Testing, Testing…

May 22, 2020 at 10:39 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Testing, Testing… 

Amadeus Emanon and British MP Renfield R. Renfield were having a conversation via Skype.

“What do you think of this new national security law that the Chinese Communist Party National People’s Congress has just passed for Hong Kong?” Amadeus asked his friend Renfield.

“It means the death of autonomy for Hong Kong and the end of the “one country, 2 systems idea”,” Renfield replied, “What freedoms Hong Kong previously held will now be crushed under Xi Jinping’s heels. No doubt Democratic Party politicians in the U.S. are busy taking notes. Their appropriately named House of Representatives bill H.R. 6666 that will allow for the establishment of so-called “entities” to do Covid-19 testing, tracking and contact tracing including entering people’s residences for that purpose no doubt is making the ghosts of Hitler’s old Gestapo and Stalin’s Soviet surveillance agencies green with envy.”

“What’s happening in Europe?” Amadeus inquired.

“Measures vary from country to country,” Renfield answered, “You have to wear masks in public in Germany, France is slowly re-opening its economy and Italy is doing the same.”

“How about Canada?” Amadeus poured maple syrup on his pancakes.

“Well Justin Trudeau, like the U.S. Dems, is wanting to establish a national testing, tracking and contact tracing service in the country,” Renfield sipped a brandy, “Laventriy Beria would feel quite at home in North America today.”

. . .

Dashwood Forrest owner of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London was bothered by the fact that in his 1860 Basil Hallward oil paintings of Dorian Gray and Dorian Gray’s teddy bear that he kept behind purple velvet curtains in a room in the gallery marked PRIVATE, both Dorian Gray and his teddy bear were now wearing face masks in the picture.

“Why are they wearing face masks in the picture?” Forrest asked.

“Have they tested positive for Covid-19?” Suggested Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie as one of his arms and his head fell off.

Earlier in the day, Mulligan the Irish zombie had borrowed Dashwood Forrest’s 1909 Thomas Flyabout antique motor car to go to a Covid-19 testing drive through facility.

Mulligan’s arrival had sent Covid-19 testers screaming out into the streets.

A piece of foreskin that Mulligan had left behind (he had decided to attend the drive through in the all together like his Australian hero Uncle Ernie had at a Sydney Covid testing drive through a week earlier) tested positive for Covid-19.

As a result, British Prime Minister Boris Johnson was now reading a confidential report that hypothesized that a second wave of the Covid-19 virus might include a possible zombie apocalypse.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 22nd
2020.

Permalink 6 Comments

Willard 1971 Film Characters Show Up In The Year of The Rat

January 25, 2020 at 11:57 pm (Aesthetics, Culture, Film, magic, Movies, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Willard 1971 Film Characters Show Up In The Year of The Rat

“When was this photo taken?” British MP Renfield R. Renfield asked art gallery owner Dashwood Forrest as he held a martini (stirred not shaken) at an exhibition of the photographs that never made it into LIFE Magazine during the years of its existence.

“Sometime in the 1950s in Havana, Cuba,” Forrest answered.

“That’s a zombie isn’t it?” Renfield inquired.

“It is,” Forrest replied as he accepted the cocktail drink called the Zombie that was handed to him by his living dead walking dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie.

Dead skeleton meets living dead Zombie.

. . .

Krampus the demon-goat of old Bavaria and the old Austro-Hungarian Empire received an elegantly written handwritten note from his friend the genetically created satyr serial killer Pan Goatee (who specialized in killing ugly women) complaining about the vast number of ugly women living in the City of Calgary.

Krampus decided to help his friend out.

He went to a Calgary repertory theatre that were showing the 1971 American horror film Willard (about a young man who trains rats to eat people) to mark the start of the new Chinese lunar new year The Year of the Rat that begins today.

It was the sort of thing that a city like Calgary known for its brainless white Caucasian males (with the exception of Pan Goatee as well as a journalist/historian/geopolitical analyst who lived on a medical disability pension) and its hideous repulsively ugly Caucasian white females (of which sadly there were very few exceptions) would put on to mark the start of a Chinese New Year that called itself the Year of The Rat.

Krampus went to the theatre and calling upon an ancient spell from an ancient Aztec copy of The Necronomicon brought the rats to life off the movie screen and into the theatre where they proceeded to eat the brainless white men and the ugly white women.

After vomiting their unsatisfactory meals into the theatre toilets and urinals, the rats then went running out into the streets of Calgary.

Fortunately a former Neo-Nazi (who this morning had become a born again non-white supremacist after seeing how ugly the white women of Calgary were thus showing the idea of whites being the master race to be a total lie) had already left the downtown core and so avoided being eaten by the rats.

Pan Goatee meanwhile was entering his nearby shopping mall food court.

Approaching from the direction of the public library was an ugly looking white woman who looked like a hideous medieval cathedral gargoyle sporting an Afro.

“Cultural appropriation again, eh, you pathetic blemish on the peas in the garden of Mendelian genetics,” Goatee remarked as he beheaded the creature and cut her up into 999 trillion pieces.

As he walked away, no dark glasses wearing and barf bag wearing Hounds of Hell showed up.

As they were all being treated for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from trying to environmentally dispose of Goatee’s uglocidal victims the other day.

Goatee went inside the food court where he was enjoying a Vietnamese submarine sandwich and a Lebanese donair style pizza.

Unfortunately for him, the most hideously ugly thin stoat sized white woman in all recorded history walked by and walked around the food court.

Goatee immediately cut up the ugly woman into 999 trillion pieces without bothering to behead her first.

He put on Welder’s glasses and put his astral laser machete on slow-mo (for slow motion) to take its time on cutting up the ugly looking creature into tiny pieces.

Using the Michtlantecuhtli tempus suspendendi ray, Goatee was able to withhold death from ending the uglo’s agony until such time as the 999 trillionth piece fell to the floor.

“How am I going to clean up this mess?” The food court janitor asked as he arrived on the scene.

His answer soon became apparent with the arrival of hundreds of thousands of rats who appeared and proceeded to eat up the Guinness Book of World Records holding uglo thin sized stoat award winner.

Another group of hundreds of thousands of rats went into the washroom where they vomited up the remains of the white uglo looking gargoyle with the Afro they had encountered and eaten outside.

Well so far today, Goatee had encountered an uglo looking gargoyle and an uglo looking stoat.

All that was needed to totally ruin his day was for him to encounter a fat ugly blimp.

That happened as soon as he went outside to cross the street to the bus stop in front of the high school.

There approaching him was a fat ugly blimp with her stupid looking brainless white boyfriend (with lousy taste in women).

Goatee beheaded the blimp as well as her stupid boyfriend.

He cut up both uglo and brainless boyfriend into 999 trillion pieces each.

He wasn’t sure what 999 trillion x 2 was as he had left his antique Chinese abacus at home.

He wondered if it would have taken him awhile to figure out that particular multiplication.

Oh well, he wouldn’t worry about it, he thought as he headed for home.

Up on the roof of the high school, Socrates and Ben the two mastermind rats who lead the band of rats in the 1971 film Willard were busy examining the satellite TV dish at the top of the high school as there were no satellite TV dishes on top of high schools back in the era of 1971.

. . .

The demon Mephistopheles to the Norse goddess Hel: I wonder what the Year of the Rat will bring, my dear?

. . .

Yaya Han the Chinese leprechaun had a combined Chinese Lunar New Year/Robbie Burns Day dinner celebration with Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun.

They had sweet and sour haggis as a Beijing wrestler wearing a little known Ming Dynasty tartan style kilt recited Robbie Burns’ Address To A Haggis before plunging the ancient Chinese dagger into the haggis.

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Saturday January 25th
2020.

Permalink 17 Comments

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

September 3, 2019 at 11:01 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Horror, International Intrigue, magic, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Philosophy, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

Dashwood Forrest sat in his office in his art gallery in London and quietly sipped a drink of absinthe.

The Green Fairy as it was called was one of the favourite drinks of his idol the writer, novelist, poet and playwright Oscar Wilde.

Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie (who had been brought back from the dead many years ago by South African witch doctor Dr. Sterling Makabo) was out for the evening.

Mulligan had been hired for the evening by British MP Renfield R. Renfield to haunt the residence of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn and stand outside the back entrance of Corbyn’s lodgings and say in a spookily haunting zombie voice (with an Irish lilt to it), “The Irish backstop ends at your back door, Mr. Corbyn. The Irish backstop ends at your backdoor.”

As Jeremy Corbyn began to suffer the worst nightmares of his life, Forrest finished his glass of absinthe, left his office and locked it.

He walked down to the end of the gallery where he entered a room marked PRIVATE.

No one (not even Mulligan the Irish zombie) ever entered that room.

Only he Dashwood Forrest art historian, art gallery curator and extraordinary gentleman of many talents ever entered that room.

For that room contained a portrait behind purple velvet curtains.

A portrait of a man.

A portrait of a man painted in the year 1860.

A portrait that was first mentioned in a book published in July 1890.

A book that most people (and even Dashwood Forrest himself for most of his life) had considered a work of fiction.

Until Forrest came across the painting in an estate sale back in October of 2012.

The picture was of a man named… Dorian Gray.

And the artist who signed the picture was named Basil Hallward.

The painting was of an extremely handsome young man in his early 20s.

Exactly as described in Oscar Wilde’s famous Gothic Philosophical novel of the 19th Century- The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest drew back the purple velvet curtains that covered the painting and hid it from view.

Forrest got the shock of his life when he saw the portrait was empty.

There was no subject in the painting.

Dorian Gray was gone.

. . .

Forrest stared blankly at the blank canvas and blinked.

His smart phone went off.

It was a text message from his friend Amadeus Emanon.

A Set Enterprises satellite over the Bahamas had photographed the eye of the storm of Hurricane Dorian.

And a giant mysterious almost human figure seemed to be standing and moving with the eye of the storm in the hurricane.

Forrest again blinked.

For the figure was the spitting image of Dorian Gray.

The figure now missing from the painting.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday September 3rd
2019.


Sibyl: She loved Dorian in vain.

Permalink 29 Comments

Athena and Dashwood Forrest

July 5, 2019 at 11:27 pm (Folklore, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Athena and Dashwood Forrest 

“That bust does not do you justice, Athena,” London art gallery curator Dashwood Forrest remarked to the Greek goddess of Wisdom.

“To which one of her breasts are you referring, Master?” Asked Mulligan the Irish zombie who was Dashwood Forrest’s somewhat inept living dead manservant.

“Mulligan, go outside and play in the rain,” Forrest ordered.

The Irish zombie did so where he was swept away by the rain.

“I apologize for the idiotic intrusion,” Forrest bowed to the Greek goddess.

“It’s all right,” Athena smiled, “I found his remark somewhat amusing.”

“I wish more customers were like you,” Forrest sighed, “Mulligan drives a lot of them away with his comments that is if his zombie appearance doesn’t drive them away first.”

“Who sculpted this bust of me?” Athena asked.

“A chap by the name of Mario Rossini,” Forrest answered, “A promising young sculptor who was killed after being hit by a train while moulding a clay figure of a bull (in a farm field) while sitting on a railway track. He really took the combined fields of performance art and sculpture to a new level. What level of Dante’s cosmos he wound up in, I could not say.”

“I don’t think I shall purchase this bust of me,” Athena moved on to an oil painting of Hermes.

“I do not blame you,” Forrest placed a towel on the head.

“What a remarkable figure of a leprechaun,” Athena looked at a clay statue of a leprechaun, “he looks somewhat like my grandson.”

Forrest coughed, “Grandson? But I thought you were a virgin goddess?”.

“Have you never heard of artificial insemination, Mr. Forrest?” Athena winked at him.

Forrest turned ghastly pale at the Greek goddess’ remark.

“Relax, Mr. Forrest,” Athena laughed, “I’m only joking.”

“Thank God,” Forrest looked relieved.

“You no doubt heard how I was born from my father’s head when my father Zeus had a headache,” Athena recalled.

“That tale I remember very well,” Forrest commented as he took an aspirin with a glass of water.

“Well one day I had a headache after walking across the desert sands of Egypt feeling quite dehydrated and I gave birth to Sophia from my head,” Athena recounted.

“Sophia?” Forrest drank the water.

“The Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom,” Athena explained, “worshipped by various Gnostic groups throughout the centuries. Anyhow back in the 1st Century AD, she encountered the immortal Egyptian scientist Imhotep. Imhotep was working on the concept of artificial insemination back then and he artificially inseminated Sophia and she gave birth to a leprechaun whom she called Yaldabaoth.”

“That name Yaldabaoth sounds familiar,” Forrest creased his eyebrows in thought, “but I don’t associate him with leprechauns.”

“Well no mother wants to say her son is a leprechaun with a serious drinking problem,” Athena smiled, “so she told people that Yaldabaoth was the demiurge who created the material physical universe.”

“Oh yes,” Forrest nodded, “that’s where I’ve heard the name.”

Meanwhile Mulligan the Irish zombie was being swept down the street in a torrent of rain water.

He suddenly came to a halt after crashing into an alley wall.

But not before knocking over a garbage can first.

Out of the garbage can fell an Irish leprechaun.

“Saint Patrick and Saint Kevin preserve us!” Yaldabaoth exclaimed, “What a rude awakening!”.

“Mulligan!” The Irish zombie doffed his shamrock emblazoned cap to the little fellow, “Irish zombie Mulligan.”

“Yaldabaoth!” The leprechaun replied, “Irish leprechaun Yaldabaoth! And I dare you to try and pronounce that name correctly after you’ve had 20 glasses of whiskey.”

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Friday July 5th
2019.

Permalink 10 Comments

Orson Welles’ Ghost Views The Only Scene Ever Filmed For Roman Polanski’s Wuthering Heights

May 30, 2019 at 10:40 pm (Arts, Culture, Film, Literature, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles was admiring a small sculpture of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow that the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set had recently purchased from the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The sculpture showed the Headless Horseman and his pumpkin head riding a black horse while the schoolteacher Ichabod Crane is seen getting run over by one of Santa’s reindeer who, after drinking too much Kickapoo Joy Juice, mistook Halloween night for Christmas Eve and was venturing in the forest near Sleepy Hollow following the Headless Horseman and his black horse and his orange pumpkin head mistaking the latter for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s red shiny nose.

“What a delightfully eclectic and eccentric sculpture,” Welles’ ghost remarked as he looked at it while sampling a glass of spectral red wine.

Welles had been informed by British MP Renfield R. Renfield that Boris Johnson (the former Foreign Secretary of Britain) had purchased a retirement gift for British Prime Minister Theresa May at the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

The gift was an 18th Century portrait painting of an 18th Century Irish Pirate of the Caribbean Captain Kerry Donegal.

Welles had recently met the ghost of Kerry Donegal in person when Renfield had brought him home after a night of carousing at the Oscar Wilde Pub.

Welles decided to go down to the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in person to see what other great treasures were available there.

The door to the gallery was opened by Dashwood Forrest’s Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie who was undergoing his own personal zombie apocalypse after having drunk too much Guinness stout and Jameson’s Irish whiskey the night before.

“Excuse the hand on the floor,” Mulligan remarked after his right hand came apart at the wrist and fell on the floor.

As Mulligan tried to re-attach his right hand to the rest of his right arm, Welles’ ghost was greeted by art gallery owner and curator Dashwood Forrest who had a martini in his own hand.

“You know the trouble with being dead is you’re decomposing all the time,” Mulligan the Irish zombie remarked as his right ear fell off.

“Mulligan never did have an ear for music,” Forrest invited Welles into his office, “but do come into my office. I have something that a great film director such as yourself would be interested in.”

As Mulligan managed to find his right ear below a portrait of Vincent Van Gogh, Dashwood Forrest closed the office door behind him and Welles.

“Let me run the film projector,” said Forrest, “for I have here on film the only scene ever completed and shot for a film adaptation of Wuthering Heights that Roman Polanski intended to make back in 1989 but financing for the movie was pulled at the last moment. Polanski was setting his version of Wuthering Heights in the late 20th Century. This was a scene between Heathcliff and Cathy.”

The projector ran and the Polanski 20th Century Wuthering Heights scene between Heathcliff and Cathy- a single still shot appeared:

“Where’s Heathcliff?” Welles asked.

“Heathcliff is the old car in the photo,” Forrest answered, “Polanski intended the movie as a cross between Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights and Stephen King’s Christine.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Welles looked stonefaced, “Jack Nicholson must have sent Polanski plenty of California grass that Roman smoked before he came up with the idea for this picture.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 30th
2019.

Permalink 6 Comments

Fish and Chips With Holmes and Watson

May 17, 2019 at 10:28 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

It was a May evening in London at 221B Baker Street the residence of the world-famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes.

The year was 1899.

“Well, Holmes,” Dr. Watson put down his newspaper, “what do you deduce that Mrs. Hudson has made us for dinner tonight?”.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you this morning, Watson,” Holmes lit his pipe, “Mrs. Hudson is going to a Church Auxiliary Tea and Bake Sale this evening so sadly for us, no fine dinner from Mrs. Hudson tonight.”

“Blast it, Holmes,” Watson grimaced, “I wish you had told me. I’d have gone for dinner at the club tonight.”

“What and leave me home alone, Watson?” Holmes smiled, “Leaving me to fend for myself?”.

“Damn right, I would, Holmes,” Watson nodded, “If I can’t enjoy Mrs. Hudson’s fine cooking, I can get a very fine beef steak at the club.”

“What say we go out for some good old English fish and chips, Watson?” Holmes started putting his rain coat on.

“All right,” Watson put his jacket and coat on, “seeing as how they’ve probably stopped serving dinner at the club an hour ago.”

Holmes and Watson exited their room, walked down the stairs and through Mrs. Hudson’s parlour out the front door.

“Where shall we go for Fish and Chips, Holmes?” Watson asked.

“I noticed just the other day that a new Fish and Chips place opened up a few blocks away, Watson,” Holmes pointed in the direction, “What say we try there?”.

“All right,” Watson agreed, “Lead on, MacDuff.”

The duo walked enjoying the evening air.

“Here’s the place,” Holmes pointed at the entrance with his walking stick.

“The Captain’s,” Watson looked at the sign above the door, “Quite an original name for a Fish and Chips place.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Watson,” Holmes remarked.

“Neither does being hungry,” Watson opened the door, “let’s go in.”

Inside both Holmes and Watson ordered the 3 pieces of Fish with Chips plate.

The detective ordered a brandy and his physician friend ordered a gin for liquid refreshment.

“Interesting portrait painting on the main wall, there,” Holmes said to the waiter when he brought the drinks, “who is that supposed to be?”.

“That is a picture of the Captain,” the waiter replied.

“He looks like a bloody pirate if you ask me,” Watson gazed at the painting.

“He was, sir,” the waiter nodded, “he was a pirate captain.”

“Oh, really,” Watson harrumphed, “What was his name?”.

“That we do not know, sir,” the waiter answered, “The restaurant’s owner bought that painting in an antique shop in Plymouth. The painting dates back to the 18th Century the antique dealer said. But who the man in the portrait is, he had no idea. But the painting inspired the owner to open up a Fish and Chip shop and call it The Captain’s named after the figure in the painting.”

“Bloody mysterious if you ask me,” Watson took a sip of his gin.

“And yet my trade is solving mysteries, Watson,” Holmes lit his pipe again.

“So, who is the figure in the painting?” Watson asked Holmes.

“I’m afraid I’ve never really studied the history of 18th Century piracy in depth to hazard a guess,” Holmes blew smoke rings.

“What you mean there’s actually something that the great Sherlock Holmes does not know?” Watson laughed.

The waiter arrived with their Fish and Chips orders and both men raised knife and fork to tackle the huge succulent looking pieces of cod on their respective plates forgetting the question of the pirate in the painting.

“So, what made you decide on a Fish and Chips dinner tonight, Holmes?” Watson asked.

“A dream I had last night, actually,” Holmes took a sip of his brandy.

“But I didn’t think you put much stock in dreams, Holmes?” Watson had to smile.

“Normally I don’t,” Holmes admitted as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Still the Bard did write We are such stuff as dreams are made on. And it was a memorable dream I had to admit.”

“What was it?” Watson was curious.

“I dreamed I was aboard a boat and a large octopus… a Kraken actually of mythological folklore fame was drinking 120 barrels of rum,” Holmes sucked thoughtfully on his pipe.

“How did you know there were exactly 120 barrels?” Watson laughed, “You counted?”.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson,” Holmes shook his head in dismay, “Obviously I counted.”

“Holmes,” Watson put down his fork in exasperation, “You’re the only person I know who would spend time in his dream counting exactly how many barrels of rum a Kraken was drinking.”

The duo started getting quizzical looks from customers sitting at other tables.

“So, what significance is there to the number of rum barrels the Kraken was drinking?” Watson cut into another piece of cod, “What does the number 120 signify?”.

“God only knows, Watson,” Holmes poured vinegar on his chips, “The number of years perhaps.”

The detective shrugged.

“Let’s see,” Watson did arithmetic in his head, “120 years from now, that would be May 17th 2019.”

. . .

It was a Friday evening in London in May 2019 and Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery was removing an old oil painting he had just purchased from the crate it was in.

“Good heavens,” Forrest’s Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie spilled gin and brandy all over himself when he saw it, “That figure in the painting looks exactly like Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of The Caribbean.”

. . .

In the May evening in 1899, Holmes lit his pipe again and looked contemplatively at the ceiling.

“You know it’s strange, Watson,” Holmes’ pipe smoke headed in the direction of the portrait of the Captain.

“What’s that, Holmes?” Watson sipped his after dinner coffee.

“That we never seem to call one another by our first names like normal acquaintances seem to do,” Holmes chewed on his pipe.

Now there was a mystery.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 17th
2019.

Permalink 2 Comments

The Cosmic Origins of P.H. Lovecat

February 4, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, International Intrigue, Music, Mystery, Mythology, News, Politics, Spy Tales, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

His name was Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour.

P. H. Felinedamour for short.

He was an artist.

An artist inspired by the writings of H.P. Lovecraft.

Many Lovecraftian entities showed up in his paintings.

And in the art show that Dashwood Forrest (the Oscar Wilde admiring owner of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London) would be opening tonight in his gallery, the last painting that Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour ever painted – from December 21st 2012 (the same night that he disappeared) – would be on pre-eminent display in the middle of the gallery for this art show.

Dashwood Forrest was currently showing the painting to British MP Renfield R. Renfield and his date for this evening Lepardia Marango the cultural attache at the South African Embassy in London.

Renfield was bringing Lepardia to the gallery as a way of saying thanks to the cultural attache for saving the Transhumanist MP’s life this past weekend.

Lepardia had stopped an assasination attempt on Renfield by wrestling to the ground the Russian vampiress and FSB operative Svetlana Kireeva.

The incident occurred in the final match of a darts tournament being held at the Clytemnestra’s Revenge and Agamemnon’s Bathtub Pub and Beef House.

The wrestling match between mortal woman and immortal (unless staked through the heart) vampiress caused Renfield to lose the tournament by wrecking his final throw.

Svetlana had intended to assasinate Renfield by firing a poison dart at him with an Amazon tribesman’s blow gun.

Instead the dart hit the left foot of the American Jesuit priest Father Neville Barack Chamberlain (who was theological advisor to New York Cardinal Timothy Dolan advising His Eminence on how to take a firm stand on the most pressing doctrinal and moral issues of the day) causing a paralysis in the priest’s right testicle in an example of acupuncture and chi energy gone horribly wrong.

Lepardia and Renfield gazed at the P.H. Felinedamour painting entitled

Artemis, Cthulhu, Diana’s Sacred Deer and Hecate’s Familiar Black Cat With Clytemnestra Holding A Net and Agamemnon Screaming In The Nude In The Background.

“So that was the last painting he ever painted?” Renfield asked the London art gallery owner as he downed a reddish pink with shades of China blue shooter called Vincent Van Gogh’s Missing Ear.

Ariana Grande walked by in a slit skirted evening dress that prominently displayed her new “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo.

The singer was eating Honey Dipped Chicken Fingers from McDonalds.

No doubt Bill Clinton and the Rev. Jesse Jackson would have loved to have been flies on the wall (or even better, flies on the floor) as the lovely Miss Grande walked by.

“That is correct,” Forrest bowed to Renfield as Renfield crushed and killed a pair of flies on the floor with his right shoe.

Forrest’s personal secretary arrived on the scene to inform the Oscar Wilde lookalike London art gallery owner that his living dead Irish manservant and valet Mulligan the Irish zombie had just accidentally spilled barbecued chicken wings hors d’oeuvres down the evening dress of British Prime Minister Theresa May.

“Excuse me,” Forrest whispered to Renfield and Lepardia as his face turned as pale as the portrait of Dorian Gray and he rushed in the direction of the catastrophe.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday February 4th
2019.


Ariana Grande: Showing off her “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo at the P.H. Lovecat (Felinedamour) Art Show.

Permalink 8 Comments

Dashwood Forrest’s iPhone FaceTime Chat With Ivanka Trump

September 5, 2018 at 10:09 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Dashwood Forrest’s iPhone FaceTime Chat With Ivanka Trump

Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London England was going to have an iPhone FaceTime chat with a good friend and good client Ivanka Trump the daughter of the U.S. President.

He had already dialled the number and Ivanka’s face appeared on his iPhone screen.

She appeared to be unaware that they had connected and was busy writing something down on a notebook.

She knocked the iPhone down on top of the notebook and Dashwood was getting an extremely close-up view of her writing.

Ivanka picked up the iPhone when she suddenly noticed she had a live connection.

“Dashwood, is that you?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s me, Dashwood Forrest, Dublin born and raised man about London town and gentleman Extraordinaire,” the Oscar Wilde admiring art historian replied.

Ivanka looked at her Rolex watch.

“I guess this was the time we said we were going to talk, wasn’t it?” She noted the time.

“It was,” Forrest answered.

“You didn’t by chance see what I had written in that notebook did you when I knocked my iPhone down on top of it?” Ivanka looked worried.

“No, the writing was a bit too close up for me to read anything,” Forrest answered.

“Thank God,” Ivanka looked relieved.

“Say, Mr. Forrest,” Mulligan the Irish zombie 🧟‍♂️ who was Dashwood Forrest’s living day manservant suddenly appeared in the room alongside Forrest holding a copy of The New York Times in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other, “Did you read this anonymous editorial in The New York Times by some high-ranking Trump Administration official saying they’re working hard to protect the American people from Trump? I wonder who that person might be?”.

“Jesus,” Ivanka turned red and disconnected the call.

“Mulligan, I wish you wouldn’t wear that Nude Photo of Golda Meir t-shirt in public nor come barging into the office unannounced wearing it while I’m on FaceTime,” Forrest scolded, “you often frighten people off that way even more than your zombie 🧟‍♂️ look.”

Meanwhile at her desk, Ivanka wiped the perspiration off her forehead.

Meanwhile her father had just tweeted TREASON!

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday September 5th
2018.

Permalink 46 Comments

The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

June 19, 2018 at 11:10 pm (Art, Arts, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, painting, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

Peter Whitstable the man they called the Fox Mulder of Interpol sighed as he put down the phone at Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France.

Despite Pope Francis’ recent pronouncement on the subject, all Hell was quite literally breaking loose upon the world.

And to top it off his associate who was his ally in battling evil supernatural forces the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing was nowhere to be found.

The first example of something majorly supernatural happening in this sixth month of the Year of Our Lord 2018 was that the famous legendary ghost ship The Flying Dutchman had just been spotted in the harbour of Port Elizabeth South Africa 🇿🇦.

Hundreds of people had seen the ship according to Port Elizabeth police reports and eyewitness statements.

But the really strange thing about the incident was these same eyewitnesses tried to take photos of the ship with their smart phones or in a few rare cases those old fashioned instruments known as the Polaroid, Kodak and Nikon cameras 📷.

But in every single instance where a picture was taken of the Flying Dutchman entering Port Elizabeth harbour, the photo (be it on smart phone or Polaroid or Kodak or Nikon camera) turned out to be a photograph of Donald Trump wearing a pair of Canadian shoes with his British valet and butler Lexington hitting them with a hammer trying to make them look old and scruffy.

In those instances where people tried to shoot a video of the Flying Dutchman entering Port Elizabeth harbour, the same image would appear only in motion and with sound.

The video showed Lexington playing an old 1920s gramophone in the background so that Donald Trump’s pair of Canadian shoes 👞 would sound old as well.

Fortunately for posterity as far as Peter Whitstable was concerned, it so happened that the great South African artist SAREJESS (whose real name was Timothy Wood but who painted under the nom-de-plume SAREJESS which was a combination of the first letters of his 3 daughters’ names Sarah, Rebecca and Jessica) happened to be on the yacht The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean at the time.

The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean was owned by the Irish Greek shipping tycoon Heraclitus O’ Spazzis who being blind (after a tragic visit to the City of Calgary) had recently proposed marriage to Hillary Clinton should she ever become a widow.

SAREJESS had been hired as a guide by O’Spazzis to take him out to the best fishing spots off Port Elizabeth.

The yacht was returning to the harbour after O’ Spazzis had caught an amazing 153 fishes when the Flying Dutchman appeared.

“What’s all the excitement about?” The blind O’ Spazzis asked as he ate his Guinness laced shepherd’s pie 🥧 and his Ouzo laced lamb Souvlaki and heard loud and excited cries coming from shore.

“It’s the Flying Dutchman,” his skipper Hades Charon answered.

“Damn, I wish I could see it,” O’ Spazzis sipped his Doppelgänger (a drink that was a deadly combination of 1/2 Guinness and 1/2 ouzo), “Stupid Calgary cowboys letting their fat ugly cows wander on the city streets like that.”

Venus O’ Hara the executive assistant to Mr. O’ Spazzis took a picture of the Flying Dutchman with her smart phone and then exclaimed, “Damn! All I got was a picture of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes across the Alberta-Montana border.”

On the yacht’s radio, Madonna could be heard singing, “You keep on pushing my love over the borderline…”

Hades Charon tried to record a video with his smart phone and got the same imagery showing up.

On the video Trump could be heard saying, “It’s because of illegal shoe smuggling that we need to put tariffs on Canada…”

“… feels like I’m going to lose my mind…” Madonna continued singing.

Fortunately, Timothy (aka SAREJESS) had remembered to bring his paintbrush 🖌, a palette 🎨, a canvas and his paints with him.

Timothy sat down on board the deck of the yacht The Aphrodite Emerald Star of The Ocean and immediately started painting a picture of the Flying Dutchman within sight of the modern skyline of the city of Port Elizabeth South Africa.

The yacht lay anchored there for the next several hours while Tim painted his picture.

When he had finished, the Flying Dutchman ghost ship then turned around and sailed out of the harbour.

“Shit! It’s leaving!” Several voices exclaimed on shore, “And what’s up with all these fucking pics of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes across the border anyways?”.

Peter Whitstable gazed at the photo of the SAREJESS painting entitled The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth.

“Well at least this image has been recorded for posterity,” Whitstable smiled, “what a great moment in art history.”

Meanwhile on the Port Elizabeth beach, the famous London art historian, curator and art gallery owner Dashwood Forrest sat sipping a Mai Tai.

His living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟‍♂️ sat drinking a glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey 🥃 attempting to paint 🎨 a picture of the Flying Dutchman with his paintbrush 🖌 on canvas.

“How are you coming, Mulligan?” Forrest asked.

“By all the blessed saints in their ongoing cosmic wrestling match with the demon Mephistopheles,” Mulligan bellyached as he rubbed his stomach, “this paintbrush seems to have a mind of its own. All I get is a picture of Donald Trump trying to smuggle a pair of Canadian shoes 👞 across the Canada-U.S. border.”

“Real geniuses don’t get caught smuggling shoes,” Forrest remarked as he looked at the painting which showed Robert Mueller holding a pair of handcuffs as Trump crossed the border wearing a pair of shoes emblazoned with the Canadian maple 🍁 leaf and the Canadian beaver.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday June 19th
2018.

If you wish to own the original of this amazing SAREJESS painting The Flying Dutchman Within Sight of The Modern Skyline of Port Elizabeth

please contact Timothy Wood at his South African phone number:

084 996 5316

or if you just wish to own a limited edition personally autographed print of the painting, also contact Tim at the same number:

084 996 5316

Permalink 16 Comments

Reblog of Dashwood Forrest Meets Ivanka Trump

May 18, 2018 at 10:43 pm (Art, Arts, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Here’s a vampire novel chapter I wrote over a year ago:

Dracul Van Helsing

Dashwood Forrest stood in the middle of his hotel room dressed like Gainsborough’s Blue Boy and stared at himself in the full length mirror on the wall.

“I’m beginning to have some idea of how Narcissus must have felt when he saw his own reflection,” Dashwood swooned.

There was a knock at the door.

“Mulligan, would you please answer that,” Dashwood called out to his Irish zombie manservant, “and please put a towel over your head. I don’t want you frightening anybody like you did the cleaning staff this morning. It took a $50 tip to bring them back again.”

Mulligan put a towel over his head and went to open the door.

He crashed into several lamps on his way to find the door.

“Watch where you’re going, Mulligan!” Dashwood exclaimed.

“It’s rather difficult to see where I’m going wearing a towel over my head,” Mulligan complained as he…

View original post 551 more words

Permalink 3 Comments

Next page »