The Ghost White Salamander

May 31, 2016 at 5:12 pm (Ghost Story, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

The Ghost White Salamander

Belvedere was the ghost of a ghost white salamander who hung out with Salaman The Magician.

The two had met when the stage magician had been doing a magic show in Salt Lake City.
Belvedere did not believe that he had always been a ghost white salamander.
He believed an evil witch had turned him into a ghost white salamander when he refused to pay her for services rendered in a room above a Wild West saloon.

Since he had been turned into a salamander and was ghostly white in colour, he would have been labelled by zoologists a ghost white salamander.
He turned into the ghost of a ghost white salamander after being run over by an ox cart heading further west.
No one could see him until Salaman The Magician had spotted him in Salt Lake City.
Belvedere and Salaman had hit it off and the two hung out together ever since.
Belvedere would occasionally help Salaman out with his magic show.

Having a ghost as part of the show often left other stage magicians who were sitting in the audience as spectators scratching their heads wondering themselves how a certain trick could have been possibly done.
Salaman had recently been hired by the British government to put on a fake haunting using fake ghosts at a Scottish castle this past weekend.

“Why didn’t you use a real ghost like me for the haunting?” Belvedere the ghost of the ghost white salamander asked Salaman.
“A lot of people don’t find ghosts of ghost white salamanders scary,” Salaman answered.
“Really?” Belvedere looked perplexed, “I find myself looking scary whenever I look into the mirror and find dandruff flakes falling out of my ectoplasm.”
“Yes, that really is a strange phenomenon,” Salaman had to admit.
“I really don’t know how to stop it,” Belvedere said sheepishly, “it makes me glad most people aren’t able to see me.”
“Eek!” The magician’s lovely stage assistant Maria screamed when she entered the room, “What is that strange creature with dandruff flakes falling out of its ectoplasm?”.
“Of which this moment is a prime example,” Belvedere the ghost white salamander hung his head in shame.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday May 30th
2016.

 

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You Can Still Hear The Sky Larks Sing: A Poem

May 30, 2016 at 4:49 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Poetry) (, )

You Can Still Hear The Sky Larks Sing: A Poem

You can still hear the sky larks sing
And the guns are no longer heard
Poppies still blow between the crosses row on row
101 years since John McCrae penned the words to In Flanders Fields
And many more cemeteries and graveyards have been sown all over the world
the seeds of numerous wars that have been fought since that so-called Great War from 100 years ago
Would Kaiser Wilhelm II, Emperor Franz Joseph, Czar Nicholas II and the leaders of France and Britain gone to war to enforce their petty quarrels and jealousies and nationalistic pride if they knew the sheer Hell and chaos and hundreds of millions of deaths that would have resulted over the next century as a result of their quarrel and desire to go to war?
If any of them were monsters, they’d have said Yes
If any of them were men, they’d have said No
Their conflict and their decision to go to war did set the stage for the rise of monsters
Hitler, Tojo, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot and numerous others
When humans stumble in their humanity, monsters will rise in their wake
-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday May 30th 2016.

 

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The Scent of A Garden: A Short Poem

May 29, 2016 at 5:12 pm (Poetry) (, , )

The Scent of A Garden: A Short Poem

The scent of a garden
Hyacinth and cherry blossom
Perfume of nature
so pleasing

 

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Hans Von Klaus On The Rhine

May 27, 2016 at 4:29 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Hans Von Klaus On The Rhine

Wealthy German industrialist Hans Von Klaus was sailing aboard his own personal cruise ship down the Rhine river.

The name of this cruise ship was The Hamburg Frankfurter.

Von Klaus owned another large personal cruise ship The Frankfurt Hamburger but that sank last year after it had crashed into some large rocks in the middle of the Rhine river.

The captain of the ship Titan Ick Weissberg claimed he was distracted by a beautiful Rhine river siren called Lorelei who was standing on top of the rock singing a beautiful rendition of The Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde.

Overcome by desire at seeing the vision of the beautiful blonde short skirted Valkyrie warrrioress songstress (to say nothing of the erection that caused a certain part of his anatomy to be caught in the ship’s steering wheel), Titan Ich Weissberg soon found himself on the rocks along with the martini he had ordered from the ship’s steward.

And now Captain Titan Ick Weissberg stood at the helm of The Hamburg Frankfurter a year after he had made ground round meat of The Frankfurt Hamburger.

“No more falling for sirens and other water spirits,” Hans Von Klaus had barked at Captain Weissberg at the start of the voyage.

This was followed by the barking of a chihuahua behind Herr Von Klaus.

After throwing Paris Hilton’s annoying little pet overboard, Herr Von Klaus sat down in a comfortable deck chair on board deck and proceeded to read The Financial Times newspaper.

He ordered some lunch from the ship’s steward.

After reading that the bottom had fallen out of the underwear market in the middle of his stuffed cabbage, Klaus was soon on the phone to his investment firm in Frankfurt.

“Where in the world can we get the raw materials for that?” Klaus asked his financial advisor.

He waited for the reply while he lit his cigar.

“Russia huh?” Klaus ordered a vodka from the steward.

The businessman took a few puffs of his cigar and then asked, “Are sanctions still in place against Russia over that damned war in eastern Ukraine?”.

“Bloody Hell,” he remarked when he heard that they were.

He dropped cigar ash all over his expensive Italian hand crafted leather shoes.

Herr Von Klaus was soon off the phone with his financial advisor and on the phone with German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

“Angela, darling,” Hans spoke with the affection of a Pyramus wooing his Thisbe, “I need you to grant one of my companies an exemption to make a deal with Putin.”

After exchanging recipes for making German beer sausage, Klaus soon got the exemption from Chancellor Merkel.

He was soon on the phone with Vladimir Putin.

“Vlad my friend,” Klaus bent over backwards with the enthusiasm of a Lord Alfred Douglas waiting for Oscar Wilde, “I was wondering if…”

After exchanging recipes for borscht, Klaus had soon sealed a deal with Putin.

“It looks like it’s going to be a good day after all,” Klaus chomped on his cigar with the enthusiasm of a Winston Churchill hearing of Germany’s unconditional surrender in May 1945.

Those were the last words he spoke before getting a sudden very close up view of the rocks in the middle of the Rhine river.

As he went under the waters of the Rhine, he felt himself being pulled to shore by a beautiful blonde short skirted Valkyrie warrioress singing Do You Know The Way To San Jose?

“Captain Titan Ick Weissberg, you’re fired,” Hans Von Klaus spit the wet cigar out of his mouth.

He leaned back and eagerly awaited mouth-to-mouth-resuscitation from the Rhine river siren water nymph called Lorelei.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 26th
2016.

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Salaman The Magician

May 24, 2016 at 5:51 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Salaman The Magician

Salaman The Magician had been summoned to 10 Downing Street to meet the Prime Minister David Cameron.

“I hear you’re putting on a very successful magic show in London these days,” Cameron said to Salaman.

“I try my best, Mr. Prime Minister,” the white bearded magician smiled.

“I hear this past weekend, you had a frog leaping out from the bosom of a very beautiful woman in a low-cut evening dress and frightening Boris Johnson,” Cameron smiled.

“As much as I’d like to claim credit for what turned out to be a very upstaging event during the show,” the magician bowed his head, “alas, I was not the one responsible for that.”

“Well no matter,” Cameron got to the point, “the point is we’re having a very important guest- a foreign dignitary- staying at a castle in Scotland tonight- the castle is said to be haunted. We want you to use your magic skills to make a ghost appear to the foreign dignitary and get him to adopt the same position on a certain international issue as that held by Her Majesty’s Government here in the United Kingdom. Sorry to give you such short notice on this. But we just found out at the last moment that this gentleman is flying in for a secret conference on this issue at the said haunted castle in Scotland. We thought if anyone could put together a seemingly authentic haunting at the last moment, it would be a master magician such as yourself.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” Salaman answered when he was handed a piece of paper by Cameron stating the amount the British government was willing to pay him for staging the supposedly authentic haunting.

“Great,” Cameron shook his hand and the magician made his exit.

• • •

“Who’d have thought,” Salaman shook his head as he got into the taxi outside 10 Downing Street, “that magic shows and haunted castles would soon play an important role in international relations.”

Meanwhile over in Vietnam, Barack Obama was unaware that he was currently chatting with the actual real ghost of a Vietnamese Empress.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 24th
2016.

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Salaman The Magician Magic Show Runs Amok

May 22, 2016 at 5:59 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Salaman The Magician Magic Show Runs Amok

Salaman The Magician had had a successful run with his magic show in London.

Audiences were raving about it.

Although on this night, the raving was done by Boris Johnson the former Mayor of London and Euro-sceptic Conservative MP who mistook the magician’s sawing his beautiful female assistant in half in a box draped with the Union Jack as an endorsement of an EU superstate over a sovereign United Kingdom.

To settle things down, Salaman The Magician decided to saw his beautiful female assistant in half in a box draped with the European Union flag instead much to the cheers of the pro-Brexit crowd.

After sawing the woman in half and separating the European Union flag draped box, the audience shouted, “Don’t bother putting her back together.”

So the magician’s assistant had to be put together backstage.

Sitting next to Boris Johnson in the audience was the ancient Babylonian Vampiress Lilith.

Lilith had been asked by Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan to bump off Johnson because the Turkish despot and would be restored Sultan of a revived Ottoman Caliphate was offended by Boris Johnson’s offensive limerick about him that won The Spectator Magazine’s President Erdogan Offensive Poetry Competition.

The plan was for Nimrod (the builder of the Tower of Babel who was now a frog due to a vampiric kiss magic spell gone awry) to hide down the front of Lilith’s lavender coloured evening dress between her cleavage (where Nimrod often liked to be for some reason) and then jump out at an appropriate moment during the performance to ribbit an Amazon River basin poison plant dart out of his mouth in Johnson’s direction.

Unfortunately for Erdogan’s homicidal plans, Nimrod had accidentally purchased a bottle of Bavarian Magic Mushroom Liquid Gel instead of Amazon River Basin Poison Plant Liquid Gel by mistake at a London chemist shop earlier in the day.

So when Nimrod jumped out from between Lilith’s cleavage as the stage band played Beethoven’s Ode To Joy as Salaman sawed the European Union draped flag box (with beautiful female assistant inside) in half, the ancient prince turned frog fired Bavarian Magic Mushroom Liquid Gel into Johnson’s Adam’s Apple.

Instead of immediately keeling over and dying on the spot (which would have occurred had the fast acting Poison Plant Liquid Gel been used), Johnson instead fell to his knees and said, “Is this a leather skirted dominatrix I see before me?”.

As Johnson babbled about pirate ships under attack by bunny rabbits, Lilith and Nimrod hastily exited the theatre.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday May 21st
2016.

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Limerick About Recep Tayyip Erdogan

May 21, 2016 at 6:46 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, News) (, , , , , , )

Limerick About Recep Tayyip Erdogan

A man called Recep had sex with a goat
And did it on an ermine skin coat
so say German comics
on modern electronics
as Merkel leaps for their throat

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Renfield Asks Donald Trump A Question

May 19, 2016 at 5:37 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Politics, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Renfield Asks Donald Trump A Question

Renfield R. Renfield’s campaign for the U.S. Presidency was going nowhere.

He sat at 0.0% in the polls and had 0.0% of the delegates in either party- Republican or Democrat.

And to add insult to injury, still no one was telling him to drop out of the race like Hillary Clinton was telling Bernie Sanders or Donald Trump was telling Ted Cruz and John Kasich a month ago.

Renfield felt somewhat peeved.

He had recently found out however that he Renfield had actually been created in a genetics lab in Colorado Springs, Colorado (his creator Set Enterprises’ resident mad scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher had been trying to re-create Nikola Tesla’s experiments with ball lightning at the time) rather than a genetics lab in Britain.

That meant he Renfield was a natural born (or natural genetically created) American citizen and he no longer needed to tell everyone to ignore the U.S. Constitution while campaigning to be President (and that most American Presidents inevitably do once they enter office).

So Renfield decided he needed to do something radical to attract the attention of the U.S. media and public.

Then he thought of a question that he could ask Donald Trump- a question that no journalist had thought of asking Donald Trump before.

Renfield was positive that this question would catapult him into the national spotlight.

So he flew over to America to a Donald Trump campaign rally and posed as a journalist.

Trump surveyed the room for members of the press and pointed in Renfield’s direction.

“You sir,” he pointed at Renfield, “wearing the Porn Stars and Hookers For Renfield campaign button on your lapel, you have a question?”.

“I do, Mr. Trump,” Renfield grinned like the cat about to pounce on the canary, “when was the last time you had a hair cut?”.

Trump looked shell shocked.

“What?” Trump sputtered.

“That should be an easy question for most people with their own natural hair on their head to answer, Mr. Trump,” Renfield grinned again, “when was the last time you had a hair cut?”.

“Throw that bum out of here,” Donald Trump directed his handlers.

Trump’s handlers then pounced on the Set Enterprises Chief of Security and Intelligence Gathering posing as a journalist.

“What are you trying to cover up and hide, Mr. Trump?” Renfield shouted, “When was the last time you had a hair cut?”.

“Throw that bum out of here!” Trump once again screamed.

“They’re going to make bumper stickers,” Renfield shouted, “bumper stickers that say RED SPIDER MONKEYS DIED FOR TRUMP’S FOLLICLE SINS.”

“Throw that bum out of here,” Trump raged with the fury of an Austrian painter addressing a rally in mid-1930s Nuremberg.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 19th
2016.

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The Boy and The Skunk: A Short Story

May 18, 2016 at 6:40 pm (Life, Short stories, Short Story) (, , , )

The Boy and The Skunk: A Short Story

The boy walked along the banks of Rosebud Creek east of the town of Crossfield. His loyal English sheepdog Buster followed him.

Buster was named after the great comedic actor Buster Keaton- one of the boy’s favourite film stars whom he saw on those rare occasions when his mother took him to a movie show in the big city of Calgary.

Buster had an interesting background. He was the sole survivor of a brood of pups drowned on a Hutterite colony near the boy’s parents’ farm because the colony boss thought the colony couldn’t really afford to feed any more dogs.

The puppy had somehow managed to survive the mass drowning and was about to be “re-drowned” as it were when the boy called George and his father showed up on the colony to see if the Hutterites were willing to trade some potatoes for lettuce from George’s mother’s garden.

As George’s dad and the colony boss hammered out a deal, George approached the Hutterite man that the colony boss had assigned to be the pups’ executioner.

“Don’t drown the poor dog,” George addressed the man, “I’m willing to adopt him and take him home and look after him.”

The man looked at the colony boss and the colony boss looked at George’s father.

George’s father sighed.

It was amazing how his son loved animals.

And how animals seemed to love his son in return.

His son even seemed to have the gift of “horse whispering” – that unique ability by which a person was even able to calm and tame wild horses.

George’s father nodded.

The colony boss then nodded to the would-be executioner that it was all right.

The little sheepdog who would come to be called Buster had already run to the boy somehow sensing that George was his rescuer.

George picked him up in his arms and the little sheepdog licked his face.

Buster was a very intelligent dog.

George had trained him to gather firewood.

So every morning at the back door of the farm house, there was a huge supply of large sticks that Buster had gone out and gathered during the night.

One morning there was a knock at the front door of the farm house.

George’s mother answered the door.

It was an official from the local CPR (Canadian Pacific Railway) station in Crossfield mentioning that survey sticks that CPR surveyors had been putting up in the area had mysteriously disappeared overnight and might she have any idea who the thief was?

George’s mother shook her head.

George who was in the kitchen having breakfast overheard the conversation.

He waited until the CPR official had driven away in his car.

Then he went rushing to the back door to see what sort of firewood Buster had gathered during the night.

Buster was there with his tongue hanging out looking as pleased as punch with himself at the night’s cache.

Large sticks with the initials CPR on them.

George immediately put them in the wood pile.

Alerting his parents to what Buster had done might have resulted in their giving Buster away.

And on this fine day, George was walking along Rosebud Creek with Buster.

George was imagining that he was walking along the River Nile with his faithful dog Buster and that he was about to discover Cleopatra’s tomb or the tomb of some mighty Pharaoh.

George often dreamed of becoming an archaeologist when he grew up.

He was the most voracious young reader of all the books in the one room schoolhouse that he attended- having read every one including all the volumes of the encyclopedia and all the geography books and all the history texts and all the science books.

As George walked along the banks of the Rosebud, his eyes carefully scanned the ground- looking for signs of Indian arrowheads for which he seemed to have a natural gift of finding.

He also kept a watch for beaver traps as he knew trappers often set traps along the banks for the creek’s beavers.

Buster did the same.

Not so much to look out for arrowheads like his young human friend but to avoid stepping in a beavertrap.

Suddenly George heard a clanging.

The sound of a beaver trap closing.

George looked in the direction of the clanging.

What poor animal was it whose foot was now caught?

George and Buster walked in the direction of the noise.

And there it was… black with white stripes… a skunk.

The poor creature looked at George.

And George looked at the poor creature.

The skunk turned and tried to walk away- no doubt not sure if George was friend or foe.

It struggled as it walked along the banks of the creek, one of its legs in pain from the trap it was in.

George followed to see if he could help the poor skunk.

A dangerous thing to do.

For it was always possible that the skunk could turn around and spray him with its awful smelling scent.

Still George followed.

The skunk stopped.

It couldn’t go on with this painful thing on its foot.

It turned around.

There was the stranger still following him.

The skunk looked at George.

Then it looked down at its foot.

The skunk thought that maybe the stranger might know how to take the thing off its foot.

So it sat and let George approach.

George came and carefully removed the trap off the skunk’s foot.

Then George waited.

Would the skunk spray him with its scent?

But no.

Instead the skunk seemed to grin at him, George thought, and then turned and went on its way- slowly to be sure- from the pain of having its leg in a trap but still it was moving.

Several weeks later, George was playing along the creek with some friends from school.

“Look, a bunch of skunks,” a boy shouted.

“Eek! They’ll spray us with their scent!” A girl shouted.

“If you don’t bother skunks, they won’t bother you,” George always spoke with a wisdom that went well beyond his young years.

“Hey look, George,” another girl pointed, “that one skunk there seems to be looking at you and it almost looks as if he’s smiling at you.”

“It does,” the other children agreed, “He seems to be smiling at you. Why is that, George?”.

“I have no idea,” George shrugged.

At that point, Buster the sheepdog made a strange noise.

It wasn’t a bark.

It wasn’t a growl.

If sheepdogs could guffaw, maybe that was the sound Buster made.

And the skunks went on their way.

And George and his friends went on their way.

And Buster followed.

Still guffawing.

-A short story written
by Christopher
Wednesday May 18th
2016.

(The above short story is based on real life events. The boy George grew up to be my father George Bursell Milner. It was 6 years ago today that my dad suddenly collapsed to the floor while shaving in the bathroom and had to be rushed to hospital by ambulance. Within less than a month my dad would be dead from cancer. I wrote this story for I think it illustrates to my readers what sort of person my father was. The writer G.K. Chesterton once wrote that “The boy is the father of the man.” Meaning that what people are like in their childhoods is often indicative of what they become in their adult lives)

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Jack O’ Hare Vs. The Pirates: A Poem

May 17, 2016 at 6:00 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Fantasy, Humour, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Jack O’ Hare Vs. The Pirates: A Poem

His name was Jack O’ Hare
bunny rabbit extraordinaire
a wild hare jack rabbit from afar
who hopped around- didn’t drive a car

He decided to try sailing the Seven Seas
after eating some wild mushrooms with his peas
The name of his ship he called The Orange Carrot
Those who don’t like the name must grin and bare it

He soon heard of a nasty group of pirates and buccaneers
while downing on an island tavern quite a number of beers
These weren’t gentlemanly pirates like Captain Jack Sparrow
These were nasty cutthroats who’d cut you to the bone and eat your marrow

Jack decided to rid the 7 Seas of this terror
and he’d do it with no time to spare
He raised his bunny rabbit flag- an orange carrot
high on the ship’s pole so no one could tear it

And set off after The Black Heart
the pirate ship of Captain Grimstone Dark
the wickedest pirate e’er to sail the Seven Seas
who once cut off his First Mate’s nose to stop a sneeze

Jack O’ Hare caught sight of The Black Heart
and finding no place to park
dropped anchor where he was
and asked why, said “Because…”

He then lined up tomatoes and green potatoes and shouted “Fire”
And when the ship’s bunny flag dropped, he said “Higher”
The Orange Carrot flew proudly from the mast
And Captain Grimstone’s heart grew overcast
when suddenly he was hit by a green potato
and then suddenly splattered by a red tomato
The pirate terror was down
his face resembled that of a clown

The bunnies then jumped aboard The Black Heart
and made sure its sails came apart
so it would never again sail the 7 Seas
meanwhile Captain Grimstone was on his knees
his buns were tomatoed by Sherrielock Holmes
while bunnies took photos with their smart phones

Jack O’ Hare then sank the pirate ship
and tweeted on Twitter, that was quite the trip
Captain Grimstone Dark became a circus clown
and underneath a painted smile wore a frown
Jack O’ Hare returned to land
and played the trumpet in a band
you can see him hopping in many a parade
the one drinking carrot juice amongst a line of Gatorade

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 17th 2016.

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