The General And The CIA Special Archives

September 3, 2011 at 7:41 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The General was touring CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

He was the director designate of the CIA.

He had served in both Iraq and Afghanistan and was a decorated soldier.

He had been called to Headquarters in Langley to receive a special briefing on a theft that had occurred at the CIA Special Archives.

“Special Archives?” the General asked his briefer.

“These are items that are so sensitive to national security that they’re not even put on computer for fear of attack by hackers,” the briefer explained, “so they’re kept as paper documents in a special secure fire proof safe on this floor.”

“And someone recently broke in and stole one of the documents?” the General asked.

“That is correct, sir,” said the briefer, “although one might use the term some thing. It was a hamster that walked into the safe when one of our agents was going through the Special Archives and helped himself to the file- that is the hamster helped himself to the file.”

“Hamster?” the General was flabbergasted, “you mean like one of those furry-?…”

“Exactly sir,” the briefer nodded, “one of those cute cuddly furry little things that are so popular with children. That ride their hamster wheels around and around in cages.”

“And you’ve got photos and videos of the hamster stealing the file?” the General asked.

“Indeed we do, sir,” the briefer said, “otherwise we wouldn’t have suspected a hamster. Hamsters are rather small in size as you no doubt know sir so that’s why no one saw it. But after the theft was detected, we re-checked the security cameras on this floor and through close-ups spotted the hamster.”

“And I suppose you lost track of the hamster?” the General sighed.

“We lost track of the hamster, yes, sir,” the briefer answered, “but not our rodent sniffing cat special agent whom we call Bourne Feline.”

“The CIA has a rodent sniffing cat special agent called Bourne Feline?” the General shook his head.

“Yes, sir, the cost of his cat food which comes under CIA special appropriations was a subject of intense heated debate earlier this summer between Republican and Democrat over whether it should be subject to cuts if the U.S. debt ceiling was to be raised,” the briefer explained, “it was almost a deal killer for the debt deal that is until President Obama asked his daughter Malia to step in and speak to a closed session of Congress and tell members of both parties what an extremely cute kitty cat it was.”

“A little child shall lead them,” the General quoted Scripture.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” his briefer blinked.

“Continue,” the General waved his hand.

“So Bourne Feline using his rodent sniffing skills tracked the scent of the hamster down to a motel room in the town of Mineral, Virginia which coincidentally was also the epicenter of last month’s major East Coast earthquake,” the briefer noted.

“And when our agents got there, did they find a hamster?” the General asked.

“No, sir, the hamster appears to have dropped off the face of the Earth,” the briefer answered, “when our agents got there, a British subject by the name of Renfield R. Renfield was busy banging the town’s very beautiful local lady of the evening.”

“And what are Mr. Renfield’s last known whereabouts?” the General inquired.

“Mr. Renfield was last seen floating down a flooded highway in Vermont,” the briefer briefed.

“Best to concentrate our efforts on recapturing the scent of the hamster,” the General ordered.

“Very good, sir,” the briefer saluted.

“Oh, one more thing,” the General turned around, “what was in the file that was stolen?”.

“The file relates how when Apollo 11 landed on the moon in July, 1969, they found a casket containing a vampire on the lunar surface,” the briefer related.

“Really?” now it was the General’s turn to blink.

“Yes, sir,” the briefer nodded, “when Commander Neil Armstrong asked what was to be done about the coffin, one of NASA’s senior higher-ups ordered Armstrong to put the casket and the respective vampire aboard the lunar module and bring it back to Earth.”

“A NASA top official ordered that a casket containing a vampire be brought back to Earth?” the General was incredulous.

“Yes, sir,” the briefer acknowledged, “in retrospect the decision wouldn’t exactly be considered rocket science.”

To be continued.

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No Room At The Inn Because There Is No Inn In Vermont

August 31, 2011 at 8:05 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Walking across the flooded roads of Vermont was a tall blonde man carrying pieces of wood.

One would think he was gathering fire wood because of the power outages.

But when people stranded by the washed-out roads were suddenly attacked by creatures who were trying to take their blood, the man sprang into action.

Staking vampires left, right and center.

Renfield R. Renfield who had been standing in the middle of a washed out road in very tall rubber boots and thinking he had picked a most inopportune moment to visit Vermont looked on with amusement.

“Well fancy running into you here, Dracul Van Helsing,” Renfield laughed.

“Fancy running into you, Renfield R. Renfield,” Van Helsing replied. “it’s too bad you weren’t a vampire because then under international law, I could stake and kill you.”

“Yes, a pity for you,” Renfield agreed, “but not for me.”

“What are you doing in Vermont?” Van Helsing asked.

“Amadeus told me there was a great and beautiful inn in Vermont,” Renfield replied, “told me to visit it.”

“Really?” Van Helsing smiled.

He had an idea of how the 7-year-old genetic clone’s mind worked- for while Amadeus was grown in the Set Laboratories test tube to be born an adult- in many ways Amadeus was still a child in his mind set.

“Was this Inn called The Stratford Inn?” Van Helsing asked.

“Why, yes it was,” Renfield nodded, “you know it?”.

“And he knew about it from an old 1980s TV show he watched called Newhart?” Van Helsing inquired.

“Yes,” Renfied replied, “you know how to get there?”.

“Newhart was a fictional TV show- a situation comedy,” Van Helsing explained, “there is no Stratford Inn in reality.”

“You mean I got drenched and pouring wet for nothing?” Renfield sighed.

“Yes,” said Van Helsing as he killed yet another vampire.

“Too bad Amadeus wasn’t a vampire,” Renfield seethed, “I’d buy a stake off you and use it where it would do the most good when I get back to England.”

To be continued.

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Alfred Hitchcock Sings Good Night Irene Or Was It Good Evening?

August 25, 2011 at 9:06 pm (Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

In the Malaysian province of Sarawak, the owner of a large farm sat down to watch that old TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents on his large screen TV.

Hitchcock said, “Slamat lemai…”

In the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur, a Malaysian bank executive sat down to watch that old TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents on her large screen TV.

Hitchcock said, “Selamat petang…”

In London, England, Amadeus Emanon sat down to watch that old TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents on the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s large screen TV.

Hitchcock said, “Good evening…”

In his motel room in Virginia, Renfield was rehearsing for a conversation with a Malaysian woman over Skype he’d be having later that evening.

“You’re very bajik,” Renfield rehearsed his Iban.

He paused.

“You’re very cantik,” he rehearsed his Malay.

From the motel room to the right of him, he heard a wife sob to her husband, “You never tell me I’m pretty anymore…”

Renfield then imagined what the woman would say back to him…

“You’re very sigat,” she’d say in Iban.

“You’re very tampan,” she’d then say in Malay.

“I find Johnny Depp so handsome,” said the 78-old-grandmother in the motel room to the left of him, “I’d like to fuck his brains out…”

“Grandma,” admonished her granddaughter, “not in front of the great-grandkids…”

“Of course I wouldn’t do it in front of the great-grandkids,” the elderly woman retorted, “I’d take Johnny into the shower with me…”

On Renfield’s motel room TV screen, an emergency bulletin flashed on the screen.

The announcer said, “We interrupt this episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents to inform you that a state of emergency has been declared in Virginia, North Carolina, Maryland, New Jersey and New York due to fears of a direct hit by the looming monster storm Hurricane Irene…”

“Holy shit,” Renfield said as he looked at the screen.

He had no idea what the Iban and Malay words were for the phrase he just used.

To be continued.

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