Athena and Dashwood Forrest

July 5, 2019 at 11:27 pm (Folklore, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Athena and Dashwood Forrest 

“That bust does not do you justice, Athena,” London art gallery curator Dashwood Forrest remarked to the Greek goddess of Wisdom.

“To which one of her breasts are you referring, Master?” Asked Mulligan the Irish zombie who was Dashwood Forrest’s somewhat inept living dead manservant.

“Mulligan, go outside and play in the rain,” Forrest ordered.

The Irish zombie did so where he was swept away by the rain.

“I apologize for the idiotic intrusion,” Forrest bowed to the Greek goddess.

“It’s all right,” Athena smiled, “I found his remark somewhat amusing.”

“I wish more customers were like you,” Forrest sighed, “Mulligan drives a lot of them away with his comments that is if his zombie appearance doesn’t drive them away first.”

“Who sculpted this bust of me?” Athena asked.

“A chap by the name of Mario Rossini,” Forrest answered, “A promising young sculptor who was killed after being hit by a train while moulding a clay figure of a bull (in a farm field) while sitting on a railway track. He really took the combined fields of performance art and sculpture to a new level. What level of Dante’s cosmos he wound up in, I could not say.”

“I don’t think I shall purchase this bust of me,” Athena moved on to an oil painting of Hermes.

“I do not blame you,” Forrest placed a towel on the head.

“What a remarkable figure of a leprechaun,” Athena looked at a clay statue of a leprechaun, “he looks somewhat like my grandson.”

Forrest coughed, “Grandson? But I thought you were a virgin goddess?”.

“Have you never heard of artificial insemination, Mr. Forrest?” Athena winked at him.

Forrest turned ghastly pale at the Greek goddess’ remark.

“Relax, Mr. Forrest,” Athena laughed, “I’m only joking.”

“Thank God,” Forrest looked relieved.

“You no doubt heard how I was born from my father’s head when my father Zeus had a headache,” Athena recalled.

“That tale I remember very well,” Forrest commented as he took an aspirin with a glass of water.

“Well one day I had a headache after walking across the desert sands of Egypt feeling quite dehydrated and I gave birth to Sophia from my head,” Athena recounted.

“Sophia?” Forrest drank the water.

“The Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom,” Athena explained, “worshipped by various Gnostic groups throughout the centuries. Anyhow back in the 1st Century AD, she encountered the immortal Egyptian scientist Imhotep. Imhotep was working on the concept of artificial insemination back then and he artificially inseminated Sophia and she gave birth to a leprechaun whom she called Yaldabaoth.”

“That name Yaldabaoth sounds familiar,” Forrest creased his eyebrows in thought, “but I don’t associate him with leprechauns.”

“Well no mother wants to say her son is a leprechaun with a serious drinking problem,” Athena smiled, “so she told people that Yaldabaoth was the demiurge who created the material physical universe.”

“Oh yes,” Forrest nodded, “that’s where I’ve heard the name.”

Meanwhile Mulligan the Irish zombie was being swept down the street in a torrent of rain water.

He suddenly came to a halt after crashing into an alley wall.

But not before knocking over a garbage can first.

Out of the garbage can fell an Irish leprechaun.

“Saint Patrick and Saint Kevin preserve us!” Yaldabaoth exclaimed, “What a rude awakening!”.

“Mulligan!” The Irish zombie doffed his shamrock emblazoned cap to the little fellow, “Irish zombie Mulligan.”

“Yaldabaoth!” The leprechaun replied, “Irish leprechaun Yaldabaoth! And I dare you to try and pronounce that name correctly after you’ve had 20 glasses of whiskey.”

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Friday July 5th
2019.

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Orson Welles’ Ghost Views The Only Scene Ever Filmed For Roman Polanski’s Wuthering Heights

May 30, 2019 at 10:40 pm (Arts, Culture, Film, Literature, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles was admiring a small sculpture of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow that the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set had recently purchased from the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The sculpture showed the Headless Horseman and his pumpkin head riding a black horse while the schoolteacher Ichabod Crane is seen getting run over by one of Santa’s reindeer who, after drinking too much Kickapoo Joy Juice, mistook Halloween night for Christmas Eve and was venturing in the forest near Sleepy Hollow following the Headless Horseman and his black horse and his orange pumpkin head mistaking the latter for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s red shiny nose.

“What a delightfully eclectic and eccentric sculpture,” Welles’ ghost remarked as he looked at it while sampling a glass of spectral red wine.

Welles had been informed by British MP Renfield R. Renfield that Boris Johnson (the former Foreign Secretary of Britain) had purchased a retirement gift for British Prime Minister Theresa May at the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The gift was an 18th Century portrait painting of an 18th Century Irish Pirate of the Caribbean Captain Kerry Donegal.

Welles had recently met the ghost of Kerry Donegal in person when Renfield had brought him home after a night of carousing at the Oscar Wilde Pub.

Welles decided to go down to the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in person to see what other great treasures were available there.

The door to the gallery was opened by Dashwood Forrest’s Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie who was undergoing his own personal zombie apocalypse after having drunk too much Guinness stout and Jameson’s Irish whiskey the night before.

“Excuse the hand on the floor,” Mulligan remarked after his right hand came apart at the wrist and fell on the floor.

As Mulligan tried to re-attach his right hand to the rest of his right arm, Welles’ ghost was greeted by art gallery owner and curator Dashwood Forrest who had a martini in his own hand.

“You know the trouble with being dead is you’re decomposing all the time,” Mulligan the Irish zombie remarked as his right ear fell off.

“Mulligan never did have an ear for music,” Forrest invited Welles into his office, “but do come into my office. I have something that a great film director such as yourself would be interested in.”

As Mulligan managed to find his right ear below a portrait of Vincent Van Gogh, Dashwood Forrest closed the office door behind him and Welles.

“Let me run the film projector,” said Forrest, “for I have here on film the only scene ever completed and shot for a film adaptation of Wuthering Heights that Roman Polanski intended to make back in 1989 but financing for the movie was pulled at the last moment. Polanski was setting his version of Wuthering Heights in the late 20th Century. This was a scene between Heathcliff and Cathy.”

The projector ran and the Polanski 20th Century Wuthering Heights scene between Heathcliff and Cathy- a single still shot appeared:

“Where’s Heathcliff?” Welles asked.

“Heathcliff is the old car in the photo,” Forrest answered, “Polanski intended the movie as a cross between Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights and Stephen King’s Christine.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Welles looked stonefaced, “Jack Nicholson must have sent Polanski plenty of California grass that Roman smoked before he came up with the idea for this picture.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 30th
2019.

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Dashwood Forrest Meets Captain Kerry Donegal

May 22, 2019 at 9:51 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Politics, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest was in his art gallery putting the finishing touches in hanging paintings for a new exhibition that would soon be opening.

“A remarkable likeness,” said the ghost of Captain Kerry Donegal who had just walked in off the street.

Forrest, who was somewhat psychically sensitive, turned to gaze at the speaker and noticed how much he resembled the figure in the painting.

“Captain Jack Sparrow!” Forrest gasped.

“Actually the name is Captain Kerry Donegal!” The pirate bowed, “But a few other people with the ability to see me around London have called me by that name.”

Former British Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson entered the gallery at that moment.

“Hello, Dashwood,” Johnson walked right through Kerry Donegal’s ghost since he couldn’t see him, “my sources tell me that you have a painting of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow for sale.”

“I’ve just been told by an expert that it’s Captain Kerry Donegal,” Forrest mentioned.

“Well, whoever,” Johnson looked at the painting, “I’ve just been told on the highest authority that British Prime Minister Theresa May goes into orgasm whenever she sees a handsome looking pirate. No wonder the boys in Brussels were able to sweep her off her feet and get a Brexit deal to their liking and not to Britain’s. Although I’ve been told by an old school chum of mine that the boys in Brussels aren’t all that handsome. I wonder why he’d take note of that. Fills one with trepidation when I recall we shared a locker together in the school gymnasium’s shower and changing room.”

“You want to buy this painting for Theresa May?” The flower dropped out of Dashwood Forrest’s lapel.

“Yes,” Johnson nodded, “as a good-bye present. The old girl is undoubtedly on her way out. She’ll undoubtedly fail in her 4th attempt to get a Brexit deal passed through Parliament. Hell, even Renfield R. Renfield’s British Transhumanist Party is now ahead of the British Conservatives in the opinion polls for the upcoming European Parliament elections. I’m not sure how much more humiliation she can take. So she’ll probably resign soon. I’m sure this painting of a pirate captain will lift her spirits as she exits 10 Downing Street while I’m on my way in.”

“Hasn’t this fellow ever heard that expression, Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched?” Captain Kerry Donegal asked in a thick Irish brogue.

“Did you feel a breeze just then?” Johnson looked around.

“Come to the office and I’ll write you up a Bill of Sale,” said Forrest.

“I’m sure it was this question of the Irish backdoor that did her in on Brexit,” Johnson remarked.

“Don’t you mean the Irish backstop?” Forrest asked.

“Oh yes, of course,” Johnson nodded, “why did I have Irish backdoor on my mind?” .

He once again walked through Captain Kerry Donegal’s ghost as the pirate was bending over to pick up his sword.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday May 22nd
2019.

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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.

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Trump’s Norwegian Blue Parrot, An Alcoholic Hag and A Portrait of Lord Byron

March 16, 2019 at 8:17 pm (Aesthetics, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Donald Trump had a bunch of papers in front of him as Lexington his English butler and valet poured the tea.

“More summaries of your opponents’ tweets from across the world, sir?” Lexington asked.

“Not today, Lexington,” Trump replied, “Today I’m reading field reports from DARPA operatives across the world.”

“And where is that report doused with the most hideous looking and awful smelling blood stains from?” Lexington asked as he closed his eyes and held his nose.

“That would be Pan Goatee reporting from Calgary, Alberta, Canada,” Trump answered.

“Most Calgary white women are quite repulsively ugly, most Calgary white women are quite repulsively ugly,” Trump’s Norwegian blue parrot insightfully commented from atop his perch.

“Sounds like your parrot has read the report before you,” Lexington remarked.

“Sounds like it,” Trump had to admit.

. . .

Pan Goatee left the mall in the immigrant neighbourhood where he lived.

So far his day had gone well.

He had not yet encountered a repulsively ugly looking white woman – which was the result of a Norse trickster god Loki administered genetic hybrid breeding program gone hellishly beyond Hell.

Then his luck ran out.

The hazards of not being Irish the day before Saint Patrick’s Day.

A repulsive ugly looking white woman with a huge 24 can pack of Labatt’s beer emerging from a nearby liquor store stepped in front of him.

“Ah fuck!” Goatee exclaimed, “Just what the world needs at the moment, another hideous looking alcoholic hag!”.

Goatee beheaded the horror that came from beneath Baphomet’s Petri dish.

And with one full swoop of his astral laser machete, he simultaneously robbed both Alcoholics Anonymous and Uglos Anonymous of a potential new member.

. . .


Portrait of Lord Byron

“For a moment, I thought Lord Byron was giving me the raised middle finger,” British Prime Minister Theresa May gasped as she unveiled the painting in the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

“That will come later,” British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn remarked.

Dashwood Forrest the Oscar Wilde admiring art gallery owner sighed as his living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie’s fingers started peeling off his hands as he carried around a tray of cheese and crackers to the various art show patrons.

He hated having politicians showing up to these events.

. . .

French President Emmanuel Macron was considering hosting a major art exhibit of 19th Century French Impressionists in the near future.

And the thought occurred to him that he should invite both America’s Donald Tump and North Korea’s Kim Jong-un to the opening.

After all, Macron thought as he ate a Kit Kat bar, what could possibly go wrong?

Outside the French Presidential Palace, a Kraken wearing a yellow vest was crawling up the side of the building.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 16th
2019.

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The Cosmic Origins of P.H. Lovecat

February 4, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, International Intrigue, Music, Mystery, Mythology, News, Politics, Spy Tales, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

His name was Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour.

P. H. Felinedamour for short.

He was an artist.

An artist inspired by the writings of H.P. Lovecraft.

Many Lovecraftian entities showed up in his paintings.

And in the art show that Dashwood Forrest (the Oscar Wilde admiring owner of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London) would be opening tonight in his gallery, the last painting that Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour ever painted – from December 21st 2012 (the same night that he disappeared) – would be on pre-eminent display in the middle of the gallery for this art show.

Dashwood Forrest was currently showing the painting to British MP Renfield R. Renfield and his date for this evening Lepardia Marango the cultural attache at the South African Embassy in London.

Renfield was bringing Lepardia to the gallery as a way of saying thanks to the cultural attache for saving the Transhumanist MP’s life this past weekend.

Lepardia had stopped an assasination attempt on Renfield by wrestling to the ground the Russian vampiress and FSB operative Svetlana Kireeva.

The incident occurred in the final match of a darts tournament being held at the Clytemnestra’s Revenge and Agamemnon’s Bathtub Pub and Beef House.

The wrestling match between mortal woman and immortal (unless staked through the heart) vampiress caused Renfield to lose the tournament by wrecking his final throw.

Svetlana had intended to assasinate Renfield by firing a poison dart at him with an Amazon tribesman’s blow gun.

Instead the dart hit the left foot of the American Jesuit priest Father Neville Barack Chamberlain (who was theological advisor to New York Cardinal Timothy Dolan advising His Eminence on how to take a firm stand on the most pressing doctrinal and moral issues of the day) causing a paralysis in the priest’s right testicle in an example of acupuncture and chi energy gone horribly wrong.

Lepardia and Renfield gazed at the P.H. Felinedamour painting entitled

Artemis, Cthulhu, Diana’s Sacred Deer and Hecate’s Familiar Black Cat With Clytemnestra Holding A Net and Agamemnon Screaming In The Nude In The Background.

“So that was the last painting he ever painted?” Renfield asked the London art gallery owner as he downed a reddish pink with shades of China blue shooter called Vincent Van Gogh’s Missing Ear.

Ariana Grande walked by in a slit skirted evening dress that prominently displayed her new “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo.

The singer was eating Honey Dipped Chicken Fingers from McDonalds.

No doubt Bill Clinton and the Rev. Jesse Jackson would have loved to have been flies on the wall (or even better, flies on the floor) as the lovely Miss Grande walked by.

“That is correct,” Forrest bowed to Renfield as Renfield crushed and killed a pair of flies on the floor with his right shoe.

Forrest’s personal secretary arrived on the scene to inform the Oscar Wilde lookalike London art gallery owner that his living dead Irish manservant and valet Mulligan the Irish zombie had just accidentally spilled barbecued chicken wings hors d’oeuvres down the evening dress of British Prime Minister Theresa May.

“Excuse me,” Forrest whispered to Renfield and Lepardia as his face turned as pale as the portrait of Dorian Gray and he rushed in the direction of the catastrophe.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday February 4th
2019.


Ariana Grande: Showing off her “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo at the P.H. Lovecat (Felinedamour) Art Show.

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Dashwood Forrest’s iPhone FaceTime Chat With Ivanka Trump

September 5, 2018 at 10:09 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Dashwood Forrest’s iPhone FaceTime Chat With Ivanka Trump

Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London England was going to have an iPhone FaceTime chat with a good friend and good client Ivanka Trump the daughter of the U.S. President.

He had already dialled the number and Ivanka’s face appeared on his iPhone screen.

She appeared to be unaware that they had connected and was busy writing something down on a notebook.

She knocked the iPhone down on top of the notebook and Dashwood was getting an extremely close-up view of her writing.

Ivanka picked up the iPhone when she suddenly noticed she had a live connection.

“Dashwood, is that you?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s me, Dashwood Forrest, Dublin born and raised man about London town and gentleman Extraordinaire,” the Oscar Wilde admiring art historian replied.

Ivanka looked at her Rolex watch.

“I guess this was the time we said we were going to talk, wasn’t it?” She noted the time.

“It was,” Forrest answered.

“You didn’t by chance see what I had written in that notebook did you when I knocked my iPhone down on top of it?” Ivanka looked worried.

“No, the writing was a bit too close up for me to read anything,” Forrest answered.

“Thank God,” Ivanka looked relieved.

“Say, Mr. Forrest,” Mulligan the Irish zombie 🧟‍♂️ who was Dashwood Forrest’s living day manservant suddenly appeared in the room alongside Forrest holding a copy of The New York Times in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other, “Did you read this anonymous editorial in The New York Times by some high-ranking Trump Administration official saying they’re working hard to protect the American people from Trump? I wonder who that person might be?”.

“Jesus,” Ivanka turned red and disconnected the call.

“Mulligan, I wish you wouldn’t wear that Nude Photo of Golda Meir t-shirt in public nor come barging into the office unannounced wearing it while I’m on FaceTime,” Forrest scolded, “you often frighten people off that way even more than your zombie 🧟‍♂️ look.”

Meanwhile at her desk, Ivanka wiped the perspiration off her forehead.

Meanwhile her father had just tweeted TREASON!

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday September 5th
2018.

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The Welsh Vampiress Morgana Encounters Dracul In A London Cemetery

July 29, 2018 at 10:43 pm (Entertainment, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, painting, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Welsh Vampiress Morgana Encounters Dracul In A London Cemetery

The Welsh Vampiress Morgana was waiting for Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing in a London cemetery.

The British Transhumanist MP for the constituency of Newbridge in Wales 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 was trying to track down the location of the Ring of Solomon in Israel on behalf of the British government and Set Enterprises.

The Ring of Solomon was the ring that Israel’s King Solomon used to control both demons and djinn 🧞‍♀️ 🧞‍♂️ to help him build a Temple to God in Jerusalem.

It had been found in Jerusalem back on December 11th 1917 when British General Edmund Allenby captured the city from the Ottoman Turks.

Allenby had ordered the ring hidden.

He had the location of the ring hidden in code in an oil painting that Allenby had commissioned be painted of his good friend the late Sir Simon Baskerville after the British spymaster’s assassination by Intelligence agents of the German Kaiser.

The oil painting had stood in plain view in the abandoned halls of Baskerville Hall until this past Saturday.

Baskerville Hall was currently owned by London art gallery dealer Dashwood Forrest.

Morgana had got her good friend the maker of Britain’s best frozen steak and kidney pie dinners millionaire Sir Rodney Fahrenham to purchase the painting from Forrest.

Forrest had gone to the Baskerville Hall estate in Devon yesterday to pick up the painting of Sir Simon Baskerville.

And there in the empty frame where the portrait had been- stood- Allatallahbel the Vampiress Priestess of Baal- the vampiress who along with the Vampiric Knights-Templar had been secretly controlling the Vatican since October 13th of last year.

Allatallahbel had flashed a wicked vampiress smile – bearing her vampiric incisors at the Oscar Wilde admiring flamboyant London art gallery dealer.

An astral projected image of a talking otter (who was vigorously holding a bottle of bourbon in one of his flippers) that was being astral projected by DARPA headquarters in the U.S. urged Dashwood to “Run, Forrest, run.”

The talking otter need say no more (and indeed he didn’t- for he immediately started drinking from the bottle of bourbon).

Forrest ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

While the halls of Baskerville Hall rang out with the sinister vampiress laughter of Allatallahbel.

Beneath the great majestic staircase of Baskerville Hall, The Vampiric Knights-Templar stood like choir boys and sang,

“Deck the halls with laughs of vampiress- fang-la-la-la-la…”

Morgana had contacted Dracul Van Helsing for advice on how to get the portrait painting of Sir Simon Baskerville back from Allatallahbel and the Vampiric Knights-Templar.

Dracul Van Helsing approached the Welsh Vampiress Morgana.

He was stark naked.

For he had been drinking bottles of Coca-Cola all afternoon and was quite over caffeinated.

As such, he had forgot to put any clothes on.

Furious, Morgana ordered Dracul to lie across her skirted and silk pantyhose lap as she sat on a gravestone and then pulled out a large wooden hairbrush that she used to give the vampire hunter a spanking he’d never forget.

When she had finished, Dracul mounted Morgana and made wild passionate love to her.

The Hindu god Shiva had been walking by the cemetery with his wife Kali at the time.

Both deities were in London attending the grand opening of London’s latest world class curry 🍛 restaurant serving the best Indian food outside India.

As Dracul and Morgana both came, Shiva remarked to Kali, “That’s the greatest explosion 💥 I’ve seen since Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer detonated the first atomic bomb at the Trinity test in New Mexico on July 16th 1945 and quoted the Bhagavad Gita, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” “

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday July 29th
2018.

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The Hall of The Baskervilles: A Poem

July 28, 2018 at 9:44 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Horror, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Poetry, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Hall of The Baskervilles: A Poem

The hall of the Baskervilles stands empty now
Only living creature seen is a neighbour’s stray cow
It’s been over a century since Sherlock Holmes cracked the case
of this spectral hound who lacked amazing grace
Sir Henry Baskerville has taken Mrs. Stapleton for his bride
as Holmes and Watson left the moor in a carriage ride
Sir Henry and his wife only had one son
An only child- Simon full of spark and fun

During the Great War, Simon Baskerville served as a spy
He arranged the fall of Zeppelins from the sky
So great and masterful a spy was he
pissing off the High Command of Germany
Kaiser Wilhelm II personally ordered his death
“This last Baskerville must soon be devoid of breath”
And so the order went out to German Intelligence Agent Count von Klamp
A man who dated a sexy Valkyrie vamp
He sent the vamp to England fair
This vampiress with Aryan blonde hair
She seduced Simon on a dark and stormy night
The kind that gives Bulwer-Lytton’s prose a fright
And Simon had from his body every ounce of his manly blood drained
While outside the thunder roared as storm clouds rained

Simon was knighted posthumously
by George V in full ceremony
Count von Klamp attended the funeral knighting in disguise
while the Valkyrie wore dark glasses over her eyes

Today Baskerville Hall stands deserted and desolate
Preservation efforts made quite the mess of it
On some nights locals say the demonic hound can still be seen
Devil’s hound instead of God’s Lamb in Devon’s pastures green

And in the empty Baskerville Hall
Dashwood Forrest walked examining the wall
He was looking for a portrait painting of Sir Simon
He had a buyer a millionaire Steak Kidney 🥧 pie man

He came to the place on the wall it was supposed to be
And there stood Allatallahbel in all her vampiress glory

Allatallahbel the Vampiress Priestess of Baal standing in front of an empty portrait picture frame in Baskerville Hall

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday July 28th
2018.

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The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

June 19, 2018 at 11:10 pm (Art, Arts, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, painting, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

Peter Whitstable the man they called the Fox Mulder of Interpol sighed as he put down the phone at Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France.

Despite Pope Francis’ recent pronouncement on the subject, all Hell was quite literally breaking loose upon the world.

And to top it off his associate who was his ally in battling evil supernatural forces the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing was nowhere to be found.

The first example of something majorly supernatural happening in this sixth month of the Year of Our Lord 2018 was that the famous legendary ghost ship The Flying Dutchman had just been spotted in the harbour of Port Elizabeth South Africa 🇿🇦.

Hundreds of people had seen the ship according to Port Elizabeth police reports and eyewitness statements.

But the really strange thing about the incident was these same eyewitnesses tried to take photos of the ship with their smart phones or in a few rare cases those old fashioned instruments known as the Polaroid, Kodak and Nikon cameras 📷.

But in every single instance where a picture was taken of the Flying Dutchman entering Port Elizabeth harbour, the photo (be it on smart phone or Polaroid or Kodak or Nikon camera) turned out to be a photograph of Donald Trump wearing a pair of Canadian shoes with his British valet and butler Lexington hitting them with a hammer trying to make them look old and scruffy.

In those instances where people tried to shoot a video of the Flying Dutchman entering Port Elizabeth harbour, the same image would appear only in motion and with sound.

The video showed Lexington playing an old 1920s gramophone in the background so that Donald Trump’s pair of Canadian shoes 👞 would sound old as well.

Fortunately for posterity as far as Peter Whitstable was concerned, it so happened that the great South African artist SAREJESS (whose real name was Timothy Wood but who painted under the nom-de-plume SAREJESS which was a combination of the first letters of his 3 daughters’ names Sarah, Rebecca and Jessica) happened to be on the yacht The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean at the time.

The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean was owned by the Irish Greek shipping tycoon Heraclitus O’ Spazzis who being blind (after a tragic visit to the City of Calgary) had recently proposed marriage to Hillary Clinton should she ever become a widow.

SAREJESS had been hired as a guide by O’Spazzis to take him out to the best fishing spots off Port Elizabeth.

The yacht was returning to the harbour after O’ Spazzis had caught an amazing 153 fishes when the Flying Dutchman appeared.

“What’s all the excitement about?” The blind O’ Spazzis asked as he ate his Guinness laced shepherd’s pie 🥧 and his Ouzo laced lamb Souvlaki and heard loud and excited cries coming from shore.

“It’s the Flying Dutchman,” his skipper Hades Charon answered.

“Damn, I wish I could see it,” O’ Spazzis sipped his Doppelgänger (a drink that was a deadly combination of 1/2 Guinness and 1/2 ouzo), “Stupid Calgary cowboys letting their fat ugly cows wander on the city streets like that.”

Venus O’ Hara the executive assistant to Mr. O’ Spazzis took a picture of the Flying Dutchman with her smart phone and then exclaimed, “Damn! All I got was a picture of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes across the Alberta-Montana border.”

On the yacht’s radio, Madonna could be heard singing, “You keep on pushing my love over the borderline…”

Hades Charon tried to record a video with his smart phone and got the same imagery showing up.

On the video Trump could be heard saying, “It’s because of illegal shoe smuggling that we need to put tariffs on Canada…”

“… feels like I’m going to lose my mind…” Madonna continued singing.

Fortunately, Timothy (aka SAREJESS) had remembered to bring his paintbrush 🖌, a palette 🎨, a canvas and his paints with him.

Timothy sat down on board the deck of the yacht The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean and immediately started painting a picture of the Flying Dutchman within sight of the modern skyline of the city of Port Elizabeth South Africa.

The yacht lay anchored there for the next several hours while Tim painted his picture.

When he had finished, the Flying Dutchman ghost ship then turned around and sailed out of the harbour.

“Shit! It’s leaving!” Several voices exclaimed on shore, “And what’s up with all these fucking pics of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes across the border anyways?”.

Peter Whitstable gazed at the photo of the SAREJESS painting entitled The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth.

“Well at least this image has been recorded for posterity,” Whitstable smiled, “what a great moment in art history.”

Meanwhile on the Port Elizabeth beach, the famous London art historian, curator and art gallery owner Dashwood Forrest sat sipping a Mai Tai.

His living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟‍♂️ sat drinking a glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey 🥃 attempting to paint 🎨 a picture of the Flying Dutchman with his paintbrush 🖌 on canvas.

“How are you coming, Mulligan?” Forrest asked.

“By all the blessed saints in their ongoing cosmic wrestling match with the demon Mephistopheles,” Mulligan bellyached as he rubbed his stomach, “this paintbrush seems to have a mind of its own. All I get is a picture of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes 👞 across the Canada-U.S. border.”

“Real geniuses don’t get caught smuggling shoes,” Forrest remarked as he looked at the painting which showed Robert Mueller holding a pair of handcuffs as Trump crossed the border wearing a pair of shoes emblazoned with the Canadian maple 🍁 leaf and the Canadian beaver.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday June 19th
2018.

If you wish to own the original of this amazing SAREJESS painting The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

please contact Timothy Wood at his South African phone number:

084 996 5316

or if you just wish to own a limited edition personally autographed print of the painting, also contact Tim at the same number:

084 996 5316

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