Set Rides The Train

September 5, 2017 at 3:28 pm (Crime, Geopolitics and International Relations, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Set Rides The Train

The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set was riding the train.

He was sitting quietly in his seat 💺 when a long haired freak walked by with a baby stroller.

What was some freak doing with a baby stroller in this part of the train?

Another woman presumably his wife followed him.

And then another woman- presumably the wife’s ugly sister followed her.

They sat a couple of seats in front of him.

Then the brat in the stroller started crying.

And crying.

Set seemed to recall a verse from the ancient Hebrew psalms about smashing babies’ heads against the walls of the city of Jerusalem.

Well, it was a long way from Jerusalem but the train wall should be just as handy.

Set strolled over to the baby carriage, picked up the screaming brat and bashed her head against the wall killing her instantly.

The mother screamed.

Set used his 66-inch long fingernails to decapitate the mother.

The father started to protest.

“Can’t have creeps like you reproducing and contaminating the human gene pool,” Set likewise used his nails to rip his head off.

The ugly sister of the mother, the ugly sister-in-law of the father and the ugly aunt of the now deceased screaming brat- the ugly 3 in 1- now raised her ugly shrill screaming voice in a cacophonous symphony of protest.

That was likewise cut short by Set’s long uncut fingernails.

Set then ripped the ugly woman’s face to shreds with his nails for he had recently read an article in National Geographic Magazine about how genetically created satyr serial killer and DARPA astral assassin Pan Goatee was attempting to make Earth a more aesthetically pleasing place by killing ugly women.

The ancient Egyptian god of darkness figured he might as well contribute to the cause for ever since some idiot said “Let there be light”, there was always the possibility that light might shed light on ugliness.

Set had once supported Hitler’s rise to power.

While he disagreed with Hitler (a self-professed artist) on painting all members of the same race or ethnic group with one brush, he Set did think that certain individuals and possibly even one entire family could be inferior and basically human scum and should therefore be eliminated from the face of the earth as was the case with this Native North American Indian trio (a quartet- if you include the brat) who thought it was perfectly all right to conduct some noisy powwow ceremony on what should be an upper class train.

If they still published Eugenics magazines like they did back in the 1930s, Set thought of an article he could write on the subject.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday September 4th
2017.

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Jack O’ Hare In Film Noir: A Poem

September 4, 2017 at 7:15 pm (Comedy, Crime, Detective story, Entertainment, Humour, Mystery, Poetry, Radio) (, , , , )

Jack O’ Hare In Film Noir: A Poem

It was on the other side of San Francisco Chinatown
lived the man called Emmanuel Gold Brown
He got electrocuted when the radio fell into his bath one night
with the result he died listening to Inner Sanctum but not from fright
The water was still bubbling when police and ambulance arrived
causing the lieutenant to quip this place is hotter than a jazz jive

Electrocution was the cause of death ruled the city’s coroner
no surprise- unlike the plum in pie of little Jack Horner
The question was who threw the plugged radio into the tub
leading to murder most foul- aye, there’s the rub

Now Jack O’ Hare was a private eye in town
one who knew a verb was different from a noun
The other eyes in town didn’t have much of an education
so bad- they could have been Congressmen planning legislation

It just so happened one hot and sultry night
as a lonely carrot succumbed to Jack’s bite
that Jessica Rabbit came strolling through the door
wearing an outfit that sent most men dead to the floor

Jessica’s tight fitting dress caused Jack to hyperventilate
but that would not be the extent of this bunny rabbit’s fate
for Jessica knew who had slain Emmanuel Gold Brown
the dashing night club owner and man about town

How do you know? Jack asked in between munching on carrots
he wondered why the building next door was loaded with ferrets.
I was there in the bathroom at the time
answered Roger Rabbit’s wife who was dressed to the nine.

Jack choked on his bottle of Avocado 🥑 and Grapefruit mix
he didn’t drink bourbon like those eyes in the Sticks.
What were you doing in the bathroom when the man was taking a bath 🛀?
This remark caused Jessica Rabbit to laugh and laugh.

Said Jessica, We owe the IRS a lot in back taxes
far more than Lizzie Borden gave her parents whackses
Now Roger’s acting career doesn’t pay much when it comes to loading the dice 🎲
In fact it doesn’t even pay for a take out order of rice 🍚
So I, sighed Jessica, have to make a little money on the side
which often involves taking men for a ride

That means you’re an —–? Jack paused on his paws
“Escort is the word I prefer,” Jessica said, “The service called Ma’s.”
“I just thought Mrs. Barker made apple pie,”
Jack rubbed the carrot juice out of his eye.
“Oh, Mrs. Barker has plenty of pies galore
as well as all sorts of cats coming in and out the door.”
“It’s a real cat house then?”
Jack caught an egg from a hen.
The hen ran up the fire escape
It was how she kept in shape.

“You could very well say that,”
Jessica spoke setting the trap,
“Now come along with me
to the wharf by the sea
and you’ll meet Brown’s killer
for real- not like in a Thriller.”

“And why would I want to meet Brown’s killer?” Jack asked,
“I’d sooner meet the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
“Because I’m paying you to,”
Jessica adjusted her dress tight and blue.

“Paying me to meet a killer?”
It did sound like an opening line in a thriller.
Jessica showed Jack her diamond ring 💍
as the nightingale in the alley started to sing 🎶
“These carats could buy a lot of carrots,” Jessica suggested
as she lowered her dress top showing she was amply breasted.

“Indeed they could,” Jack rose to the occasion
He didn’t need any more persuasion
so Jack and Jessica headed to a wharf on the Bay in San Fran
A foggy night where people get lost just trying to find the can

Jack and Jess got out of the car in time before it headed off the dock
With the splash, Jack sighed, “There goes my favourite sock.”
He really should learn to drive with his shoes on
either that or stop walking bare feet where the salmon spawn.

“Good evening, Mr. O’ Hare,”
said a voice most sinister,
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“Have you seen a floating red sock pass through?”
Jack O’ Hare was anxious to know
before he felt the urge to go.

“I killed Emmanuel Gold Brown,” the man grinned
to deed he’d admit but wouldn’t confess he sinned
“And why did you do that?” Jack sounded like the BBC’s Detective Foyle
while he sat and waited for his tea to boil

“Why are you boiling tea on the dock?”
This man wondered if Jack’s private eye reputation was all a crock
“Because I’m thirsty,” replied Jack
pulling out biscuits for a snack,
“Your voice sounds very familiar.”
The bunny waved aside Jessica’s offer of a Pilsner.

“It should sound familiar,” the man frothed, “for I am the voice of The Shadow.”
A ship 🚢 sailed by carrying llamas for cargo.
“You don’t sound much like Orson Welles,”
Jack found on the pier a book of spells.

“Ever since Welles played that role, the public won’t accept another voice for the Shadow,”
into his handkerchief the man his nose did blow.
“Them’s the brakes,” Jack remarked as a car spun out of control off the dock
Jessica wondered if she should go home and change her frock.

“So,” Jack scratched his whiskers, “why did you kill Emmanuel Gold Brown?”
“Because,” the man said, “he wasn’t listening to me- Lamont Cranston wealthy young man about town.
He was listening to Inner Sanctum Mysteries told by Raymond your host.
For that mistake in radio programming, he’s now a ghost 👻.”

The man took out a gun and aimed it at Jack,
“I wanted to get my reputation back,
to kill the world’s greatest private eye like meat 🍖 on a rack
but whoever told me about you was smoking too much crack.”

“Smoking is bad for your health,”
said Jack whose advice was medical wealth.
The man clicked the gun, “I’ll shoot you like a dog in my pyjama,”
It was then he was run over by a fleeing llama.

The Shadow was buried the very next day
while Jack was hopping through farm fields and hay
Jack thought of the night before and of Jessica Rabbit, he really should have kissed her
He sighed, went home, put the radio on and listened to The Whistler.

-A Jack O’ Hare poem
written by Christopher
Monday September 4th
2017.

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Sherrielock Holmes vs. Jack The Ripper: A Poem

June 11, 2017 at 3:42 pm (Crime, Culture, Detective story, History, Horror, Literature, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

It was London in the year 1888
a place and a year of great ill-fate
in which ladies of the night in the streets of London
were approached by an evil man and done in.

He wore black hat and cloak, black gloves and cane
he was Jekyll’s Hyde come to life in an evil reign
and Sherlock Holmes was naturally called in to solve the case
as Scotland Yard’s Inspector Lestrade was tired of losing face

But even the great Sherlock Holmes could not catch the Ripper
instead Sherlock ended up ripping his pants and breaking his zipper
and he hurried back to 221B Baker Street in shame
said he to Watson, “In no article, mention my name.”

And Sherlock’s little known twin sister Sherrielock heard of her brother’s failure
as well as the Great Detective’s little known nocturnal flight to London tailor
Now Sherrielock was a brothel owning dominatrix by trade
one who always managed to avoid a Scotland Yard raid

Said she, I’ll capture the Ripper and put an end to his Reign of Terror
I”ll do what no one else in London has dreamed to dare
and I’ll do it keeping in place my shampooed hair

So she put on her undercover dominatrix outfit and walked the East End’s Whitechapel streets
Sherrielock Holmes
and she heard in the approaching distance the sound of fancy carriage horses’ hoof beats

A tall dark stranger dressed entirely in black
exited the cab saying, “Just call me Jack”.
“I’ll certainly do that, Jack dear,
if you let me whip your rear”
said Sherrielock pulling out a cat o’ nine tails
and before Jack knew it, he got a fist full of nails.

He was down on the ground, his pants all around
his buttocks were turning a fiery red
his ass no longer filled with Plutonian lead

But by the time the night was over, Jack The Ripper was no more
his ass had positively melted on London’s paved cobblestone floor
Scotland Yard never revealed how the Ripper had died
what was the successful antidote to this Jekyll’s poisoned Hyde.
But the cause was really rather simple in the end
a bright spot on a black and blue covered rear end
Food poisoning had done in the Ripper under dominatrix’s nylon runs
Food poisoning brought on by red tomatoed buns.

-A Sherrielock Holmes poem
written by Christopher
Sunday June 11th
2017.

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Hate’s Attack On Manchester: A Poem

May 23, 2017 at 3:59 pm (Crime, News, Poetry) (, , , , , , , )

Before the darkness, music played
Ariana sang upon the stage
But this gentle musical night
would descend in horror and fright
and joyous times would soon turn dark
like the arrow that struck singing skylark
and that dark still remains
accentuated by human blood stains

Young people had come full of joy
to the arena in an English town
that soon would turn upside down
Beneath a streetlamp’s streaming glow
a girl would watch her friend’s blood flow
scenes of young love overshadowed by hate
musical concert ends at door of Hell’s gate

Some man thought he knew God’s will
and that was to maim, destroy and kill
far from the Kingdom of God was he
but his evil folly has caused intense agony

Faces that will never be seen again
Faces that shone with Ariana’s song
but they left the concert into the night
not knowing hate’s venom would rise and strike
now those faces will only be seen on Facebook page
leaving those behind in tears and rage

And so the curtain came down on a musical show
as death’s curtain came down on those in post-concert glow
bodies maimed and broken, many their souls now gone
the night that Death put an end to music’s sweet song.

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 23rd 2017.

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Theft In A Homeless Shelter

January 4, 2017 at 6:04 pm (Commentary, Crime, Life, Personal essays) (, )

Due to the misfortune of having rented an apartment from a whacko crazy nut job landlady/roomate, I got evicted from my apartment this past January 1st.

The past couple of nights I’ve been living in a homeless shelter in Calgary.

Last night, my iPhone was stolen from my pants pocket (while I slept with my pants on) by some individual who’s obviously a total scumbag.

Every short story, poem and vampire novel chapter I wrote the past 4 years was in the Notes section of that iPhone.

Now it’s gone. 😦

Needless to say, I’m feeling totally devastated at the moment.

-A personal essay
written by Christopher
Wednesday January 4th
2017.

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Renfield’s Speech To BAEEVB 5 Years Ago Today

May 6, 2016 at 7:44 pm (Crime, Horror, International Intrigue, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Renfield’s Speech To BAEEBV 5 Years Ago Today

“Do you recall what you did on this day 5 years ago today?” Amadeus asked Renfield.

“No,” Renfield suddenly looked nervous.

He wondered what incriminating photo or video Amadeus might have had on him of what he did 5 years ago today.

“It was 5 years ago today that you gave a speech to the British Association of Employees Employed By Vampires better known as BAEEBV,” Amadeus pointed out.

“Oh that,” Renfield grinned.

Yes, that was back on May 6th 2011.

Renfield recalled getting a standing ovation for that speech.

As well as a blow job from a rising young pop music starlet afterwards.

Renfield sat there with a huge smile on his face.

“I have a video of your best moment that day,” Amadeus showed him a video on his laptop’s YouTube page.

“You do?” Renfield turned as pale as the silvery moon on a South Seas night.

Had Amadeus filmed his encounter with the rising young pop music starlet?

The video started playing.

It was of the best line that Renfield had delivered that evening- a paraphrase of a line from Lewis Carroll’s poem The Walrus and The Carpenter in his book Through The Looking Glass.

“The time has come,” Renfield said, “to talk of many things- of psychic lobsters and werewolves and lycanthropic MPs, of how Dracul Van Helsing manages to get vampiresses down on their knees.”

“You know,” Amadeus spoke up, “I understand the reference to psychic lobsters- that’s Michelangelo. And the reference to werewolves and lycanthropic MPs- that’s to Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley. But what did you mean by Dracul Van Helsing managing to get vampiresses to their knees?”.

“Well,” Renfield’s face turned red with jealousy, “Dracul Van Helsing seems to have the ability to get beautiful vampiresses to make out with him. I’ve never been able to get a beautiful vampiress to make out with me.”

“You haven’t been too successful with many beautiful mortal women either,” Amadeus bit into his peanut butter and avocado sandwich.

“Harrumph,” Renfield pouted.

Still that rising young pop music starlet had performed a huge favour on him the night of his standing ovation speech.

Then again, that gun he held to her head, the resulting action may not have been a result of her free will affection for him.

Still she had done the deed.

Which was more than could be said for the 99 other rising young pop music starlets whose brains (or lack thereof!) he had been forced to blow to kingdom come when they refused to blow on his sword.

Their deaths were still listed as unsolved in Interpol files.

And the poor Illuminati were taking the heat for his dastardly deeds in most on-line conspiracy theorist videos.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 6th
2016.

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The London of The Ripper and Beyond

January 13, 2016 at 7:15 pm (Crime, Culture, History, Poetry) (, , , , , )

The London of The Ripper and Beyond

The clock tower ringed by fog and mist
a sentinel of time shrouded in mystery
The cling clang of horse’s hooves across the bridge
signaling a time other than our own
when our transport vehicles are silent
save for the incessant honking of the horn by the solipsistic narcissist within.

Carriage stops
door opens
out steps a man in black
black hat
black cloak
black cape

A woman’s scream in the night
that seems to piece the very fog itself
Such a scream was the signal of distress in the Ripper’s London.

And like those times of fog and mist
The Ripper legend continues to be shrouded in mystery.
Oh what foul deeds of darkness were then committed in the dark of night
Foul deeds that now are committed by others and broadcast on TV-morning, evening, day and night
In these times, darkness has become our normal light.

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday January 10th
2016.

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Haiku About Cecil The Lion Killed By Trophy Hunter In Zimbabwe

July 29, 2015 at 6:35 pm (Commentary, Crime, News, Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Haiku About Cecil The Lion Killed By Trophy Hunter In Zimbabwe

Killer’s toothy smile
Trophy ensures the lion
does not sleep tonight

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What Lies Beneath The Unmarked Grave?

July 22, 2015 at 9:43 pm (Crime, Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Horror, Humour, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Poetry, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

What Lies Beneath The Unmarked Grave?

Billowing clouds
dark and gray
forming cathedral pillars in the sky
but a dark sinister cathedral
built to receive dark gods and dark sacrifices

The lightning flashed
and the thunder roared
but not a drop of rain poured
for Rennes-le-Chateau like many spots on this planet would suffer drought and intense heat
this summer of 2015.

And Simon Delaney nephew of famed British archaeologist Sir Cedric Delany
trying to become a notable archaeologist in his own right
was about to open an unmarked grave in the cemetery of Saint Mary Magdalene Church
He had finally got all the necessary paperwork from 3 different levels of French government and bureaucracy- municipal, regional and national to open the grave
as well as the permission of the parish and the diocese,

So now in this place haunted by the ghost of Berenger Sauniere and the greedy Gollums of tourist guides
living off the avails of Dan Brown and conspiracy theorists
he Simon Delaney was about to open an unmarked grave-
a grave he believed would be as significant as Howard Carter’s find of Tutankhamun.

But when he opened the grave-
nothing was there-
it was as empty as the inside of a 21st Century Western world church on a Sunday morning.

The old caretaker of the cemetery who looked as if he walked straight off the set of an old Boris Karloff movie
approached carrying a bottle of wine that he sipped from
the caretaker laughed and said the unmarked grave had been opened 3 years ago this summer by a grave robber
who did not bother with the niceties of municipal, regional and national permits
nor with parish and diocesan permission
Rather he had just entered with a shovel on a moonlit night
and started digging
When the previous graveyard caretaker had objected, the grave robber just shot the man (thus leaving a job opening for he the heavy wine drinker to fill) while singing the song from South Pacific that began, “Some enchanted evening…”
When he had finished singing the song and kicking the caretaker’s body away, the grave robber began singing a paraphrased version of another song from South Pacific- his own version going like this, “I’ve got to get this gum right off of my shoe…

Later in the town tavern after digging up the grave, the grave robbing stranger having loaded the body on to a dirigible called The HickingBurp bought drinks for everyone in the house
The stranger said his name was Renfield and he had stolen the body for a friend Dr. Cadbury Rocher
to extract the DNA and make a new creation

And so Simon Delaney left the cemetery a grave stricken man
his dreams turning to dust
“Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return”.

Someone had stolen the body of the Baphomet
The body of the creature he believed buried there
The creature whose body was found in Jerusalem almost a millennium ago by the Knights Templar
and buried there by Knights Templar who wished to avoid Jacques de Molay’s celebrity roast
at the hands of King Philip IV of France
and Pope Clement V.

For what nefarious purpose had this Dr. Cadbury Rocher used the DNA of the Baphomet’s body?
Delaney asked himself as he walked by a windswept copy of an old Rolling Stone magazine
whose front cover bore the image of celebrity serial killer Pan Goatee.

An unmarked grave
and no body inside for him to find.

Delaney found himself asking a question once posed by a character in a Flannery O’ Connor novel who was sitting in a movie theatre eating popcorn and watching an extremely bad movie,
“What degenerate produced this abortion?”.

-A narrative free verse poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday July 22nd
2015.

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Haiku About The Assassination of Boris Nemtsov In Moscow

February 28, 2015 at 8:38 pm (Commentary, Crime, Geopolitics and International Relations, Poetry) (, , , )

Haiku About The Assassination of Boris Nemtsov In Moscow

Boris Nemtsov slain
cold chill falls over Moscow
soon to freeze the blood

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