Rome and watching a YouTube video of the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec (who looked a lot like Salma Hayek) in a low-cut red evening dress administering a bare-bottom spanking to vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing who lay across her lap, Magog Rhys Petley felt himself becoming sexually aroused.
He also felt himself turning into a werewolf.
After he turned into a werewolf which seemed to empty the cybercafe for some reason sending patrons screaming out into the street, Magog also felt some strange alien force trying to take possession of his body.
To be continued.
Moloch and Mammon
The Were-zomb-ire’s teeth were chattering after having spent a night in the Vatican garden on a rather chilly Rome evening.
The demon Moloch who was using the Were-Zomb-ire’s body as his host was starting to feel cold.
He was used to intense heat.
“Good morning,” said the demon Mammon who happened to be in the neighbourhood.
“Mammon, what are you doing here?” Moloch through the Were-Zomb-ire’s mouth asked the ancient Babylonian god of banking and commerce.
“Some of the Vatican bureaucrats who are under my control have just issued a statement through the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace calling for the creation of a World Financial Authority,” Mammon smiled, “and I of course am going to be the one running that World Financial Authority when it’s finally created.”
“You haven’t formed an alliance with the Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl by any chance have you?” Moloch asked through chattering teeth.
“So what if I have?” Mammon shrugged, “by the way what you were doing spending all night in the Vatican garden?”.
“I was trying to locate Pope Benedict XVI,” Moloch growled through the Were-Zomb-ire.
“Have you ever heard those stories about that mysterious priest who goes down into the catacombs and takes saucers of milk and bread to feed all the hungry stray cats who live down there in the catacombs?” Mammon asked.
“Yes, I have heard those stories,” Moloch nodded.
“Well that mysterious priest since 1981 has been Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger now Pope Benedict XVI,” replied Mammon, “he was down in the catacombs last night doing it.”
Mammon walked away whistling.
Moloch took a step and tripped over a black cat which caused him to fall into a fount of Holy Water.
“Hell, no,” Moloch’s Were-Zomb-ire body started to smulder.
To be continued.
The Ballad of The Demon Moloch Possessed Were-Zomb-ire
Under the dance of the stars of celestial fire
demon Moloch possessed the body of Were-Zomb-ire
and flying on bats’ wings he flew to Rome
and came within sight of Saint Peter’s Dome
then he encountered the Guards Swiss
embracing them with a deadly kiss
they fell to the ground
without a single sound
their flesh melted in the air
a sight of unholy terror
then he walked through the Vatican garden
hoping to encounter Benedict in the bargain.
To be continued.
Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec Rising
The vampire Lev Tomi looked outside his office in the UN building in New York City.
In his mortal life, he had been the Marxist revolutionary Leon Trotsky.
He had been turned into a vampire by the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec in Mexico City on August 21st, 1940 a day after an attack by a Stalinist agent who tried to assassinate him with an ice pick.
Failure to be turned into a vampire would have resulted in his death.
Although his death was publicly announced to the world so that his enemy Josef Stalin would no longer bother him.
Today Lev Tomi was the Head of the UN Secretariat on The Environment and Climate Change.
He was also directing the Occupy Wall Street protests throughout the world on behalf of his boss the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec.
His mind went back to a conversation he had had with then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev back in the late 1980s.
“In order for global Communism to triumph,” he had told Gorbachev, “global capitalism must triumph first. Only when extreme laissez-faire capitalism reigns everywhere on the globe will the peoples of the world realize what an inhuman system it is and will rush to willingly embrace global Communism.”
At Tomi’s suggestion, Gorbachev let Central and Eastern Europe go, allowed for the dismantling of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany and even allowed the dissolution of the Soviet Union itself.
By the year 2000, it had looked like global capitalism had triumphed.
By the autumn of 2008, global capitalism had shown the world its inhuman face and continued to show the world its inhuman face ever since.
Now the Arab Spring, the anti-austerity bill riots in Greece and the Occupy Wall Street protests in cities all over the world would pave the way for the triumph of global Communism.
Although it is ironic Tomi reflected to himself that the coming One World Marxist-Leninist government would be headed by the exiled (currently living in exile on Saturn’s moon Titan) Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl.
* * *
Dracul Van Helsing read the quote from Leon Trotsky in the rare book store he was in, “Let there be formed a United States of Europe. When the United States of Europe is formed, then the United States of the World shall arise. And global Communism will triumph.”
The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec appeared before him in a red evening dress and licked her fangs and then leaned over showing her ample bosom and whispered delicately in his ear, “Tenga cuidado…”
To be continued.
If The Were-Zomb-ire Could Write Poetry
Blood baths are good for you
to bathe in blood is where it’s at
burnt flesh and twisted limbs
ripped apart at the door
a menagerie of blood and gore
Death and destruction all around
New World Order’s despotic crown
Change is acomin’
it’s the demonic Spring
with Sauron Lord of the Ring
autumn moon is rising all blood red
looks like motorcyclist lost his head
Moloch’s a headin’ to Assisi
he ain’t bringin’ no Virgin Chi Chi
Kill! Kill!
Let’s get our fill
Death is our ecstasy pill.
– A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday evening October 21st 2011.
Dracul Van Helsing 
The Room: Hotel California
October 30, 2011 at 10:19 pm (Commentary, Vampire novel) (Dracul Van Helsing, Hotel California, The Eagles, The Key, The Raven, The Room, vampire cult suicide pacts)
He was a part of the criminal underworld- its darkest darkest part.
The Raven was the name he went by.
Only a few close friends knew his real name.
And he had so few close friends.
By far his most devilish work was done in cyberspace- on social networking sites.
The Raven did not make money at this.
Not like the drugs he sold.
But it’s what gave him the most joy.
The most delight.
Evil for the pure simple joy of evil.
It was not often that the Raven’s curiosity was aroused.
But it was aroused this time.
When he received a key to Room 722 of the Hotel California in Palm Springs, California.
In an envelope.
In the mail.
An envelope addressed to him at his most secret location.
With no return address on it.
The key was an old fashioned metal hotel key.
Not like the computerized key cards that most hotels gave out these days.
So the Raven drove down to Palm Springs.
To the Hotel California.
He discovered in the lobby that the elevator wasn’t working.
So the Raven walked up 7 flights of stairs to the 7th floor- the floor on which was room 722.
He stood outside Room 722 and was a little hesitant to open the door.
“What’s stopping you, Raven?” a tall blonde man outside Room 721 asked.
The Raven looked at the questioner.
“Aren’t you Dracul Van Helsing the famous Canadian vampire hunter?” the Raven asked.
“I am,” the man replied.
“What are you doing here? How do you know my name?” the Raven wanted to know.
“I track vampires,” Van Helsing answered.
“Well,” the Raven laughed, “I’m no vampire.”
“There’s more than one kind of vampire,” Dracul Van Helsing lit a cigarette despite the California state’s strict no smoking laws and blew smoke in the Raven’s direction.
“I don’t know what you mean,” the Raven smirked.
“I’m talking about people who pose under different aliases and different personas at various blogging and social networking sites,” Van Helsing approached the Raven, “people who befriend lonely, sad and depressed people- people who are suicidally inclined and then by befriending such people try to encourage those people to commit suicide. And in many cases, some do. Those people who pose as friends and then try to push others into suicide are a modern 21st Century cyberspace form of vampires.”
“Well,” the Raven laughed, “you can’t prove any of that.”
“But I know you did it,” Van Helsing approached.
“What are you going to do? Kill me? I’m not a vampire of the Dracula kind,” the Raven continued to smirk, “I’m a mortal flesh and blood human.”
“No, I’m not going to kill you,” Van Helsing replied, “you’re going to kill yourself. You may have noticed the elevator door is open on this floor and yet the elevator is trapped on the 8th floor above. You’re going to jump down the elevator shaft and kill yourself. That way you will no longer be able to go after lost lonely souls and get them to end their lives.”
“And how are you going to get me to kill myself?” the Raven laughed.
“Why don’t you take that key and open the door to Room 722?” Dracul instructed.
The Raven did so.
What he saw in the room literally turned his hair white.
The Raven turned around and faced Van Helsing.
He seemed to choke on his own words, “You… you… you… you’re more than just a vampire hunter aren’t you?”.
“Yes,” Van Helsing calmly lit another cigarette and again blew smoke in the Raven’s direction, “I am.”
The Raven dropped the key to Room 722 on the floor, ran down the hall and jumped down the elevator shaft.
His shrill penetrating scream as he fell downwards was the last sound he ever made on this Earth.
Van Helsing calmly opened the door to the stairwell and walked down the stairs.
To be continued.
Permalink Leave a Comment