Qonzilqointec and The Statue of A Long-Necked Crane
Qonzilqointec and The Statue of A Long-Necked Crane
The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec was in a room in the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London.
Dressed in an exquisite lilac purple evening gown, Qonzilqointec knelt on a neo-Louis XIV royal Bourbon blue chair alongside a modern statue of a long-necked crane raising its beak towards a lantern of good fortune.
Into the room walked her friend and lover the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.
He had just returned from Jerusalem Israel where he had escorted Miranda Singh (the Executive Secretary to the London-based billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set) who was beginning a top secret mission for British MP Renfield R. Renfield.
“Your Highness,” Dracul addressed the Aztec vampiress, “you look the epitome of regal royalty.”
Qonzilqointec smiled, “Those weren’t the words Donald Trump spoke when I lay on his neck and threatened to drain every ounce of blood from his body unless he decided to drop the tariffs he was threatening to impose on my homeland of Mexico.”
“I see you were successful in your negotiations,” Dracul noted, “The U.S. has reached an agreement with Mexico and will not be imposing the tariffs Trump had threatened to impose starting this Monday.”
“Having lived 600 years, I have mastered the art of the deal,” She approached Dracul and gave him a non-fatal hickey.
. . .
The ghost of Orson Welles was having a spectral dream.
He dreamed of his wife Rita Hayworth as Semiramis the former Queen of Babylon speaking to a bird who was a parrot-raven hybrid created by a 1930s mad scientist forerunner of an early 21st Century Transhumanist scientist.
Said Rita as Semiramis to the parrot-raven hybrid,
“Oh bird who spoke to Poe in the bleak December
Crossed with a bird who can’t shut up and is able to remember
The world is confused and troubled
And about to burst an economic bubble
Putin warns of a new arms race
Stretching from sea to outer space
Because on arms control, the U.S. won’t negotiate
Preferring to leave humanity’s hands up to a very dark fate
“Nevermore” you might cry
As peace dove falls from the sky
Lenore is lost but so are we all
The end result of Eden’s fall.
-A vampire novel chapter
and poem
written by Christopher
Saturday June 8th
2019.
Orson Welles’ Ghost Views The Only Scene Ever Filmed For Roman Polanski’s Wuthering Heights
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.
The Kraken Meets The Ghost of Orson Welles In Paris
Voting in the European Parliament elections had begun today and would continue until May 26th.
The Kraken Napoleon VI, leader of the French Aquarian Age Bonapartist Party, sat in the Quasimodo Cafe and calmly sipped Lemon Tea and dipped potato chips into Sour Cream and Onion Chip Dip as he awaited the first of the results to come in.
His wife Medusa the ex-Gorgon (who had been cured of her Gorgonism by Set Enterprises’ Chief Scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher) sat calmly painting her fingernails a lovely Moulin Rouge.
The ghost of Orson Welles (who sat across from Medusa and the Kraken) recalled how his late former wife Rita Hayworth had once performed the Can Can (to the tune of Jacques Offenbach’s Orpheus In The Underworld) with her fingers while wearing a pair of black leather gloves.
The performance was considered too hot to handle and was not included in Miss Hayworth’s 1946 film Gilda.
“Johnny, be good,” an impromptu line spoken by Miss Hayworth was also edited out of the film.
“Did you ever consider running for political office when you were alive?” The Kraken asked Welles’ ghost.
“Well, Democratic Party organizers in Wisconsin the state of my birth did ask me to consider running as their candidate for the U.S. Senate in Wisconsin in 1946 but I declined,” Welles sipped a nice spectral glass of spectral red wine, “something that I regretted later as my Republican opponent would have been none other than Joe McCarthy. U.S. political history might have been different had I chosen to run.”
“There’s the Egyptian vampiress Isis,” Medusa spoke critically as the Egyptian vampiress walked through the door wearing a French flag tricoloured evening dress.
“Did you know Isis was the model for Frederic Auguste Bartholdi’s Statue of Liberty?” Welles recounted aloud some knowledge he had uncovered during his time spent in Purgatory.
“I’d heard that,” the Kraken ordered a cognac from the waiter.
“Isis is backing Emmanuel Macron’s party in the European Parliament elections,” Medusa’s voice dripped with contempt like a lethal dose of snake venom.
“I think Freemasons generally support the idea of a fully integrated European Union,” Welles lit a spectral cigar, “and since both Isis and Osiris are the prevalent deities worshipped in a lot of Masonic lodges around the world, it’s no surprise that Isis and the Masons would share a similar political viewpoint.”
“I still suspect our party will do well though,” the Kraken reached for 8 glasses of cognac with his 8 arms.
“I hear our ally across the Channel Renfield is doing well in most polls there,” Welles ordered a California wine much to the displeasure of the French waiter.
“He is,” the Kraken smiled, “I wonder how long he’ll be in the European Parliament before Brexit happens.”
“I imagine EU bureaucrats will be more sympathetic to the idea of a rapid Brexit to prevent Renfield from entering the European Parliament,” Welles brushed cigar ash out of his ghostly beard.
“I hear,” Medusa changed the subject, “that Prince Harry and Meghan the Duchess of Sussex were considering asking Renfield to be their son Archie Harrison’s godfather but that the Prince of Wales is strongly opposed to the idea.”
“That I heard as well,” Welles reached for the glass of Paul Masson Wine which was sold before its time, “and the Prince of Wales might have a point. Renfield could easily become the Falstaff to young Archie’s Prince Hal.”
On the other side of the cafe, the vampiress Isis ordered a Singapore Sling as she too waited for the first of the European Parliament election results.
Meanwhile in a Paris cinema, the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing was attending a large screen repertory showing of the 1942 film classic Casablanca.
Suddenly appearing on the screen in front of him was a scene he hadn’t recalled seeing before.
That’s because the black and white scene wasn’t part of the movie Casablanca.
It was the Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis beckoning to him.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 23rd
2019.
The Kraken Napoleon VI In A Rome Taverna
The Kraken Napoleon VI and his wife Medusa were doing very well in the opinion polls for the EU Parliamentary elections in France.
There was a very good chance that both he and Medusa would be elected to the European Parliament in Strasbourg on behalf of the Aquarian Age Bonapartist Party.
French President Emmanuel Macron was already pulling his hair out at the news.
As the French President was on the phone to the Oval Office in Washington DC asking Donald Trump the name of a place where he did NOT buy his toupees, the Kraken Napoleon VI decided to take a break from the campaign trail and go for a short excursion to Rome.
Medusa herself would be hitting the roulette tables down in Monte Carlo.
After a day of sightseeing around Rome, the Kraken decided to pay a visit to a quiet Rome taverna and sample some good Italian wine.
When he entered through the taverna door, he noticed the ghost of Orson Welles sitting in a booth next to the statue of Venus.
“A lovely location you’ve chosen, Orson,” the Kraken sat across from the spirit he recognized as an advisor to his British Transhumanist political ally the British MP Renfield R. Renfield.
“I did not choose this spot just to look at Venus’ lovely derriere contrary to what some might think,” Welles adjusted the hat on his head, “although a very lovely derriere it is. I do not want people mistaking me for Bill Clinton or Rev. Jesse Jackson enjoying Miss Ariana Grande’s most stellar performance at Aretha Franklin’s funeral last year. When I first sat down, that statue of Venus was dressed in furs. Venus in furs. But then the ghost of Baron Leopold von Sacher-Masoch entered the taverna and stole all the furs off Venus.”
“I’m sorry to have missed that,” the Kraken ordered 8 bottles of wine from the waiter.
“I hear you and Medusa are polling ahead of Macron’s party in the European Parliament elections,” Welles lit a spectral cigar.
“Yes, I’m pleased as punch about that,” the Kraken accepted a complimentary glass of punch from the taverna’s management.
Welles looked at a woman sitting at an adjacent table.
“That woman,” Welles continued to gaze in her direction, “looks a lot like Simone Simon.”
“The noted French actress?” The Kraken put on his monocle and looked in the woman’s direction.
“Yes, she was absolutely magnificent as the cat woman in the 1942 film The Cat People,” Welles recalled.
“Ever since I saw that film and saw that one particular scene, I’ve been reluctant to swim in a YWCA swimming pool ever since,” the Kraken recalled.
Just then a Vatican Cardinal entered the taverna and sat down.
Welles gazed at the Cardinal.
“You know,” Welles leaned over and whispered to the Kraken, “I’ve been told that Cardinal is a practicing satanist.”
Just then the woman who looked like Simone Simon shapeshifted into a black panther and went over and ripped the Cardinal to shreds leaving a tangled web of cardinal’s robes and spiralling pool of blood on the taverna floor.
The cat woman then left the taverna without paying her bill causing the waiter to have a major spaz attack and go running out into the streets chasing after the she beast.
“Well,” the Kraken looked at the cardinal’s hat floating on top of the pool of blood on the taverna floor, “It looks like Satan will have one less vote at the next papal conclave.”
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 9th
2019.
Ghost of Orson Welles Meets Belvedere In Istanbul
The ghost of Orson Welles was sitting in a cafe in Istanbul.
He had been told by a Russian spy beluga whale whom he had helped to defect to Norway this past weekend that the lovely mermaid Miranda when swimming through the Bosphorus Strait would often shapeshift into full human form and visit the Marmara Cafe in downtown Istanbul of which she loved the Turkish coffee being served there.
Welles could never recall meeting an actual mermaid in his past mortal life or current ghostly life so he decided to come to Istanbul and visit the Marmara Cafe on the off chance that he might meet Miranda.
Welles sat at a back table in the corner of the cafe and sipped a glass of spectral red wine occasionally glancing at the entrance to see if any woman who might be a mermaid in full human form came walking through the door.
He recited William Butler Yeats’ Sailing To Byzantium as he sat,
“… And therefore have I sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium. ”
“Orson!” A voice shouted from the doorway.
It was the voice of Belvedere the ghost of a ghost white salamander.
Belvedere had been human but back in the mid-1880s in the American Wild West had been turned into a ghost white salamander through an ancient Egyptian spell cast by a gypsy woman who worked in the Wild West saloon where he worked as a bartender.
He became the ghost of a ghost white salamander when he crawled outside and was run over by a settlers’ ox cart heading west.
The first and last time Belvedere saw Welles was back in October 1938 just prior to the then Boy Wonder delivering his famous Halloween War of The Worlds broadcast.
“Belvedere,” the ghost of Orson Welles lit a spectral cigar, “Long time no see.”
“I see we’re both ghosts now,” Belvedere sat across from the spectral cinematic talent.
“Such are the ravages of time,” Welles blew rosebud shaped smoke rings, “unless we be vampires, vampiresses, gods, goddesses or immortal dominatrixes who have eaten just the right amount of Lingzhi supernatural mushrooms, we must all succumb to the hands of the scythe wielding spectre Death there to see our flesh melt and our bones turned to dust and our spirits wandering earth, purgatory or paradise until such time as our bodies and souls are reunited into a new transformed whole on the Day of Judgment.”
“Eloquent as ever, my friend,” Belvedere was impressed.
“So, what are you doing these days?” Welles sipped his wine, “What brings you to Istanbul?”.
“I am now a reporter for The Times of London,” the ghost white salamander answered, “I’m here on assignment. Turkey’s chief electoral body has ordered that Istanbul’s local elections be re-held after President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Islamist AK Party lost to the opposition secularist CHP Party after a shock opposition victory this past March.”
“It is indeed a hatchet in the cake of dictatorship when the trappings of democracy come crashing down just as the cake is being wheeled into the banquet hall where Ottoman Sultans once dined and harem girls once danced,” Welles helped himself to spectral caviar and spread it on a spectral slice of bread.
“Erdogan is indeed upset about the whole thing,” Belvedere agreed, “He himself used to be Mayor of Istanbul many years ago.”
“Such is the power of the spirit of Byzantium,” Welles drank a toast, “that this city can survive the misrule of a petty despot such as Erdogan.”
“Istanbul’s new CHP Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu is confident that he can win again in the re-held election,” Belvedere remarked.
“Beware the sting of scorpions and the fangs of serpents,” Welles’ baritone voice shook the cafe, “for my friends who still fast in the fires of Purgatory inform me that Lady MacBeth’s ghost serves as an advisor to Erdogan.”
“Great Scot! And great Caesar’s ghost!” Belvedere’s ghostly white face turned even more ghostly white, “Lady MacBeth!”.
“Never was a Film Noir Femme Fatale more femme fatalish than Lady MacBeth as the Bard so adeptly captured her personality, soul and spirit in his Scottish Play,” Welles raised his finger in the air to capture the direction the Mid-East winds were blowing, “for she serves not only as advisor to Erdogan but advisor to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman as well. Tantalizing both claimants to a future Caliphate. Playing one side against the other. Stringing both together as if playing on a harp whose strings are made of human sinews.”
Belvedere decided to change to a cheerier subject.
“Have you ever watched Game of Thrones?” Belvedere asked.
“I have never watched an episode in full,” Welles confessed, “I have watched segments of certain programs on YouTube.”
“What do you think?” Belvedere inquired.
“What do I think?” Welles lit another spectral cigar, inhaled and then exhaled smoke rings like dragons, “I think Game of Thrones captures what the world of Medieval Europe would have been like if there had been no figure of Christ at the center of the culture of Medieval Europe.”
“Really?” Belvedere pondered this thought.
“In such a Medieval Europe,” Welles took the final sip of what remained of his glass, “Every ruler would be able to say… we are all Lady MacBeth.”
As a woman in another corner of the cafe claimed to have just given birth to dragons, the ghost of Lady MacBeth entered the cafe’s entrance still carrying stains of blood on her spectral formerly mortal hands.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday May 6th 2019
Orson Welles’ 104th
birthday.
The Ghost of Orson Welles and The Russian Spy Beluga Whale Defector To Norway
While British MP Renfield R. Renfield was in Thailand to attend the coronation ceremony of King Maha Vajiralongkorn, his spirit advisors the ghosts of Orson Welles and Sir Winston Churchill were hanging around the colossal London mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set smoking huge amounts of spectral cigars with Churchill drinking huge amounts of spectral brandy and Welles drinking huge amounts of spectral wine.
After a couple of days of this, an exasperated billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set asked his butler and valet Athelstan, “What’s the number for Ghostbusters?”.
“I regret to say, sir, that Ghostbusters was pure fiction and the Ghostbusters team portrayed by Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and Ernie Hudson do not exist in reality,” Athelstan sighed.
“Damn,” Set spilled his crocodile casserole all over himself at this upsetting piece of news.
The phone rang.
Athelstan picked it up.
“It’s for you, Orson,” the valet called out to Welles’ ghost who was busy talking to the clock on the living room mantelpiece and telling it, “We will sell no wine before its time.”
“Who is it?” Welles asked.
“It’s Erna Solberg the Prime Minister of Norway,” Athelstan replied.
“What does the Prime Minister of Norway want with me?” Welles asked.
“Well, why don’t you pick up the fucking phone and find out?” Set said angrily as he was using vast amounts of Sherrielock Holmes’ Bavarian Magic Mushroom Stain Remover trying desperately to remove the crocodile casserole stains off his suit and tie.
Welles’ ghost took the phone.
After a long conversation, Welles’ ghost put the phone down.
“What is up, Senor Welles?” Athelstan asked.
“Apparently, that beluga whale that showed up in Norway that some people are calling a Russian spy wants to defect to the Norwegians,” Welles replied.
“And what does that have to do with you?” Set asked as he found out where Renfield kept his secret stash of bourbon (it was under the stairwell under a post office box marked HARRY POTTER Age 21) and helped himself to two bottles of bourbon.
“Apparently, the beluga whale doesn’t speak Norwegian,” Welles replied, “he only speaks Russian (which he learned at the Russian Navy’s Northern Fleet Headquarters in Murmansk where he was being taught to be a spy) and English. Apparently he learned English because his spy handler listened to my old radio programs that are available on the Internet. Shows like The Shadow, The Adventures of Harry Lime, and The Black Museum. He also liked a radio commercial ad I once did for Norwegian cod. Apparently it was that ad which inspired him to defect to Norway. While swimming towards Norwegian waters, he ran into the mermaid Miranda who had met Renfield once on the Israeli coast off Tel Aviv. Miranda told the beluga whale that while it is true that I’m dead, I was granted dispensational leave from Purgatory by Hades the god of the Underworld and I’m currently serving as a spirit advisor to Mr. Renfield along with the ghost of Sir Winston Churchill. The beluga wants to make his formal defection to the Norwegian government with me present.”
“Does that mean you’ll go to Norway and be out of my house for a while?” Set asked as he started working on his 99th bottle of bourbon.
“Yes,” Welles nodded, “If I can borrow one of your Persian flying carpets to fly to Norway.”
“Yes, go down to the Set Enterprises Laboratories and Rug Emporium and get one,” Set directed, “In the name of God, go.”
Welles’ ghost walked out the door and went out into the London night with his spectral fur coat adorning his huge spectral shoulders.
Set looked over into the armchair by the fireplace where Churchill’s ghost sat fast asleep and singing in his sleep, “Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine, you are lost and gone forever, oh my darling Clementine.”
“Now, if I can only find a way to get rid of that one,” the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire pointed a bony finger at Churchill before falling to the floor in a drunken stupor.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 3rd 2019.
The Maltese Falcon At Mar-A-Lago: A Poem
Narrator of poem:
“How are ya, sweetheart?
I’m the ghost of Humphrey Bogart
I was recently challenged by my friend the ghost of Orson Welles
to see if I still got tough guy and private eye skills
that I used to have in my movies.
So I took him up on his challenge and headed down to Florida
The site of one of my popular films Key Largo
I heard about this swanky place down there called Mar-a-Lago
A private Palm Beach, Florida club owned by a temper tantrum throwing
spoiled brat billionaire named Donald Trump
Imagine my surprise when I heard this bozo
was also the President of the United States
The country has certainly gone down hill
since the days of Harry Truman
I figure.
Anyways a Chinese lady spy named Yujing Zhang
was arrested at the club trying to enter it with a
thumb drive containing malware
I had no idea what a thumb drive is
Thought it might be that a car was driven by your thumb
instead of both hands in this day and age
or maybe some newly designed form of golf club
they came up with that quite literally relies on the rule of thumb
And as for malware, I thought it was some guy named Mel Ware
who just might be the uncle of Token Ware
a female character in a Raymond Chandler Philip Marlowe story
I was set straight on the new developments in technology
by the ghosts of eccentric Serb-American inventor Nikola Tesla
and some British guy named Alan Turing
who made a name for himself in mathematics
Anyways it turns out this Yujing Zhang wasn’t the only femme fatale
causing intrigue down at Club Mar-a-Lago
Some woman named Li Cindy Yang is also involved
It turns out she owns a massage parlour
where prostitution is said to be going on
on the premises
One of her arrested johns was a Mr. Robert Kraft
the owner of a football team called The New England Patriots
The case is made even more interesting by the fact
that the team’s quarterback Tom Brady
claims he’s able to win football games
through the help of his wife
Gisele Bundchen
who’s a witch.
The whole thing reminds me of a film my friend Veronica Lake
made back in 1942
called I Married A Witch
So you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the door
of Club Mar-a-Lago
and saw the Maltese Falcon on the table
That old bird that appeared in the film by that title
That I starred in back in 1941
Around the table lay the bodies of various secret service agents
who had been completely drained of blood
A beautiful Chinese woman wearing a white evening dress
stood outside the club dining room window
in the middle of the pouring rain
“That most enchanting and intriguing woman is the Chinese Communist vampiress Mei-ling Manchu,”
The ghost of Orson Welles arrived in the nick of time
sipping a glass of red wine,
“She’s the daughter of Dr. Fu Manchu the famous scientist
whose exploits were written about in the novels of Sax Rohmer”.
“What’s she doing here?” I asked Welles.
Welles smiled, “She’s hidden a bunch of condoms owned by the Knights of Malta
in that Maltese Falcon.
That way when they’re found by law enforcement authorities
who are already on their way over here
The find will prove to be problematic and embarrassing
for both Donald Trump and Pope Francis
And the Chinese government will have killed two birds with one stone.”
“Well, that explains the pair of sunglass wearing dead pink flamingos I passed by on the lawn on the way in then,” I remarked
“Those are actually lawn ornaments knocked over by drunken country club members,” Welles finished his wine.
I noticed Mei-ling Manchu approach a fire-breathing Black Dragon
and crawl on to its back
“Off to Venezuela,” she said, “There to watch the Donald play his final Trump card before we divide this land between ourselves and the Russians.”
She and the Dragon flew off into the night sky
I walked outside to watch the Dragon and the vampiress depart
I looked down at the two pink flamingos and remarked to Welles,
“Well, I suppose the problems of two flamingos don’t amount to a hill of beans in this world.”
Welles lit himself a cigar and remarked, “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday and soon.”
Some young woman named Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez stood outside the club and waved a document called the Green New Deal.
“Bogey on the 18th hole,” the ghost of Arnold Palmer remarked as he walked by with his golf clubs.
I laughed, patted Welles on the shoulder and said,
“You know, Orson, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship”
As we walked off into the misty greens.
-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday April 3rd
2019.
The Golem of Prague Has Gone Missing
DARPA Contract Assassiness and Renfield associate Panty Goatee in Prague on the lookout for the Golem of Prague
“The Golem of Prague has gone missing, gentlemen,” British MP Renfield R. Renfield announced somewhat somberly over his rum and coke to the ghosts of Orson Welles and Sir Winston Churchill.
“Mazel tov,” exclaimed Orson Welles’ ghost inappropriately and somewhat less soberly over his spectral bottle of Mogen David wine.
“Gazooks!” Churchill’s ghost put down his spectral lox and cream cheese bagel.
“Yes, I just got a text message from the Controller of The Golem,” Renfield referred to the Israeli Mossad Agent who went by that code name, “The Golem of Prague went missing last night from the invisible corner of the attic of Prague’s Old New Synagogue when the cantor punched in his invisible co-ordinates on his mobile phone to see if the Golem was still present albeit invisibly.”
“Holy contradiction in terms, Batman,” Churchill’s ghost remarked in somewhat Robinesque fashion, “how did that happen?”.
“Well according to video surveillance footage,” Renfield looked at the footage on his Huawei smart phone, “the ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith and the Transylvanian Count Dracula (who appeared to be in a hypnotic state) flew into the attic and minutes later were seen carrying out a very visible Golem. The video has been shared 666 million times on social media because during the Golem heist, the vampiress Lilith was wearing the last evening dress that House of Chanel Creative Fashion Director Karl Lagerfeld (September 10th 1933 – February 19th 2019) who died earlier today had ever designed.”
“Lilith was wearing a Karl Lagerfeld evening gown when she stole the Golem?” Welles’ ghost dropped his cigar in incredulity.
“Say what you will about Lilith,” Renfield poured himself a glass of Glenlivet Single Malt Whisky, “The vampiress does have impeccable good taste.”
“But how was she able to access the code for the invisible corner of the attic of Prague’s Old New Synagogue?” Churchill’s ghost bit deep into his spectral cigar spilling ectoplasmic ash all over his spirited spiritly suit, “only the Controller of the Golem and his designated successor within Mossad know the complicated access code which is to be found in the world’s only Jewish Chinese abacus the whereabouts in Israel that only the Controller and his successor know. Such has always been the case since the state of Israel was created back in 1948.”
“I don’t know how the code was cracked,” Renfield cracked himself a walnut as Donald Trump appeared on his smart phone extolling the virtues of building a wall.
. . .
“It was pure luck,” the somewhat inebriated Irish leprechaun Yaldabaoth (son of the Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom Sophia when she was still a virgin although she was helped in terms of genetic manipulation and cloning techniques by the immortal Egyptian priest-scientist Imhotep) told Stephen Colbert the host of the Late Show, “I really didn’t know how to crack the code. But after drinking 200 pints of Guinness, ask me to do anything and I’ll probably do it. Which explains how I wound up face down in the gutter in front of the Apostolic home of the recently defrocked former Cardinal Theodore McCarrick back when he was still Archbishop of Washington DC. I woke up with an awfully sore rectum I do recall.”
“And did Lilith actually wear the last evening gown that Karl Lagerfeld ever designed before he died when she abducted the Golem of Prague?” Colbert asked.
“That she did,” Yaldabaoth nodded as he helped himself to a can of Samuel Adams GOAT Beer and then tossed it aside when he noticed his half-brother’s picture on it, “a Karl Lagerfeld evening dress, red silk nylons and blue spiked stiletto high heeled shoes. I myself wore a pair of green silk tights and a denim mini skirt that I had bought from Old Navy.”
“Are you trying to copy my transsexual transgendered habits?” Yaldabaoth’s younger brother/sister the Baphomet (the male/female human goat demon hybrid that was the son/daughter of the Greco-Egyptian Gnostic goddess of wisdom Sophia after she had made out with the Greek nature satyr god Pan) lunged at him from the audience.
“We appear to have a fight going on between a transgendered human goat demon hybrid and an Irish leprechaun,” Colbert informed his audience.
Meanwhile backstage the Nazi SS vampiress Helga Electrafreudenbund awaited to talk to Yaldabaoth.
She had failed in her own mission to destroy the Golem back during World War II.
She had ended up being strangled by the Golem of Prague but was brought back to life by Dr. Josef Mengele and then turned into a vampiress by the ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith.
. . .
“The ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith is behind much of the anti-Semitism currently happening in Britain and France,” Renfield explained to Welles and Churchill, “Vengeance for what she said was the defamation and libel of her good name in The Babylonian Talmud.”
“What about the current anti-Semitism in the Labour Party?” Churchill asked.
“I’ll have to ask my good friend Liverpool Wavertree MP Luciana Berger,” Renfield replied, “formerly of the Labour Party but left yesterday with 6 other former Labour MPs to form the Independent Group.”
Liverpool Wavertree MP Luciana Berger in much happier times last summer.
Getting her picture taken by fellow MP Renfield R. Renfield as he did his impersonation of Groucho Marx smoking a cigar and doing his hybrid duck/penguin walk.
-A vampire novel
written by Christopher
Tuesday February 19th
2019.
R.I.P. Karl Lagerfeld
September 10th 1933
to
February 19th 2019.
Naomi Campbell wearing an outfit designed by Karl Lagerfeld
Renfield Wears A T-Shirt and Signs Autographs
Renfield R. Renfield was the man of the hour in Britain after his successful appearance on a special PBS episode of Firing Line in which the ghost of William F. Buckley Jr. interviewed the MP.
Militant atheist Richard Dawkins (after an appearance in which he publicly burnt his jock strap that had on it a picture of Michelangelo’s Jehovah creating Adam as depicted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel) issued a statement, “I have to admit I was impressed by the seeming authenticity of the show. It does look like an episode of Firing Line that would have been directed by Orson Welles had Mr. Welles ever directed an episode of Firing Line. And Buckley’s ghost does come across like Buckley’s ghost would if he ever did a posthumous interview as the interviewer. But as every person who has absorbed my intelligent insight and analysis of the cosmos knows, “There are no ghosts or vampires or mythological beings in actual existence. There is no Heaven, Hell or Purgatory. And there’s definitely no God.”
“I say,” Amadeus Emanon spoke to his girlfriend Angelique Dumont as he ate some popcorn and watched Dawkins on television, “If Dawkins as a militant atheist is burning his jockstrap with a picture of Michelangelo’s Creating Adam on it in imitation of the militant feminists of the late 1960s publicly burning their bras, now my knowledge of history might be somewhat misty but didn’t the militant feminists of the late 1960s at least take their bras off first?”.
“Oh shit,” Dawkins could be heard screaming as someone rushed forward with a fire extinguisher to extinguish his smouldering jockstrap.
“Maybe Dawkins will compose an atheist hymn with the lyrics Nearer My Jockstrap To Thee,” Renfield remarked as he signed autographs from adoring fans and wore a t-shirt that said,
GILLETTE:
The Fruitiest A Man Can Get.
Meanwhile American Catholic bishops and their priestly advisors were packing Gillette shaving products in their suitcases as they headed off to Rome for The Vatican Special Meeting On Predatory Pederast Priests.
. . .
Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau looked at the RCMP report in front of him.
The report detailed the investigation into the abduction of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s personal pot smoking desert cactus plant Strawberry Fields Forever who had been kidnapped by the Chinese Communist vampiress Mei-ling Manchu (daughter of Dr. Fu Manchu) last December and would only be released when Huawei CFO Meng Wanzhou was released fully from custody and not extradited to the U.S.
Justin missed his little cannabis pot smoking greenhouse buddy with the prickly needles and his whacky weedy smile.
But the RCMP were unable to find the lost 1960s hippy commune of Calypso’s Bosom on the Canadian West Coast’s Sechelt Peninsula where the marijuana smoking desert plant was being held.
Seeing as how the commune was an Age of Aquarius New Age equivalent of Scotland’s mythical mystical village of Brigadoon, that was no surprise.
. . .
Semiramis the Queen of Babylon to her date Dracul Van Helsing before going out: How do you like my high heeled shoes, Dracul darling?
The better to crush my ex-husband Nimrod the little green frog with, don’t you think?
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday February 10th
2019.
Ghost of Orson Welles Recites Poetry While Waiting On Shore For Russian Spy Beluga Whale Defector
May 4, 2019 at 10:14 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Poetry, Vampire novel) (Ghost of Orson Welles, Norway, Orson Welles, Russian Spy Beluga Whale, The Ghost of Orson Welles, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Vladimir Putin)
The ghost of Orson Welles stood on the Norwegian shoreline waiting for a Russian spy beluga whale to defect to the Norwegian government.
Standing alongside Welles was the Norwegian defense minister who was busy eating a can of Hertfordshire frozen peas and a can of Norwegian frozen cod.
As Welles sipped a glass of spectral red wine, he recited poetry:
On a sultry Arabian night, fair Scheherazade began the first of her 1001 tales
Whilst here I stand on this Norse shore and wait for a sign or spash from one of the beluga whales
Julian Assange meanwhile is in a British jail
releasing Hillary’s emails may prove a major fail
Does he have a cell mate who’ll sodomize him in the ass?
While Joe Biden laughs, this too shall come to pass?
Today Turkey’s President tweeted another verbal attack against Israel
Because Erdogan thinks he can an Ottoman sultan’s slippers fill
This past week a group of Catholic scholars charged Pope Francis with heresy
Had Francis lived in Christ’s time, would he have been the chief Pharisee?
Another coup attempt in Venezuela
ear marked of CIA hubris-philia
John Bolton and Mike Pompeo continue to beat the drums of war
Whilst Xi and Putin may boot the U.S. through Hades’ door
Are these the times foreseen by William Butler Yeats?
Is humanity’s thread to be cut by the deadliest of the Fates?
Yeats wrote in his poem The Second Coming
in his mind hearing distant war’s drums drumming
The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
Today it’s all pride and prejudice, little sense and sensibility.
No Sunday Masses being said in Sri Lanka
Because of Islamic State fanatica
Violence eats innocence with each passing hour
Statesmen are concerned not with truth but with power
And the foot of the god Ares has crushed many a flower
And now I wait for the sight of beluga whale
Humanity’s passing grade is F for a fail
Is dust in the wind all we shall be at the end of the day
As I watch the salt water splash on these shores of Norway?
-A poem written by Christopher
and recited by the ghost
of Orson Welles
Saturday May 4th
2019.
My childhood cinematic hero the great actor, director and writer
Orson Welles
in a poetic, poignant and powerfully compelling scene
from his movie F Is For Fake.
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