Dashwood Forrest and Mulligan The Irish Zombie On O’ Connell Street In Dublin

March 18, 2018 at 10:55 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (Dashwood Forrest, Dr. Sterling Makabo, Dublin, Ireland, mermaids, Mulligan The Irish Zombie, O’ Connell Street, Renfield R. Renfield, Russian President Vladimir Putin, The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery, The Golden Cobra, Vladimir Putin)

Dashwood Forrest and Mulligan The Irish Zombie On O’ Connell Street In Dublin

Dashwood Forrest and his manservant Mulligan the Irish ☘️ Zombie 🧟‍♂️ were having breakfast 🥞 🍳 in a restaurant at a hotel on O’ Connell Street in Dublin.

Mulligan was nursing a king sized hangover having drank too many glasses of Kilkenny Irish Cream Ale on the Hill of Tara in County Meath for Saint Patrick’s Day yesterday.

He did give away one of his glasses of Kilkenny to a golden cobra named Maitreya who was undergoing an old Celtic Pagan ritual to make the snake the High King of Ireland.

But he did so in a hypnotic state (which would be the only possible state in which Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟‍♂️ would give away an alcoholic beverage that happened to be in his possession).

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look to be in awfully bad shape,” the waiter said to Mulligan.

“That’s because I’ve got a hangover,” Mulligan answered while drinking tomato juice laced with three raw eggs 🥚 and Worcestershire sauce.

“You also look to be dead,” the waiter remarked as some of Mulligan’s decomposing flesh fell on his breakfast plate of kipper and poached eggs.

“I am,” Mulligan started leaking tomato juice and Worcestershire sauce from his armpits, “I’m a zombie.”

“If you’re a zombie, then why aren’t you sitting in the Dail (Irish Parliament)?” The waiter asked.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t ask myself that very question,” Mulligan was debating with himself on whether or not he should order a Guinness as he noticed the old antique clock on the hotel restaurant wall was only 1 minute away from 12 noon.

“Who raised you from the dead?” The waiter asked.

“It was a South African witch doctor called Dr. Sterling Makabo who raised me from the dead,” Mulligan cut himself a slice of kipper and put it on his fork, “although he had actually been hired to raise my neighbour who was buried next to me in the cemetery from the dead but his corpse was still at his wake. A wake that apparently went on for fourteen days I might add. So when my neighbour did not answer Doctor Makabo’s call, I decided to do so. With the result that I’m now living the life of Riley.”

“Riley was the name of the man in the grave next to him,” Dashwood Forrest explained, “the fellow that Dr. Makabo was supposed to raise from the dead but his body was still at his wake as his buddies had been drinking so much, they forgot to take him to both his funeral and burial services.”

“Only in Ireland 🇮🇪 would this happen,” the waiter shook his head.

“I would have to agree,” Dashwood Forrest smelled the rose in his lapel.

At that moment on the television in the restaurant, the image of British MP Renfield R. Renfield appeared to comment on Vladimir Putin’s landslide Presidential election 🗳 victory in Russia 🇷🇺.

As Renfield pointed to a photo of Putin and made Freemasonic death by disembowelling gestures with his hands that would send YouTube conspiracy theory channel hosts into a whirlwind of frenzy, Mulligan remarked to Dashwood Forrest, “There’s the fellow who saved me from drowning in a bowl of punch at your mermaid 🧜‍♀️ painting art exhibit in London last year.”

“Was that before or after you became a zombie 🧟‍♂️?” The waiter asked.

“After,” Mulligan replied, “My mortal pre-zombie life came to an end when I drowned in a vat of Guinness.”

And speaking of Guinness, the antique clock in the restaurant struck 12 noon.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday March 18th
2018.