Dracul and Morgana, Renfield and Demi Lovato
Dracul and Morgana, Renfield and Demi Lovato
The Welsh vampiress Morgana (British Member of Parliament for the constituency of Newbridge in Wales) was walking through Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire.
The reason being that she heard the Celtic horned stag god Cernunnos used Sherwood Forest for target 🎯 practice for his archery 🏹 skills firing his arrow and crossbow at deer 🦌 hunters and various animal poachers.
She had always wanted to meet this famous Celtic god.
Thanks to a special sunblock invented for her by Set Enterprises’ chief scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher, she was now able to walk around in the daylight without being quite literally fried to a crisp.
Somewhat tired from walking, Morgana sat down on an old leaf 🍃 clustered tree stump:
Dracul Van Helsing (also walking through the forest) spotted her and took note of what she was wearing.
“Hello, Morgana,” he smiled, “how are you?”.
“Dracul,” Morgana flashed him a warm smile and raised the hem of her already short skirt, “what are you doing here?”.
“I’m walking through Sherwood Forest contemplating that this was the spot where Robin Hood used to make out with Maid Marian,” Dracul stated.
Morgana lay back on the soft clustered leaves 🍃 and held out her arms to embrace Dracul, “And should I be your Marian to your Robin?”.
Dracul mounted her, “We’ll show Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland how it was done.”
As Dracul and Morgana made out in Sherwood Forest in an orgiastic celebration of May Day (known as the Festival of Beltane on the old Celtic calendar), a voyeuristically inclined photographer tried to take shots of the Welsh MP and the Canadian vampire hunter making out.
He found himself being shot himself- by an arrow fired from the crossbow of Cernunnos.
The voyeur paparazzi was killed instantly.
“I’ll probably be dying for a cigarette several hours from now,” Morgana moaned in ecstasy.
. . .
Donald Trump held his hand under his suit vest in Napoleonic fashion and remarked to his valet Lexington “I can’t believe there are some psychiatrists out there who are starting to question my sanity.”
“It definitely boggles the mind, sir,” Lexington admitted, “I know it certainly boggles mine.”
“On the positive side,” Trump took off all his clothes leaving on only a pair of leopard skin briefs and proceeding to swing on the branch of an artificial African jungle tree in the Oval Office, “South Korean President Moon Jae-in thinks I deserve the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“And are psychiatrists starting to question Moon Jae-in’s sanity?” Lexington asked.
“I don’t know,” Trump shrugged while still swinging, “And what about you, Lexington? Do YOU think I deserve the Nobel Peace Prize?”.
“Well, sir,” Lexington remarked, “Seeing as how you received the Stormy Daniels Piece Prize, perhaps it might be a good thing if you went after a more noble peace prize.”
. . .
Renfield R. Renfield was dreaming about singer Demi Lovato.
Before bedtime, he had watched the Demi Lovato and Luis Fonzi music video Echame La Culpa.
He had developed such a hard on after seeing Demi Lovato wearing a red mini dress and black silk fishnet pantyhose that he had to massage his erection down with a sledge hammer.
Little did he realize that this action would save his life.
A group of Japanese ninja assassins who had been hired by Russian President Vladimir Putin and Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan to assassinate the thorn in their side troublesome British MP watched the spectacle outside Renfield’s bedroom window.
They were so taken aback 😮 by the sight of a man hitting his most sensitive private part that way that they turned and fled and quickly jumped over the high fence of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal London estate.
Meanwhile Renfield’s blanket took on the shape of a pole tent ⛺️ as the MP dreamed of Demi Lovato wearing that red mini dress and black silk fishnet pantyhose.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 1st
2018.
Reblog of An Evening At The Mermaid Art Exhibit
A vampire novel chapter I wrote over a year ago about an evening at the mermaid art exhibit which turned out to be as riotous as the Marx Brothers’ night at the opera:
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin the curator of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery announced to those gathered at the Mermaid Art Exhibit’s opening night, “regrettably the artist Miss Charmaine Olivia will not be able to be with us this evening…”
The crowd moaned and groaned their disappointment.
“Yes,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin sighed in sympathy, “Miss Olivia ate some rather bad tuna fish sandwiches earlier this evening that she had thought had come from the Exhibit caterers but they turned out to have been brought in by a mysterious third party…”
“So she’s the one who ate all my tuna fish sandwiches that I had brought with me tonight,” Renfield seethed to Amadeus.
“Then you might have been the one who came down with food poisoning,” Amadeus pointed out.
“I guess every cloud has a silver lining,” Renfield grinned.
A dark cloud appeared over the gallery and an American silver…
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Rusalka and the Titanic
An excellent, original, unique and totally different short story about the sinking of that great and mighty “unsinkable” ship The Titanic.
I boarded the ship at Southampton, on England’s southern coast, a city they called Gateway to the World. It was appropriately named. New worlds would indeed open to those that dared sail on the Titanic’s maiden voyage.
Southampton was seafaring town of busy docks, commerce and fishermen who, given half the chance may have recognized me for what I was. Yet I went ably and quietly about my business, our custom being to operate in stealth. My disguise was well put together, a simple blue dress, lace up boots and one bag of luggage that contained only my combs, mirrors, candles and an ancient grimoire. For all the crew and passengers knew, I could have been any normal woman, a widow perhaps, traveling alone with a full purse and a certain destination.
My nature necessitated a room in first class, where I could have daily baths in the salt…
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General Custer’s Death and White Hawk’s Vision: A Poem
General Custer’s Death and White Hawk’s Vision: A Poem
White Hawk- Medicine Man of the Lakota Sioux Nation
He was there at Little Big Horn
The Battle of the Greasy Grass
He was there the day Custer died
The day Custer died for the sins
of corporate mining ⛏ interests
in the West
and white settler expansion
June 25th 1876
The day Custer entered Eternity
The day Custer went to the Hell
that does not exist
(according to a 21st Century Pope)
White Hawk watched Custer die
He heard the last words on Custer’s lips
“The White Buffalo is coming”
And then the eyes went blank
and stared into the Heavens
where his soul did not ascend
A year later outside his tepee
on a summer evening
as he smoked the sacred pipe
White Hawk had a vision
A vision of a White Buffalo
He spoke the vision to the people
of his camp
“The one who rides the White Buffalo
will live until the return of the Son
of the Great Spirit”
The outlaw Belvedere heard the statement
Standing alongside him was White Hawk’s lovely and beautiful granddaughter of twenty years
the Lakota Sioux Princess Tanaka
“Who do you suppose will eventually ride the White Buffalo?”
Tanaka asked Belvedere.
“I do not know,” Belvedere shrugged,
“but I guess they’ll live
until the return of the Great Spirit’s Son.”
-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday April 10th
2018.
Encore of Cinderella: A Poem
Here’s a poem I wrote 3 years ago today:
Cinderella: A Poem
Cloudy gray skies
across the land lies
in truth for today
and in metaphor sad to say
it seems that magic is gone from the world
technology has spread unfurled
the sense of wonder has been lost
but we’re too busy to see the cost
dashing along the street
busy hands and busy feet
phones at our fingertips
speakers have replaced lips
“Love” and “courage” are only words
a flight of fancy like passing birds.
A unicorn- what is that?
Talk of fairies- we say scat!
For we’re all grown up you see
don’t talk to us as if we’re only 3.
That age is past!
Magic wands- get out fast!
Carriages don’t grow from pumpkins
you mistake us for country bumpkins.
Enchanted balls and glass slippers
we talk like drunken skippers
whose ships have crashed on the rocks
leaving us to haunt these docks.
And so…
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The Feast of The Beast 2018
The Feast of The Beast 2018
Desiree was 16 years old.
She obviously did not pay much attention to current Hollywood news.
Because while walking the Hollywood Walk of Fame, a limousine pulled up.
The limousine’s back window rolled down and an older man- a well known Hollywood actor- invited her into the limo for a ride.
If she knew her Hollywood news, she’d have realized that Hollywood was crawling with a lot of perverts.
Later Desiree in her blue mini dress found herself tied to a sacrificial altar beneath a statue of the Baphomet inside the Hollywood actor’s mansion.
“What are you doing?” Desiree shouted.
“I’m sacrificing you to Baphomet,” the actor replied and lowered his knife and slit her throat and did just that.
. . .
“Lexington,” Donald Trump called for his English butler and valet.
“What is it, sir?” Lexington asked.
“A charcoal burnt human hand just crawled across the floor by itself,” Trump said.
“No need to worry, sir,” Lexington went to the closet, “I’ll use a Swiffer Wet Jet to wash the floor.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Trump reflected, “and find out whose hand it is. I’m going to fire that person in a tweet.”
. . .
Two scientists were conducting an evening test at the CERN Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, Switzerland.
One scientist remarked to the other, “That seems to be a very realistic looking statue of Shiva the Transformer by the door.”
“Yes, it is,” the other scientist agreed.
Suddenly there was an explosion 💥 from the tunnel tube.
A huge hole opened up and out walked the multi armed goddess Kali.
She went up and kissed the statue of Shiva.
“I think,” said the scientist to his fellow researcher, “the next time they decide to erect the statue of a god on Collider grounds, they better hire a sculptor who specializes in a more abstract form of sculpture.”
. . .
Prince Vlad Dracula, the Byzantine Vampiress Theodora (who was the Byzantine Empress Theodora the wife of the Emperor Justinian in her mortal life) and the Israeli Mossad agent the Controller of The Golem had just captured a group of Turkish officers who were leading Turkish troops against their allies the Kurds.
“I think we should hand these Turkish officers over to British MP Renfield R. Renfield for interrogation,” said Dracula.
“I agree,” Theodora started wiping the blood off her gown with a towel soaked in Tide laundry detergent.
“Renfield can be quite ruthless in his interrogations,” noted the Controller of The Golem.
Theodora played on her iPhone a recent speech given by Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan in which he called on the 57 member state Organization of The Islamic Conference to unite as one army and destroy the State of Israel 🇮🇱.
“Hand them over to Renfield,” the Controller agreed.
. . .
Russian President Vladimir Putin was out deer 🦌 hunting on a country estate just north of Moscow.
Putin stumbled across what he thought was a stag with a very impressive set of antlers.
And in one way it was.
For the stag was actually Cernunnos the horned Celtic god of animals and the underworld.
Cernunnos stood up on its hind legs and with a crossbow it carried in its forearms it fired an arrow which moved with rapid lightning speed.
The arrow struck Putin in the forehead and the Russian leader fell to the ground.
Later at the nearby dacha where Putin was taken, the ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith was awakened and informed what happened.
“A stag with a rapid firing crossbow did this, you say?” She asked one of Putin’s fellow hunters who nodded, “That was no ordinary stag. That was Cernunnos the horned god of the Celtic pantheon. The arrow was poison tipped and the poison is now in Putin’s bloodstream. I must suck all the blood out and replace it with my own in order for him to live.”
“But how will you live then?” Asked the bodyguard.
“Thank you for your sacrifice for your Motherland and your leader,” Lilith bit him on the neck and drained all his blood which she then spit out and put in a large glass container and put in the freezer for safekeeping.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 23rd
2018.
Dashwood Forrest and Mulligan The Irish Zombie On O’ Connell Street In Dublin
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.
Cleopatra and The Serpent At Tara On Saint Patrick’s Day
Cleopatra and The Serpent At Tara On Saint Patrick’s Day
At a Buddhist temple in London, one of the monks awoke and went into the meditation room to pray.
He was shocked to discover that the giant statue of the Future Buddha To Come had been stolen.
He immediately went and told one of his fellow monks, “The statue of the Maitreya has been stolen.”
“How,” his brother monk asked, “could such a large statue have been stolen?”.
. . .
Inside a cave deep in the Himalayas on the Nepal-Tibet border, the sleeping giant golden cobra awakened.
He then left his cave and astral projected himself to Egypt.
But the cobra had such a highly developed mind (that physicists at their peril could only dream of) that he was able to take his physical form body to Egypt with him along with his astral body.
. . .
The golden cobra was in the burial chamber of the tomb of Queen Cleopatra VII Philopator of Egypt.
His eyes projected a golden ray that caused the lid of the Queen’s sarcophagus to raise.
He then leaned over the sarcophagus and peered in looking at the royal mummy.
Once again its eye emitted a golden ray that disintegrated the bandages into oblivion.
Its other eye then emitted another golden ray that caused flesh to form on the skeleton.
With both its eyes, it then cast a golden ray as bright as the light of the sun on Cleopatra’s body.
And the Queen returned to life in all her regal beauty and splendour.
“I am naked,” the Queen said as she looked down.
“Does your beauty really need to be covered with clothes?” The cobra asked in a voice as eloquent as that of Sir Laurence Olivier playing Hamlet.
“But I am a Queen,” Cleopatra protested, “Commoners mustn’t see me naked.”
. . .
The cobra brought the Queen’s handmaidens back to life and using royal gold buried with her, Cleopatra and her six handmaidens were astral projected by the cobra’s tongue to the fashion district of Paris France 🇫🇷 where they purchased neo-Classical Egyptian gowns from Christian Dior.
The seven Egyptian women left the salon fashion house dressed in their gowns while a group of recently resurrected male Egyptian slaves followed behind carrying a vast array of shopping bags.
“Cléopâtre,” the chauffeur of French President Emmanuel Macron exclaimed as he drove the President’s limo into a light post upon seeing the Egyptian queen.
The French President, who was in the backseat reading a National Geographic article on cougars, was unhurt.
. . .
The cobra astral projected himself along with his physical form to Ireland.
He went to the grounds of Down Cathedral in Downpatrick, County Down, Province of Armagh, Northern Ireland.
He stood by the stone that was reputed to be the burial marker for the reputed burial place of Saint Patrick.
The cobra hissed and spat on Saint Patrick’s grave.
It hissed, “Thou fool. Thy triumph was short lived. Only 16 centuries. And now the serpents have returned to Ireland.”
An old Englishman and his wife walked by observing this spectacle.
Said Cecil to his wife Marianne, “Well if snakes are going to talk, glad to see they’re talking in good old King James Bible English.”
. . .
The Golden Cobra stood on the Hill of Tara the seat of the High Kings of Ireland.
It stood atop the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny) on this County Meath landmark.
The snake then drank a glass of Kilkenny Irish Cream Ale that was handed to him by Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟♂️ who was in a hypnotic state.
Mulligan’s boss the London based art curator and Oscar Wilde admirer Dashwood Forrest was on the nearby hill of Rath Maeve looking for Mulligan.
The goddess Maeve meanwhile joined the cobra atop the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny) and a Saskatchewan Anglican priest who was also a clergyman in the Church of the Reformed Druids stood on a pair of giant stilts held up by a pair of clowns and looking down on the cobra and the goddess Maeve symbolically married the pair.
The Saskatchewan Anglican priest then found himself the victim of a human sacrifice a minute later much to his personal dismay.
The Church of the Reformed Druids was possibly not as reformed as he would have liked.
The Irish Celtic goddess Brigid then arrived on the scene and crowned the golden cobra High King of Ireland.
“And now yonder, my High Queen doth approach,” the Cobra used his astral third eye to see the beautiful Cleopatra dressed in a magnificent gown and walking across the Irish Sea.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 17th
2018.
The Kim Yo-jong Van Helsing Encounter
The Kim Yo-jong Van Helsing Encounter
Peter Whitstable the man they called the Fox Mulder of Interpol was meeting Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing in a popular London Fish N’ Chips shop called Cockney Kids Fish N’ Chips.
Van Helsing had just returned from Wales 🏴 where he had spent the entire week making out with Lepardia Marango who was the South African government’s Cultural Attaché in London.
Whitstable was still trying to recover from the shocking and totally unexpected news that North Korea’s Kim Jong-un had invited Donald Trump to meet with him and Trump had accepted.
Whitstable was convinced that there was something more at work here than just the diplomatic efforts of South Korea’s President Moon Jae-in.
“Dracul,” Whitstable wanted to know, “was there something more to your encounter with Kim Yo-jong than just finding out if she was a kumiho (a nine-tailed fox from Korean folklore and mythology who’s over a thousand years old and has the ability to shapeshift back and forth into a beautiful woman).”
“As Richard Dawkins is my witness,” Dracul answered, “there wasn’t.”
At that moment, the chef/owner of Cockney Kids Fish N’ Chips Shop immediately took the Today’s Special: All You Can Eat Fish and Chips sign off the counter as soon as he saw Amadeus Emanon walk through the door of the restaurant.
…
French President Emmanuel Macron was reading a report compiled by French Intelligence on whether the government of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad had been using chemical weapons against civilians in the Eastern Ghouta suburb.
He turned white when reading the report.
He immediately got on the phone ☎️ to U.S. President Donald Trump.
Meanwhile in the Oval Office, Donald Trump was reading an NSA (National Security Agency) report that was turning his orangish reddish toupee white.
The NSA was currently monitoring a blogger who ostensibly was writing a science-fiction novel on-line but DARPA was convinced that there was something more to it.
“Oh my Divine Self,” Trump exclaimed to an aide, “There may be the possibility that an illegal Japanese alien in this country is actually the Greek Gorgon Medusa in disguise.”
…
Meanwhile in his parliamentary office in Westminster, British MP Renfield R. Renfield was telling the ghost of Sir Winston Churchill over brandy, “I, an Opposition MP with only 2 seats for my Party in Parliament, have been invited by the Home Secretary Amber Rudd to a meeting of the government’s emergency committee Cobra tomorrow to discuss the nerve agent attacks on former Russian spy Sergei Skripal and his daughter Yulia Skripal.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Renfield,” Churchill raised his glass, “You appear to have arrived.”
…
Meanwhile back in his London apartment, Dracul Van Helsing received a phone call from Kim Yo-jong the younger sister of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un.
“Dracul,” she said breathlessly, “Thank you for the gift. Wherever did you find an ancient Korean edition of the Kama Sutra?”.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 9th
2018.
Diablotron: A Poem
March 27, 2018 at 9:13 pm (Commentary, Culture, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Horror, Mythology, Nature, News, Poetry, Religion, Science-Fiction, Technology, The Supernatural) (Astara, Diablotron, narrative poem, poem)
Diablotron: A Poem
Cabin in the woods
trees and nature surround
Water springs and rivers flow nearby
Elves 🧝♀️ 🧝♂️ and fairies 🧚♀️ in the forest
Naiads (water nymphs) in the rivers, springs and waterfalls
Dryads (tree spirits) in the trees
Auditorium stage of a corporate techno giant
laboratories and machinery surround
Computers hum and robots move
Virtual reality in helmets and AI in cyborgs
Androids that look human
Humans becoming automatons
In the cabin the witch Astara in a long black dress
kneels in front of an altar
she holds a dagger
and waves a wand
and calls upon the Old Ones to return to earth
On the stage the scientist/salesman in a long white lab coat
waves to the audience
he holds a remote control
and pushes a button
and calls for New Gods
Transhuman and super-evolved
to arise
Astara burns roots and plants 🌱
and a dash of incense
Light flickers above the altar
a form appears
and then vanishes
Astara falls to the floor
The CEO/AI engineer directs stage lights
in the darkness
a form appears
a metallic robot
with a beating heart
and the presenter/host disappears
In the cabin
darkness
and an eerie silence
In the auditorium
spotlight on the cyborg
and applause and cheers from the audience
Astara looks up from the floor
at the vacant altar,
and whispers
in a quiet voice
Will you not come?
Will you not come?
The cyborg looks down from the stage
at the mesmerized audience
and booms
in synthetic metallic echo
DIABLOTRON is here
DIABLOTRON is here
Synthesis of the ancient and contemporary
The Old Ones are the New Ones
The New Ones are the Old Ones
After all the Ouroboros eats its own tail
And the Creator becomes the Destroyer
and the Destroyer becomes the Creator
-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday March 27th 2018.
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