Pope Francis and The Satanic Sacrifice In Geneva

June 22, 2018 at 10:15 pm (Avatar Speaks, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Horror, International Intrigue, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Religion, The Supernatural, Theology, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Pope Francis and The Satanic Sacrifice In Geneva

Pan Goatee was walking around transit stops once again continuing his aesthetically inspired efforts in making the city more attractive by improving the visual appearance of its local transit system.

He had his laser machete and a karaoke headpiece with him.

He also had a can of gasoline.

As he started this evening’s slash and burn policy of ridding the city of its ugly females, he sang his own version of an old Wang Chung song from the mid-1980s:

I’d slash a million heads
to promote beauty
(Cuts off the head of an ugly looking girl)
So if you’re feeling low
cause you saw an uglo
(kicks the head away)
The blades I use are strong
They create beauty
But now the gasoline’s on
Light this head to Hell

(Pours gasoline over the head)

Rip it up
Slash down
Rip it up
Rid the world of its frown
Rip it up
Burn down
Rip it up
Beauty increases in town

Everybody slash ughs tonight
Everybody have fun tonight
Everybody slash ughs tonight
Everybody have fun tonight
Everybody slash ughs tonight
Everybody have fun tonight

Deep in the world tonight
(cuts off the head of a fat ugly woman)
The heads are going down
The blood will really flow
all the way across town

Rip it up
(cuts off the head of an even fatter and even uglier woman)
Slash down
Rip it up
Kick it down the ground
(Kicks head down the street)
Rip it up
burn down
Rip it up
Get out what’s inside of you
(takes off his Happy Days Fonzie black leather jacket and exposes a t-shirt that says GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR INNER PSYCHOPATH)

Everybody kill ughs tonight
Everybody kill ughs tonight
Everybody have fun tonight…

On the edge of oblivion
All the world is Babylon
And all the love and everyone
A ship of fools sailing on
It’s the Voyage of the Damned tonight
Charon is hanging on

Across the nation
massive constipation
Everybody Ex-Lax tonight
An enema that cuts through the grime
I don’t consider it a crime

. . .

The ghost of the late Iraqi President Saddam Hussein had somehow managed to escape the fires 🔥 of Tartarus when Hades (the Greek god of the Underworld) had his back turned.

Hades at the time was taking some giant lobsters out of a bag that were a gift to him from his brother Poseidon the god of the sea 🌊.

Hades was planning to roast the lobsters at a massive shake and bake that he was planning at one of the world’s largest volcanoes 🌋 during the next month.

Saddam’s ghost was currently in the city of Istanbul because he had heard that the Vietnamese government in Hanoi was going to name Ho Babylon Minh (the vampiress granddaughter of the late Vietnamese leader Ho Chi Minh) the Vietnamese Ambassador to the revived Ottoman Empire.

Saddam who had spent time roasting away on a spit in Tartarus was a little behind (in the opinion of Truman Capote’s ghost) in his knowledge of the world’s current affairs.

He was not aware that Turkey’s 🇹🇷 despotic and demagogic President Recep Tayyip Erdogan had not yet formally proclaimed the revival of the Ottoman Empire with himself (Erdogan) as the new Sultan of Constantinople and the new Caliph of the new Global Islamic Caliphate.

Erdogan was hoping to do extremely well in the Presidential and Parliamentary elections this coming Sunday June 24th (the Feast Day of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist) and then he’d announce the creation of the revived Ottoman Empire with himself as Sultan and Caliph.

As Hades rummaged through the bag of lobsters looking for a psychic lobster to eat first, Persephone noticed that Saddam’s ghost had gone missing.

She immediately sent the 3-headed dog Cerberus up to Earth to find Saddam’s ghost and bring him back to Tartarus.

. . .

Pope Francis was in his bedroom in the Vatican discussing the difference between dreams and reality with the ghost of Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung.

Why Pope Francis had asked Hades to temporarily grant Dr. Jung’s ghost a dispensation to leave Purgatory for a while was there was something that the Jesuit pontiff wished to discuss with the well known expert on dreams.

The matter had been bothering Father Jorge Mario Bergoglio (as Pope Francis was known to close associates) for the past 24 hours.

Ever since he had returned to Rome from Geneva.

The pontiff had spent the Summer Solstice in Geneva attending 70th anniversary celebrations for the World Council of Churches.

After the celebration, Francis had been invited to attend what was called “a non-Anglican Evensong service” in an abandoned and desolate Catholic Church on the outskirts of Geneva.

During the service, Francis saw a 16-year-old beautiful young Russian girl (who was said to be both a virgin and the youngest living (until then) female relative of the old Russian Imperial Romanov family) sacrificed to the satanic idol image of Baphomet while Vladimir Lenin’s ghost looked on and applauded.

During the sacrifice of the Russian girl, the Baphomet appeared in person and sang those old Cat Stevens lyrics, “I’m being followed by a moonshadow, moon shadow, moonshadow” as he played the song on an electric guitar 🎸 while a werewolf howled outside the very unusual looking stained glass window depicting the image of Judas Iscariot.

“What I want to know,” Francis asked Jung as he wiped his glasses, “was this just a dream I had or did this actually happen?”.

Jung took off his own pair of spectral glasses 👓 and wiped them with his spectral handkerchief, “I’ll need to discuss this further with one of my colleagues. Preferably Sigmund Freud.”

Francis got on his Hermes Trismegistus smart phone and dialled Hades’ private number to ask him to give Sigmund Freud’s ghost a temporary dispensation from Purgatory.

“Awwww, shit,” Hades cried as one of the lobsters pinched him on the buttocks with his claws when the Greek chthonic deity was distracted by the sound of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring ring tone playing on his own Hermes Trismegitus smart phone.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday June 22nd
2018.

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Cherchez La Femme

June 21, 2018 at 9:52 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Film, Mystery, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Cherchez La Femme

It would take a long time for the sun to set on Sunset Boulevard tonight
Carson Cody Albion thought to himself
in the midst of cigarette smoke and haze of bourbon
in his Los Angeles private eye’s office
It being the Summer Solstice and all that

Long hours of daylight
The riff raff of the city wouldn’t have so many hours to steal, extort and murder
Bummer for them! Albion thought

Albion had been hired to find a woman
Cherchez la Femme
as the French would say

He’d been told that she only seemed to venture forth at night
by the man who had hired him
The man a Hollywood director intended to give la Femme a screen test

Yeah right!
That’s what they call it these days
Albion laughed to himself
The gumshoe had his office door open to try to keep things cool
Between the hallway fan and the office ceiling fan
Maybe a touch of the Norse frost giants
would help cool down the flames 🔥 of Hades
on this Midsummer Night in Los Angeles

Albion’s ice in his glass had melted
The penalty for drinking straight from the bottle
He reflected
Well he should go see the sun set on this solstice night
before he started hitting the night spots and lounges
where la Femme was said to hang out

Albion locked his office door and walked down the four flights of stairs to the office building lobby
He tipped his fedora to the cleaning lady and walked out into the night

The neon lights hadn’t started to shine yet
As he walked through his sector of the city
They wouldn’t really come on until after the sun had set
Maybe that’s why he preferred California winters to California summers
The temperatures were about the same
maybe slightly cooler by inches of degrees in the winter
but what was missing was the glow of neon at night
in the summer
Neon the blood that seemed to make this city feel alive

It pulsed like the beat of a drum 🥁
and summoned all to partake in the wildness of the night
It was there that this urban jungle became a jungle
The women danced and swayed like tropical 🌴 dancers
and the men sharpened their spears for the time it was necessary
to stab both friend and foe in the back

Albion saw the sun set
He whistled
and the nearest neon light
seemed to answer his call
flickering on like a woman stirring towards orgasm

Speaking of women, it was time to Cherchez la Femme
Several gin joints and several nightclubs later,
he found her
in a midnight blue evening dress

Her brunette hair
The touch of a foreign accent as she introduced her next song into the microphone
Romanian I believe the film director said it was
And when she sang, Albion thought that the moonlight had never serenaded the ocean 🌊 so beautifully
The City of Angels had been touched by an angel
Albion stubbed out his cigarette
and approached her
when she had finished singing her numbers

It was a Los Angeles night in the mid-1940s
Midsummer Night
and Orson Welles wanted him
Carson Cody Albion to locate a woman for a screen test

What Midsummer Night’s Dream did Mr. Welles have in mind,
Albion thought cynically to himself,
after all the man was married to Rita Hayworth?
Wasn’t the Love Goddess enough for him?

But enough of reflecting like Chandler’s Philip Marlowe,
Albion started heading in the woman’s direction
for he didn’t have all eternity to make a connection
La Femme flashed Albion a warm smile as she saw him approach
Her sharp incisors that hung from her top front teeth puzzled the private eye
What manner of woman is this? Albion thought
If Albion knew at the time he asked himself this question
he’d have realized that the woman did have all eternity.

-A private eye poem
written by Christopher
Thursday June 21st
2018

Dracul Van Helsing was in Romania.

He was trying to track down Dracula’s daughter the Countess Draculina on behalf of her father.

The Count since his Cadbury Rocher inspired vampiric resurrection had learned how to use the Internet.

He was trying to track down his daughter.

The only thing he managed to find on the World Wide Web was that his daughter had once done a screen test for Orson Welles back in the 1940s

Now Van Helsing had managed to track her to Romania her ancestral homeland.

He had heard that she had dyed her hair blonde.

He walked over to the window of his room in the old inn in which he was staying.

And watched the sun set on the Carpathian Mountains on this summer solstice evening.

He turned on the television to watch the news hoping to find out the weather.

And there he saw… Countess Draculina.

(Notice her vampiric incisors unless of course your eyes are focused elsewhere for some reason 😉)

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Jack O’ Hare On Saint John’s Eve

June 23, 2011 at 9:12 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , )

It’s Saint John’s Eve
said the frog called Steve
The Eve of Saint John the Baptist
and I’ve got the results of my lab test
I’m allergic to flies
so in Japan no fries
so no Twitter photos from Anthony Weiner
or they’ll be using formaldehyde for my cleaner
down at the morgue
where ghouls do gorge.

Agreed Jack O’ Hare
with a touch of flair,
it’s St. John’s Nativity
which we’ll mark with civility
until the carrot wine does flow
and my bunny nose will glow
from much imbibing
amidst good tiding.

It’s Saint John’s Eve in the Enchanted Forest
where Sarah Palin leads a pro-climate change chorus
and Al Gore conducts flatulent cows
whose methane gas wows
the crowd will fall dead
so many zombies a’ head
in a world topsy turvy
like an upside down curry.

It’s Shakespeare’s Midsummer Dream all over again
where the robin will sing in tune with the wren
and it’s Bottom’s up in the glen
he’s made an ass of himself
while Puck grins on the shelf
what fools these mortals be
no stars for Pyramus and Thisbe
but two thumbs down
as Snout adjusts his gown
playing a wall
over which bugs do crawl.

‘Tis fine theatre indeed
as Steve smoked a poppy seed
in opium there’s hope
I ain’t no dope.

HIgher than heaven
and the number seven
observed Jack O’ Hare
as he sipped eau clare
as Steve climbed Heaven’s stair
a lead Zeppelin was he
as he crashed into a tree
enjoying the revelry
of this Bacchic hospitality.

-A poem written by Christopher Van Helsing
Thursday evening, June 23rd 2011
The Eve of the Nativity of Saint John The Baptist.

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