The Royal Albert Club London- 1927

February 23, 2017 at 6:02 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Henry Armstrong and Thomas Tennyson were both with British Intelligence. They were meeting with a British politician Winston Churchill at the Royal Albert Club in London.

All three men were members of the Royal Albert Club. The meeting was unofficial. What brought all 3 men together were their concerns about a rising political movement in Germany- Nazism.

The year was 1927. Most members of the British political establishment and most members of the British Intelligence community were not worried about Nazism.

The concerns these men had were dismissed by their compatriots as a very odd and eccentric form of obsession. It would only be after 1945 that these men would be regarded as visionaries.

“So this wealthy Egyptian who lives in Berlin and calls himself Mr. Sol Invictus Set is not a racist,” Churchill chewed the end of his cigar.

“No, he seemed to very much enjoy the company of Miss Josephine Baker in Paris,” Thomas Tennyson showed Churchill the pictures that British Intelligence had taken of the evening.

“Yes, he is very much enjoying himself indeed,” Churchill took a sip of brandy, “What a very beautiful and lovely woman this Miss Josephine Baker is. Set has excellent taste in women.”

Churchill continued to gaze at one picture in particular.

“Ahem,” Thomas Tennyson cleared his throat, “I think your darling Clementine would clearly have some concerns about the amount of time you’re spending looking at that photo of Miss Baker.”

“Yes, well,” Churchill handed the photos back to Tennyson, “I’m the sort of person who doesn’t like to forget a face.”

Henry Armstrong had to work overtime in controlling himself not to break into a huge fit of laughter over the Churchillian remark.

“So if Set isn’t racist,” Churchill sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigar, “why is he using his earnings off Chicago mobster Al Capone’s bootleg booze to donate such huge sums of money to Corporal Hitler’s German National Socialist Workers’ Party?”.

“Set seems to have an obsession with power,” Henry Armstrong explained.

“So Set will back any individual capable of arousing the masses to attain power and Set will be the power behind the throne?” Churchill said.

“Exactly,” Armstrong nodded.

“And he owns vast amounts of property here in Britain?” Churchill raised an eyebrow.

“He does,” Armstrong nodded again.

“Hm, this is definitely a matter for His Majesty’s Government to look into,” Churchill bit his cigar again, “we can’t have foreign nationals going around owning huge swathes of Britain.”

“Actually,” Tennyson interjected, “we’ve now found out that Set was granted British citizenship in 1922. He’s a subject of the British Crown.”

Churchill spilled brandy all over his tie after this last remark. He thought of switching from British bulldog mode to Swiss Saint Bernard mode and start licking the brandy off his tie but thought better of it.

“How the Hell did he manage that?” A flabbergasted Churchill asked.

“He’s apparently good friends with the Prince of Wales,” Armstrong explained.

“Really?” Churchill was likewise good friends with the Prince of Wales but was totally unaware of Set’s friendship with the flamboyant Prince Edward, “how is that possible?”.

“Well,” Tennyson blushed, “”Set has acted as what you might call the Prince of Wales’ pimp. He’s lined up women and dates for him.”

“Good God,” Churchill spit the end of his cigar into his now empty glass of brandy, “and is he continuing to act as the Prince of Wales’ pimp?”.

“Probably not from Berlin, no,” Tennyson shook his head.

“Well, I hope he doesn’t return to this country then,” Churchill motioned to the Royal Albert Club waiter for more cigars and brandy, “that’s all we need. This wealthy bootlegger/pimp Set getting the Prince of Wales involved with some woman who might cause a major crisis for this country sometime in the next 10 years.”

Armstrong glanced through a Simpson’s store catalogue that his sister from Canada had sent him.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday February 15th
2017.

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The London of The Ripper and Beyond

January 13, 2016 at 7:15 pm (Crime, Culture, History, Poetry) (, , , , , )

The London of The Ripper and Beyond

The clock tower ringed by fog and mist
a sentinel of time shrouded in mystery
The cling clang of horse’s hooves across the bridge
signaling a time other than our own
when our transport vehicles are silent
save for the incessant honking of the horn by the solipsistic narcissist within.

Carriage stops
door opens
out steps a man in black
black hat
black cloak
black cape

A woman’s scream in the night
that seems to piece the very fog itself
Such a scream was the signal of distress in the Ripper’s London.

And like those times of fog and mist
The Ripper legend continues to be shrouded in mystery.
Oh what foul deeds of darkness were then committed in the dark of night
Foul deeds that now are committed by others and broadcast on TV-morning, evening, day and night
In these times, darkness has become our normal light.

-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday January 10th
2016.

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Sherrielock Holmes

November 23, 2015 at 8:30 pm (History, Mystery, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Sherrielock Holmes

It was the autumn of 1893.

And London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes (the virtually unknown twin sister of Sherlock Holmes whose existence was vigourously denied by the Holmes family) had been entertaining a client in her London apartments.

“Well,” said her client, “it’s good thing I’m giving a speech in the House of Commons this afternoon. That means I’ll be standing. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit today.”

Her client exited the apartment and she could hear her client’s London bobby bodyguard say, “The street seems to be clear of any reporters, Mr. Prime Minister. I think it’s safe to enter your carriage.”

Sherrielock returned to her own thoughts as she put away the cane and wooden paddle.

She was thinking of a young man she had met in Paris that summer.

Louis.

A promising young physics and chemistry student at the Sorbonne.

The man was a genius.

He claimed to have in his possession the notebooks of the legendary Faust- the Renaissance alchemist whose tale and exploits had been made famous by England’s Christopher Marlowe and Germany’s Goethe.

He was also studying the work of the monk geneticist Gregor Johann Mendel.

He also had hopes of discovering the secret of immortality..

How Sherrielock longed to be immortal.

And to be immortal without being confined to the nocturnal existence of vampires and vampiresses.

. . .

Sherrielock Holmes walked through London’s Chinatown taking in the vibrant sights and unique aromas.

She wondered to herself if she went into one of the district’s nefarious opium dens if she’d spot her twin brother there- partaking of that strange vaporous dragon because he hadn’t any interesting cases lately.

She noticed a vendor with a stall and sign that said Ling Po’s Marvelous Mushrooms.

“So, Mr. Ling Po,” she smiled at the vendor, “what’s your most wonderful mushroom?”.

“That would be the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom, Missy,” the old vendor replied with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, a supernatural mushroom,” Sherrie smiled as she threw back her long dark hair.

“Yes, it’s said to eat it under certain conditions that it will grant one immortality,” Ling Po smiled.

“Oh well, then I shall buy some and eat it,” Sherrielock opened her purse.

“Wait, Missy,” Ling Po held up his hand.

“What is it?” Sherrie asked.

“The form of immortality the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom will give you may not be the immortality you desire,” warned Ling Po.

“No?” Sherrie looked quizzical.

“The warriors of the first Chinese Emperor Qin Shi Huang were promised immortality by the Chinese sorceress Wu Xian should they eat the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom boiled with a thousand year old egg,” Ling Po stated, “and in a sense they were granted immortality after they ate this strange brew. They turned to stone.”

“Turned to stone?” Sherrie struggled to get her coiled snake hairpin out of her hair.

“Yes, they became terracotta sculptures who were buried as funerary art when the Emperor Qin Shi Huang was buried circa 210-209 BC,” Ling Po explained, “and whether the request of the Emperor’s No. 1 wife was followed and Qin was buried face downwards so “he could see where he’s going” (his No. 1 wife’s words), I’m not sure. Nevertheless the Emperor’s stoned Terracotta Army was buried with him.”

“And has this tomb ever been found?” Sherrie asked as she raided her hair desperately searching for her hairpin.

“No,” Ling Po shook his head sadly, “There are rumours that the tomb is located in the Lintong District of Shaanxi Province in China but so far it has not been found.”

“I see,” Sherrie finally found her coiled snake hairpin, “nevertheless I’ll take the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom. But I promise I won’t eat it boiled with a thousand year old egg.”

. . .

Sherrie walked through the streets of London vigourously clutching her bag of Linghzi Supernatural Mushrooms.

She was certain her handsome young French physicist chemist boyfriend could find a scientific way by which the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom could be consumed that would grant one immortality without turning one to stone.

Her Louis.

Her handsome brave intelligent young Louis.

When she visited Paris the next time, she should really convince Louis to return with her to London to live.

Her Louis.

Physicist.

Chemist.

Scientific prodigy.

Genius extraordinaire.

Her Louis.

Monsieur Louis Rocher.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday November 21st
2015.

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Qonzilqointec In London

October 10, 2014 at 7:57 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, History, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Qonzilqointec In London

MI-6 Agent Diablos Nocturna was in his London apartment reading documents about the unstable political situation in Turkey over Kurdish anger at the Turkish government’s refusal to use its military to defend the Syria-Turkey border town of Kobane.

A rustling came through the curtains of his apartment.

And standing there was the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec wearing a black evening dress and black spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

“Well, hello,” Diablos Nocturna put his folder of documents down.

“Hello, Diablos,” the Aztec vampire princess smiled, “if I may call you by the first name of your MI-6 code name.”

For Qonzilqointec had known Diablos Nocturna before he had become an MI-6 agent.

“Of course your Highness,” Diablos smiled, “what brings you to London?”.

“Well I spent a few days in Paris,” Qonzilqointec answered, “where I was meeting with various art dealers trying to buy a painting that Toulouse-Lautrec had once painted of me.”

“I didn’t know that Toulouse-Lautrec had once painted a picture of you,” Diablos Nocturna was suitably impressed.

“Yes,” Qonzilqointec smiled as she touched her jade earring, “two actually. One of me wearing a fashionable Parisienne evening gown of the 1890s and the other of me in the nude.”

“Toulouse painted one of you in the nude?” Diablos Nocturna had never heard this in the art history course he once took.

“Yes,” Qonzilqointec sighed, “unfortunately that particular painting went down on the Titanic.”

“No wonder there have been so many salvage trips down to the ocean depths to see what can be recovered from the Titanic,” Diablos Nocturna poured two glasses of red wine.

“Thanks,” the sexy and seductive Aztec vampire princess brushed back her hair as she accepted both the compliment and the glass of red wine.

“Anyone else try to paint a picture of you in the nude?” Diablos Nocturna was starting to regret not having taken any oil painting classes himself when he was younger.

“Pablo Picasso,” Qonzilqointec answered, “but since I had no desire to look like a cube or an ear or an eye with two noses, I turned down his request.”

Diablos Nocturna laughed.

In the distance sounded the howl of a wolf-like creature.

“That sounds like a werewolf,” said Qonzilqointec who was familiar with such creatures.

“It does indeed,” Diablos Nocturna agreed.

He too was familiar with such creatures.

“Never recalled hearing anything about there being a werewolf in the neighbourhood tonight,” Diablos sipped his wine, “there’s a trade union meeting in the neighbourhood labour hall at which far-left Marxist British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley is the guest speaker.”

“Maybe the meeting is turning out to be a howling success,” the Aztec vampire princess suggested.

“Indeed,” Diablos Nocturna laughed, “so did you locate the painting that Toulouse-Lautrec painted of you fully clothed?”.

“I was fully clothed in an evening gown in the painting,” Qonzilqointec answered, “Henri himself was in the nude when he painted it.”

“I see,” Diablos Nocturna was intrigued, “and did he paint it using a brush or looking at you was he inspired enough to paint it using something else?”.

Now it was the Aztec vampire princess’ turn to laugh.

“I take it from the look on your face that you managed to locate the painting,” Diablos Nocturna poured two more glasses of red wine.

“Yes,” the Aztec vampire princess smoothed her dress, “I found it– this painting of me with its unique ‘brush’ strokes and mixes of paint and precious stains.”

“And what did the art dealer have to say when you bought it?” Diablos Nocturna asked.

“He said it was a good thing for art and history that the German businessman who bought the painting in the early 1930s took seriously ill the first week of May 1937 thus preventing both him and the painting from being aboard the Hindenburg that ill fated week,” Qonzilqointec answered.

“A good thing for art and history indeed,” Diablos Nocturna raised his glass of wine and drank a toast, “so anything else exciting happen to you in Paris?”.

“Well I watched that sleezy harlot Isis push Swiss scientist Dr. Fahrenheit Celsius off the bell tower of Notre Dame Cathedral which caused him to plunge to his death,” the Aztec vampire princess seethed through her vampiric fangs.

“Yes, I heard about that murder on the news here,” Diablos Nocturna finished his wine, “so it was the Vampiress Isis who committed it eh?”.

“Yes,” Qonzilqointec replied.

The news reported on BBC a week ago last Wednesday evening noted that not only had Dr. Celsius been killed but he had landed on top of a street corner poetry reciter killing him as well.

The street corner poetry reciter had just finished reciting John Donne’s famous lines, “Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee” when the bell tower plunging Swiss scientist fell on top of him.

As for the deep-rooted enmity between Qonzilqointec and Isis, that went back to the time when the French Emperor Napoleon III who served as an imperial puppet for the Vampiress Isis’ plans for world domination attempted to place a Hapsburg on the throne of Mexico as the Emperor Maximilian I.

This ticked off the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec who believed that the throne of Mexico was reserved for her spiritual godfather Quetzalcoatl.

“So you went to Paris to purchase a painting that Toulouse-Lautrec painted of you,” Diablos Nocturna smiled at Qonzilqointec, “what brings you to London?”.

“I came to see Dr. Cadbury Rocher,” Qonzilqointec answered, “and then I saw Renfield R. Renfield.”

“You saw the Vampire Set’s chief research scientist and then his shapeshifting hamster/human Chief of Security and Intelligence Gathering?” Diablos Nocturna lit a pipe.

“That’s right,” the Aztec vampire princess nodded.

“So how’s Renfield doing?” Diablos Nocturna looked up the term Severe Narcissistic Personality Disorder in the Complete Oxford Dictionary and noticed Renfield’s picture was along side it.

“Well talking of oil paintings of people posing in the nude,” Qonzilqointec laughed, “Renfield boasted to me that a well-known Malaysian woman artist who I had never heard of had painted two oil paintings of him posing in the nude.”

“Really?” Diablos Nocturna started to choke on his pipe, “and whatever became of those paintings?”.

“Well one of them disappeared along with the plane that it was on- Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370,” the Aztec vampire princess replied, “and the other went down on Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17 when the Amsterdam art dealer who bought it was trying to return it to the Kuala Lumpur art gallery from which he bought it to demand his money back.”

“I see,” Diablos Nocturna remarked.

“Although,” the Aztec vampire princess rubbed her chin, “there are rumours that it was found among the wreckage on the ground and its finding is responsible for giving recurring nightmares to Russian soldiers who are covertly operating in Ukrainian territory.”

“That I can believe,” Diablos Nocturna emptied his pipe.

“And now,” Qonzilqointec approached him, “I have discussed with Dr. Cadbury Rocher and Renfield R. Renfield a project I have in mind. And now I’m going to discuss that project with you.”

She leaned forward giving Diablos Nocturna a good view of her ample bosom down her low-cut evening dress.

“Well,” Diablos Nocturna said, “as Dr. Frasier Crane used to say on his Seattle radio call- in show on that old 1990s TV comedy series Frasier, ‘I’m listening’. ”

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
during the time period
of Tuesday October 7th
to
Friday October 10th
2014.

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Renfield In Israel

July 23, 2014 at 2:50 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Espionage, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Renfield In Israel

Renfield flew his Boss’ private plane from London to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv since U.S. and European commercial airlines suspended their flights there due to a Hamas rocket landing one mile away from the airport.

Renfield was to meet the Mossad agent called The Controller of The Golem.

He would then be taken to meet Ukrainian Vampiress Inna Hukulak who was in the protective custody of Mossad after she had been rescued by Israeli commandos from an FSB interrogation center in Moscow last month.

From Miss Hukulak, he would be given detailed information about Miss Hukulak’s personal arch-enemy the Russian Vampiress Svetlana Kireeva of the FSB.

Miss Kireeva would then be the one to use to get close to Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Renfield’s meeting with the Controller of The Golem had been arranged by MI-6 Agent Diablos Nocturna.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday July 22nd
2014.

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Magog En Route To Russia

April 6, 2014 at 4:54 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Magog En Route To Russia

Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley was flying a British Airways flight from London to Moscow.

He was on a secret diplomatic mission for the British government.

He was flying to Moscow to meet Russian President Vladimir Putin and ask him on behalf of the British government to withdraw his troops from the Ukraine-Russia border.

When asked to do this by British Prime Minister David Cameron and British Foreign Secretary William Hague, Rhys Petley asked the two gentlemen, “And what should I offer Putin in return if he does do this?”.

“Use your imagination,” Hague retorted over his cup of tea.

So Magog Rhys Petley was carrying in his wallet a personally autographed copy of the official Engagement photo of Sir Elton John and his future husband David Furnish who would be wed next month under the new laws allowing same sex marriage ceremonies in England and Wales which recently took effect.

Magog would give Putin the photo if he withdrew his troops from the Ukraine-Russia border.

Magog figured he owed the British government this favour.

After all the British government had intervened with the Irish government in Dublin and asked them to drop criminal charges and release the backbench British Labour MP when he was arrested during a Dublin police raid that took place in a Dublin brothel in the late evening hours of Saint Patrick’s Day.

Magog had gone to the brothel to cure his depression and anxiety attacks after he had witnessed a live Druidic human sacrifice ceremony that had taken place earlier that night near Blarney Castle.

Although the tea-toddling Dublin police sergeant who ordered the raid was immediately fired by his superiors for having the audacity to wreck Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations by doing so, Irish prosecutors decided they better prosecute those arrested in the raid.

A quick call from British Prime Minister David Cameron to Irish Taoiseach Enda Kenny (after Cameron had heard the shocking news of Rhys Petley’s arrest in a Dublin bordello) led to the charges against the Welsh MP being discreetly dropped and Magog being discreetly released.

British Labour Party leader Edward Miliband had severely reprimanded his backbench MP when he had returned to his Westminster offices.

“What were you thinking being arrested inside a Dublin bordello?”
Miliband had asked him, “Our London bordellos aren’t good enough for you?”.

And so now Magog was on his way to Moscow to ask Vladimir Putin to kindly remove his troops from the Ukraine-Russia border.

Magog took a quick sip of brandy.

He sure hoped dear Vladimir liked the photo of Sir Elton John and his fiancé David Furnish.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday April 6th
2014.

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