Where Will They Bury Gaddafi?

October 20, 2011 at 6:48 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

“So I hear Libyan leader Col. Muammar Gaddafi was killed today in his birthplace of Sirte,” Amadeus Emanon remarked as he bit into his camel burger- a dish he was trying for the very first time.

“That’s right,” Renfield yawned as he looked at the video of Gaddafi’s dead body at the BBC News website on his computer.

“Wasn’t he one of the Boss’ allies at one time?” Amadeus reached into a jar of pickles and added a pickle to his camel burger.

“That’s right he was,” Renfield nodded, “right up until the moment he started to lose the Libyan civil war- then the Boss quickly dropped him as an ally.”

As the group The Black Eyed Peas started to sing the song My Humps on the radio, Amadeus bit into the most difficult portion of his camel burger and asked Renfield, “So what are you currently doing?”.

“I’m trying to hack into the computers of the Libyan Transitional Council to see if I can discover the secret location where they plan to bury Col. Gaddafi’s body,” Renfield grinned.

“Do you suppose they’ll bury him face downwards so he can see where he’s going?” Amadeus felt musically motivated to add some black-eyed peas to his camel burger.

“I don’t know,” Renfield shook his head, “I’m trying to determine the site of his burial because I think it would be kind of nifty to fly there and raise Col. Gaddafi from the dead as a zombie.”

“Have you ever wondered what they do with dying grapes?” Amadeus changed the topic as he reached into a box of raisins.

To be continued.

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The Mysterious Drip

October 19, 2011 at 9:19 pm (Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , )

Drip, drip, drip.


What was that dripping sound coming from the hotel room above him?


Ever since he had returned back to his hotel room, he had heard that dripping sound.


He phoned the desk downstairs.


No answer.


Hm, maybe he should walk down to the desk in person.


No, he’ll just walk up to the hotel floor above him and knock on the door of the room above him.


When he walked up to the floor above him, he noticed the door of the room directly above him was open.


He walked into the room.


There impaled on the ceiling with coat hangers was an elderly couple who dripped blood on to the floor.


The man picked up the phone in the room and once again tried phoning the desk.


Still no answer.


The man ran downstairs to the main floor.


He approached the desk, peered over it and noticed the hotel clerk had been torn to shreds on the floor.


The man went into shock.


A previous guest who was unregistered had already checked out of the hotel (without paying) half an hour before.


The Were-Zomb-ire.


To be continued.

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Idol Talk At The Set Mansion

October 18, 2011 at 10:22 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

As Renfield entered the colossal mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set, he noticed a rather large and hideous looking creature leaving Set’s study.

The creature had a rather angry looking expression on his face.

“Say wasn’t that the demon Moloch who just left the Boss’ study?” Renfield asked Amadeus.

“It was,” Amadeus nodded as he continued to bite into a delicious Malaysian recipe for sweet and sour fish.

“What’s he looking so angry about?” Renfield inquired.

“Apparently His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI didn’t invite him to the Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace which is being held in Assisi on October 27th of this year,” Amadeus answered, “so Moloch is somewhat upset about that. Eastern Orthodox priests have been invited, Protestant ministers have been invited, Jewish rabbis have been invited, Muslim imams have been invited, Buddhist lamas have been invited and Hindu gurus have been invited. In fact, 200 representatives of various different religious faiths from over 50 countries have been invited. But Moloch wasn’t invited.”

“Why not?” Renfield bit into a tuna fish sandwich which Athelstan the valet had brought him.

“I don’t think demons were invited,” Amadeus sampled some of the Malaysian Princess Diyana Aleeya’s delicious spaghetti.

“And why the Hell not?” Renfield felt sympathy for Moloch.

“I think it’s precisely because of Hell that demons haven’t been invited,” Amadeus answered.

“I fail to follow such logic,” Renfield drew a satanic inverted pentagram into his chocolate cake.

Suddenly Renfield’s cell phone emitted a beeping sound.

“Who’s that?” Amadeus took a sip of orange juice.

“It’s a text message from the demon Moloch,” Renfield replied, “he wants to know if he can borrow my creature the Were-Zomb-ire for a few days and get it to attack the Vatican in retaliation for the Pope not inviting him to attend the Assisi Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace.”

“And what answer are you giving him, sir?” Athelstan the valet inquired.

“If he can successfully trap the Were-Zomb-ire himself,” Renfield replied, “he’s welcome to him. So far all the traps I’ve set up around London to capture the Were-Zomb-ire have failed.”

“And what sort of traps have you been using, sir?” Athelstan inquired.

“Giant mouse traps with giant pieces of cheese attached to them,” Renfield answered.

“And who suggested that the Were-Zomb-ire likes cheese?” Athelstan looked surprised.

Renfield pointed towards Amadeus.

Athelstan looked quizzically at Amadeus.

“Well,” Amadeus shrugged as he bit into a huge block of cheese, “since I like cheese, I thought maybe the Were-Zomb-ire might like cheese as well.”

To be continued.

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London At Midnight

October 17, 2011 at 9:27 pm (Horror, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , )

On the streets of London town
Were-Zomb-ire prowls around
Headless Motorcyclist rides the street
with no head and two left feet
he runs people down
can’t stop for half a crown
quite the terror this Halloween
more horror than ever seen.

-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday evening October 17th 2011.

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The Further Escapades of The Headless Motorcyclist

October 16, 2011 at 8:21 pm (Vampire novel) (, , )

The body of Jefferson Harley suddenly realized that he couldn’t see where he was going as he barreled along on his Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

He thought maybe his hair was too long so he decided to find a barber shop to cut his hair.

His motorcycle crashed through a barber shop and the rotating red and white and blue barber pole ended up atop his neck where his head should have been.

Hm, that rather speedy hair cut didn’t seem to help much he figured.

Maybe he should have something to eat.

He crashed through the window of Frankie’s Frankfurter Hot Dog Place and the Hot Dog Neon sign ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole.

Having a hot dog didn’t seem to help either.

Maybe he should have a beer.

Just one beer wouldn’t hurt.

Jefferson Harley’s motorcycle crashed through the window of The Duck and Head Pub and took the Buttercup Pale Ale tap off the Buttercup Pale Ale keg with it.

The tap that read Buttercup Pale Ale ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole and the Hot Dog shaped neon sign.

So just as the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow had a pumpkin atop his body instead of his head, so the Headless Motorcyclist of Wakey Meadows had a red and blue and white barber pole and a Hot Dog shaped neon sign and a Buttercup Pale Ale beer tap atop his body instead of his head.

To be continued.

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The Ripper’s Mind of The Were-Zomb-ire

October 14, 2011 at 9:05 pm (Horror, Mystery/horror, Poetry, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

The brain of Jack The Ripper had gone missing
among the venomous snakes hissing
in the lab
that’s so fab
and belongs to the Vampire Set
who has a cobra for a pet.
Renfield had found the brain you see
while drinking Orange Pekoe tea
he put it in the head of his Were-Zomb-ire
the creature that made London streets so dire.
The Ripper’s brain guides the creature
and as a bonus feature
it has werewolf, zombie and vampire DNA
now on Earth there is Hell to pay.

-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
this ghoulish Friday night, October 14th 2011.
17 more days until Halloween.

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The Legend of The Headless Motorcyclist

October 13, 2011 at 8:30 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , , )

As Dr. Cadbury Rocher the chief scientist at Set Enterprises’ lab instructed the leather clad motorcyclist to lift up his arm to receive the needle, a news bulletin broke in on the radio in the lab…

“This just in,” the voice of BBC News said, “the infamous Were-Zomb-ire has attacked the Convent of the Order of Nuns of the Immaculate Heart of Our Lady of Fatima just outside London. The convent which had 21 living nuns just prior to the attack now has none…”

“This is what happens when mere amateurs try to practice science,” Dr. Cadbury Rocher spat out a sneering reference to the shapeshifting hamster/human Renfield.

“So this shot you’re going to give me is going to make me immortal, right doc?” the motorcyclist asked.

“It is or I’m not a member in good standing of the London Transhumanist Association,” Dr. Rocher injected the serum, “this needle contains the DNA of a rare variety of fruit recently found growing in a lush valley in northeastern Iraq. I believe this fruit was the one that was growing on the Tree of Life in the Genesis account of the Garden of Eden.”

“Wow,” the motorcyclist smiled.

* * *

As Jefferson Harley sped on his motorcycle at 400 kilometres per hour down the streets of London, he relished the fact that he was going to live forever thanks to the injection that Dr. Cadbury Rocher had given him.

Harley raced towards the underpass in front of him.

He looked up at the bridge overpass above him.

“What an ugly looking gargoyle,” Harley remarked, “I’ve never really noticed that before. This is what happens when someone tries to incorporate neo-medieval art into post-modern architecture.”

The gargoyle who was actually the Were-Zomb-ire sitting atop the bridge was bothered by the noise of the motorcycle.

The Were-Zomb-ire jumped down on top of Jefferson Harley and ripped the motorcyclist’s head off.

Since the motorcyclist had been injected with the serum of immortality, both body and head continued to live despite their Were-Zomb-ire enforced separation.

Harley’s head was on the roadway pavement screaming, “Help!” Help!”.

The headless body of Jefferson Harley continued to speed down the street driving the fast moving Harley-Davidson.

And thus was born the Legend of the Headless Motorcyclist.

To be continued.

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The Painting: Where The Medium Is The Message

October 12, 2011 at 10:20 pm (Short Story) (, , , )

He looked at the woman in the painting.

The painting of the dark haired woman in the beautiful white dress.

She was holding a yellow rose in her hand and smelling the scent.

A light from an oil lamp or fireplace (not visible in the painting) seemed to cast a reddish orange reflective glow on the woman’s beautiful face.

The swirls of her delicate dress accentuated the curves of her body.

She looked sad- the woman.

How he longed to reach out and touch her.

How he longed to reach out and hold her.

Tell her that she was loved.

That he loved her.

That she was not alone in the world.

He reached out his hand towards the painting.

* * *

The dark haired woman in the white dress looked up at the painting.

The man in the painting seemed to be reaching out towards her.

He looked at her with warm and loving and compassionate eyes.

He seemed to want to touch her.

To hold her.

To tell her that she was loved.

That he loved her.

That she was not alone in the world.

She reached out her hand towards the painting.

* * *

-A short story written by Christopher Van Helsing
Wednesday evening October 12th 2011
inspired by a painting by the Spanish artist Gomperez
a painting that once belonged to my dad
now belongs to me.
My favourite painting of his entire art art collection.

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London Swings Like A Pendulum Do

October 11, 2011 at 9:59 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , )

The ArchDruid of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams was performing a small wedding ceremony in a chapel inside Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

It was the 11th marriage for the 10 times married and divorced Lord Justice Tiebe Sluttingham.

It was the 1st marriage for the 23 year-old escort girl.

“If any one here knows any just cause,” the ArchDruid solemnly intoned, “why these two should not be lawfully wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace….”

The Were-Zomb-ire entered the chapel growling and snarling.

“Is someone here raising an objection?” the ArchDruid looked up.

The Were-Zomb-ire fell on top of the would-be groom Lord Justice Sluttingham and started tearing him to pieces.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the ArchDruid.

* * *

“So what’s up?” Amadeus asked Renfield between mouthloads of mustard and mayonnaise laiden cold roast beef sandwiches.

“Well,” Renfield was hooking up the antenna of the genetically engineered psychic lobster Michelangelo to the computer, “the Boss got an irate phone call from British Prime Minister David Cameron. It seems 10 Downing Street is pissed about my resurrected Were-Zomb-ire causing chaos and havoc throughout the streets of London.”

“Really?” Amadeus reached for his bowl of soup and started slurping away.

“Yes,” Renfield nodded, “so the Boss asked me to use Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster to track down the whereabouts of said Were-Zomb-ire.”

Michelangelo kept on looking over at Amadeus and his bowl of soup.

“Hm, Michelangelo seems to be distracted by your eating a bowl of soup for some reason,” Renfield remarked, “what type of soup is it by the way?”.

“Lobster bisque,” Amadeus replied.

Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster started freaking out.

To be continued.

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The Coppertop Were-Zomb-ire

October 10, 2011 at 9:13 pm (TV Commercials, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

As Renfield sat looking depressed over the dead body of his most recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire, the redheaded cyborg Sophia entered the Set Enterprises lab wearing a tight fitting red mini dress, red silk nylons and red super spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

She was followed by Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. as well as a TV camera crew.

“What are you doing here?” Renfield asked the sexy and sultry cyborg.

“I’m here to shoot a TV commercial about your dead creation the Were-Zomb-ire,” Sophia answered, “my recording manager Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell figures it will help my music career.”

“Oh great,” Renfield threw up his hands, “first someone posted a blog entry about my creation the Were-Zomb-ire’s death at Xanga a site no one cares about (except for C.S. Lewis wannabes with a fetish for boobs and non-butterfly little read unpopular Malaysian bloggers who don’t have a fetish for boobs) and now you’re going to broadcast my failure to the entire world.”

“That’s right,” Sophia adjusted her nylons and then smiled for the camera.

“Hit it,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell gave her the thumbs up.

“I’m sitting here with colossal failure Renfield R, Renfield,” Sophia smiled engagingly, “whose recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire a creature part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire was killed shortly after it was created. Mr. Renfield, what are your plans for the future?”.

“Well, I’ve been offered the position of Secretary of State in a second Obama Administration for after the next U.S. election….” Renfield tried to smile.

“Let’s try fitting your Were-Zomb-ire with a Duracell battery shall we?” Sophia cuts open the Were-Zomb-ire’s stomach with a butcher knife and then inserts a Duracell battery and then stitches together the incision with thread and then delivers an electrical charge to the Were-Zomb-ire’s stomach.

The Were-Zomb-ire then rises to life again.

“Duracell the Coppertop Battery,” Sophia smiles at the camera, “the battery recommended and used by most professional mad scientists.”

The Were-Zomb-ire then tears the door off the Set Enterprises lab and sets off to terrorize the City of London.

Amadeus Emanon enters through the now non-existent door of the Set Enterprises lab licking a maple walnut chocolate ice cream cone and remarking, “Hey Renfield, I noticed your Were-Zomb-ire came back to life and just stepped on the Energizer Bunny. It’s no longer going and going…”

To be continued.

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