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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Cleopatra and The Serpent At Tara On Saint Patrick’s Day

March 17, 2018 at 10:59 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Religion, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Cleopatra and The Serpent At Tara On Saint Patrick’s Day

At a Buddhist temple in London, one of the monks awoke and went into the meditation room to pray.

He was shocked to discover that the giant statue of the Future Buddha To Come had been stolen.

He immediately went and told one of his fellow monks, “The statue of the Maitreya has been stolen.”

“How,” his brother monk asked, “could such a large statue have been stolen?”.

. . .

Inside a cave deep in the Himalayas on the Nepal-Tibet border, the sleeping giant golden cobra awakened.

He then left his cave and astral projected himself to Egypt.

But the cobra had such a highly developed mind (that physicists at their peril could only dream of) that he was able to take his physical form body to Egypt with him along with his astral body.

. . .

The golden cobra was in the burial chamber of the tomb of Queen Cleopatra VII Philopator of Egypt.

His eyes projected a golden ray that caused the lid of the Queen’s sarcophagus to raise.

He then leaned over the sarcophagus and peered in looking at the royal mummy.

Once again its eye emitted a golden ray that disintegrated the bandages into oblivion.

Its other eye then emitted another golden ray that caused flesh to form on the skeleton.

With both its eyes, it then cast a golden ray as bright as the light of the sun on Cleopatra’s body.

And the Queen returned to life in all her regal beauty and splendour.

“I am naked,” the Queen said as she looked down.

“Does your beauty really need to be covered with clothes?” The cobra asked in a voice as eloquent as that of Sir Laurence Olivier playing Hamlet.

“But I am a Queen,” Cleopatra protested, “Commoners mustn’t see me naked.”

. . .

The cobra brought the Queen’s handmaidens back to life and using royal gold buried with her, Cleopatra and her six handmaidens were astral projected by the cobra’s tongue to the fashion district of Paris France 🇫🇷 where they purchased neo-Classical Egyptian gowns from Christian Dior.

The seven Egyptian women left the salon fashion house dressed in their gowns while a group of recently resurrected male Egyptian slaves followed behind carrying a vast array of shopping bags.

“Cléopâtre,” the chauffeur of French President Emmanuel Macron exclaimed as he drove the President’s limo into a light post upon seeing the Egyptian queen.

The French President, who was in the backseat reading a National Geographic article on cougars, was unhurt.

. . .

The cobra astral projected himself along with his physical form to Ireland.

He went to the grounds of Down Cathedral in Downpatrick, County Down, Province of Armagh, Northern Ireland.

He stood by the stone that was reputed to be the burial marker for the reputed burial place of Saint Patrick.

The cobra hissed and spat on Saint Patrick’s grave.

It hissed, “Thou fool. Thy triumph was short lived. Only 16 centuries. And now the serpents have returned to Ireland.”

An old Englishman and his wife walked by observing this spectacle.

Said Cecil to his wife Marianne, “Well if snakes are going to talk, glad to see they’re talking in good old King James Bible English.”

. . .

The Golden Cobra stood on the Hill of Tara the seat of the High Kings of Ireland.

It stood atop the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny) on this County Meath landmark.

The snake then drank a glass of Kilkenny Irish Cream Ale that was handed to him by Mulligan the Irish Zombie 🧟‍♂️ who was in a hypnotic state.

Mulligan’s boss the London based art curator and Oscar Wilde admirer Dashwood Forrest was on the nearby hill of Rath Maeve looking for Mulligan.

The goddess Maeve meanwhile joined the cobra atop the Lia Fail (Stone of Destiny) and a Saskatchewan Anglican priest who was also a clergyman in the Church of the Reformed Druids stood on a pair of giant stilts held up by a pair of clowns and looking down on the cobra and the goddess Maeve symbolically married the pair.

The Saskatchewan Anglican priest then found himself the victim of a human sacrifice a minute later much to his personal dismay.

The Church of the Reformed Druids was possibly not as reformed as he would have liked.

The Irish Celtic goddess Brigid then arrived on the scene and crowned the golden cobra High King of Ireland.

“And now yonder, my High Queen doth approach,” the Cobra used his astral third eye to see the beautiful Cleopatra dressed in a magnificent gown and walking across the Irish Sea.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 17th
2018.

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Renfield and The Churchillian Bottle of Brandy

November 11, 2017 at 4:42 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, Humour, News, Politics, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , )

Renfield and The Churchillian Bottle of Brandy

It had recently come to the attention of Renfield R. Renfield MP that the last bottle of brandy that Sir Winston Churchill had ever purchased prior to his death was still unopened (thus giving some idea of the large collection of bottles of brandy that Churchill must have had).

Renfield thought that as the 21st Century Churchill, he really should be in possession of the last bottle of brandy that Winnie owned.

The bottle of brandy was to be auctioned off at Sotheby’s Auction House in London.

Renfield was unable to make it to the auction in person so he hired Dashwood Forrest the Oscar Wilde admiring owner of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London to act as his agent.

Forrest attended the Sotheby’s auction along with his living dead manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie.

Unlike most zombies, Mulligan the Irish zombie never bothered eating brains seeing as how he never made use of brains when he was alive so why should he start now that he was dead?

Instead Mulligan relied on Guinness stout and Jameson whiskey for his sustenance- the same liquid sustenance that kept him going when he was alive and the same sustenance that kept him going now that he was one of the living dead.

Besides mortals kind of got pissed off at zombies for wanting to eat their brains although admittedly in this decade of heavy social media usage, the objections were no longer as vigorous as they used to be.

Mulligan was useful at the auction because he frightened off all the other bidders who wanted to bid on the Churchillian bottle of brandy.

Dashwood Forrest won the bidding and presented the bottle of brandy to a very happy Renfield R. Renfield .

Renfield sat in his Parliamentary office with his bottle of brandy, his recently acquired marble bust of Sir Winston Churchill and his recently acquired oil painting of Sir Winston Churchill (that hung on the far wall adjacent to his desk).

Renfield opened the bottle of brandy, poured some into his glass and then held it up to the painting in a toast.

Sir Winston Churchill then walked out of the painting and sat in the chair across from Renfield.

“You know what the saddest part about being a ghost is for me?” Churchill sighed, “Not being able to smoke a cigar or drink a brandy.”

Renfield looked down at his glass of brandy.

It must be pretty potent stuff Renfield thought to himself.

He hadn’t even took a sip of it yet and already he was starting to see things.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday November 11th
2017.

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Dashwood Forrest and Pan Goatee In Calgary

March 29, 2017 at 5:30 pm (Commentary, Culture, Folklore, Horror, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

“What a place totally devoid of culture,” Dashwood Forrest the Oscar Wilde of the 21st Century said to his Undead butler and valet Mulligan the Irish zombie.

“I’d have to agree,” Mulligan the Irish zombie remarked. He had only spent less than 24 hours in the city and he was already forgetting how to recite Irish ballads and poetry.

“I imagine if one were looking for culture and learning in Calgary, one would probably only find it among certain people living in homeless shelters in a city such as this,” Dashwood Forrest sipped on his chocolate milkshake.

“I’d have to agree,” Mulligan the Irish zombie nodded, “and what extremely ugly women seem to live in this city. I’ve never seen such fat ugly looking specimens.”

Mulligan the Undead promptly died again as he looked out the window and saw the walking specimens of ghastly horror.

Mulligan’s last words before dying a second time were, “Genesis 6 would have never happened had the angels landed in Calgary instead of the Middle East. There would have been no rise of the Nephilim because the sons of God would not have found the daughters of men attractive.”

“Truer last words were never spoken, Mulligan,” Forrest acknowledged, “with the possible exception of Oscar Wilde’s last words spoken in his room, “Either that wallpaper goes or I do.” It’s amazing how unattractive interior decorating can lead to deaths of great geniuses. To say nothing of how unattractive exterior decorating can lead to the death of one’s valet.”

Dashwood Forrest thought of calling South African witch doctor Sterling Makabo on his mobile phone and get him to chant a spell to bring Mulligan back from the dead.

He thought he’d wait a while however until they had left Calgary.

Forrest was in a quandary however. Even though he was gay, the site of such repulsive ugly looking members of the opposite sex waddling around and fender bumping their broomsticks in public was enough to kill one’s libido faster than taking a cold shower in a U.S. Army barracks.

Forrest removed a classical ancient Greek olive oil lamp from his jacket pocket.

The lamp had been a gift from his good friend Ivanka Trump for favours rendered.

If he remembered his Arabian Nights folklore correctly, Aladdin used a magic lamp to summon a genie.

Maybe he could rub this lamp and summon a genie to bump off all these ugly women.

Dashwood Forrest rubbed the lamp.

Pan Goatee appeared.

“How the Hell did I get from an Orson Welles repertory film festival in Washington D.C. (where strangely enough I was the only one in the theatre) to a milk shake bar in what looks to be the city of Calgary- the city of gay cowboys- not surprising given the overall unattractiveness of the women here,” the genetically created satyr serial killer scratched his head.

“I do most humbly apologize, my good man,” Dashwood Forrest bowed, “or rather my good satyr, I was hoping to summon a genie but you’ll do. I was wondering if you could slay these ugly women for me.”

“Happy to oblige,” Pan Goatee took out his astrally projected laser machete and walked out the door where he proceeded to behead ugly women left, right and center.

Pan Goatee’s aesthetically oriented mercy killing actions led to Mulligan the Irish Zombie coming back from the dead.

“Why did we come to Calgary anyways?” Mulligan asked Dashwood Forrest.

“To see Lake Louise in the Blue Canadian Rockies to celebrate Dame Vera Lynn’s 100th Birthday earlier this month,” Dashwood Forrest explained.

“Then let’s go see Lake Louise and go,” Mulligan pleaded.

“An excellent idea,” Forrest said, “go outside and hail a taxi for us, will you?”.

As the Michael Jackson song Thriller played in the background on the old milkshake bar diner’s jukebox, Mulligan the Irish zombie ran outside and did just that.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday March 29th
2017.

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Dashwood Forrest At Mrs. Mulligan’s Tea Shop In Sneem, Ireland

January 31, 2017 at 12:43 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

“That revolting little donkey turned around and ate the rose in my lapel,” Dashwood Forrest complained after he and Mulligan the Irish zombie were dropped off in front of Mrs. Mulligan’s B and B Tea Shop by Grady Gulliver’s donkey cart.

“That’s strange,” Mulligan the Irish zombie brushed dirt off the suit that he had been buried in and wondered if it wasn’t a good idea to maybe put on a new pair of clothes, “usually Agnes only eats daisies. I’ve never seen her eat a rose before.”

“It was my misfortune that today she decided to change her botanical culinary tastes,” Dashwood Forrest opened up his gold plated snuff case and pulled out a rose and put it in his lapel.

“I wonder what Grandma Rose will say when she answers the door,” Mulligan paused before knocking, “She knows I’m dead but I don’t think she knows I returned from the dead as a zombie.”

“You mean you never phoned your grandma Rose ahead of time to let her know we were coming to inspect her Nostradamus paintings,” Dashwood Forrest pulled out his silver plated snuff case and took out some snuff and put it up his nose and sneezed in Sneem.

“Well Charon the Ferryman across the River Styx in Hades was never a figure in Irish Celtic mythology so consequently I was buried without small change in my mouth or pockets. I had no money to make the call,” Mulligan shrugged his shoulders causing them to almost fall off.

“Well why didn’t you just use the phone at my art gallery shop in London or ask to use my iPhone?” Dashwood queried.

Mulligan sat down on the ground in a complicated gymnastics position and brought his legs up over his head to knock his decomposing shoulders back into place, “You must remember I’m an Irish zombie. I wasn’t bright enough to think of that.”

“Would you mind knocking at the door so that we can get on with the inspection of the Nostradamus paintings so I’ll know a genuine Nostradamus when I see one in Paris,” Dashwood ordered.

“All right,” Mulligan’s spirit was amiable to the idea but his rotting flesh body wasn’t as he found he could not get out of the peculiar calisthenics position in which he now found himself.

Consequently Mulligan rolled over head, shoulders and legs first until he reached the door.

Then with his knees still firmly around his head and shoulders, he used his upstretched feet to pound on the door.

His beautiful and lovely dark haired but blue-eyed cousin Colleen Mulligan answered the door.

She screamed when she saw Mulligan in front of her with his decomposing zombie ass stuck up in the air as his trousers had now fallen down around his ankles when he made the attempt to get up and assume a more mortal like human stance.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Colleen Mulligan’s scream had popped open the top buttons of her white blouse and caused the sides of her long black skirt to slit open showing lovely pantyhose clad legs.

“I think I’m turning heterosexual,” were Dashwood Forrest’s last words before he passed out.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday January 21st
2017.

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Mrs. Mulligan’s Tea Shop In Sneem, Ireland

January 30, 2017 at 1:09 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Mrs. Rose Mulligan owned a tea shop and a little Bed and Breakfast in the village of Sneem, Ireland.

Quiet, restful and tranquil little Sneem. Where the little bridge over the nearby stream bore the inscription Built In 1804 (the same year that Napoleon Bonaparte had himself proclaimed and crowned Emperor of The French).

Sneem in its peace and solitude had attracted the attention of French President Charles de Gaulle. The French leader had bought property there and was seriously considering retiring there when his term as President of France was over. Henri the Comte de Paris would then run for President of France as De Gaulle’s successor. When Henri won, he’d call a referendum on the restoration of the monarchy in France. Winning that, Henri the Comte de Paris would then go from being President of France to being King of France. And De Gaulle would enjoy Irish potatoes, Irish salmon, Guinness stout and the best imported French wines and cheeses in his quiet and restful little farmhouse near the village of Sneem.

But alas! The best laid plans of mice and men (and even De Gaulles) – they often go astray!

The 1968 Paris riots happened. The students were revolting! Students are usually often quite revolting but they were particularly revolting that year.

The ensuing turmoil in France led De Gaulle to step down as President a year later and his former Prime Minister Georges Pompidou took over as President.

So no Henri Comte de Paris as De Gaulle’s successor. And no retirement for De Gaulle in Sneem. It was enough to make the forced to resign French leader keel over and die on the spot (which is what eventually happened to De Gaulle in 1970).

So Sneem, Ireland managed to escape the attention of history.

Unknown to the residents of sleepy Sneem however, Mrs. Rose Mulligan in her tea shop had paintings decorating her walls. Paintings that had been painted almost 500 years earlier by the 16th Century Renaissance French Prophet Nostradamus. (For background on how the Nostradamus paintings arrived in Mrs. Mulligan’s tea shop in Sneem, Ireland, please read Dashwood Forrest Meets Ivanka Trump:

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/01/25/dashwood-forrest-meets-ivanka-trump/ )

And so it was on this January morning in 2017 that Mrs. Rose Mulligan went calling on her next door neighbour who was- a witch!

“Good morning, Mrs. Mulligan,” Molly Kildare greeted her neighbour, “what can I do for you this morning?”.

“Well, I’m embarrassed to ask this,” Rose Mulligan blushed, “but I’ll be needing a love potion from ya.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph and Saints Patrick, Bridget, Brendan and Kevin to say nothing of the gods and goddesses of the old Irish Celtic pantheon,” Mrs. Kildare’s hair turned as white as the snows of Mount Kilimanjaro, “but what would Mrs. Rose Mulligan the loveliest woman in Sneem if not all of Ireland be needing with a love potion?’.

“Now, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan’s face turned as red as the dress of the Scarlet Woman Mystery Babylon in the Book of The Apocalypse, “you know I’m not as lovely as I used to be. I’m now approaching 60.”

“You may be approaching 60, Mrs. Rose Mulligan,” Mrs. Molly Kildare wagged her finger at her, “but you’re better looking than most women half of our age.”.

“Well now, I won’t be arguing with you there, Mrs. Kildare,” Mrs. Mulligan acknowledged, “being the lover of truth that I am. But still I will be needing a love potion.”

“Surely, you’re not thinking of getting yourself a second husband after all these years, Mrs. Mulligan?” queried Mrs. Kildare whose divorce from her first husband only came through this past week.

“Oh no, ever since dear Sean died taking that World Cup soccer ball in the face as Team Ireland’s goalie so that Ireland would advance beyond the qualifying rounds for the 1986 World Cup, I’ve never thought of marrying again,” Mrs. Mulligan gently stroked her hair, “it’s not a second husband I’m thinking of having but an affair.”

“An affair?” Mrs. Kildare’s face turned as white as a ghost.

“That’s right, an affair, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan waxed poetical for a moment, “what the Good Book calls adultery. And what the more vulgar Americans refer to by that far more vulgar term- fornication.”

“Do you mean to say you’ll risk your immortal soul, Mrs. Mulligan,” Mrs. Kildare felt that she could use a shot of whiskey at the moment, “just so you can have an affair at your age?”.

“I have no intention of risking my immortal soul, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan stated firmly, “after I have the one-night stand full of pumping passion and sweating bodies and sweltering delights and orchestral orgasms, I fully intend to get up the next morning and go to Church and confess my sin to Father Murphy and receive absolution for it. So there. I will not put my soul in immortal danger.”

“But what if you get run over by Mr. Gulliver’s donkey cart on the way to Church and end up dying before you receive absolution?” Mrs. Kildare acted the role of spoilsport.

Mrs. Mulligan looked glum for a minute.

Then she put her lips together in firm determination, “It’s a risk I’ll have to take. There’s a man who’ll be staying at my Bed and Breakfast for a few days. I have to take the man to bed with me. I’ve dreamed of it most of my adult life.”

“Good golly, Miss Molly, as my mother and some American singer used to say,” Mrs. Kildare put her foot down, “what man is this that you’re willing to risk your immortal soul for?”.

Mrs. Mulligan glanced around conspiratorially and then whispered in Mrs. Kildare’s ear, “Liam Neeson.”

“The actor?” Mrs. Kildare’s jaw dropped.

“The very same,” Mrs. Mulligan nodded.

“I wonder if Father Murphy will be willing to give a 2-for-the-price-of-1 absolution,” Mrs. Kildare hurried to the kitchen in order to prepare two love potions.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday January 17th
2017.

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Cyborg Sophia On The Hunt For Nostradamus

January 28, 2017 at 12:23 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The red-headed cyborg Sophia had been created by the FSB’s top scientist Dr. Nicht Werhoffen (who used to work for the East German Stasi) several years ago.

She had served as a personal bodyguard to Russian leader Vladimir Putin.

Then Putin had given her as a gift to the rogue private entrepreneur intelligence officer Renfield R. Renfield of London’s Set Enterprises for services rendered to the Russian state.

A couple of years later Renfield had turned around and sold Sophia back to Putin for a substantially large sum of money.

Sophia was once again acting as a bodyguard to Putin.

Last night after she had done a major philharmonic recital on President Putin’s instrument, the Russian leader informed her that he was sending her on a secret mission to Paris.

She was to buy a painting (allegedly painted by Nostradamus) at a private art gallery in Paris. She was to get there before a couple of operatives hired by Donald Trump’s daughter Ivanka got there to buy the painting.

“What’s so important about getting that painting?” The Cyborg Sophia asked as she wiped a creamy white substance off her lips.

Said Putin as he put on a new pair of white jockey briefs, “The painting allegedly gives the exact date of an Islamist attack on the Vatican in Rome that will happen this year. If we can get the painting and find out the date, an elite Russian special forces division will be there on that date to defeat the Muslim invaders.”

“Do you mean to say that when Donald Trump takes office, he’ll do nothing to stop the attacks?” Sophia looked surprised.

“No,” Putin shook his head, “he’s still pissed at the fact that Pope Francis seemed to favour Bernie Sanders in last year’s Presidential election.”

“Who are the two operatives hired by Ivanka Trump to get the Nostradamus painting?” Sophia asked.

Putin smiled, “One is Dashwood Forrest the famous London dandy and the other is Mulligan the not so famous Irish zombie.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday January 15th
2017.

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Dashwood Forrest Meets Ivanka Trump

January 25, 2017 at 1:53 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

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 liberated a large potting plant from its large pot.

Finally Mulligan found the door knob and opened the door.

He stood on the other side of the door so the person entering wouldn’t see him.

Ivanka Trump entered the room wearing a lovely Grecian white dress designed to thaw a New York City winter and a pair of exquisite diamond studded spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

“Dashwood Forrest,” she greeted the Blue Boy costumed art gallery owner with a kiss on the cheek, “it’s been far too long.”

“Indeed it has, my dear,” Dashwood Forrest likewise kissed her on the cheek, “meeting one of the few women in the world who sets me straight.”

“My dear Dashwood,” Ivanka laughed, “I was hoping I was the only woman in the world who set you straight.”

“There was that Sherrielock Holmes you met at the Charmaine Olivia Mermaid Art Exhibit at your London gallery,” Mulligan spoke from behind the door, “she set you straight.”

“Mulligan, return to your butlery duties elsewhere,” Dashwood ordered.

Mulligan (with towel over head) tripped over several chairs until he found his way to the bathroom.

“What did you wish to see me about, Ivanka?” Dashwood asked.

“Your art history skills,” Ivanka smiled, “Dad is very much interested in this painting which recently showed up in Paris. Do you know if the Renaissance prophet Nostradamus was also an artist, Dash?”.

“I had not heard that he was,” Dashwood started taking off his Blue Boy costume and started putting on a costume of Thomas Lawrence’s Pinkie, “he was a medical surgeon, a doctor, a poet, a philosopher and a psychic but I hadn’t heard that he was an artist.”

“Grandma Mulligan had several Nostradamus paintings in her tea shop in the little village of Sneem, Ireland,” Mulligan called out from the bathroom where he was trying to rescue his tie from the bathtub drain.

“How did she get those?” Dashwood tied a pink bow around his neck and reached for a pinkish coloured shepherd’s staff.

“When some of the Spanish Armada sailors fled to Ireland on their sinking ships after their defeat by Drake, one of my ancestors a Spanish nobleman managed to save his collection of Nostradamus paintings in a waterproof crate and swim ashore to Ireland.”

“What was he doing carrying a collection of oil paintings into battle in the first place?” Dashwood took a selfie of himself as Pinkie on his iPhone and uploaded it to Instagram.

“He was hoping to take the paintings and hang them up on the walls of the large English country estate that the Armada Admiral had promised him once he had conquered England,” Mulligan got one of his zombie toenails stuck in the bathtub drain in what turned out to be a poorly planned commando rescue mission of the tie on his part, “but alas the Spanish Armada Admiral had overestimated his own abilities and had underestimated the abilities of Sir Francis Drake.”

“One should never underestimate the abilities of an English lawn bowling champion,” Dashwood took his Pinkie costume off and wrapped himself in the English flag of Saint George.

Ivanka Trump stood there and wondered whether she should re-consider her invitation to invite Dashwood to her father’s Presidential Inauguration.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday January 14th
2017.

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