Ghosts Galore
The entertainer in the pub sang, “I’m Henry VIII I am, I am, I just got married to the widow next door, she’s been married 7 times before and everyone was a Henry – Henr-ee so that makes me Henry the Eighth I am…”
Outside the pub waiting for him was the ghost of Henry VIII and the ghost of his executioner.
“I didn’t find your song very humourous,” Henry harrumphed, “off with his head.”
The executioner swung his ghostly axe and the axe passed harmlessly through the entertainer’s head.
“I see you don’t know how to manifest spiritual objects into a material reality,” Pan Goatee laughed as he astral projected by on his way to a replication of the Bohemian Grove ceremony on the banks of the Thames.
“Me? I thought it was you who was going to bring the statue of the giant owl,” former British Prime Minister Tony Blair said in exasperation to the current Archbishop of Canterbury.
. . .
The ghost of Josef Stalin stood in shock on Brazil’s Copacabana Beach at the massive crowd of young people cheering Pope Francis.
A booming voice seemed to echo out of the heavens, “Well Joe you stupid ass, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again after you kicked the bucket. Well now you know how many soldiers the Pope has.”
Stalin’s ghost looked up and saw a huge cloud in the shape of Sir Winston Churchill’s head smoking a giant cigar.
. . .
Adolf Hitler’s ghost sat in Rush Limbaugh’s huge dressing room and waited for the enormously stout talk show host to return.
The Fuhrer’s spirit tried to help himself to a piece of chicken from one of the 6 dozen buckets of KFC that sat on the dressing room table awaiting Mr. Limbaugh’s return.
But since he didn’t know how to project material objects into a spiritual reality, he couldn’t.
When Rush returned, the Fuhrer greeted him enthusiastically.
Speaking in a thick German accent and spraying his own moustache with his enthusiasm, the Fuhrer said, “I really love your show and agree with everything you say. The non-whites in this country are getting far too uppity in my opinion.”
. . .
The Greek vampire Hades used the remote to turn off his satellite TV and then spoke to one of his aides, “You know the reception is so bad underground. We really should think about switching over to Cable.”
“I’ll look into it, sir,” his aide replied.
“But still despite the blurry picture, it still gives me some idea of the chaos that exists above,” Hades helped himself to some pomegranate seeds, “we must see what we can do about getting Cerberus back to his guard dog position again so we can stop all these damned spirits from crossing back over the River Styx to the world above.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” his aide remarked.
“It’s all so frustrating,” Hades hit his forehead, “where’s Persephone when you really need her? All this masturbation starts to get on one’s nerves after a while.”
“You’re forgetting that it’s summer on Mount Olympus, sir,” his aide reminded him.
“Why doesn’t anyone remember to turn over the page on this damned calendar?” Hades snapped as he turned over the calendar several pages.
. . .
On one side of the River Styx, Chris de Burgh sang, “Don’t pay the ferryman until he gets you to the other side…”
On Mount Olympus, Vincent Price spoke as he watched Michael Jackson dance on the moon,
“Darkness falls across the land,
The midnight hour is close at hand…”
To be continued.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday July 26th 2013
Dracul Van Helsing 