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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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…

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The U.S. Embassy Opens In Jerusalem On Israel’s 70th Anniversary As A Nation

May 14, 2018 at 11:55 pm (Avatar Speaks, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, News, Religion, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Egyptian vampiress Isis arriving at the opening of the U.S. Embassy in Jerusalem:

The U. S. Embassy Opens In Jerusalem On Israel’s 70th Anniversary As A Modern Nation

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu got a huge erection when he saw her.

The Egyptian vampiress Isis arriving at the opening of the U.S. Embassy in Jerusalem.

Coincidentally at the same time as he called U.S. President Donald Trump the “reincarnation of the Persian king Cyrus.”

In Rome, Pope Francis (who didn’t have an erection as he watched the ceremony on television) retrieved the Handbook of Catholic Christian Dogma from his garbage can (where he had placed it since his election to the Papacy) as he couldn’t remember whether the Catholic Church believed in reincarnation or not.

If it did, it could be a dogma he could deny at some future date.

U. S. President Donald Trump (when he began his address via television) likewise got an erection when he saw Isis arrive at the U.S. Embassy Jerusalem opening on his television monitor.

“At this very moment, you have absolutely no idea how much I want to be there in person…” Trump began.

Rudy Giuliani was meanwhile thinking of a prophecy about storms in the (cheque) Book of Daniels.

Several Hamas operatives smashed their motor vehicles into one another (killing each other in the process) upon seeing Isis (the nice knockers in a see-through dress vampiress not the terrorist group) arrive at the Embassy opening.

The famous London art gallery owner Dashwood Forrest who was a personal friend of Ivanka Trump was also there along with his living dead manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie.

Even though Dashwood Forrest was gay, he too was overcome with an erection upon seeing the sensuously beautiful young looking vampiress Isis.

I hope my boyfriend isn’t watching this at home, Forrest thought to himself as the BBC World News camera panned in on him.

Katy Perry’s lyrics “I kissed a girl and I liked it…” kept running through his mind.

“I hereby declare the U. S. Embassy in Jerusalem officially open on this 14th day of May in the Year of Our Lord 2018- the 70th Anniversary of the birth of the modern State of Israel 🇮🇱,” Ivanka Trump pronounced as she unveiled the plaque next to the Embassy front door.

Both Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Pope Francis winced when she used the term Year of Our Lord.

Ivanka Trump went over and hugged Dashwood Forrest after the plaque unveiling as soon as she saw him.

“Well,” Ivanka laughed a little taken aback after hugging the Oscar Wilde admiring London art gallery owner, “is that a paintbrush 🖌 in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”.

She brushed off her white skirt.

“You’ve always had that effect on me, my dear,” Dashwood Forrest laughed.

“Suicide bomber,” Mulligan the Irish zombie shouted as soon as he saw him.

Mulligan landed on top of the Lebanese Hezbollah operative (who was wearing such dark sunglasses that he never noticed the extreme sunblock wearing vampiress Isis) just as he detonated the explosives.

As a result of Mulligan’s drunken heroic actions, the only ones injured in the explosion 💥 was the suicide bomber himself as well as Dashwood Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant who went totally to pieces as a result of the rescue.

Both Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan and Iran’s Supreme Leader the Ayatollah Ali Khameini cried in their beer 🍺 when they saw the death of the Hezbollah operative.

“I don’t think I’m quite dead yet,” the moving lips on the head of Mulligan the Irish zombie impersonated an Englishman believed to have succumbed to the bubonic plague in the movie Monty Python and The Holy Grail.

“Well,” Dashwood Forrest picked up one of Mulligan’s middle fingers, “this looks like a job for Dr. Cadbury Rocher.”

Meanwhile in London, Set Enterprises’ Dr. Cadbury Rocher put on his Superman costume as he headed out to a Costume Ball in London on a lovely May evening.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday May 14th
2018.

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Reblog of An Evening At The Mermaid Art Exhibit

April 30, 2018 at 10:39 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Culture, Fantasy, Folklore, Humour, Mythology, painting, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

A vampire novel chapter I wrote over a year ago about an evening at the mermaid art exhibit which turned out to be as riotous as the Marx Brothers’ night at the opera:

Dracul Van Helsing

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin the curator of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery announced to those gathered at the Mermaid Art Exhibit’s opening night, “regrettably the artist Miss Charmaine Olivia will not be able to be with us this evening…”

The crowd moaned and groaned their disappointment.

“Yes,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin sighed in sympathy, “Miss Olivia ate some rather bad tuna fish sandwiches earlier this evening that she had thought had come from the Exhibit caterers but they turned out to have been brought in by a mysterious third party…”

“So she’s the one who ate all my tuna fish sandwiches that I had brought with me tonight,” Renfield seethed to Amadeus.

“Then you might have been the one who came down with food poisoning,” Amadeus pointed out.

“I guess every cloud has a silver lining,” Renfield grinned.

A dark cloud appeared over the gallery and an American silver…

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Dashwood Forrest and Mulligan The Irish Zombie On O’ Connell Street In Dublin

March 18, 2018 at 10:55 pm (Comedy, Entertainment, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Humour, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest and Mulligan The Irish Zombie On O’ Connell Street In Dublin

Dashwood Forrest and his manservant Mulligan the Irish ☘️ Zombie 🧟‍♂️ were having breakfast 🥞 🍳 in a restaurant at a hotel on O’ Connell Street in Dublin.

Mulligan was nursing a king sized hangover having drank too many glasses of Kilkenny Irish Cream Ale on the Hill of Tara in County Meath for Saint Patrick’s Day yesterday.

He did give away one of his glasses of Kilkenny to a golden cobra named Maitreya who was undergoing an old Celtic Pagan ritual to make the snake the High King of Ireland.

But he did so in a hypnotic state (which would be the only possible state in which Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟‍♂️ would give away an alcoholic beverage that happened to be in his possession).

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look to be in awfully bad shape,” the waiter said to Mulligan.

“That’s because I’ve got a hangover,” Mulligan answered while drinking tomato juice laced with three raw eggs 🥚 and Worcestershire sauce.

“You also look to be dead,” the waiter remarked as some of Mulligan’s decomposing flesh fell on his breakfast plate of kipper and poached eggs.

“I am,” Mulligan started leaking tomato juice and Worcestershire sauce from his armpits, “I’m a zombie.”

“If you’re a zombie, then why aren’t you sitting in the Dail (Irish Parliament)?” The waiter asked.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t ask myself that very question,” Mulligan was debating with himself on whether or not he should order a Guinness as he noticed the old antique clock on the hotel restaurant wall was only 1 minute away from 12 noon.

“Who raised you from the dead?” The waiter asked.

“It was a South African witch doctor called Dr. Sterling Makabo who raised me from the dead,” Mulligan cut himself a slice of kipper and put it on his fork, “although he had actually been hired to raise my neighbour who was buried next to me in the cemetery from the dead but his corpse was still at his wake. A wake that apparently went on for fourteen days I might add. So when my neighbour did not answer Doctor Makabo’s call, I decided to do so. With the result that I’m now living the life of Riley.”

“Riley was the name of the man in the grave next to him,” Dashwood Forrest explained, “the fellow that Dr. Makabo was supposed to raise from the dead but his body was still at his wake as his buddies had been drinking so much, they forgot to take him to both his funeral and burial services.”

“Only in Ireland 🇮🇪 would this happen,” the waiter shook his head.

“I would have to agree,” Dashwood Forrest smelled the rose in his lapel.

At that moment on the television in the restaurant, the image of British MP Renfield R. Renfield appeared to comment on Vladimir Putin’s landslide Presidential election 🗳 victory in Russia 🇷🇺.

As Renfield pointed to a photo of Putin and made Freemasonic death by disembowelling gestures with his hands that would send YouTube conspiracy theory channel hosts into a whirlwind of frenzy, Mulligan remarked to Dashwood Forrest, “There’s the fellow who saved me from drowning in a bowl of punch at your mermaid 🧜‍♀️ painting art exhibit in London last year.”

“Was that before or after you became a zombie 🧟‍♂️?” The waiter asked.

“After,” Mulligan replied, “My mortal pre-zombie life came to an end when I drowned in a vat of Guinness.”

And speaking of Guinness, the antique clock in the restaurant struck 12 noon.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday March 18th
2018.

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