Fish and Chips With Holmes and Watson

May 17, 2019 at 10:28 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

It was a May evening in London at 221B Baker Street the residence of the world-famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes.

The year was 1899.

“Well, Holmes,” Dr. Watson put down his newspaper, “what do you deduce that Mrs. Hudson has made us for dinner tonight?”.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you this morning, Watson,” Holmes lit his pipe, “Mrs. Hudson is going to a Church Auxiliary Tea and Bake Sale this evening so sadly for us, no fine dinner from Mrs. Hudson tonight.”

“Blast it, Holmes,” Watson grimaced, “I wish you had told me. I’d have gone for dinner at the club tonight.”

“What and leave me home alone, Watson?” Holmes smiled, “Leaving me to fend for myself?”.

“Damn right, I would, Holmes,” Watson nodded, “If I can’t enjoy Mrs. Hudson’s fine cooking, I can get a very fine beef steak at the club.”

“What say we go out for some good old English fish and chips, Watson?” Holmes started putting his rain coat on.

“All right,” Watson put his jacket and coat on, “seeing as how they’ve probably stopped serving dinner at the club an hour ago.”

Holmes and Watson exited their room, walked down the stairs and through Mrs. Hudson’s parlour out the front door.

“Where shall we go for Fish and Chips, Holmes?” Watson asked.

“I noticed just the other day that a new Fish and Chips place opened up a few blocks away, Watson,” Holmes pointed in the direction, “What say we try there?”.

“All right,” Watson agreed, “Lead on, MacDuff.”

The duo walked enjoying the evening air.

“Here’s the place,” Holmes pointed at the entrance with his walking stick.

“The Captain’s,” Watson looked at the sign above the door, “Quite an original name for a Fish and Chips place.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Watson,” Holmes remarked.

“Neither does being hungry,” Watson opened the door, “let’s go in.”

Inside both Holmes and Watson ordered the 3 pieces of Fish with Chips plate.

The detective ordered a brandy and his physician friend ordered a gin for liquid refreshment.

“Interesting portrait painting on the main wall, there,” Holmes said to the waiter when he brought the drinks, “who is that supposed to be?”.

“That is a picture of the Captain,” the waiter replied.

“He looks like a bloody pirate if you ask me,” Watson gazed at the painting.

“He was, sir,” the waiter nodded, “he was a pirate captain.”

“Oh, really,” Watson harrumphed, “What was his name?”.

“That we do not know, sir,” the waiter answered, “The restaurant’s owner bought that painting in an antique shop in Plymouth. The painting dates back to the 18th Century the antique dealer said. But who the man in the portrait is, he had no idea. But the painting inspired the owner to open up a Fish and Chip shop and call it The Captain’s named after the figure in the painting.”

“Bloody mysterious if you ask me,” Watson took a sip of his gin.

“And yet my trade is solving mysteries, Watson,” Holmes lit his pipe again.

“So, who is the figure in the painting?” Watson asked Holmes.

“I’m afraid I’ve never really studied the history of 18th Century piracy in depth to hazard a guess,” Holmes blew smoke rings.

“What you mean there’s actually something that the great Sherlock Holmes does not know?” Watson laughed.

The waiter arrived with their Fish and Chips orders and both men raised knife and fork to tackle the huge succulent looking pieces of cod on their respective plates forgetting the question of the pirate in the painting.

“So, what made you decide on a Fish and Chips dinner tonight, Holmes?” Watson asked.

“A dream I had last night, actually,” Holmes took a sip of his brandy.

“But I didn’t think you put much stock in dreams, Holmes?” Watson had to smile.

“Normally I don’t,” Holmes admitted as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Still the Bard did write We are such stuff as dreams are made on. And it was a memorable dream I had to admit.”

“What was it?” Watson was curious.

“I dreamed I was aboard a boat and a large octopus… a Kraken actually of mythological folklore fame was drinking 120 barrels of rum,” Holmes sucked thoughtfully on his pipe.

“How did you know there were exactly 120 barrels?” Watson laughed, “You counted?”.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson,” Holmes shook his head in dismay, “Obviously I counted.”

“Holmes,” Watson put down his fork in exasperation, “You’re the only person I know who would spend time in his dream counting exactly how many barrels of rum a Kraken was drinking.”

The duo started getting quizzical looks from customers sitting at other tables.

“So, what significance is there to the number of rum barrels the Kraken was drinking?” Watson cut into another piece of cod, “What does the number 120 signify?”.

“God only knows, Watson,” Holmes poured vinegar on his chips, “The number of years perhaps.”

The detective shrugged.

“Let’s see,” Watson did arithmetic in his head, “120 years from now, that would be May 17th 2019.”

. . .

It was a Friday evening in London in May 2019 and Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery was removing an old oil painting he had just purchased from the crate it was in.

“Good heavens,” Forrest’s Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie spilled gin and brandy all over himself when he saw it, “That figure in the painting looks exactly like Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of The Caribbean.”

. . .

In the May evening in 1899, Holmes lit his pipe again and looked contemplatively at the ceiling.

“You know it’s strange, Watson,” Holmes’ pipe smoke headed in the direction of the portrait of the Captain.

“What’s that, Holmes?” Watson sipped his after dinner coffee.

“That we never seem to call one another by our first names like normal acquaintances seem to do,” Holmes chewed on his pipe.

Now there was a mystery.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 17th
2019.

Advertisements

Permalink 2 Comments

Renfield, Huawei, Game of Thrones and Mei-ling Manchu

May 16, 2019 at 8:53 pm (Culture, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Television, The Supernatural, TV Shows, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

British MP Renfield R. Renfield was sipping on a whiskey and soda and recalling how last night’s British Transhumanist/Aquarian Age Bonapartist Alliance rally held on an English beach was hugely successful.

Renfield had given a highly acclaimed speech on how the European Union seemed to be resembling the old USSR with each passing day.

His French political ally the Kraken Napoleon VI (having drunk 120 barrels of rum on his voyage across the English Channel) had given an impassioned speech on how, in his opinion, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Pirates of The Caribbean films was a real and actual historical figure.

The speech was met with vigourous applause prior to the Kraken passing out and having to be carried off by stretcher and air ambulance to the detox unit of a London hospital.

Tabasco sauce sellers, tomato juice sellers and merchants of raw eggs were reporting a huge increase in sales all across London today.

Renfield was soon joined in the bar by his friends Amadeus Emanon and Angelique Dumont.

Amadeus helped himself to some of the complimentary peanuts in the dish in front of Renfield.

“So I hear that yesterday Donald Trump signed an Executive Order declaring a national emergency with regards to America’s computer networks,” Amadeus noted.

“Yes, it is a move designed to keep China’s tech giant Huawei out of providing software for America’s computer and AI and 5G systems,” Renfield commented.

“I don’t imagine Beijing will be happy about that,” Angelique Dumont remarked.

“They’re not,” Renfield answered, “The Chinese Communist vampiress Mei-ling Manchu has already flown that mysterious entity known as the Black Dragon into Washington DC and has already swooped down on the U.S. capital.”

“Did it do any damage?” Amadeus asked as he motioned to the bartender to bring another dish of complimentary peanuts.

“It landed on top of a group of Republican supporters and fans of the Game of Thrones TV show who were holding placards outside the White House calling on Donald Trump to declare a national emergency and sign an Executive Order ordering HBO to hire new writers and re-do the whole 8th and last season of Game of Thrones all over again since they didn’t like how the series ended.”

“I wonder what those Game of Thrones fans who are registered Democrats were doing at the time?” Angelique Dumont mused aloud.

“They were demonstrating outside Congress calling on Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer to call a Congressional inquiry into whether or not there was Russian collusion into HBO laying a very early pre-Thanksgiving turkey otherwise known as the final season of Game of Thrones,” Renfield pointed out.

“Did anything happen to the Democrat fans of Game of Thrones seeing as how a Black Dragon landed on top of Republican Game of Thrones fans?” Amadeus inquired.

“They were crushed by a flying marijuana plant that landed on top of them,” Renfield answered, “The plant was developed by Canada’s National Research Council in Ottawa on orders of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. The plant was supposed to be flying to Paris where Trudeau is currently attending a world leaders’ summit on technology but being quite high, the marijuana plant lost all sense of direction and ended up in Washington DC instead.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 16th
2019.

Permalink 12 Comments

Reblog of Orson Welles and The Unusual Production of MacBeth

March 31, 2019 at 9:11 pm (Entertainment, Horror, Literature, Movies, Plays, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

A vampire novel chapter and blog post I wrote 4 years ago today.

Dracul Van Helsing

Orson Welles and The Unusual Production of MacBeth

It was March 1945.

And talented director and actor of stage, radio and film the great Orson Welles was directing a short scene from William Shakespeare’s MacBeth for an upcoming charity event.

Welles (in front of the stage): All right. Enter the three witches.

(Thunder and lightning. Enter three witches)

First Witch (lowering “her” cowl to reveal the face of Adolf Hitler- a fact which startles Orson Welles):

When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?

Second Witch (lowering her “cowl” to reveal the face of Josef Stalin- a fact which also startles Orson Welles):

When the hurlyburly’s done,
When the battle’s lost and won.

Third Witch (lowers its cowl to reveal a face wearing a mask. It speaks in a very metallic sounding voice):

That will be ere the set of sun.

(On the wall at the…

View original post 172 more words

Permalink Leave a Comment

The Debutante’s Ball 1941: A Poem

March 18, 2019 at 10:30 pm (Comedy, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, Mystery, Poetry, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )


Marissa Van Horne, Debutante

“You’re here to escort me to the ball, Mr. Albion?”
The laughing smiling face of the beautiful young woman
looked at me with merriment and amusement in her sparkling eyes
which glimmered like stars above her sunshine golden gown,
“A famed Los Angeles private eye reduced to a chaperone?”

I, Carson Cody Albion, stopped in my tracks
when I heard this statement
I was a private eye
But I had never thought of myself as famed.

“Don’t be so modest,” Marissa remarked with a wry smile as if she could read my mind, “of course you are!”
“The ball starts at 8 PM?” I queried looking at my watch.
“Yes, but drinks are served starting at 7,” she laughed.
“I don’t think your parents hired me to watch you get inebriated before the ball,” I said as I held open the arms of her fur coat
so she could finish her fashion ensemble for the evening.

Only the LA glitterati rich would wear fur coats
on a hot Los Angeles evening
But as the hired help, what did I know?

“No,” she slid her arms through the coat, “my parents hired you to keep me away from Lev Tomi.”

That was true.
They had.
Titus Van Horne was an influential newspaper editor in the city.
He seemed to know everything about everyone in the state of California
A West Coast J. Edgar Hoover as it were
Minus that DC bureaucrat’s penchant for wearing women’s clothing in private
Which was a good thing for the Van Horne family fortune
For the Paris dresses and gowns that Mrs. Van Horne and daughter Marissa wore
were already keeping the Bank of Monte Carlo afloat
to say nothing of Hitler’s Reich
while the Vichy government were reduced to making money off mineral water
A third Van Horne (and a male one at that) adorning the best of Parisienne feminine apparel
would definitely have put the Van Horne family fortune in the red
like Alger Hiss in the U.S. State Department

Van Horne knew all about Orson Welles’ private life
He had to
For the Boy Wonder of New York radio and theatre
was making a movie based on the life of Van Horne’s boss

But Van Horne knew nothing whatsoever about Lev Tomi
This older man that young Marissa had started seeing at the start of this year
Marissa just claimed that she was taking Russian language lessons from him
Nothing like a LA society girl with a hankering to visit the Soviet Union and see Josef Stalin’s paradise for herself
The movie The Grapes of Wrath had recently been shown in Moscow
Uncle Joe had hoped that this would cause outrage among Moscow’s workers
when they saw how the poor in America were treated
It caused outrage all right
but not in the way that Uncle Joe had hoped
Moscow workers had become outraged that the poor in America actually owned their own trucks
Viewings of the movie soon became obsolete in the USSR
Joining the obsolescence of most personally owned motor vehicles among the common people there

When Marissa came home and told her parents
that she had asked Lev Tomi to be her date
to the LA society’s debutante ball
Titus Van Horne finally put his foot down
causing him to be rushed to LA General Hospital
to get his now even deeper ingrown toe nail surgically removed

After a week of recuperation, Titus Van Horne and his wife Olivia came to see me
And asked me to be Marissa’s escort to the debutante’s ball
Since I had nothing pressing on me at the moment
Save some old white shirts that needed to be steampressed at the neighbourhood’s Chinese laundry
I took the case.


Olivia and Titus Van Horne asked Carson Cody Albion Private Eye to be their daughter Marissa’s escort to the LA society elite debutante’s ball

As I got into the back of the limousine with Marissa
I instructed the chauffeur to drive us to Ming Lo’s Blue Lantern Restaurant
I figured imbibing Marissa with a light Chinese dinner at 7
would far be safer than imbibing her with drinks prior to the ball

I turned out to be wrong on that
It must have been the spicy chop suey
that was the Blue Lantern special
It turned Marissa into a tigress in heat
And I was explorer Frank Buck
Bringing her back alive

It was now 11 PM
I had failed to present Miss Van Horne to the debutante’s ball by some 3 hours
Her beautiful gold dress lying on the seat of the booth along with her nylons and spiked stilettos
And all my clothes lying on the floor underneath the table
Implied a very unusual Russian language lesson was going on
when coincidentally Mr. and Mrs. Van Horne entered the restaurant right at 11 PM

I felt no inclination to open my fortune cookie which the waiter just brought
If it was accurate, I knew well what it would say
You can send me my cheque in the mail for my services
I hastily said to Mr. Van Horne before heading out into the night
like a stallion galloping out into the Santa Ana winds

I had no idea who this Lev Tomi fellow was
But I think I may have just saved his life
Too bad, I can’t say the same for my own.

-Carson Cody Albion Private Eye

-A Carson Cody Albion
Private Eye poem
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday March 18th
2018

Permalink 13 Comments

The Raven Rapper Sings A Rap Song

March 10, 2019 at 10:55 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, Music, News, Poetry, Politics, Television, Vampire novel, Video) (, , , , , , , )

Simon Cowell (a judge on the TV shows America’s Got Talent and Britain’s Got Talent) was having a dream whereby he was appearing as a guest judge on the Canadian TV talent show Canada’s Got Cannabis.

The premise of the program was the judges judged the talent after they had smoked a whole bunch of pot.

Simon’s fellow judges for the show were Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and the ET gray Gali-Gula (an ET gray from the planet Nibiru who was possessed by the spirit of the ancient earthling Roman Emperor Caligula).

The cactus plant juggling penguin who was covered in bandaids made Justin think sadly of his own marijuana smoking desert cactus plant Strawberry Fields Forever who was being held prisoner at a Chinese Communist re-education camp for transgendered Uighurs in the Xinjiang region of eastern China.

As the penguin was being carried off stage on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance, Justin Trudeau received a text message on his Huawei smart phone that hundreds of thousands of jobs were being lost in the Canadian province of Alberta.

“Who cares?” Justin yawned and shrugged and helped himself to some more cannabis cookies.

Justin had fond memories from his childhood of his father Pierre Elliott giving Albertans the raised middle finger from the window of a train as they rode through Banff National Park.

The next act was a giant gorilla who would be climbing up Toronto’s CN Tower to rescue a screaming Kim Kardashian who was at the top.

He would be doing this as he was buzzed by drones resembling World War I biplanes and triplanes.

As the body of the late Kong was loaded into a hearse big enough to fit him, Justin received a text message on his Huawei that thousands of jobs might be lost in the Canadian province of Quebec.

“Oh shit, I gotta go,” Justin cried and ran out the auditorium, “Maybe I can pressure Jody Wilson-Raybould to do something. Oh shit, she’s resigned from the cabinet.”

The next act appeared on stage as the remaining Simon Cowell and Gali-Gula smoked their tokes.

“And so, what’s your story?” Simon asked the next act as he hummed the tune to the song I Dreamed A Dream from the musical Les Miserables.

“Well,” a giant raven appeared on stage, “I’m a raven and I’m immortal and I’m the same raven who once sat on a bust of Pallas Athena in Edgar Allan Poe’s lodgings over a century and a half ago.”

“How positively dreary,” Cowell remarked as the show approached the midnight hour.

The raven broke into his rap song,

“Oh yes, it’s true that I’m a raven
you might think I’m rather craven
sitting atop Athena’s head
as if it were my own bed
even if I shout “Nevermore”
as I come rapping at your door
while you sing praises of lost Lenore
stop nodding your head weak and weary
stop crying with your eyes so bleary
don’t you know Lenore’s gone for good
That’s the saying in the hood
take your punishment like a man
and stop throwing kleenex in the can
Think of it as bleak December
stop trying to remember
let your mind be like a dying ember
cast out your thoughts of lost Lenore
while I find my way to the door
my parting words, Nevermore.

-A vampire novel chapter
and rap song
written by Christopher
Sunday March 10th
2019.


The Raven’s advice: Time to give up thoughts of Lenore

Permalink 18 Comments

Nice Work On The Trinity Case, Mr. Albion: A Poem

February 22, 2019 at 11:57 pm (Crime, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Film, Movies, Mystery, Poetry) (, , , )


“Nice work on the Trinity case, Mr. Albion.”

They came to Hollywood by the dozens
In search of fame and fortune
Positive they’d be the next goddess of the silver screen
Girls from the mid-west, girls from the northeast, girls from the south,
Girls from Canada
and girls from Mexico.

Such a girl was Trinity Esperanza
From Mexico City
19, she’d come to Hollywood with stars in her eyes
A week later
She had disappeared
A woman from another country
disappeared?
Who cares was the attitude here

Her disappearance wasn’t even reported in the press here
Just another foreigner who disappeared
Carson Cody Albion Private Eye would not have known about it
Unless the girl’s grandmother hadn’t shown up in his office

“Please find Trinity,” She begged
As she emptied her purse on the table
And with all the money sitting there
Albion looked down at the table
And counted the money in his head
$37.42

“Mrs. Esperanza,” he poured himself another glass of bourbon,
“How much money do you have in your bank account?”
” $37.42″, she answered.
Albion looked at her,
Drank the glass of bourbon
Lit himself a cigarette
And blew smoke at the ceiling
Where the fan quickly dispersed it to the 4 corners of his world-
his office.

“Put your money away,” he told Mrs. Esperanza, “this one’s on the house.”

Like all cases involving disappeared girls and Hollywood
The answer involved sex slaves and lecherous Hollywood producers
For what lay behind the red moviehouse theatre curtains
and the silver screen
was not silver
And definitely not gold

Images of dead Presidents on paper was the currency
And a lot of it
That was the language of Hollywood
Behind the scenes

Carson Cody Albion found Trinity
A prostitution ring that catered to those who lived behind the pearly gates of Beverly Hills
Paradise to those who owned the place
But Hell for some of those who worked there

Albion found Trinity
And after negotiating with the producer
Trinity was freed.
The price?
The real Maltese Falcon from that film a few years back.
Turned out the producer was a big fan of movies made by rival studios.

Albion’s burglary skills came in handy
and not even Sherlock Holmes could have solved the case
Basil Rathbone had other roles to play

Of course no one in LA seemed to care that a young Mexican girl was found
Save when Albion delivered Trinity to Mrs. Esperanza
One customer in a barber shop reflected the thinking
in general
They ought to build a wall to keep those people out
Albion looked at the man from the barber chair where he sat
“Thank God,” Albion thought, “FDR sits in the Oval Office and not this man”.

One day Albion was wandering on the set of the movie Cover Girl
When Rita Hayworth of all people addressed him,

“Nice work on the Trinity case, Mr. Albion.”
So spoke the woman whose real name was Margarita Carmen Cansino.

And on this night
Carson Cody Albion sat in a bar
He decided to order a glass of wine for a change
Maybe it was time he showed a little class as an ex-girlfriend once said to him
“Class? What is it?” Albion asked himself as he lit a cigarette

He reached into his coat pocket to pay the bill
“Put your money away,” Julio the bartender said, “this one’s on the house.”

-A Private Eye Poem
written by Christopher
Friday February 22nd
2019.

Permalink 13 Comments

Wilkie The Cat Plays Abraham Lincoln On Broadway: A Poem

February 18, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Arts, Celebrities, Comedy, Culture, Entertainment, Humour, Poetry, Satire, theatre, Theatre Arts) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Wilkie the feline thespian decided to celebrate Presidents’ Day 2019
By not drinking his own urine as proposed in AOC’s deal New Green
Rather he would play the role of Abraham Lincoln
and he did so after much heavy drinkin’.

Now Wilkie the Cat fancied himself the Orson Welles of Broadway
even though he was a bigger flop than a halibut caught in a codway
His proposal for a Presidents’ Day play
which drove theatregoers away
Was to play the role of Abraham Lincoln
with his catty whiskers, he’d be winkin’ and blinkin’
And his girlfriend would play Mary Todd
while the audience would play the part of Nod
which in their seats would be what they’d be doin’
As great theatre lovers underwent a serious screwin’

With encouragement from the ghost of that junior Ed Wood
Wilkie would put on the best show he could
which meant that turkey from outer space Plan 9
would when compared with Wilkie’s Lincoln look like Casablanca sublime

Wilkie fancied a play within a play like weeping over Hecuba within Hamlet
or Pyramus and Thisbe looking for rooms to let
all for the benefit of Midsummer’s wet dream
As Puck causes mortal aspirations to come apart at the seam

Wilkie’s idea was to have John Wilkes Booth as an actor on stage
appearing in Our American Cousin an 1865 theatrical rage
and have Booth shoot Lincoln from the stage rather than the Presidential Box
And allow John Wilkes Booth time to wipe the blood off his socks

Needless to say the idea sounded so much better over 10 bottles of gin
as Wilkie regaled the cast with his own peculiar historical spin
taking dramatic license to the seeming level of a mortal sin
Which it was pre-Vatican II
As Fishy Fridays
gave way to beef stew.

Sean Connery would play Our American Cousin
His line, “Miss Moneypenny, my head is abuzzin’
I have swiped the Army’s budget for the building of a wall
Because doing so I must admit makes me feel rather tall
As wearing this wee tartan kilt has me in its thrall
And the blasted neighbours won’t pay for this fine looking wall
Can you imagine their sheer arrogance and gall
And Congress won’t let me shut down government until way next fall
so I’m forced to declare an emergency even though there’s none at all.”

And Johnny Depp playing the fairy godmother of walls would appear in pink tights
giving LGBTQ members of the audience severe nocturnal frights
As Depp waves his magic wand, lo and behold
From one of his mix matched socks, a gun he does unfold
For the fairy godmother of walls is John Wilkes Booth
his night day job of exchanging nickels for a tooth
the Shakespearian actor did kindly forsooth

But Wilkie as Lincoln was eating a tuna fish sandwich
And Baphomet in the next booth was eating roast ostrich
And as William Shatner appeared as Captain James Kirk
It turned out both patrons’ food allergies were at work
With the force of a mid-Atlantic gale breeze
Wilkie and Baphomet let out a ferocious sneeze
And the wall came a tumblin’ down
right on the Statue of Liberty’s crown.

The play is over
The day is done
And Wilkie from his creditors
is now on the run.

-A Wilkie The Cat poem
written by Christopher
Monday February 18th
2019.


Theatre goers smiling because they haven’t yet seen Wilkie The Cat’s Broadway play about Abraham Lincoln.

Permalink 2 Comments

Cardi B. and The Time Traveller: A Poem

February 7, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, History, International Intrigue, Music, music videos, Mystery, Mythology, News, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )


Singer Cardi B. flees Lancaster Hall in England in 1888 leaving behind a giant sized shoe.

“So you really expect me to believe you’re a time traveller from the year 2019?” Consulting detective Sherlock Holmes asked somewhat skeptically.

“Whether you believe it or not, it is true,” replied Dracul Van Helsing who had recently seen Achilles slay his enemy in a manner most Hectorly.

“I have worked on stranger cases,” Holmes admitted.

He looked at Dracul wondering if he should have him committed.

“And what do you mean by a hip hop singer?” Holmes looked as though he’d been through the ringer.

“Do not worry about musical terms from the future,” said Dracul, “rather worry about Cardi B. whom Vampiress Lilith wants to goose her.”

“May I ask why?” Holmes looked up at the dark sky.

“It has to do with Solomon and the Queen of Sheba,” Dracul stated in the midst of an atmospheric upheava.

Holmes looked confused, the coachman looked bemused and the estate cat looked amused.

“It has to do with Cardi B.’s real name,” Dracul played with an open window pane.

“Which is,” Van Helsing went on, “Belcalls Almanzar. Watch out for that falling star…

Holmes quickly jumped out of the way.

And the star landed in some hay.

Much to a hungry horse’s dismay.

His dinner went up in a blaze of smoke.

All that’s left- a solitary artichoke.

The horse ate the artichoke as Dracul continued his story,

“Lilith’s dealings with Solomon- somewhat gory…”

“But what does this have to do with Cardi B.?” Holmes lit his pipe under a tree.

“Her real name,” a soft breeze came, “Belcalls refers to the Queen of Sheba and Almanzar means watchtower. Watch that flower..”

Holmes avoided stepping on the Lancaster Hall estate’s red rose as the cat pranced about on tippy toes.

“So Lilith thinks Cardi B. is the watchtower of the Queen of Sheba,” Dracul went on, “so vampiress wreaks vengeance on Solomon by killing this singing diva.”

A scream went through the air as the terror that flies by night lost her shoes while Sherlock looked in the garden for more clues.

Cardi ran off after the terror by night while Lilith’s shoe glittered in the lamplight.

The next day, Cardi rode a white horse into the countryside

where horse and rider gave each other quite the ride.

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 7th
2019.

Permalink Leave a Comment

Reblog of Hey Little Groundhog: A Poem

February 3, 2019 at 11:19 pm (Celebrities, Entertainment, Folklore, Nature, Poetry) (, , )

Here’s a poem I wrote 3 years ago:

Dracul Van Helsing

Hey Little Groundhog: A Poem

Hey little groundhog, rise up from your sleep
lift your head from the hole and give us all a peep
Hey little groundhog, yes I’m calling you
we all want to know, is this winter through?
On that Candlemas morning, we’ll be watching you
you’re the prognosticator we’ll be listening to
Will it be 6 weeks?
Or early bathing streaks?
We’ll keep our eyes on you
and hope your shadow
isn’t coming out too.

-A poem written by Christopher
Monday February 1st 2016
In a personal message
To the groundhog
when he emerges
to see signs of his shadow
tomorrow February 2nd
Groundhog Day

View original post

Permalink 5 Comments

Pan Goatee Slays More Repulsive Ugly Women and Their Moronic Low IQ Boyfriends

December 18, 2018 at 11:56 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Vampire novel) (, , )

Pan Goatee had spent the night tracking down people who leave their chewed chewing gum on seats of transit trains and transit buses.

Goatee had worn a nice pair of pants to a Christmas dinner put on for a local charity last night.

The charity organizers were obviously big on aesthetics (no doubt they had read the works of Oscar Wilde and Friedrich Nietzsche on the subject) because in addition to having the tables and the room beautifully decorated, the vast majority of women at the event were beautiful (a major accomplishment in a city where the vast majority of women were quite mind numbingly ugly- the city where the person who coined the phrase “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” when he visited the place immediately gouged out both his eyes with the paintbrush Vincent Van Gogh held in his hands when he cut his ear off).

Unfortunately for Pan Goatee, when he rode the train back to the closest train station to his home bus route, he must have sat on a seat where some total moron (the sort of person who would probably be one of the few to land a permanently employed position in the Trump White House) had placed a ton sized wad of chewing gum on the seat which stuck to Goatee’s pants and thoroughly ruined thrm.

The nice set of pants had been given to him as a gift for his birthday a few weeks earlier and now thanks to some total moron with the manners of an orc born at the bottom of a prairie farm outhouse, those pants were thoroughly ruined and could not be saved.

Goatee went down to the Transit Security Video Observation Room and caught the offending perpetrator on tape.

Goatee showed the tape to a 3-headed dog (who was possessed by the ghost of the Hound of the Baskervilles and two demons) who was currently visiting Canada from England.

The 3-headed dog tracked the boorish moron down to his home and Goatee had spent the night cutting up the bad mannered outhouse bottom dwelling orc into tiny pieces all the while making sure that he was alive the entire time to enjoy the sensation of his total bodily dismemberment.

Sadly for the orc, he didn’t really enjoy the sensation of his total bodily dismemberment but then Goatee didn’t really give a fuck.

And considering the aesthetically facially challenged appearance of most of the women in this town, not giving a fuck was something Goatee was definitely used to.

When all that was left of the ill-mannered outhouse bottom dwelling orc was his still living and pain sensation feeling head, Goatee put the head in a metallic vise loaded with chewed chewing gum and quite literally put the squeeze on it.

He recorded the screams of the orc as his head was squeezed to death in the chewed chewing gum filled vise.

He then text messaged the screams to a producer of death heavy metal band music as a demo.

3 minutes later, the death heavy metal music producer text messaged Goatee right back saying that it was the greatest musical sound that he had ever heard in his life and he wanted to sign the band right away.

Goatee replied that the song would have to be a one hit wonder like some early ’80s (or was it late ’70s) female singer who used only her first name and sang about how “I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me” and then went into the obscurity she so richly deserved after releasing the song.

Goatee thought the singer’s single one hit wonder name might have been Charlene and his mind’s eye could picture Olivia de Havilland singing to Bette Davis, “Hush, hush, sour Charlene, I’ll hate your song until the day you die…”

“Hush, hush, sour Charlene…”

When the producer asked why the song would have to be a one hit wonder on the part of the death heavy metal band, Goatee replied that it was because the band’s lead singer and sole instrumentalist was now dead and resting in pieces.

. . .

Goatee decided to catch the bus to the McDonalds at the nearby shopping center rather than walk as he had twisted his ankle earlier in the day.

Usually the bus going west at this time of evening wasn’t crowded.

But as the bad luck poor Pan Goatee had been having ever since the late ungreat El Stupido had put bubble gum on transit train seats ruining his dress pants, some stupid inconsiderate ugly woman would naturally be riding the bus at this time along with her two low IQ boyfriends.

“Great god of beauty and aesthetics Apollo,” Pan Goatee moaned aloud, “Two of them. Fauning and fondling her and her wish is their every command. Well, Donald Trump is probably grateful for the existence of IQ challenged Calgary white males because they make him look like Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, Rembrandt, Beethoven, Shakespeare and Dostoevsky all rolled into one by comparison.”

Pan Goatee went up and beheaded the obnoxious trio before they ruined anyone else of the joy of the Christmas season.

When he got off the bus, another ugly white woman and her low IQ white boyfriend were crossing the street.

Goatee then beheaded the scourge of humanity couple but not before the damage had already been done.

Some drivers blinded by the sight or overtaken by the paroxymsm of massive vomiting and regurgitation had already smashed their vehicles into light poles.

Goatee entered the McDonald’s and after buying himself a Coke went and sat down.

Goatee turned to his left where he was once again sickened by the sight of a fat ugly white blimp and her stupid low IQ white boyfriend.

Contrast that with the two beautiful African Muslim women who were sitting there at another table in their elegant stylish looking long skirts as opposed to the baggy trousers and great grandma style moo-moos the fat ugly blimps of the city wore.

Pan Goatee was reminded of the words that Canada’s greatest research librarian and historical archivist Jack Morrow had spoken many years ago, “Thank God for liberalized immigration laws.”

Goatee uttered a quick “Amen” and then crossed himself with the Sign of the Cross before going over and beheading the fat ugly blimp and her low IQ boyfriend.

“To Hell with the both of you,” Goatee shouted.

A homeless man outside the McDonalds who was using a copy of Pope Francis’ most recent statement against capital punishment as a roll of toilet paper to wipe his crappy ass smiled approvingly and gave the thumbs up.

. . .

As Goatee then walked up to the grocery store some blocks away, he reflected on a statement that Rush Limbaugh had made some years ago,

“In North America,” Limbaugh had astutely observed, “Feminism is a movement designed to help ugly physically unattractive women enter the mainstream of society.”

And in the City of Calgary, North American feminism had triumphed to “Infinity and beyond” as Buzz Lightyear might put it before puking his guts out.

A male supporter of feminism at the start of the early 20th Century who had visited Calgary in the year 2018 and then returned to his own time would have said, “I have seen the future and it is a NIGHTMARE.”

While at the grocery store, Goatee noticed a fat ugly blimp who was busy buying 20 bags of groceries.

“I imagine all that food would probably serve as appetizers before your main course,” Goatee remarked before beheading her.

. . .

Meanwhile over in Sweden outside a Swedish church lay the dismembered bodies of two more of Goatee’s victims – the bodies of ghost rider Muerte Noir and his horse Equus Beelzebar who had made the mistake of trying to kill a beautiful woman who was playing the role of Santa Lucia in a Santa Lucia Night church service this past December 13th 2018.


Muerte Noir and Equus Beelzebar as they looked in life.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday December 18th
2018.

Permalink 16 Comments

Next page »