The Universe Is Unfolding (Possibly Not As It Should)

January 20, 2016 at 7:49 pm (Arts, Culture, Entertainment, Music, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The Universe Is Unfolding (Possibly Not As It Should)

Dr. Cadbury Rocher was in the Set Enterprises lab doing some Prognostication experiments with Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster.

He was seeing what results would come out of this year’s Oscars.

On the computer screen, Dr. Rocher was viewing what Michelangelo was viewing through his prophetic lobster antennae which were hooked up to the computer.

Host of this Year’s Oscars (on stage) : Well I see by the number of people wearing white hoods and white robes and by the number of flaming burning crosses outside the auditorium, we’ve got a different sort of crowd at this year’s Oscars…

. . .

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. in London was petting his Siamese cat Oysterella and wondering what he should do now after receiving the latest memo from his higher-ups the Board of Directors of the Company.

The Board of Directors of his Company were demanding that he find the next big music superstar pronto or he’d be finding himself in line at the Unemployment office.

“Oh dear Oysterella,” the Music Exec sighed, “where am I going to find the next big music superstar?”.

. . .

Although Amadeus Emanon was quite fond of most varieties of food, he had been a teetotaler in his drinking habits for most of his life.

But after a recent conversation with his good friend the New Orleans vampiress and songstress Angelique Dumont, he had decided to become the next big thing to hit the arts.

As such he had purchased a dozen bottles of absinthe since he had heard that absinthe had served as an inspirational muse for great writers such as Ernest Hemingway, Charles Baudelaire and Oscar Wilde and great artists such as Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Amedeo Modigliani.

As Michelangelo sputtered and asked for Viagra in lobstertalk in his lobster tank as he psychically picked up the name Modigliani from Amadeus’ thoughts and immediately thought of Sherrielock Holmes, Amadeus meanwhile lay at the bottom of the stairs after finishing off his dozenth bottle of absinthe.

“The follies of drunkenness,” Renfield remarked as he stepped over the dozing Amadeus at the bottom of the stairs.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked down at the sleeping Amadeus.

“I wonder what evil influences Amadeus has fallen under,” Renfield asked himself as he sipped from his 24th bottle of bourbon this night.

He went into his bedroom and used his Find-Yourself-A-Hooker app on his smart phone to do just that.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday January 20th


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The Coppertop Were-Zomb-ire

October 10, 2011 at 9:13 pm (TV Commercials, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

As Renfield sat looking depressed over the dead body of his most recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire, the redheaded cyborg Sophia entered the Set Enterprises lab wearing a tight fitting red mini dress, red silk nylons and red super spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

She was followed by Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. as well as a TV camera crew.

“What are you doing here?” Renfield asked the sexy and sultry cyborg.

“I’m here to shoot a TV commercial about your dead creation the Were-Zomb-ire,” Sophia answered, “my recording manager Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell figures it will help my music career.”

“Oh great,” Renfield threw up his hands, “first someone posted a blog entry about my creation the Were-Zomb-ire’s death at Xanga a site no one cares about (except for C.S. Lewis wannabes with a fetish for boobs and non-butterfly little read unpopular Malaysian bloggers who don’t have a fetish for boobs) and now you’re going to broadcast my failure to the entire world.”

“That’s right,” Sophia adjusted her nylons and then smiled for the camera.

“Hit it,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell gave her the thumbs up.

“I’m sitting here with colossal failure Renfield R, Renfield,” Sophia smiled engagingly, “whose recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire a creature part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire was killed shortly after it was created. Mr. Renfield, what are your plans for the future?”.

“Well, I’ve been offered the position of Secretary of State in a second Obama Administration for after the next U.S. election….” Renfield tried to smile.

“Let’s try fitting your Were-Zomb-ire with a Duracell battery shall we?” Sophia cuts open the Were-Zomb-ire’s stomach with a butcher knife and then inserts a Duracell battery and then stitches together the incision with thread and then delivers an electrical charge to the Were-Zomb-ire’s stomach.

The Were-Zomb-ire then rises to life again.

“Duracell the Coppertop Battery,” Sophia smiles at the camera, “the battery recommended and used by most professional mad scientists.”

The Were-Zomb-ire then tears the door off the Set Enterprises lab and sets off to terrorize the City of London.

Amadeus Emanon enters through the now non-existent door of the Set Enterprises lab licking a maple walnut chocolate ice cream cone and remarking, “Hey Renfield, I noticed your Were-Zomb-ire came back to life and just stepped on the Energizer Bunny. It’s no longer going and going…”

To be continued.

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Renfield’s Music Video- The Killing of Natalia

May 23, 2011 at 6:38 pm (Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel, Video) (, , , , , )

Dracul Van Helsing had been invited to a meeting with Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Van Helsing,” the record exec shook the vampire hunter’s hand, “I thought I would see you while that insidious individual Renfield R. Renfield still lies in a coma in a hospital here in London.”

“I understand he kidnapped and held your pet cat, Oysterella hostage last year,” the vampire hunter stated sympathetically.

Oysterella jumped up on Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s lap and started purring.

“Yes, and my poor pussy has never been the same, have you?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell started stroking Oysterella.

“You brought me here to see something?” Van Helsing asked.

“Yes, you may have heard that Renfield R. Renfield occasionally flies out to California to make hard-core porn videos,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell straightened his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Van Helsing nodded, “I also understand he freelances hard-core interrogation techniques on terrorist suspects for both the CIA and Scotland Yard.”

“Yes, they say he was the one who finally broke the camel’s back in the hunt to find Osama bin Laden’s whereabouts last summer,” sniffed Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell.

“Yes, it’s my understanding that the particular suspect he was questioning Abdullah bin Mohammed was somewhat of a pervert as any Arabic ruler of Masons posing as a lapsed Seventh Day Adventist would be,” Van Helsing sat down, “and the said Abdullah bin Mohammed really loved his camel in more ways than one. He would gladly walk more than a mile for his camel to paraphrase old cigarette ads of mid-20th century America. And so when Renfield broke his camel’s back which meant no more humping between Abdullah bin Mohammed and his camel, that’s when the said bestial pervert broke down and finally revealed the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden’s hideout in the compound near the Pakistani military base at Abbottabad. And the rest as they say is history.”

“What’s become of Abdullah bin Mohammed now?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell asked.

“I believe he’s currently a would-be serial killer with his own blog where he writes down his rambling incoherent pseudo-intellectual idiocies that only appeal to nutty female New Agers who are very much into New Age psychobabble and alleged self-esteem and self-improvement preaching,” Van Helsing replied.

“Oh, one of those,” Heathcliff sniffed.

“You said you have something to show me?” Van Helsing again asked.

“Yes, I was told that Renfield R. Renfield played a huge part in the scripting and making of this rather disturbing music video, I was wanting you to watch it and tell me what you think of it,” said Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell, “I suppose you’ve heard of Monarch programming?”.

“The programming and brainwashing techniques that were developed by the Nazi SS in the late 1930s and then later adapted by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency in several infamous brainwashing experiments of the 1950s?” Van Helsing queried.

“That’s right,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell nodded, “I think our friend Renfield R. Renfield seems to be an expert in this area of Monarch programming.”

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Stryker’s Last Orgy

April 21, 2011 at 9:55 pm (Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Stryker was a death heavy metal music star.

His label was Aulos Music and Recording.

The past six months Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording had been baby-sitting (quite literally) the 33-year-old star on his world-wide tour.

Heathcliff was sick of cleaning up the mess (particularly the bodies of the teen-aged girl groupies that Stryker had slain and drunk their blood afterwards).

“One would think you’re a vampire or something,” Heathcliff had sniffed.

“Maybe someday I will be,” Stryker laughed.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell was so busy looking after the petulant spoiled brat heavy metal rocker that he had no time to look out for his more talented heavy metal protogee the genuinely authentic Vampiress Morgana (who at least did not kill and drink the blood of her fans since she knew who was paying the money that kept her bread buttered and her bacon coming).

Now Heathcliff heard the dreadful news that the Board of Directors of Aulos was going to assign another of the label executives to manage Morgana while he Heathcliff would be stuck with Stryker.

Oh, Heathcliff thought to himself, was there no way out of this mess?

* * *

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell stood outside the door of the Vampiress Morgana’s hotel room to tell his protogee the bad news and was about to knock when he heard two feminine voices from inside the room.

Heathcliff stopped to listen.

Inside the hotel room, the Vampiress Isis stood in a red evening dress and red spiked stiletto heels.

The Vampiress Morgana stood in a black tank top, black leather mini skirt, black silk fishnet nylons and black spiked stiletto heels.

“I want to know,” said Isis, “are you any relation to the Sorceress Morgana of Avalon?”.

“I’m her niece,” the Vampiress Morgana answered, “Auntie Morgana was beheaded and slain by King Arthur centuries ago.”

“This I know,” said Isis, “for I was close by when it happened. What I want to know is do you have any of your aunt’s magical powers. Can you resurrect a slain vampire from the dead for example?”.

“I have some magical powers,” the Vampiress Morgana replied, “but I do not have the power to Resurrect.”

The Vampiress Isis sighed.

Then she looked at Morgana, “Thank you for your time.”

The Vampiress Isis bowed and then opened the hotel room door where she saw Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell standing there.

“Have we not met before?” Isis asked.

“I believe we spent a delightful evening last Boxing Day over champagne and caviar on the French Riviera discussing the writer Oscar Wilde and the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell answered.

“Indeed, we did,” Isis smiled, “we must do that again soon.”

She then walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell then entered the Vampiress Morgana’s hotel room where he broke the bad news to her.

Morgana burst into tears.

* * *

Upon exiting the hotel, Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell wrapped his coat tightly around himself because of the wet London evening drizzle now falling.

He looked up and recognized someone.

It was Renfield R. Renfield.

“Excuse me,” Heathcliff tried to get past the shapeshifting hamster/human because he had been nothing but trouble for Mr. Dionysus Campbell in the past.

“Do you recognize this person?” Renfield held up a photo.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell put on his gold-wire rimmed glasses and looked at the photo.

“It’s Stryker,” Heathcliff replied, “the most obnoxious of the clients I manage.”

“I thought you might know him,” Renfield grinned an evil grin, “you know a lot of musicians.”

“Being in the music and recording business I naturally would,” Heathcliff harrumphed with an irritated lisp.

“I came across this man’s photo on the cover of an entertainment magazine earlier today,” Renfield explained, “in fact the same magazine where I ripped out this photo which seemed to upset the shopkeeper Mr. Patel for some reason. He demanded that I pay the cost of the full price of the magazine. Finally I was forced to shoot him after he threatened to call the police.”

“Why are you interested in this Stryker?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell took out a handkerchief and began wiping raindrops off his glasses.

“I recognized the fellow right away,” Renfield seethed, “he was the one who swiped the last tuna fish sandwich off a plate at an upscale party I was at 2 years ago just before I could get to it myself. I swore revenge if I ever came across him again.”

“What do you plan to do to him?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell put his glasses back on and blinked at the shapeshifter.

“Kill him,” Renfield answered.

“This is my lucky day,” Heathcliff thought to himself and then he said aloud to Renfield, “What’s in it for me if I take you to him?”.

“I won’t kill you,” Renfield laughed.

“I feel like dying these days anyways,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell shrugged, “you’ll have to do better than threats if you want me to help you.”

“All right, I’ll pay you thirty thousand pounds if you take me to him,” Renfield said.

“Show me the money,” Heathcliff held out his palm.

Renfield went to a nearby bank’s ATM cash machine and using his employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian Vampire Set’s debit card positively emptied the bank’s cash machine out of thirty thousand pound notes.

Renfield and Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell then took a taxi to the nightclub where Stryker was having his post-concert orgy.

Meanwhile noted American actor Charlie Sheen walked up to the bank’s ATM cash machine and inserted his debit card.

Then he started swearing it, “I can’t believe it. This @#%^&*!*@ machine is out of @#%^!*@ cash.”

* * *

“All right,” Heathcliff spoke to Renfield, “at these orgies, there are a lot of guys and even a few girls who like to dress up as Stryker. Wait 5 minutes and then come in and I’ll direct you to the real one.”

“How will I know the real one?” Renfield asked.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell whispered inside Renfield’s ear.

Renfield grimaced but nodded.

* * *

Stryker was seated at a table surrounded by an adoring group of short skirted and mini dress wearing teen-aged groupies.

Stryker opened a plastic bag of cocaine and passed it around saying, “This is my body which is given for you. Snort this in remembrance of me.”

The girls took the bag and shoved some of the cocaine up their respective noses.

Then Stryker opened the cap off a beer bottle with his teeth and passed the bottle of beer around saying, “This is my blood (my golden blood!) of the newest and most irrevocable covenant which is shed for you and for many for the mother of all orgasms.”

Each girl took a sip of the beer and had a multiple orgasm as she did so.

Renfield entered the nightclub.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell went up to Stryker and kissed him on the lips.

“Dionysus,” Stryker looked at Heathcliff, “dost thou betray the Son of Belial with a kiss?”.

Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s face turned crimson.

“What thou doest, do quickly,” Stryker slit a girl’s throat and drank her blood.

Heathcliff Dionyus Campbell ran to the washroom and hung a roll of toilet paper over the seat and sat down and blew his nose.

And Renfield R. Renfield moved in for the kill.

To be continued.

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