Renfield’s Attack On ISIS Camp In Libya

June 6, 2017 at 5:15 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, News, Politics, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Despite the fact that Britain’s 3 main political parties the Conservatives, Labour and the Liberal Democrats had suspended their campaigns in the wake of the recent London terrorist attack, Renfield R. Renfield was boldly going ahead with his British Transhumanist Techno-Progressive Anti Bio-Conservative Party campaign in the constituency of Tewkesbury In The Cotswolds.- he was boldly going where no British politician had gone before.

He had phoned Ariana Grande after the One Love Manchester concert and asked if she’d appear in a photo-op with him which he’d put on his campaign pamphlets that he’d distribute in his constituency in the days leading up to the election.

“Who is this?” Ariana had asked on the phone after Renfield had described his definitely in poor taste photo-op he had planned to help benefit his political career.

“Renfield R. Renfield,” Renfield had replied.

“You pervert,” said Ariana and she immediately disconnected the call.

Renfield was silent for a moment.

“Oh well, at least she’s obviously heard of me,” Renfield put his smart phone back in his jacket vest pocket.

Renfield then decided to call in members of the British Brigade of Gurkhas to stage a raid on an ISIS training camp in Libya.

The Gurkhas are soldiers of Nepalese nationality.

The Brigade of Gurkhas celebrated 200 years of service in the British Army in 2015.

The Gurkhas are ferocious fearless fighters.

They are associated with the khukuri a Nepalese knife with an inwardly curved blade that is used as both a tool and a weapon in Nepal.

The Gurkhas are human equivalents of stealth fighters who are able to move both silently and invisibly during the night.

Lots of German soldiers in both World Wars I and II found themselves lying dead in their tents in the morning after their throats were slashed by the Gurkhas who had snuck into their camps and snuck out again.

Renfield recalled Dracul Van Helsing talking about a British Army friend of his father who one night in the Second World War woke up in his sleep and found someone feeling his shoelaces (British Army soldiers were instructed to sleep with their boots on as were the Germans).

A voice said, “It’s all right, Johnny, go back to sleep.”

Johnny is what the Gurkhas called a British Army soldier.

Jerry is what they called a German.

British Army soldiers and German Army soldiers tied the laces of their boots in different ways. Army regulations and all that.

So Gurkhas out on their nighttime missions were able to tell if the tent they were in belonged to a British or German soldier by the way the person inside the tent had tied their shoelaces.

In Van Helsing’s father’s friend’s case, he was told, “It’s all right, Johnny, go back to sleep.”

In a German soldier’s case, whether he was told “It’s not all right, Jerry” as he was dispatched with the khukuri knife to his eternal sleep, we’ll never know because the German soldier was too dead to tell us.

During the 1982 Falkland Islands War between Britain And Argentina, when the British Army General Staff announced they were sending a brigade of Welsh Army Gurkhas into the islands, that’s when the Argentinian military command in the Falkland Islands capital of Port Stanley announced they were surrendering and proceeded to raise the white flag over Port Stanley.

The former Indian Army Chief of Staff Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw once said, “If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or he is a Gurkha.”

Many of the Brigade of Gurkhas in contemporary times do a lot of their nighttime stealth military training in the Canadian Armed Forces base near the town of Wainwright, Alberta, Canada.

The reason being that there are a lot of deer near Wainwright.

And part of the Gurkha’s successful passing of his military training is to sneak up to a deer at night and kill it by slashing its throat with a khukuri knife.

And of course, once you can sneak up to a deer with its expert astute sensitive hearing in the middle of the night and kill it without the deer noticing, then of course you can easily sneak up to a human being who does not have the acute expert sensitive hearing of a deer and do the same.

Renfield sent over a group of the Brigade of Gurkhas to an ISIS Islamic State training camp in Libya over night.

The next day as the Islamic State “fighters” went about their business, a huge holographic image of Renfield R. Renfield suddenly appeared overhead above the camp.

The holographic image was being beamed by a Set Enterprises advanced television satellite.

“Good day, you group of gonorrhea infested scumbags and worst of the garbage and refuse fallen from the plate of Mother Earth…”

Renfield poured himself a glass of beer.

From a 100 ounce bottle of beer whose giant label read,


“Just to let you know,” Renfield grinned at the camera which made it appear he was grinning at the Islamic State losers, “while you were sleeping, a group of Gurkha fighters crawled into your tents and tied a small bag of nails and explosives to your testicles. I have here in my hand the detonator which when I press it will blow your testicles as well as the rest of you to Kingdom Come. But first I have a small poem I wrote which I’d like to recite before I do so. You of course do have the option of trying to get the bag off your testicles but that will result in a premature ejaculation and premature explosion if you do so…

Renfield (reciting poem):

You call yourself warriors but what sort of warrior can only kill people by blowing himself up in the process
You obviously learned nothing in school just how to be a loser during the time we call recess
You blow up girls at concerts
’cause your weenies are tiny little spurts
You can’t fight man to man combat
’cause you’re not men but a type of mutant rat
you know as my dear old mom used to say, It’s time to cut the crap
and I agree and I say like film directors of old, that’s a wrap…

Renfield put his hand on the detonator and grinned.

“Well,” he smiled, “to paraphrase my television alter ego, Raymond Red Reddington, you won’t be able to die on the bright side, you won’t die with a marvelous erection.”

Renfield pushed the button on the detonator.

On the camp loudspeakers the following song started blaring in tune with the numerous testicle nail bomb explosions,

“I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony,
I’d like to buy the world a Coke and keep it company,
it’s the real thing…”

In the sky, a skywriter airplane wrote the words,


Seinfeld soup inspired words of comfort for those still alive and dying from their testicle nail bomb inflicted wounds.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday June 6th

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A Tale of Two Hybrids

March 23, 2016 at 8:38 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

A Tale of Two Hybrids

Pan Goatee was walking down the street of the city cutting off the heads of any ugly looking women who happened to cross his path.

When one attractive looking teen-aged girl requested taking a selfie with her and Pan Goatee cutting off the head of her ugly looking friend, Pan Goatee obliged but he put a bag over the ugly looking girl’s head first.

“No use ruining your Facebook friends’ day by having to look at an ugly looking person,” Pan Goatee explained.

The girl took a selfie of herself smiling with her arms around a beaming photogenic Pan Goatee while the beaming satyr serial killer held up the paper bag wearing severed head of her ugly looking friend that dripped blood to the ground.

. . .

Another captured ISIS prisoner was taken into the interrogation chamber at a secret location in London where his interrogator Renfield R. Renfield was awaiting him.

Renfield was a freelance interrogator often used by Scotland Yard, MI-5 and MI-6 as well as the CIA (he was even used by a chapter of the PTA in Southern California at one juncture in time to deal with a couple of particularly obnoxious parents who were often disruptive at local PTA meetings).

Renfield’s particularly unique form of interrogation was kept secret from the general public as it would no doubt upset the politically correct bleeding hearts among them.

Whenever the political elites in the West made use of those like Renfield, the streets of Western Civilization were usually safe.

When their conscience gave in to the cries of political correctness and they temporarily laid aside the Renfields of the world, that’s when attacks like those that happened in Paris last year and yesterday in Brussels occurred.

Now after the Brussels attack, captured ISIS prisoners that were held at secret locales throughout Europe were wheeled into Renfield’s interrogation center nicknamed The King and I Hotel (to honour those song lyrics from the musical The King and I that went, “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…”).

There inside The King and I Hotel interrogation center, Renfield would interview the prisoners in a very un-Oprah Winfreyesque fashion.

As the prisoner was wheeled into the room, Renfield was putting a couple of human eyeballs, severed hands, severed feet, and other severed body parts into a Ziploc plastic bag.

“Oh hello,” Renfield flashed a warm friendly smile at the prisoner, “I’m just finishing up with the last of the fellow who was brought in before you.”

As the ISIS prisoner gulped and swallowed hard, Renfield handed the Ziploc bag to a Scotland Yard policeman.

“Would you mind putting this in the refrigerator for me? I’ll take it home so my boss can have it as a midnight snack later,” he said referring to his regular employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

The policeman bowed and left.

“So,” Renfield decided to make casual friendly chit chat before getting down to the nitty gritty of things, “Did you hear what that airhead Hillary Clinton said after winning in Arizona? She said she was proud to serve in an administration that didn’t use torture. What an airhead. Barry Goldwater must have rolled over in his grave upon hearing that. Thank God (or I guess you say Allah don’t you?) that such a stupid ugly old bat isn’t running for Prime Minister of Britain.”

Renfield looked at his Rolex watch, “Well, time to get down to business.”

He took a pair of pliers out of the drawer.

“I always wondered,” Renfield held up a pair of pliers, “how do you say ‘Can you give me a blow job please?’ in Arabic. I notice there’s a lot of attractive looking Arab girls walking the streets of London these days and women are always much more impressed when you can speak to them in their language. So how do you say that?”.

“I’m not going to tell you,” the ISIS prisoner was defiant.

“Wrong answer,” Renfield started pulling out the man’s fingernails with the pliers while he recited the lines from an old Palmolive dishwashing liquid commercial from the 1960s, “It looks like you’ve got dishpan hands. You’re probably using the wrong sort of dishwashing liquid. All that chapped skin doesn’t look so good. Why not switch to Palmolive? Your hands will be soaking in them in a second.”

Renfield put the man’s hands in a dish of liquid.

The man started screaming his head off.

“Oops, me bad,” Renfield grinned apologetically, “I must have accidentally put sulfuric acid instead of Palmolive dishwashing liquid in that dish.”

Suddenly a knock at the door and a Scotland Yard policeman wheeled in a dolly with a huge tea pot and two cups.

“Oh, coffee break time,” Renfield looked at his Rolex again, “The Interrogators’ Union won these privileges for hardworking union members such as myself.”

Renfield put one of the teacups down between the bound prisoner’s genitals and then proceeded to pick up the teapot and sing Anna’s song from The King and I, “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you… a cup of tea…”

Renfield poured tea into the teacup between the man’s genitals and then continued pouring even as the cup overflowed.

“Hm, your cup overfloweth,” Renfield put the tea pot down and scratched his head, “I must remember to ask a Japanese geisha next time I see one how to do that properly in Japanese tea ceremony fashion.”

As the prisoner screamed his head off, Renfield asked him, “Speaking of which, do you know how to say ‘Can I have a blow job please?’ in Japanese ?”.

When the prisoner shook his head, Renfield said, “Wrong answer” and proceeded to use the pliers on the man’s toe nails while reciting, “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, this little piggy went “Waaaah… waaaah… all the way home.”

The prisoner started screaming.

“Yes,” Renfield nodded his head smiling, “but more of a “Waaaah… waaaah!” Let’s try it again one more time shall we until you get it right?”.

Renfield then started pulling off the man’s actual toes while reciting the childhood verse.

And such is a day in the life of interrogator Renfield R. Renfield- the bane of ISIS’ existence- as he extracts personal information of a pick-up line nature for himself and secrets that governments could use to stop further terrorist attacks.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday March 23rd

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Qonzilqointec and The Coming Storms of Baalshamin

September 15, 2015 at 4:30 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Qonzilqointec and The Coming Storms of Baalshamin

The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec was in her Mexico City penthouse apartment examining printed documents of emails that she had received.

She was wearing a white blouse and long black skirt as she sat at her desk.

She was reading an email sent to her from a researcher she had hired to do research for her at the Vatican Archives.

The researcher had come across a document written by a 4th Century Assyrian Catholic priest.

In the document, the priest recounted a legend told to him by the townspeople of the city of Palmyra.

According to the legend, Saint Michael the Archangel was having a fierce battle with the demons Baalshamin, Aglibol and Malakbel in the vicinity of Palmyra in the year 17 of Our Lord.

When he had vanquished the demons, he bound them within image statues on a carved relief within the Temple of Baalshamin in the City of Palmyra.

Said Michael, “Thou art now bound and imprisoned within the very images of yourselves that you command people to worship.”

Qonzilqointec looked over at a newspaper headline on how the ISIS Islamic State had just blown up the Temple of Baalshamin in Palmyra.

The Aztec vampire princess then tapped into her friend Renfield R. Renfield’s hacked feed of ISIS video broadcasts that the shapeshifting hamster/human Chief of Security and Intelligence Gathering for the London based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set used to keep tabs on the militant Islamist terrorist group.

As she watched the Temple being blown up on her computer screen, the explosion was soon followed by a huge desert sandstorm blowing across the sands of the desert outside Palmyra.

In an apartment below her, a tenant watched an episode of that old James Cameron produced TV show Dark Angel.

Within her own living room, the TV was tuned to a documentary on the Presidency of George W. Bush the architect of the Iraq War.

As Qonzilqointec watched the huge desert sandstorm flowing from the explosive blasts of the Temple of Baalshamin in Palmyra, the words of U.S. President #43 George W. Bush from his 1st inaugural speech echoed through the living room, “Do you not think an angel rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm?”.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday August 24th

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Palmyra: A Poem

September 9, 2015 at 6:32 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, News, Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Palmyra: A Poem

Once known as the Pearl of the Desert
it has now become a pearl of great price
and that price is blood.

Its name Palmyra means City of Palms
after those lovely beautiful trees that provide food, sustenance and shade to humanity
now palms covered in blood
raise their fists in fury
fists carrying 5 Fingers of Death.

Palmyra was an oasis 130 miles north-east of Damascus
now no longer an oasis of life
but a citadel of death.

The sands of the desert turn red with blood
and the blue of the sky
retreats to the darkness of night
The greenery that once was Palmyra
overshadowed by the blackness of hate.

-A poem written by Christopher
Monday August 24th 2015.

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