Athena’s Song

October 5, 2019 at 9:56 pm (Arts, Culture, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Poetry, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Athena’s Song

The Kraken Napoleon VI was sitting in a Parisienne cafe with several bottles of rum in front of him.

The Ancient Greek god Zeus entered the cafe and sat down from the Kraken.

“I believe we met on Mount Olympus last year,” said Zeus, “You’re Medusa’s husband aren’t you?”.

“I am,” the Kraken nodded.

Zeus ordered a glass of ouzo from the waiter.

“I understand you’re a member of the European Parliament along with Medusa,” Zeus added some Grecian Formula to his grey beard.

“That is correct,” said the Kraken Napoleon VI, “Waiting for the day that the French people elect me Emperor of France.”

“Any luck with that?” Zeus took out a comb and started combing his beard.

“No,” the Kraken admitted.

“Bummer,” said Zeus who was also recalling the day he unexpectedly walked into his son Apollo’s bedroom when the latter had his friend Hyacinth over.

The Greek deity and the Kraken then discussed Brexit.

The Kraken asked Zeus if he could do anything to possibly help the Kraken’s friend Renfield R. Renfield who, even though he was a British Transhumanist Party MP, was a member of Boris Johnson’s cabinet.

Zeus agreed.

Meanwhile on stage in a Paris nightclub was Zeus’ daughter Athena the Greek goddess of wisdom.

Athena sang a song,

“Those were the days of wine and roses,
Love will be like this always one supposes 
But as the sands of time travel on
Wine loses its flavour and the singer their song
What once was wonder has turned to dust 
like a once new car turned to rust
The sun has set, the moon is eclipsed,
no sparks now fly at exchange of lips,
The day is done, The night is black,
Love has fled down the track,
Enjoy the days of wine and roses while you can
Before the time you just feel an also ran.”

-A vampire novel chapter
and poem
written by Christopher
Saturday October 5th
2019.

Advertisements

Permalink 8 Comments

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

September 3, 2019 at 11:01 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Horror, International Intrigue, magic, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Philosophy, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

Dashwood Forrest sat in his office in his art gallery in London and quietly sipped a drink of absinthe.

The Green Fairy as it was called was one of the favourite drinks of his idol the writer, novelist, poet and playwright Oscar Wilde.

Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie (who had been brought back from the dead many years ago by South African witch doctor Dr. Sterling Makabo) was out for the evening.

Mulligan had been hired for the evening by British MP Renfield R. Renfield to haunt the residence of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn and stand outside the back entrance of Corbyn’s lodgings and say in a spookily haunting zombie voice (with an Irish lilt to it), “The Irish backstop ends at your back door, Mr. Corbyn. The Irish backstop ends at your backdoor.”

As Jeremy Corbyn began to suffer the worst nightmares of his life, Forrest finished his glass of absinthe, left his office and locked it.

He walked down to the end of the gallery where he entered a room marked PRIVATE.

No one (not even Mulligan the Irish zombie) ever entered that room.

Only he Dashwood Forrest art historian, art gallery curator and extraordinary gentleman of many talents ever entered that room.

For that room contained a portrait behind purple velvet curtains.

A portrait of a man.

A portrait of a man painted in the year 1860.

A portrait that was first mentioned in a book published in July 1890.

A book that most people (and even Dashwood Forrest himself for most of his life) had considered a work of fiction.

Until Forrest came across the painting in an estate sale back in October of 2012.

The picture was of a man named… Dorian Gray.

And the artist who signed the picture was named Basil Hallward.

The painting was of an extremely handsome young man in his early 20s.

Exactly as described in Oscar Wilde’s famous Gothic Philosophical novel of the 19th Century- The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest drew back the purple velvet curtains that covered the painting and hid it from view.

Forrest got the shock of his life when he saw the portrait was empty.

There was no subject in the painting.

Dorian Gray was gone.

. . .

Forrest stared blankly at the blank canvas and blinked.

His smart phone went off.

It was a text message from his friend Amadeus Emanon.

A Set Enterprises satellite over the Bahamas had photographed the eye of the storm of Hurricane Dorian.

And a giant mysterious almost human figure seemed to be standing and moving with the eye of the storm in the hurricane.

Forrest again blinked.

For the figure was the spitting image of Dorian Gray.

The figure now missing from the painting.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday September 3rd
2019.


Sibyl: She loved Dorian in vain.

Permalink 29 Comments

Legacy of The Baskervilles

August 7, 2019 at 10:14 pm (Arts, Culture, Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Literature, Movies, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Legacy of The Baskervilles

“I always wanted to do a movie based on a Sherlock Holmes story,” said the ghost of Orson Welles as he entered Baskerville Hall.

“And you’re thinking of the Hound of The Baskervilles?” Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing asked.

“I am,” Welles lit himself a spectral cigar.

“Of course that story has been done several times in film format,” Van Helsing noted, “you will have to do something that makes yours stand out from the rest.”

“Precisement,” Welles pulled out a bottle of spectral red wine from one overcoat pocket and a glass from the other, “and I’m just the man to do it.”

“I would have to agree,” Van Helsing nodded.

“So I hear Baskerville Hall is now owned by Britain’s Heritage Trust,” Welles poured himself a glass of spectral red wine.

“It is,” Van Helsing acknowledged, “it was purchased recently by Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London. He donated it to Heritage Trust to get a big charity donation receipt to help him with a big tax deduction.”

“A most astute decision,” Welles sipped his red wine.

“So, have you given much thought to how you intend to make your adaptation of The Hound of The Baskervilles different?” Van Helsing asked.

“Let us go into the living room of Baskerville Hall,” Welles suggested, “perhaps seeing that large spacious room will give me some ideas.”

Welles and Van Helsing entered the living room.

And there stood….

The Welsh vampiress Morgana.

“As you know,” Morgana spoke, “Britain’s new Prime Minister Boris Johnson recently appointed me Deputy Home Secretary In Charge of Midnight Security. And both of you are trespassing on Heritage Trust property.”

Welles’ ghost made haste out of the living room and out of Baskerville Hall on the off chance that Morgana might sic the ghost of the Hound of the Baskervilles on him.

Only Dracul Van Helsing remained.

The Welsh vampiress took the vampire hunter over her knee and spanked him.

Welles’ ghost walked around the Baskerville Hall grounds and finished his spectral bottle of spectral red wine and smoked his entire spectral box of spectral cigars.

He thought he better go back inside and see what happened to Van Helsing.

There was Van Helsing on the living room floor having tantric sex with Morgana.

Welles turned and hastily closed the door behind him (forgetting that he could walk through doors and walls).

“Well,” Welles took out a piece of spectral chewing gum, “after seeing that scene, that should give me no shortage of ideas on how to make my film adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles different from everybody else’s.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday August 7th
2019.

Permalink 14 Comments

An Evening In The Month of June: A Poem

June 1, 2019 at 9:17 pm (Arts, Culture, Humour, Poetry, Romance) (, , , )

An Evening In The Month of June: A Poem

One pleasant evening in the month of June 
As I was sitting with my glass and spoon
A small bird sang on an ivy brunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch

And then she appeared riding a wild deer 
On which sat her exquisite self and lovely rear
With her lips she was playing a lovely flute
So I said, wait, and grabbed my Irish lute…

She had recently lost a single red shoe
Somewhere up in the mountain dew
And so one of her feet was bare 
Still she had lovely exquisite hair

The stag she rode had antlers prickly
Causing riders in front to move very quickly 
On the antlers hung dangling apples
I wondered whether they were serpent trapples

So consequently I did not bite any apple
But on her lap I had a pleasant napple
And that’s how I spent the first night of June
The sun shines all day with very little moon

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday June 1st 
2019.

Inspired by an old Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers song
And the above picture 

Permalink 13 Comments

Orson Welles’ Ghost Views The Only Scene Ever Filmed For Roman Polanski’s Wuthering Heights

May 30, 2019 at 10:40 pm (Arts, Culture, Film, Literature, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles was admiring a small sculpture of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow that the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set had recently purchased from the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The sculpture showed the Headless Horseman and his pumpkin head riding a black horse while the schoolteacher Ichabod Crane is seen getting run over by one of Santa’s reindeer who, after drinking too much Kickapoo Joy Juice, mistook Halloween night for Christmas Eve and was venturing in the forest near Sleepy Hollow following the Headless Horseman and his black horse and his orange pumpkin head mistaking the latter for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s red shiny nose.

“What a delightfully eclectic and eccentric sculpture,” Welles’ ghost remarked as he looked at it while sampling a glass of spectral red wine.

Welles had been informed by British MP Renfield R. Renfield that Boris Johnson (the former Foreign Secretary of Britain) had purchased a retirement gift for British Prime Minister Theresa May at the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The gift was an 18th Century portrait painting of an 18th Century Irish Pirate of the Caribbean Captain Kerry Donegal.

Welles had recently met the ghost of Kerry Donegal in person when Renfield had brought him home after a night of carousing at the Oscar Wilde Pub.

Welles decided to go down to the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in person to see what other great treasures were available there.

The door to the gallery was opened by Dashwood Forrest’s Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie who was undergoing his own personal zombie apocalypse after having drunk too much Guinness stout and Jameson’s Irish whiskey the night before.

“Excuse the hand on the floor,” Mulligan remarked after his right hand came apart at the wrist and fell on the floor.

As Mulligan tried to re-attach his right hand to the rest of his right arm, Welles’ ghost was greeted by art gallery owner and curator Dashwood Forrest who had a martini in his own hand.

“You know the trouble with being dead is you’re decomposing all the time,” Mulligan the Irish zombie remarked as his right ear fell off.

“Mulligan never did have an ear for music,” Forrest invited Welles into his office, “but do come into my office. I have something that a great film director such as yourself would be interested in.”

As Mulligan managed to find his right ear below a portrait of Vincent Van Gogh, Dashwood Forrest closed the office door behind him and Welles.

“Let me run the film projector,” said Forrest, “for I have here on film the only scene ever completed and shot for a film adaptation of Wuthering Heights that Roman Polanski intended to make back in 1989 but financing for the movie was pulled at the last moment. Polanski was setting his version of Wuthering Heights in the late 20th Century. This was a scene between Heathcliff and Cathy.”

The projector ran and the Polanski 20th Century Wuthering Heights scene between Heathcliff and Cathy- a single still shot appeared:

“Where’s Heathcliff?” Welles asked.

“Heathcliff is the old car in the photo,” Forrest answered, “Polanski intended the movie as a cross between Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights and Stephen King’s Christine.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Welles looked stonefaced, “Jack Nicholson must have sent Polanski plenty of California grass that Roman smoked before he came up with the idea for this picture.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 30th
2019.

Permalink 6 Comments

Harvey Tallbanger and The Artist

April 28, 2019 at 10:54 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Inspiration, International Intrigue, Life, love, News, painting, Romance, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The night was somewhat cool as if February had crept in to steal a backwards glance in the midst of a late April evening.

And Liam Van Stope carried his work with him as he walked from place to place.

For Liam Van Stope was an artist and the work he carried was a huge white sketchpad along with a box of pastel crayons.

There he would walk from cafe to cafe sketching and colouring the patrons and customers.

For Liam Van Stope wished that the Paris of Toulouse-Lautrec and Vincent Van Gogh would never go away.

Oblivious to the idea that the Paris of Van Gogh and Lautrec was separate from the Paris of 2019 by more than a century.

And soon the Paris of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway would likewise be separated from the contemporary Paris by a century.

And as far as the thinking of Emmanuel Macron and some of the world’s so-called leading architects goes, the Notre Dame of the ages would soon be separated by a new Notre Dame by vast millenia.

Liam Van Stope walked into Quasimodo’s Cafe an establishment named after Victor Hugo’s famous character who had carried a hunted gypsy girl across the threshold of the Notre Dame of the ages and cried “Sanctuary”.

Liam recognized Esmeralda the gypsy girl who like her namesake in Victor Hugo’s novel danced the eternal dance of the gypsies though unlike her namesake danced in this cafe on weekends and not on the streets in front of Notre Dame at night unintentionally arousing the lust of a Notre Dame archdeacon who would endeavour to bring Hell on earth instead of absolution when his lust went unrequited.

Liam ordered a cognac and looked around the cafe on this quiet Sunday evening wondering whom he could sketch.

When he first entered the cafe, he had noticed Esmeralda talking animatedly to the empty seat next to her.

Ah, Liam thought to himself, when he had seen this, that will soon be all of us one day. All of us talking to ghosts. Talking to ghosts of a Paris that will soon be found only in the history books.

Esmeralda noticed Liam sitting in the corner booth with his sketch pad open at a blank page and his sketching pencil in hand waiting to draw when the inspiration hit.

She motioned to the maitre’d and pointed in Liam’s direction.

Within minutes, the maitre’d arrived at Liam’s table with a drink in hand that looked to be partially made from orange juice.

‘Excuse me, sir,” the maitre’d said, “but Miss Esmeralda thinks you might like to drink this for inspiration.”

“What is it?” Liam asked.

“It’s called a Harvey Wallbanger, sir,” the British maitre’d working with stiff upper lip in a Parisienne cafe replied.

The maitre’d bowed and left.

Liam took a sip of the drink.

Then another.

And then another.

It was good, Liam had to admit.

The artist then noticed that sitting next to Esmeralda at the bar was a bunny rabbit.

A very tall bunny rabbit.

Probably about 6 foot 8 in height, Liam estimated.

The bunny rabbit was white in colour with big pink floppety ears and a big pink floppety tail.

He was wearing a pair of denim blue colour overalls as well as a tall black bowler hat that his big pink floppety ears were sticking through.

Liam began sketching and began applying the pastel crayons to his subject.

He had soon completed the picture.

“Excuse me, sir,” Liam walked up to the bunny rabbit, “but what is your name?”.

“Harvey Tallbanger,” the rabbit replied.

“A name that must be recorded for posterity,” Liam said as he wrote down the name.

The artist then bowed to Esmeralda and said, “Thank you for the drink.”

When he returned to his studio apartment, Liam had been doing some reflecting on his subject of Harvey Tallbanger.

There was something quixotic about that bunny rabbit, Liam thought to himself.

He went over to his palette and canvas.

He decided he would paint Harvey Wallbanger as Don Quixote.

Minus the knightly armour.

He would have Harvey wearing his denim blue coloured overalls and his bowler hat (through which his big pink floppety ears would stick through) but he’d be riding Don Quixote’s horse Rocinante and he’d have a lance in his hand and he’d be charging at the windmill atop the Moulin Rouge cabaret in the Montmartre district of Paris.

As he painted, Liam sang the theme song from the musical Man of La Mancha:

“To dream the impossible dream
to fight the unbeatable foe

To run where the brave dare not go

To reach the unreachable star…”

And with that, Liam Van Stope a dreamer painted his quixotic picture of the 6 foot 8 invisible Welsh pooka bunny rabbit Harvey Tallbanger now visible in his blue denim coloured overalls and black bowler hat (through which his big pink floppety ears stuck through) as Don Quixote riding his horse and battling the windmill atop the Moulin Rouge cabaret.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday April 28th
2019.


Esmeralda the gypsy: Inspiring bunny rabbits like Harvey Tallbanger
and artists like Liam Van Stope.

Permalink 6 Comments

Pan Goatee Has A Mental Breakdown

April 23, 2019 at 10:04 pm (Aesthetics, Arts) (, , )

Satyr serial killer and DARPA contract assassin Pan Goatee had not been venturing out of the house much in this turbulent off and on again spring weather.

Which was fine with him as the city these days seemed to be crawling with loads of ugly looking white women which put the lie to the myth that was white racial supremacy.

He had been watching episodes of The Young and The Restless which caused one of his roommates to remark, “There are only two kinds of people I know who watch soap operas- women. And you.”

Tonight however he would have to venture forth to the store as he had run out of fudgesickles and chocolate bars.

As he made his way to the freezer section, an ugly looking white woman happened to walk by the spot where the fudgesickles were.

Odious creatures.

These Hellspawn from the depths of Tartarus no doubt did those sorts of things deliberately just to agitate him.

He had to wait for a beautiful looking immigrant woman to walk by to remove the voodoo spell on the spot that was cast by the walking dandelion from Hell.

He grabbed the sole remaining box of 30 fudgesickles for $8 that was left.

No doubt the rest had all been snapped up by the city’s fat ugly blimps with the entire package serving as the first course of a 39-course meal for all fat ugly blimps concerned.

He then went to get his chocolate bars.

When he returned to the front, the ugly dandelion from Hell was at his favourite cashier.

Stupid ugly looking bitch.

He would now have to go over to his 2nd favourite cashier to avoid standing in line behind the ugly looking freak that no doubt would be honoured with a coin minted of her looks since Justin Trudeau seemed to enjoy minting coins depicting total freaks ever since he became Prime Minister of Canada in that disastrous year of 2015.

Justin’s latest coin unveiled today had caused British MP Renfield R. Renfield to quip, “In Canada, rather than rendering unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, they believe in rendering unto sodomites the things that are sodomites’.”

Unfortunately, the people ahead of him had a great deal of stuff they were ringing through.

Not of course as much as the city’s fat ugly blimps who normally had 20 grocery carts stacked high to the ceiling with food with them.

Just then a beautiful looking immigrant woman went and stood behind the ugly looking dandelion from Hell at his favourite cashier.

He decided to go stand behind her since she would remove the voodoo spell being cast by the ugly looking dandelion from Hell.

The ugly looking dandelion from Hell was of course taking her sweet time figuring out how to use the debit machine.

Like all ugly looking women in the city, she was not only ugly but stupid as well.

By the time the ugly dandelion from Hell had figured out how to use the debit machine, her equally brainless husband (he was brainless for being married to the likes of her) had finished packing the groceries.

Off went the ugly dandelion from Hell and her brainless husband who held the Guinness World Record For Lousy Taste In Women.

Pan Goatee packed up his fudgesickles and chocolate bars and headed out the door.

He thought he had seen the last of the ugly dandelion from Hell.

But the ugly thing then came walking out of the Dollarama store next door and then started following behind Goatee.

Goatee had had enough of this degenerately botched abortion at this point.

He removed his laser machete and started carving up the ugly looking dandelion from Hell starting with her ugly face.

“You ugly looking thing, can’t you get it through your stupid ugly heads that satyrs or any being from classical Greece can’t stand being in your presence,” Goatee went livid, “what just because you’re blonde, you think you’re beautiful? You’re no Marilyn Monroe, you peroxide washed green haired gargoyle who was certified as being too ugly for Notre Dame. A transgendered looking Yoda would come across as being of Helen of Troy in her looks compared to the likes of you.”

Goatee continued to rage as he cut her up into 666 trillion x 666 sextillion pieces.

Krampus the 2nd who had arrived on the scene to gather up the pieces of the ugly looking dandelion from Hell to cast them into the flames of Tartarus became quite concerned about Goatee’s mental state.

Goatee turned the corner and came across the stupid husband of the ugly looking dandelion from Hell.

He was sitting in the passenger side of the car waiting for her to show up.

“What you brainless Neanderthal with the taste of a Philistine, you mean to say you let your ugly looking wife wear the pants in the family and sit in the driver’s seat?” Goatee then started dismembering the brainless husband.

By the time he was finished, the DARPA sanity squad arrived on the scene to take Pan Goatee to a clinic for psychiatric assessment.

Donald Trump was informed of the DARPA contract assassin’s mental breakdown a few hours later.

“And who is this Pan Goatee again?” Trump asked, “What does he do?”

“He kills ugly looking women,” the DARPA operative replied.

“No wonder he had a mental breakdown,” Trump sympathized, “In this day and age, that would be a full time job.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday April 23rd
2019.

Permalink 17 Comments

Lepardia Marango and Dracul Van Helsing Enjoy An Evening of Bach and Vivaldi

April 4, 2019 at 10:35 pm (Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Music, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )


Lepardia Marango: South African Cultural Attache and Dracul Van Helsing’s date for an evening of Bach and Vivaldi

Canadian vampire hunter Dracil Van Helsing had been given a pair of tickets to this evening’s London Philharmonic Concert entitled An Evening of Bach and Vivaldi.

MP Renfield R. Renfield had originally purchased the tickets for himself and his parliamentary colleague MP Morgana Fay Lee but they both had been invited to a dinner with British Prime Minister Theresa May tonight to discuss the new May-Corbyn Plan for Brexit (of which The Economist magazine had been given a sneak peak and had sent its editor into a state of orgasm).

Dracul Van Helsing decided to ask as his date for this evening Lepardia Marango who was the Cultural Attache at the South African Embassy in London:

Dracul Van Helsing picked her up in a 1939 Rolls-Royce Phantom III that had for its chauffeur Athelstan the butler and valet to the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

They enjoyed a steak and seafood dinner at the Savoy Hotel and then went to the concert.

As the orchestra was warming up, Lepardia and Dracul discussed the concert as they looked at the program sheets.

“I see the Kraken who calls himself Napoleon VI is going to be singing Bach’s Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring in the guest singer song recital with the orchestra tonight,” Dracul noted.

“Isn’t he a French politician?” Lepardia asked.

“Yes, he heads the Aquarian Age Bonapartist Party and he won last place in a field of a dozen candidates in the last French Presidential election. Although he and his wife Medusa did win seats in the National Assembly for the Aquarian Age Bonapartist Party,” Dracul answered.

“His wife Medusa?” Lepardia queried, “She’s the ex-Gorgon?”.

“That’s right,” Dracul nodded, “Dr. Cadbury Rocher’s robot barber Edward Scissorhands II gave her a haircut and removed all her snakes. I believe they were sent over to Ireland along with some dandruff remover on a Saint Patrick’s Day a while back. Medusa is now a beautiful woman again.”

“Didn’t he crown himself Emperor of France a few years back?” Lepardia inquired in relation to the Kraken.

“He did,” Van Helsing replied in the affirmative, “The only one who recognized the coronation was Pope Francis who did so in the hopes of providing greater inter-species cooperation on the planet.”

Lepardia and Dracul listened in rapture as all of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons were played.

They went out at intermission and enjoyed a glass of champagne.

An acquaintance of Miss Marango informed the duo that the dinner meeting with Theresa May had apparently and abruptly ended when Renfield had poured spaghetti and meatballs over the head of Baron Rothschild in a heated argument.

The pair then went into the auditorium for the 2nd half of the concert.

The final performance of the evening was the Kraken singing Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.

The Kraken came out looking resplendent in a multi-armed and multi-legged tuxedo with aquamarine coloured bow tie.

He bowed to the audience’s applause and then proceeded to sing Bach’s Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.

Half-way into his recital, the Papal Nuncio to London Msgr. Eltonjohnus Oscarwildeus stood up in the audience and accused the Kraken of proselytism by singing a song with such lyrics.

Msgr. Eltonjohnus Oscarwildeus pointed out that Pope Francis had just declared proselytism a mortal sin on a recent visit to Morocco and the Kraken shouldn’t be doing such things.

The Kraken’s wife Medusa stood up in the audience and defended her husband pointing out that the Kraken was in fact a Scientologist as a result of a weekend seminar workshop he had attended with Tom Cruise and John Travolta.

Medusa then pointed out that she herself was a defrocked priestess of the Temple of Athena.

A London imam, who in fact had been enjoying the Kraken’s recital of Bach’s Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring, proceeded to end the interruption by punching the lights out of Msgr. Eltonjohnus Oscarwildeus.

The papal nuncio to London was then carried out on a stretcher as he quietly hummed the Beatles’ song, “In an octopus’ garden in the shade…”

After the concert was over, Dracul and Lepardia then went to a quiet cafe for coffee and dessert.

The papal nuncio meanwhile was wheeled into the waiting room of a London hospital where coincidentally Renfield R. Renfield was sitting there waiting with a late Victorian/early Edwardian antique teapot stuck to his hand.

Renfield remarked to his parliamentary colleague Morgana Fay Lee, “I feel so much like Rowan Atkinson’s Mr. Bean right now.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday April 4th
2019.

Permalink 25 Comments

Pan Goatee’s Saturday Afternoon On The Last Weekend In March

March 30, 2019 at 9:03 pm (Aesthetics, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , )

DARPA contract assassin and genetically created satyr serial killer Pan Goatee (whose serial killing specialty was killing ugly woman) was in the food court of a nearby restaurant where he had picked up a submarine sandwich from Subway.

His enjoyment of his sub was soon ruined by the sight of a fat ugly blimp waddling in front of him.

The fat ugly blimp picked up two large containers of food from a Lebanese food take out place and then two large containers of food from a Chinese food take out place.

“Well, it’s no great mystery as to why you’re the size of a behemoth,” Goatee remarked as he reached into his holster, pulled out his astral laser machete and beheaded the creature.

After tossing his cookies (metaphorically speaking) into a nearby garbage can (the aftereffect of beholding the grisly gruesome sight), Goatee walked to a nearby McDonald’s to buy himself a large double double coffee.

Upon approaching the entrance, to the left (from Pan’s viewpoint) was a teen-aged fat ugly blimp with pink and purple coloured hair.

Goatee had nothing against females with pink and purple coloured hair save when they adorned the elephantine heads of fat ugly blimps.

The revolting and sickening sight more properly belonged in a circus tent (like Archie Bunker used to sing about in the theme song on the old All In The Family TV show, “Freaks were in a circus tent, those were the days.”) with a sign above the tent entrance that read ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE to those stupid enough to part with their hard earned money just to see a repulsive blood-curdling stomach churning mind numbing sight that could easily be replicated by staying home and doing their income tax returns (which also would have been an experience far more enjoyable).

Goatee promptly beheaded the fat ugly blimp with pink and purple hair who could easily serve as the poster child for GSAs (Gay-Straight Alliances) in Alberta schools driving most hormonally aroused and voice changing males towards the “G” side of that equation.

Fortunately there seemed to be mainly beautiful women inside the McDonald’s which prevented Pan’s large double double coffee from joining his Subway sandwich in the Tossed Cookies Department.

Upon leaving the McDonald’s restaurant to walk home, he noticed a flat trailer truck broken down at the side of the road.

Outside the broken down truck were a fat ugly blimp, her brainless husband and a kid.

“Well, no doubt the fat ugly blimp which far exceeds the province’s heavy load weight restrictions was responsible for this truck’s breakdown,” Goatee said as he approached and beheaded the blimp.

Goatee then beheaded the brainless husband remarking, “And that’s for being so stupid as to have sexual relations with a human-walrus hybrid.”

He then turned his attention to the kid, “The offspring of ugliness and stupidity does not a fine progeny make” and beheaded him.

He was sure the genetics textbooks at home would validate his impromptu on the spot empirical assessment.

Meanwhile the computers at DARPA were down again as a result of a Chinese Communist EMP (electro-magnetic pulse) attack on the system in response to Donald Trump tweeting an Executive Order that there were to be no EMP attacks on the U.S.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 30th
2019

Permalink 8 Comments

Atargatis, Dracul and The A. Y. Jackson Painting

March 29, 2019 at 10:18 pm (Art, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic romance, International Intrigue, love, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

The year was 1955.

Winston Churchill had recently stepped down as Prime Minister of Britain.

And an exhibit of paintings of Canadian artist A. Y. Jackson was opening in London.

The Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis had gone back in time from the current year of 2019 to 1955 to purchase an A.Y. Jackson painting that would become quite valuable.

Atargatis at a London art exhibit in the spring of 1955.

The name of the painting was Painting Of A Buffalo From The Rearend As Painted From The Rearend of A Train.

The buffalo had been painted by Jackson while he was sitting at the back of a caboose at a train stopped in the Red Deer River Badlands near Drumheller, Alberta, Canada.

A buffalo had stoppped and turned around and showed Jackson his rearend so the artist had painted a picture of the spectacle.

“A most remarkable portrait of the late Fuhrer of Germany,” Sir Winston Churchill remarked as he gazed at the painting through his spectacles.

Atargatis controlled a laugh.

Then she caught sight of Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.

“Are you here to bid on the painting, Van Helsing?” She asked.

“No, just here to take a look,” Van Helsing replied, “my dad often talked about this painting. That very same buffalo later went and took a crap on the shoes of my dad’s school principal. My dad always wanted to say thanks to that buffalo but never got around to it. So I’m here to do it on his behalf.”

“You’re an unusual man, Van Helsing,” Atargatis took a martini off a passing tray.

“And you’re a ravishingly beautiful goddess,” Van Helsing likewise grabbed a martini.

“We really should stop meeting like this,” Atargatis smiled, “it gives a whole new meaning to that expression “blast from the past”. Although I must say, I wouldn’t mind doing it in a DeLorean.”

“Neither would I,” Van Helsing smiled in return, “seeing as how time traveling DeLorean drivers were right in their prognostications about who would become U.S. President in a certain time period- be it Reagan or be it Trump- I’m sure the DeLorean back seat windows could use a little steaming up.”

“Did the DeLorean have a back seat?” Atargatis asked.

“If it didn’t, we could always make one,” the vampire hunter helped himself to a raw oyster.

“I hear a couple of nights ago, you were in Havana, Cuba in 1956,” Atargatis helped herself to a Cuban cigar.

“I was,” Van Helsing offered her a light, “where I heard from a Los Angeles private eye that drinking milk from your lactating breasts makes one immortal.”

“And would you like to be immortal, Mr. Van Helsing?” She approached him.

“England expects every man to do his duty,” Dracul quoted Lord Horatio Nelson and looked down the front of her dress.

The remaining drops of the Syro-Phoenician goddess’ martini wound up in the vampire hunter’s face.

Atargatis walked outside.

After grabbing a towel from the waiter and wiping his face, Van Helsing followed her.

“Well, how about this for a coincidence?” Dracul Van Helsing quoted a line that Dustin Hoffman spoke to Katharine Ross at the back of a bus and pointed towards a car parked in front of the art gallery steps, “A DeLorean.”

Atargatis looked at the car and smiled.

She turned to Van Helsing with a twinkle in her eye and said, “Well, a girl really can’t say no to a DeLorean can she?”.

“They shall look back and say, this was their finest hour,” Churchill quipped as he exited the art gallery.

“And will I get the chance to play with your gearshift, Mr. Van Helsing?” Atargatis asked as the vampire hunter opened the door for her.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” was the vampire hunter’s reply.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 29th
2019.

Permalink 6 Comments

Next page »