Fatima, Sodom, Mohammad bin Salman and Lady MacBeth

May 13, 2020 at 10:51 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Sorcery, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Fatima, Sodom, Mohammad bin Salman and Lady MacBeth

Peter Whitstable the man they call the Fox Mulder of Interpol was standing outside the Catholic shrine at Fatima, Portugal alongside one of the commanders of the Portuguese National Republican Guard.

Several soldiers belonging to the guard (who had been guarding the shrine against Catholic pilgrims wanting to attend the site to mark the 103rd anniversary of the 1st appearance of the Virgin Mary to 3 shepherd children at the location) had died at their posts after their face masks had suffocated them to death.

The deaths by suffocation had occurred after a mermaid riding a fire breathing black horse had rode by each man.

“Each one of the dead men had text messaged their friends about being visited in their beds in the middle of the night by a mysterious beautiful woman,” the Commander explained, “Whitstable, do you have any idea who this woman is?”.

“Well, I doubt very much it was Nancy Pelosi or any of her supporters,” Whitstable answered.

. . .

Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman was wrestling with the fact that his desert kingdom was now facing bankruptcy.

He now held in his hands the report from his country’s Finance Minister about the state of the situation.

How could this happen to him, a devoted servant of Allah who had been waging and financing a genocidal civil war against the Houthi peoples of Yemen for the past 5 years?

He who had served up pieces of dissident Saudi journalists as appetizers to Dr. Hannibal Lecter wannabes?

Only months ago, he had tried to wreck both the Russian oil industry and the U.S. shale oil industry by ramping up production of Saudi oil and driving the price down to below zero dollars a barrel .

Now that decision had turned around to bite him in the ass.

Well it was actually New York City Council Speaker Corey Johnson (who had recently been taught astral projection by the demon Baphomet) who was sodomizing him in the rear end.

Johnson who had been astral flying over a road that went down from Jerusalem to Jericho remarked contemptuously “Samaritan’s Purse!” when he saw a man being carried on the back of a donkey and helped by a kind stranger after the man had fallen among thieves.

The act reminded Johnson of that organization headed by Rev. Franklin Graham who was a kind humanitarian and not an abominable sexual pervert.

Fortunately for Johnson, New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo (on the advice of both King Herod’s ghost and New York State’s powerful Sodom and Gomorrah lobby) were going to tax Samaritan’s Purse medical volunteers even though they worked for nothing running a field hospital emergency tent in NYC during the height of the Covid-19 crisis.

As Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman was being sodomized by Johnson’s “astral body”, he reflected among his many other troubles that even his royal personal spirit guide the ghost of Lady MacBeth had left him.

. . .

Pope Francis shrieked when he saw the ghost of Lady MacBeth standing before him in his papal bedroom.

“What’s a woman doing in my bedroom?” He bellowed as he called out to his papal puffter personal aide and secretary.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday May 13th
2020

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Lady MacBeth and The Death of Soleimani

January 14, 2020 at 11:53 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Plays, Short Story, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , )

Lady MacBeth and The Death of Soleimani

Lady MacBeth’s ghost served as a spirit advisor to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman.

Her advice had started out very bloody indeed and the Crown Prince had to rinse very hard to get the blood of Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi off his hands in the eyes of the world.

In fact to a certain extent, he still had not done so.

However he did manage to get blood off his hands in the eyes of Donald Trump.

And that was the important thing.

Lady MacBeth advised the prince MbS (as he was called) to let the blood be on someone else’s hands in planning future killings.

Several months ago as MbS mused aloud in a paraphrase of England’s King Henry II murmuring about Thomas a Beckett, “Who will rid me of this troublesome general?” referring to Iran’s Gen. Qasem Soleimani, Lady MacBeth suggested, “Get Trump to do it.”

After whispering in the ear of Nancy Pelosi to go ahead with impeachment hearings against Donald Trump, Lady MacBeth’s ghost returned to Saudi Arabia from Washington DC and informed the Crown Prince, “The stage is set. The trap to be sprung. Trump’s ego will ensure the job to be done.”

When Trump was impeached, Lady MacBeth returned to Washington to whisper in Pelosi’s ear to hold up the Articles of Impeachment and not deliver them to the Senate right away.

Said Lady MacBeth, 

“He whose toupee from red spider monkey fur has bleached golden in the sun,
Thinks a quick acquittal by the Senate will be so much fun.
But let not golden showers be the only thing to rain on his toupee,
I say rain on his parade should be your Democrats’ way.”

Pelosi took Lady MacBeth’s advice and held up the articles of impeachment.

Trump fumed in the darkness of the night,
As bald head replaced toupee in the absence of light,
“When Oh God,” he addressed his image in the mirror, “shall this trial come to an end?
Isn’t it time once again for lesser wills to bend?”

Lady MacBeth put hand gently on yonder narcissist’s groin and whispered,

“Nay, soft, Roy Cohn’s once golden boy,
Among Netanyahu’s Messianic backers,
Thou art their most favoured goy,
Take out this Qasem Soleimani who gives poor Bibi such pain 
And causes Saudi oil profits to go down the drain.
Bibi and MbS alike will think you a man with golden spike
rather than a circus clown turned tethered dyke
And your approval ratings will soar
while Pelosi’s articles be in tatters on Senate floor.”

And so Trump gave the order for Soleimani to be taken out by drone.
And then had Big Macs delivered to him via his app on the phone.

“The blood is now on Trump’s hands,” 
Lady MacBeth watched the cheers coming from football championship stands,
As Melania quickly withdrew from the grasp of the Donald’s hands.

Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman smiled,
“How easy it is to wag the tail of this American dog 
A would be Caesar with the brains of a bump on a log.”

-A poem, Shakespearian drama
and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday January 14th
2020.

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Renfield, A Disembodied Head, A Missing Peace Prize and Welles’ Gatsby MacBeth

January 10, 2020 at 11:58 pm (Culture, Film, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Literature, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Renfield, A Disembodied Head, A Missing Peace Prize and Welles’ Gatsby MacBeth

It was evening and British MP Renfield R. Renfield was once again on Skype talking to his friend Amadeus Emanon who was in Australia.

Amadeus was part of an international group of volunteers working to rescue koalas, kangaroos and other wildlife from the wildfires that were currently raging in that country.

“Some fire fighters and rescue volunteers captured some photos of an unusual sight today,” Amadeus mentioned.

“Oh, and what was that?” Renfield asked.

“It was photos of the flaming disembodied head of a Jesuit priest going around setting fire to trees,” Amadeus answered.

“That is a very unique and unusual form of arson,” Renfield used his Sherlockian powers of deductive reasoning to reach that conclusion.

“Angelique,” Amadeus referred to his girlfriend, “captured a video of it.”

Amadeus showed Renfield the video.

As flames of fire came forth from the disembodied head, the Jesuit said, “Survival of the fittest. Jump start the next evolutionary leap. Koalas and kangaroos won’t help the Cosmos evolve towards the Omega Point.”

“Makes you wonder if this Omega Point is worth evolving to,” Renfield commented as he took a swig of whisky.

. . .

The news video clip was of Donald Trump at a campaign event in Toledo, Ohio the night before.

Trump told his supporters, “I’m going to tell you about the Nobel Peace Prize, I’ll tell you about that. I made a deal, I saved a country and I just heard that the head of that country is getting the Nobel Peace Prize for saving the country. I said, ‘What, did I have something to do with it?’. Yeah, but you know, that’s the way it is. As long as we know, that’s all that matters… I saved a big war, I’ve saved a couple of them.”
Trump was stating that he deserved the Nobel Peace Prize for ending the war between Ethiopia and Eritrea.

Not Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, 43, the man who actually ended the war.

The U.S. influence in the peace talks was minimal.

And so Donald Trump was making a whopper of a claim.

Probably the biggest whopper of a claim since then Prime Minister Brian Mulroney of Canada (the biggest most pompous and most arrogant asshole that Canadian politics has ever produced) made the whopper of a claim back in 1990 that he was the man single handedly responsible for the dismantling of the Berlin Wall in Europe and the ending of apartheid in South Africa.

Totally ignoring the efforts of Mikhail Gorbachev, Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul II in the former event and the efforts of Nelson Mandela and F.W. De Klerk in the other.

. . .

The ghost of Orson Welles (who along with Winston Churchill’s ghost was one of two spirit advisors to Renfield R. Renfield) sat in a comfortable arm chair in the Set Estate mansion in West London sipping a glass of spectral red wine while Set’s cat Nefertiti Galore was dining on smoked oysters and vodka from her cat dish.

The ghost of Orson Welles was contemplating directing a new film- a roaring 1920s version of MacBeth in which MacBeth would appear as a Great Gatsby style figure and Lady MacBeth would come across as an even more narcissistic (than she was in Fitzgerald’s novel) version of Daisy Buchanan- one with severe psychopathic and homicidal tendencies.

Welles imagined MacBeth’s first meeting with the 3 Witches- not on a Scottish heath but in the grand drawing room of an elegant mansion on a colossal Long Island estate.

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Friday January 10th
2020.

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Kurdish Dancers, Arabian Nights and No Turkish Delights

October 12, 2019 at 9:56 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Kurdish Dancers, Arabian Nights and No Turkish Delights

British Prime Minister Boris Johnson was about to have a phone call with Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan regarding the Turkish invasion of northern Syria.

He decided to have Renfield R. Renfield his Deputy Foreign Secretary In Charge of Geopolitical Intelligence Gathering in the background during the call.

Renfield being Renfield would undoubtedly do or say something that would help pressure Erdogan during the phone call and encourage him to pull out of Turkey.

As Johnson began talking to Erdogan, Renfield began singing his own paraphrased version of the song Henry VIII an old time honoured British music hall song.

Renfield singing,

“I am Erdogan the last I am, I am,
I just gave syphilis to the neighbour next door,
I’ve given out syphilis several times before,
every dirty sperm is an Erdogan, 
ERDOGAN!
I’m Erdogan the last, I am, I am…”

“I hate the British!” Was Erdogan’s remark when he had finished the call with Johnson.

. . .

Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman was in the kitchen of one of his palaces where the cooks were preparing bones and meat left over from the Prince’s various opponents who had encountered MbS’s janitorial maintenance cleaning crews throughout the world.

“All these dishes are being prepared for the right guest,” MbS proudly told the ghost of Lady MacBeth who served as his spirit advisor.

“I see more American troops are arriving in Saudi Arabia,” Lady MacBeth commented.

“Yes, rather splendid of Trump to pull his troops out of Syria and start sending his troops over here to the Kingdom,” MbS smiled.

“Nothing like stabbing the Kurds in the back,” remarked the ghost of Brutus (who had stabbed Julius Caesar) as he ran by while being chased by Cerberus after he had temporarily escaped from the Underworld.

. . .

Donald Trump was in a garden when he saw a beautiful brunette woman in an exquisite and lovely green evening dress dancing sensuously in the moonlight.

Trump looked around.

No sign of Melania or anyone else.

Trump smiled.

He walked towards the woman and decided to be his usual charming self in order to entice the woman to him.

“Birds do it, bees do it,” Trump began singing, “even dogs and trees do it…”

Trump approached the woman.

He decided to use that classic pick up line from the Peter Sellers movie There’s A Girl In My Soup, “My God, but you’re lovely…”

“I’m also Kurdish,” the woman with flashing dark eyes pulled a knife out from under her dress and stabbed him… in the front… a little due south.

Trump woke up in a sweat.

He suddenly thought he heard Middle Eastern music being played from the White House garden.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday October 12th
2019

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Ghost of Orson Welles Meets Belvedere In Istanbul

May 6, 2019 at 9:40 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles was sitting in a cafe in Istanbul.

He had been told by a Russian spy beluga whale whom he had helped to defect to Norway this past weekend that the lovely mermaid Miranda when swimming through the Bosphorus Strait would often shapeshift into full human form and visit the Marmara Cafe in downtown Istanbul of which she loved the Turkish coffee being served there.

Welles could never recall meeting an actual mermaid in his past mortal life or current ghostly life so he decided to come to Istanbul and visit the Marmara Cafe on the off chance that he might meet Miranda.

Welles sat at a back table in the corner of the cafe and sipped a glass of spectral red wine occasionally glancing at the entrance to see if any woman who might be a mermaid in full human form came walking through the door.

He recited William Butler Yeats’ Sailing To Byzantium as he sat,

“… And therefore have I sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium. ”

“Orson!” A voice shouted from the doorway.

It was the voice of Belvedere the ghost of a ghost white salamander.

Belvedere had been human but back in the mid-1880s in the American Wild West had been turned into a ghost white salamander through an ancient Egyptian spell cast by a gypsy woman who worked in the Wild West saloon where he worked as a bartender.

He became the ghost of a ghost white salamander when he crawled outside and was run over by a settlers’ ox cart heading west.

The first and last time Belvedere saw Welles was back in October 1938 just prior to the then Boy Wonder delivering his famous Halloween War of The Worlds broadcast.

“Belvedere,” the ghost of Orson Welles lit a spectral cigar, “Long time no see.”

“I see we’re both ghosts now,” Belvedere sat across from the spectral cinematic talent.

“Such are the ravages of time,” Welles blew rosebud shaped smoke rings, “unless we be vampires, vampiresses, gods, goddesses or immortal dominatrixes who have eaten just the right amount of Lingzhi supernatural mushrooms, we must all succumb to the hands of the scythe wielding spectre Death there to see our flesh melt and our bones turned to dust and our spirits wandering earth, purgatory or paradise until such time as our bodies and souls are reunited into a new transformed whole on the Day of Judgment.”

“Eloquent as ever, my friend,” Belvedere was impressed.

“So, what are you doing these days?” Welles sipped his wine, “What brings you to Istanbul?”.

“I am now a reporter for The Times of London,” the ghost white salamander answered, “I’m here on assignment. Turkey’s chief electoral body has ordered that Istanbul’s local elections be re-held after President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Islamist AK Party lost to the opposition secularist CHP Party after a shock opposition victory this past March.”

“It is indeed a hatchet in the cake of dictatorship when the trappings of democracy come crashing down just as the cake is being wheeled into the banquet hall where Ottoman Sultans once dined and harem girls once danced,” Welles helped himself to spectral caviar and spread it on a spectral slice of bread.

“Erdogan is indeed upset about the whole thing,” Belvedere agreed, “He himself used to be Mayor of Istanbul many years ago.”

“Such is the power of the spirit of Byzantium,” Welles drank a toast, “that this city can survive the misrule of a petty despot such as Erdogan.”

“Istanbul’s new CHP Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu is confident that he can win again in the re-held election,” Belvedere remarked.

“Beware the sting of scorpions and the fangs of serpents,” Welles’ baritone voice shook the cafe, “for my friends who still fast in the fires of Purgatory inform me that Lady MacBeth’s ghost serves as an advisor to Erdogan.”

“Great Scot! And great Caesar’s ghost!” Belvedere’s ghostly white face turned even more ghostly white, “Lady MacBeth!”.

“Never was a Film Noir Femme Fatale more femme fatalish than Lady MacBeth as the Bard so adeptly captured her personality, soul and spirit in his Scottish Play,” Welles raised his finger in the air to capture the direction the Mid-East winds were blowing, “for she serves not only as advisor to Erdogan but advisor to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman as well. Tantalizing both claimants to a future Caliphate. Playing one side against the other. Stringing both together as if playing on a harp whose strings are made of human sinews.”

Belvedere decided to change to a cheerier subject.

“Have you ever watched Game of Thrones?” Belvedere asked.

“I have never watched an episode in full,” Welles confessed, “I have watched segments of certain programs on YouTube.”

“What do you think?” Belvedere inquired.

“What do I think?” Welles lit another spectral cigar, inhaled and then exhaled smoke rings like dragons, “I think Game of Thrones captures what the world of Medieval Europe would have been like if there had been no figure of Christ at the center of the culture of Medieval Europe.”

“Really?” Belvedere pondered this thought.

“In such a Medieval Europe,” Welles took the final sip of what remained of his glass, “Every ruler would be able to say… we are all Lady MacBeth.”

As a woman in another corner of the cafe claimed to have just given birth to dragons, the ghost of Lady MacBeth entered the cafe’s entrance still carrying stains of blood on her spectral formerly mortal hands.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday May 6th 2019
Orson Welles’ 104th
birthday.

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Haiku Inspired By Shakespeare’s Scottish Play

August 29, 2013 at 3:22 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Haiku Inspired By Shakespeare’s Scottish Play

The Lady MacBeth
tries to Shout it out like ad
but damn spot remains

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