What Is Causing The Paris Riots: A Free Verse Poem As Explanation

December 7, 2018 at 11:58 pm (Comedy, Geopolitics and International Relations, Horror, International Intrigue, love, Movies, Music, Musicals, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Poetry, Romance, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Several weeks ago, the Cyborg Octopus Kraken
Who called himself Emperor Napoleon VI
Had been dining with his wife Medusa
(The ex-Gorgon famed for getting people stoned
In the glory days of classical and ancient Greece)
In a Parisienne cafe
When Medusa suddenly found Vincent Van Gogh’s ear
In her house salad
so she sent it back.

“I hate to do this to you, Banksy,”
The salad prep chef said to
The famous graffiti street artist
As he cut his ear off with a carving knife
Banksy had thought of becoming a musician
As well as an artist
but now he had no ear for music.

“Much better,” Medusa said
As she bit into Banksy’s ear.
“You’re becoming somewhat cannibalistic in your old age,”
The Kraken remarked as he bit into the evening dinner special
which was roast octopus.

“How old do you think I am?”
asked Medusa
who used Oil of Olay
She looked very young indeed.

Medusa then bit into the fried snake
As the hairs on her head stood on end.

“Charmed I’m sure,” Sir Anthony Hopkins tipped his hat
And bowed to the couple
as he exited
(He had eaten the roast lamb souvlaki that evening)
He was in Paris doing a one night special performance
at Le Phantome Masquerade
Musique de Le Soir
Faberge Garnier Christian Dior Coco Chanel Opera House –
a musical version of
The Silence of The Lambs.

Jodie Foster emerged from the restaurant closet
with a woman tennis player and a woman golf player
and followed the knighted Welsh actor
to the theatre
as director Martin Scorsese
tried to hail a taxi driver
and Beelzebub the lord of the flies
plotted the last temptation of Christ.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying your roast octopus this evening,”
The Norse trickster god Loki
(who looked and talked a lot like actor Jack Nicholson)
remarked
as he fed Donald Trump’s toupee
(which he had swiped from the Oval Office of the White House)
to the restaurant Maitre’ D’s pet red spider monkey.

“I’d like to be Emperor of France,”
The Kraken calling himself Napoleon VI
wiped a tear from his eye,
“but I can’t while Emmanuel Macron is President.”

“Hm, I think I can do something about that,”
Loki remarked as Ricky Martin’s dinner date for the evening
accidentally peed all over Loki’s Casablanca Humphrey Bogart looking white dinner jacket
turning it a very vibrant yellow colour.

“And I think I’ve got an idea,”
Loki remarked
as he looked down at his now yellow coloured jacket
and just received a text message on his smart phone
from his accountant
on what would be the heating cost
of his Paris apartment
next year.

“And that dear children,”
The inebriated looking Santa Claus
took off his wired rimmed glasses
and wiped them
at the Ayn Rand Daycare Centre
where he was speaking,
“is how the origins of the Paris riots
and fires came to pass.”

-A comedy horror poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday December 7th
2018.


Rita Hayworth won’t be coming down Emmanuel Macron’s chimney tonight.

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Reblog of T-Rex Find: A Poem

November 4, 2018 at 11:46 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Humour, Poetry) (, , )

A poem about a T-Rex (Tyrannosaurus Rex) I wrote 4 years ago:

Dracul Van Helsing

T-Rex Find: A Poem

It was the most unusual dinosaur bone
a T-Rex with an iPhone
the whimsical carnivore
not wishing to appear a bore
had taken a selfie
like Uncle Alfie
he backed up without looking behind
silly creature with silly mind
and while doing his monologue of schtick and corn
backed right into a triceratops horn
that’s why this T-Rex became extinct before you were born.

-A humourous narrative poem
written by Christopher
Saturday November 1st
2014.

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The Donald T-Rump Song

October 24, 2018 at 9:44 pm (Arts, Celebrities, Comedy, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, Music, News, Poetry, Politics, Satire, Songs) (, , , , , , , , , )

Oh, let us drink a drink, a drink
to Donald T-Rump, T-Rump
the saviour of the human race
or so he thought in his head
for which a poor red spider monkey bled

Now Donald T-Rump thought he was Julius Caesar
because he was just that type of senile geezer
but he forgot his Roman history
it’s certainly no mystery
Julius was assassinated
dying very constipated
and Augustus took over
like a four leaf clover
while Jared Kushner returns home from Dover
to take the reigns of power
for it is the False Messianic hour.

-A song written
by Christopher
Friday October 19th
2018
to the tune of
The Irish Rovers song
Lily The Pink

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The Vampire From Killarney: A Humourous Halloween Poem

October 20, 2018 at 11:33 pm (Comedy, Culture, Folklore, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, Humour, Poetry, Romance, The Occult, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

‘Tis time for a tale of Gothic blarney
about a vampire from Killarney
his name was Freddy O’ Barney
and he worked as a night time circus carney

He went from Ireland to England’s London town
hoping to turn the city upside down
Count Fred heard the streets there were paved with gold
That Donald Trump had shit bricks there by the truckload
But it was all old wives’ tales
like women seduced by the Prince of Wales

Count Fred (for he was no Dracula) walked into a bar
his vampire bat wings home floating in a jar
he saw a beautiful young woman wearing a red dress
her nubile young body he hoped to caress
and her debonair mind he hoped to impress

Count Fred walked up to her and said, “Top of the morning to you”
and she replied, “But it’s late evening just like the colour of my pantyhose is midnight blue”
The blarney count said, “But it’s morning to me” and at her nylons’ description, he came to,
to get under her dress, he must see this through

He tipped his hat and took a bow
for the midnight hour was definitely now
“My name by birth is Freddy O’ Barney
and I’m the long lost Count of Killarney”
said she, “My woman’s intuition tells me you’re full of blarney”
” Tis true,” said some drunk at the bar, “he’s a circus carney”

Fred grabbed his shillelagh and gave him a whack
and the drunk hit the floor like a fallen potato sack

Fred sat down next to the girl,
gave his pocket handkerchief a twirl
and in a lilting nocturnal like voice said,
with the rhythm of one seductively Undead,
“Can I buy you a drink, my lady so fair?”
Hoping to get into her underwear.

She flicked back her hair and said, “Sure why not?”
For she thought another drink would sure hit the spot.

Said he in Irish brogue
like a highwayman rogue,
“What can I get you, my dear?
Cocktail, gin, whiskey, or beer?”.

Smiling she licked her lips, “I’ll have a Vermouth”
for she had a sweet tooth
She bared her fangs
and played with her curly bangs

“Shit,” Count Fred thought to himself
like the lone forgotten book on the shelf,
he had selected a vampiress for his prey
on this night, he’d get no blood though he might get a lay

Fred O’ Barney ordered for himself from the bartender a soft drink popular North American root beer brand
The Fountainhead for his midnight snack hopes dashed and so he shrugged like an atlas of writer Ayn Rand

The bartender brought the vermouth and the root beer
as moonlight shone through the window so crystal clear
and so it happened on this dark sky but moonlit night
of dashed expectations and no feminine fright
that he put the root beer to his mouth
while down her low-cut dress he looked further south.
From his vampiric mouth he sprayed
dashing even his hopes of getting laid
for thus it did turn out on this star-crossed night
that his Barq was far worse than his bite.

Note: Barq is the name of a popular North American soft drink root beer brand.

-A humourous Gothic Halloween
vampire poem
written by Christopher
Saturday October 20th
2018.

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Wilkie The Cat Performs Nat King Cole: A Poem

October 19, 2018 at 8:59 pm (Comedy, Culture, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, Musicals, News, Poetry, Politics, Satire, theatre, Theatre Arts) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Wilkie The Cat
had a lovers’ spat
His girlfriend Mitzi
was raging spitzy

She had broken her parasol
saving Wilkie from a very deep hole
by red hot pokering a Saudi librarian mole
Trump defended the Saudi librarian assassin
and took to Twitter tweety bashin’

Saudi Arabia had threatened to fly planes into Canadian Toronto’s CN Tower
while Mohammad bin Salman like Putin gave Trump a golden shower
No wonder the Donald’s hairpiece was a sickening gold yellow toupee
for Putin and the Saudi Crown Prince performed like it was a rainy day
Mid-term elections were soon on the way
Was Robert Mueller making hay?
Democrats wondered
as Lizzie Warren blundered

The New York Times defended the Senator’s DNA test
because of brains and intelligence, The Times had not been blessed
It took one to hate one was that old adage
which is why Trump and The Times exchanged nasty tweets and cabbage

But fortunately for Wilkie’s relationship, he got a good gig
and an assignment that his girl Mitzi should really dig
He and she were invited to perform at a political party function
and did not have to play the part of Beverly Hillbillies at Petticoat Junction

It was at the Lincoln Performing Arts Centre
and Wilkie promised Mitzi he wouldn’t go on a bender

Mitzi dressed as Elizabeth Warren took to the stage
while politicos gazed at her like lions released from a cage
Mitzi began to sing,

Cherokee people,
Cherokee tribe,
so proud to live
so proud to die

and maybe someday when we’ve learned,
Cherokee Nation will return, will return

Wilkie The Cat came on stage dressed like Nat King Cole,
he really relished getting into this role
He pointed at Mitzi as Warren and began to sing,
“Oh yes, she’s the great pretender…”
after the show, Wilkie went on a bender.

For he got the attending crowd wrong
turning this into his Lincoln Center swan song
He thought he was performing to Republicans but alas! they were Democrats
and now Wilkie and Mitzi were once again unemployed performing arts cats.

-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Friday October 19th
2018.

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Wilkie The Cat As The Shadow: A Poem

October 18, 2018 at 9:26 pm (Comedy, Culture, Humour, Literature, Plays, Poetry, theatre, Theatre Arts) (, , , , , , , , )

Wilkie considered himself the Big Apple’s NYC leading thespian
When he told people what he did, they thought he said lesbian
but thespian was the Shakespearean term for actor
not a bull dyke riding one Hell of a tractor

Now Wilkie was a feline by species
one whose litter box was full of feces
Wilkie naturally thought of himself as a cool cat
when he played James Cagney saying, “You dirty rat.”
Now the lovely French cat Mitzi was the love of his life
he longed to make la belle mademoiselle his beloved wife
but the Parisienne Pussy (so called by President Macron) wanted no such strife
for her current single state now was such a delightful life

Now it came to pass that a big Broadway producer
when he encountered a #MeToo woman, he did goose her
now he was in disgraced exile
Alyssa Milano’s Wiccan spells cast on him by the pile
only Bret Kavanaugh’s pile of hexes was much longer
as Hillary made a voodoo doll of Bill and his donger

Now it so happened that Wilkie had several incriminating photos
of the producer seducing starlets in one of his chateaux
so Wilkie blackmailed the producer from Park Avenue
who forced gruesome things on the young nubile Frou Frou La Rue
and made him finance Wilkie’s new play
a heavy price the theatrical big wig had to pay
for wanting to engage in getting a lay
in such a very strange, awkward and peculiar way

Wilkie wanted to do a stage version of that old radio play The Shadow
that showed Man About Town Lamont Cranston always on the go
The Shadow’s object of affection was one Margo Lane
to organized crime, Lamont Cranston was a first rate pain

So once again a Wilkie directed Broadway stage play came to pass
Theatre critics went to the play expecting the feline to again make himself an ass
and Wilkie certainly did not let them down
The Broadway disaster was the talk of the town

Wilkie playing Cranston opened the play with The Shadow’s opening line,
“Who knows what…” and there was a sudden pause,
as Wilkie held to his head his feline claws
for the catty thespian had forgotten his lines
to say nothing of not paying library card fines
He was recognized by a librarian sitting in the audience
who leapt on stage like a secret agent of a Saudi Crown Prince incensed
Mitzi leapt into action with her parasol to prevent Wilkie being dismembered on the spot
and Trump’s future defense of petulant librarians was such poppycock
the aftereffects of a urine coloured toupee causing a brain to rot

The play’s opening moments were its very last
petulant librarian got a parasol up the ass
and Wilkie’s earlier pork and beans dinner produced much gas
and the pervert producer’s line of credit did not come to pass
for he committed hari kari permanently ending his tendency to harass

So now the time has come to say to one and all, Good night
as for The Shadow playing a 2nd night, theatre owner told Wilkie to go fly a kite.

-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Thursday October 17th
2018.

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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 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.

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Grand Me My Wish… Not: A Short Story By Sherrie De Valeria

March 2, 2018 at 9:57 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Humour, Short stories, Short Story)

An absolutely hilarious blog post written by my dear friend and fellow writer Sherrie de Valeria.

I think most of my readers and followers will enjoy reading this post but in particular I think my friends George F., Ortensia72 and velvetscreams will enjoy reading it because it will start your day with a good laugh. 😀

MY.THOUGHTS.MY.LIFE.MY.WORLD.

medusa-drawing-funny-stuff

He felt his eyes are swelling with the burning sensation of confusion and sweats starts to break down his forehead and spine. He swiped his face a few times and moaning, grunting between the sheets, felt the darkness had had him right in his mind. He felt violated by his own thoughts and the mere darkness without the penetrating light, left him scars with a little fear – so, uncomfortable, really.

“Oh, behold this darkness that holds my heart and my mind thus corrupted by unseen chaos and no more light shall shed its color inside this room of my life!” He raised himself up, raised both of his hands and yelled out loud.

Then came a sudden pain that hits his head, something soft and yet, it had left quite a thud in his head. Somewhere he imagines it that he could hear a thunder roar, but without the…

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Renfield Gives Convocation Address

February 18, 2018 at 11:52 pm (Comedy, Education, Humour, Politics, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Renfield Gives Convocation Address

British MP Renfield R. Renfield had been invited to give a winter session graduation convocation Address at a small community college in London.

The topic he was given to speak on for the convocation Address was What Britain 🇬🇧 Needs To Consider For The Future.

Renfield approached the podium wearing sunglasses 😎 , a t-shirt with Bob Marley’s picture on it and a splendid Scottish kilt with a matching pair of plaid socks.

Tapping the microphone and saying “Ich ni sun chi… good… it appears to be working… what Britain needs to consider for the future…”

Renfield paused as he looked around the room.

He then began his address on What Britain Needs To Consider For The Future.

Said Renfield, “Have you ever wondered why the word terrier doesn’t rhyme with the word Perrier?…”

As his friend Amadeus Emanon remarked afterwards, “And that was the high point of the speech…”

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

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Renfield and Morgana At Lumiere Festival of Light

January 18, 2018 at 9:41 pm (Comedy, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Renfield and Morgana At Lumiere Festival of Light

British MP Renfield R. Renfield and his fellow Transhumanist MP Morgana Fay Lee (also known as the Welsh Vampiress Morgana) were walking across central London attending the first night of the four-night Lumiere Festival of Light.

The two MPs looked at an ice sculpture of a frog 🐸 lit up in front of the W Hotel in Leicester Square.

“Why don’t you kiss it and see if it turns into a prince 👑?” Renfield said jokingly.

“All right,” said Morgana who had been hitting the Smirnoff vodka a bit harder than usual earlier this evening.

She kissed the ice sculpture of the frog 🐸 and sure enough it turned into a handsome prince 👑.

“Great Scott!” Renfield shouted as a huge gust of wind blew up the kilt of a Scottish bagpiper who walked by.

“My God, a handsome prince,” Morgana swooned, “he looks like pictures I’ve seen of the Jacobite prince Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“What do you suppose was in those fudgsicles they were handing out at the Canadian Embassy?” Asked Renfield who felt his hamster whiskers growing on his face.

“Hey, man, did you try those marijuana laced fudgsicles they were handing out at the Canadian Embassy?” Two aging hippies from California asked.

“This must be Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s contribution to Western civilization,” Renfield remarked as he fell back on the sidewalk and noticed a thousand points of lights overhead.

“Yoo-hoo, Charlie,” Morgana ran after the kilt wearing frog 🐸 turned prince 👑.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday January 18th
2018.

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