Supreme Idiot Justin Trudeau and The Blackface Affair: Once Was Not Enough

September 19, 2019 at 10:58 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Politics, Romance, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

Supreme Idiot Justin Trudeau and The Blackface Affair: Once Was Not Enough

British MP Renfield R. Renfield was on the phone talking to his good friend the Chinese Communist vampiress and intelligence operative Mei-ling Manchu.

“So, you mean to say, Mei-ling,” Renfield had himself another shot of Old Taylor bourbon, “that it was you who leaked that old school yearbook photo of Justin Trudeau dressed in brown face at the school Arabian Nights Theme Party to TIME Magazine?”.

“It was,” Mei-ling painted her nails with a crocodile’s tooth dipped in Canadian business men’s blood red coloured nail polish, “we also leaked two other photos today. One was a photo of him in High School dressed up to look like Harry Belafonte and committing musical homicide on the song Day-o. That one he admitted to. The other was a photo he had forgotten about where he was dressed up as what the 1980s Thriller era Michael Jackson would have looked like if the 1980s Thriller era Michael Jackson had actually looked black instead of white.”

“Gives a whole new meaning to Vincent Price’s spoken words “Darkness falls across the land”,” Renfield had to admit.

“The midnight hour is close at hand,” Mei-ling turned over her blood red sands filled hour glass, “anyways we’ve got a bunch of other photos of him dressed in blackface which we plan to release in the next few days.”

“Justin has said he’s now forgotten the amount of times he might have put on blackface,” Renfield noted.

“He could blame it on smoking marijuana but then he told the media he only smoked marijuana once,” Mei-ling started putting on black widow spider’s black poison on her eyelashes as mascara.

“And his pot smoking cactus plant Strawberry Fields Forever is now no more,” Renfield helped himself to some strawberries and whipped cream.

“Yes and our People’s Republic Ministry of State Security operatives are currently scouring the Australian countryside in search of Strawberry Fields Forever’s two twin cactus clippings children,” Mei-ling ate a fried kangaroo’s leg sandwich.

“Why does the Chinese Communist Party have it in for Justin Trudeau?” Renfield ate some frogs’ legs.

“Because that weasel refuses to release Huawei CFO Meng Wanzhou from Canadian soil,” Mei-ling started eating some weasel pie.

“I guess this is what happens to Justin for spreading his derrière across both sides of the U.S. political spectrum,” Renfield ate his peanut butter and jam sandwich, “First he’s Barack Obama’s ‘bitch’ one minute. And then he’s Donald Trump’s ‘bitch’ the next.”

“Just wait until we release the photos of him dressed as Charlie Chan the Chinese detective (always played by Caucasians) movie character of the 1930s and 1940s,” Mei-ling ate her San Francisco chop suey and drank her Hawaiian coconut milk.

“Justin once played Inspector Charlie Chan?” Renfield was shocked.

“He did,” Mei-ling fanned her breasts with the severed fingers of Harvey Weinstein’s lesser known twin brother.

“I thought for someone like Justin, it would be more appropriate if he played the role of Number Two son,” Renfield mused aloud.

. . .

Justin Trudeau showed up at the media scrummage dressed in blackface and tearfully admitted, “I can’t remember how many times I’ve dressed in blackface.”

“Why are you dressed in blackface now?” A reporter asked.

“I don’t find that remark very funny,” Justin commented as the charcoal watered down his face like Niagara Falls.

When an aide signalled to Justin that the reporter was in fact correct, the Canadian Prime Minister screamed for a mirror to be brought to him.

Grabbing the mirror and seeing his own reflection, Justin remarked, “Oh shit. My wife Sophie was correct when she told me that I had put on way too much makeup this evening.”

. . .

Down at the Canadian Federal Liberal Party headquarters in Ottawa, a member of the National Liberal Party Executive was telephoning world famous London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes (the quite literally immortal lesser known twin sister of Sherlock Holmes) and asking her if she could come to Canada and tomato Justin Trudeau’s buttocks in an effort to stop him from coming across as a fool and having bimbo eruptions in public.

“Well that’s quite the impossible task you’re asking me to do,” Sherrielock admitted, “but then as Don Quixote sang in the musical Man of La Mancha, “To dream the impossible dream…”

Sherrielock Holmes: About to take on a next to impossible task?

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Thursday September 19th
2019.

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Dracul Van Helsing and Sherrielock Holmes: The Nymph of The Blue Moon: A Poem

January 9, 2017 at 1:32 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Poetry, Romance, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Dracul Van Helsing Canadian vampire hunter walked the streets of London
Dressed in his Philip Marlowe Private Eye style trenchcoat and fedora hat
that he always wore when he was feeling melancholy and reflective
A fan of 1940s horror, mystery, detective and film noir films
Dressing like Marlowe helped him battle his depression
The knight of Raymond Chandler’s stories
who wore not a suit of shining armour
but a private eye trenchcoat and fedora hat
when rescuing damsels in distress and battling evil and corruption
A 1940s southern California equivalent of the Spanish Don Quixote
representing knightly chivalry and ideas in ages that had long forgotten them

Now it was early January 2017
Donald Trump was about to be inaugurated President
Hillary Clinton was blaming the Russians for her electoral defeat
and satyr serial killing contract assassin Pan Goatee
was putting in excessively long hours of overtime
in his chosen vocation of making the world a more beautiful place to live
The only females who seemed to radiate any class or good taste these days
(and nights) were vampiresses
which made Dracul Van Helsing Vampire Hunter
glad that he didn’t slay vampiresses

Dracul recalled his New Year’s Eve this past stroke of midnight and year change
when he watched beautiful Assyrian women dancing
and so wished he could join them

The day after New Year’s he visited Dulcinea Lucia a gypsy fortune teller in London
to hear his future
“You shall meet an immortal,” Dulcinea Lucia told Dracul, “and you shall fall in love.”

“An immortal?” Dracul asked her, “A vampiress?”
“Not a vampiress,” Dulcinea shook her head.
“One of the goddesses of the ancient world returned to Earth perhaps?’ Dracul asked again.
“Not one of those goddesses,” Dulcinea shook her head.
“Then what sort of immortal?” Dracul asked a third question.
“I’m not sure,” Dulcinea looked puzzled and her crystal ball clouded up with the Cosmic Operator asking for more money.

Dracul declined to pay more and walked out into the wintery London night
He passed the window of a used book store
which had The Complete Stories of Sherlock Holmes in the window
Dracul loved Sherlock Holmes stories
The great immortal detective
Too bad that immortal didn’t have a sister who was both beautiful and brainy

Then this past evening of January 6th, Dracul had been invited to a masquerade ball
celebrating the 12th Day of Christmas
He decided to dress up as the Phantom of the Opera Erik
since these days and nights he felt as unloved as that poor creature

As he walked down the street in the falling snow, he happened to pass
Alexis Tsipras the Prime Minister of Greece
who was busy rubbing his rear end and screaming,
“My buns! Poor tomatoed buns! Will they ever lose their red rosy colour
in the light of day or the darkness of night?”

“Well, he’s been drinking too much Ouzo this evening,” Dracul thought to himself
Dracul then entered the place where the masquerade ball was being held
He wandered aimlessly through the house
until he entered a room where he saw the nymph of the Blue Moon

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday January 8th
2016

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