Belvedere, Mitt Romney and The Mormon Archives

November 24, 2016 at 6:20 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Religion, The Supernatural, Theology, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Belvedere, Mitt Romney and The Mormon Archives

Belvedere the Ghost White Salamander and reporter for the Times of London was once again meeting with the London parking lot, office building and apartment building owning millionaire Ryan Rider.

Ryan Rider (through methods he didn’t elaborate on) had access to the files of the mysterious individual who called himself Robur The Conquerer (Robur was, as it turns out, a genetic clone of U.S. Civil War Confederate General Albert Pike who had been cloned from Pike’s DNA back in 1966 by Nazi scientist Eckhart Fromm who had been brought into the U.S. through Operation Paperclip).

“You have something for me, Mr. Rider?” Belvedere asked as he approached Rider’s office (a 4-door rusty gold coloured GMC truck) that was parked in the middle of the Not So Standard Parking Lot.

“Damn,” Rider swore, “someone just text messaged me asking me what my postal code is.”

The eccentric and postal code phobic millionaire started hyperventilating.

“Please get ahold of yourself, Mr. Rider,” Belvedere spoke exasperatedly, “On the phone, you said you discovered the reason why Donald Trump is making a rapprochement with his old Republican Party enemy Mitt Romney. There’s even talk that the President-elect may name Mitt Romney as his Secretary of State.”

“That’s right,” Ryan Rider grinned, “I’ve discovered the reason why Donald Trump is making a rapprochement with Mitt Romney.”

There was silence in the Not So Standard Parking Lot.

“Well would you mind telling me before Hell freezes over?” Belvedere stated as it started to snow in the Not So Standard Parking Lot.

Ryan Rider blew his nose and gazed at Belvedere, “Have you ever heard of the Mormon Archives, Mr. Belvdere?”.

“You mean the archives the Mormon Church keeps that have reams of genealogical research on families from all around the world?” Belvedere asked.

“That is correct, Mr. Belvedere,” Ryan Rider smiled with both a twinkle and a snowflake in his eye, “and do you know what is to be found in those Mormon Archives that is the direct cause of the rapprochement between Trump and Romney? What Romney discovered about the Trump family’s ancestry in those files that led Romney to reconcile with Trump?”.

“No,” Belvedere shook his head, “if I knew what was to be found in those Mormon Archives genealogical files that led to the rapprochement between Trump and Romney, I wouldn’t be standing here in this parking lot freezing my ghostly white salamander nuts off talking to you.”

“What Romney found,” Rider approached Belvedere and conspiratorially whispered in his ghostly white salamander ears, “is that Donald Trump is a direct descendant of the marriage between Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene.”

“Holy shit!” Belvedere exclaimed.

“Well I believe it was Holy Blood, Holy Grail that was the name of the book that first publicly postulated that there was a blood line in the world today that was directly descended from the marriage of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene,” Rider pointed out.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 22nd

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Ghost and Rider Part Two

September 13, 2016 at 4:12 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Humour, International Intrigue, Science-Fiction, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Ghost and Rider Part Two

Ryan Rider was the name of the enigmatic London parking lot and apartment building millionaire who had a phobia when it came to postal codes.

Belvedere the Ghost White Salamander and cub reporter for The Times of London had arranged a meeting with the mysterious enigmatic Ryan Rider.

He was able to arrange the meeting by calling Rider on his cell phone.

“How did you get this number?” The paranoid sounding Rider asked.

“From a mutual friend,” Belvedere whispered.

“Who’s this mutual friend?” Ryan asked as he wondered why he was the equivalent of $6.25 US short in that day’s take forgetting that he had purchased two hot dogs and a coffee for one of his parking lot attendants in an effort to appear charitable.

“I can’t reveal my sources,” Belvedere said in words reminiscent of Bob Woodward (or was it Carl Bernstein?) from the movie All The President’s Men.

“What do you want?” Rider asked.

“Everything you know about Robur The Conquerer,” Belvedere replied.

Silence reigned on the other side of the line.

“Are you there, Mr. Rider?” Belvedere asked.

“I had a momentary heart attack and brain aneurysm simultaneously,” Rider answered, “but I’m better now. I’ll meet you tonight midnight at The Not So Standard Parking Lot. Come alone.”


Rider had hung up.

Belvedere put the phone down and reached for his ghostly white trenchcoat and ghostly white fedora hat.

. . .

Midnight. The Not So Standard Parking Lot. The place was empty of motor vehicles. An owl hooted atop a sign that said Steve’s Chair Is Missing. A black cat knocked over a ladder. A rabbit bit the head off an orange coloured toy medieval knight that a child had dropped in the parking lot.

Belvedere lit a ghostly ectoplasmic cigarette with a ghostly ectoplasmic match.

Suddenly a massive pair of headlights came on, an ignition was started, an engine roared and tires spun.

The headlights came right at him. Then a screech of brakes as the vehicle hit the wall.

“Damn, I can’t believe I crashed again,” Rider swore, “I hope my insurance adjuster doesn’t ask me for the postal code of the area where it happened.”

He looked shocked as he noticed Belvedere standing there inhaling and exhaling his ghostly ectoplasmic cigarette.

“I thought I killed you with my truck,” Rider grimaced, “why are you still standing?”.

“I’m already dead,” the ghost white salamander replied, “I’m a ghost.”

“Damn, I hate it when that happens,” Rider shook his head.

“So tell me about Robur, Mr, Rider,” Belvedere took out his ghostly ectoplasmic notebook and his ghostly ectoplasmic pen.

“Step into my office,” Rider opened the front passenger side door of his rusty gold-coloured GMC 4-door truck.

Belvedere laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” Rider snapped as his face turned red and looked like he was about to have another simultaneous heart attack and brain aneurysm, “this really is my office.”

Belvedere was about to enter the vehicle but then wondered where he could sit.

“Hold on,” Rider said, “let me clean this place up a bit.”

Rider threw a few filing cabinets, a fax machine and a coffee pot out the passenger door and on to the pavement of the parking lot.

“Okay, sit there,” Rider commanded.

Belvedere sat in the passenger seat.

Rider entered the truck/office through the driver’s door.

“Damn, I banged my knee on my desk again,” Rider threw his desk out on to the parking lot pavement.

Then Rider tried sitting again.

“Oh damn, now I’ve got the arm of my Executive CEO’s Chair up my ass again,” Rider cried.

He threw a very fancy office chair out the driver’s door of the 4-door GMC truck.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know again?” Rider asked as he sat next to Belvedere.

“Who is Robur The Conquerer?” Belvedere asked.

“Robur The Conquerer,” Rider dove into the back seat knocking over several water coolers and chocolate bar and potato chip vending machines, “let me check my files. I wonder if I’ve got it under R for Robur or C for Conquerer.”

“By the way,” Belvedere peered at him over the seat, “what’s the postal code of this parking lot?”.

“What?’ Rider looked like he was about to have his third simultaneous heart attack and brain aneurysm of the past 24 hours.

“It’s my editor,” Belvedere held up his Samsung Galaxy Ghost Ectoplasmic 7 smart phone, “he wants to know the postal code of this parking lot.”

“Oh God,” Rider leapt over the seat back into the driver’s seat again, “damn, I think I just crushed the keys to the executive washroom between my balls.”

Belvedere stared at Rider in a nonchalant fashion.

Rider whipped out his own smart phone and started dialing a number.

“Hello,” Rider barked into the phone, “what’s the postal code of the Not So Standard Parking Lot?”.

Rider paused to listen to a response.

“Well, you’re my accountant,” Rider turned apoplectic as he started working on his 4th simultaneous heart attack and brain aneurysm of the past 24 hours, “I pay you to know these things.”

Belvedere continued to look nonchalant.

“Hold on,” Rider said quite exasperated, “let me find a pen and paper.”

He threw several old typewriters, a Mac 87 and a Windows 95 computer out of the glove compartment while he searched for a pen and paper.

“Got it,” Rider gritted his teeth, “now, what’s the fucking postal code again?”.

Rider wrote down the postal code.

He thanked the accountant and ended the call.

“What’s the postal code of the other parking lot you own?” Belvedere asked just as Rider was about to have a sigh of relief on his face.

“What?” Rider started working on his 5th simultaneous heart attack and brain aneurysm of the past 24 hours.

“My editor wants the postal code of the other parking lot you own,” Belvedere explained.

“For fuck’s sakes,” Rider began dialing his accountant’s number on his smart phone again, “Yes, what’s the postal code of my other parking lot? The one across the street from the car wash?”.

Rider started writing again.

“Oh shit, my pen just ran out of ink,” the parking lot and apartment building millionaire dived into the back seat again, “oh for fuck’s sake, I think I just ruined my chances for having any more children. Now, where did I put my other pen? Oh, here’s the hammer I was looking for last week…”

Belvedere took notes of Rider’s performance having never encountered such an individual before.

After finally finding his other pen and writing down the second postal code, Rider asked Belvedere what else he wanted to know.

“All you’ve got on Robur The Conquerer,” Belvedere smiled.

“Oh, that,” Rider leapt over the back seat again, “now did I leave it in the R filing cabinet or the C filing cabinet? I really should computerize all my files. A Toshiba laptop is a lot easier to carry around for an office than this beat-up old GMC 4-door truck. A lot easier on the testicles too I suspect.”

Suddenly Rider started hitting his head and saying, “Oh, what a dummy. Oh, what a dummy.”

“What is it?” Belvedere asked.

“I suddenly remembered I left both my R and C files at home,” Rider got on his mobile phone again, “Hello honey? Can you swing the red Pontiac Sunbird… or is it a red Pontiac Firebird?… I can never remember… around to the Not So Standard Parking Lot. I left a few files there.”

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday September 11th

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