He was the cowpoke they called Wayne
who some folks considered a pain,
others asked, where's his brain?
His doc said, he's insane.
But as far as living failures went,
he was considered one of the best
and he decided he'd be a-aheadin' west.
So he saddled up his saddlebag
and climbed up on his horse
took a look at his compass
and decided to set course.
Westward ho! he went,
banjo somewhat bent,
he soon stumbled on a mountain pass,
he surveyed the scene while scratching his ass.
Look! There's a tunnel there!
he said to his horse, Tiddlesquare.
Get along little Tiddle!
He played his fiddle
as his horse took a piddle.
Soon they arrived at the tunnel dark,
he found his horse a place to park
and then Wayne entered the tunnel dark
Should have brought a match
to add some spark
and a dash of light
this place's a fright
said Wayne in the midst of this dark tunnel,
so dark, he had to pee using a funnel.
And then Wayne gave a shout of delight
for he suddenly saw a big bright light,
there was light at the end of this tunnel,
Wayne jumped for joy
before he did stumble,
his life flashed
like a clog down the drain.
For the light at the end of the tunnel
was the light from the east bound train.
-The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
A cowboy poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday, September 28th, 2009.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Toasty Marsh O' Mallow
Renfield R. Renfield the shapeshifting hamster chief of security for Set Enterprises, London, England was sitting in an office in a film studio in North Hollywood.
Across from him was sitting a very red nosed gentleman.
"So," Renfield began, "you're Toasty Marsh O' Mallow the famous Irish arsonist?".
"That's right," O' Mallow beamed at him through a glass of Guinness which seeing as how it was a dark ale, Renfield could not see the Irishman smiling at him, "I just got released from Dublin Prison last week."
"I understand you've set fire to a large number of farm fields in your time," Renfield said as he carefully examined the Irish arsonist's resume.
"That's right, when I was younger my psychiatrist told me I suffered from agoraphobia which is fear of agriculture," the arsonist explained, "so as a result of those therapy sessions, I started setting fire to farm fields."
"Actually," Amadeus Emanon spoke up as he entered the office, "agoraphobia is Greek for fear of the marketplace."
"I do hate shopping malls," O' Mallow admitted, "wow those psychoanalysis sessions were a total waste of time. My psychiatrist didn't even know Greek."
"Most of them don't know much else either," Renfield was getting impatient, "but despite your misdiagnosis, you have had experience setting fire to farmers' fields."
"That I most definitely have," the Irishman hiccoughed.
"Good," Renfield handed the man a photo, "I want you to set fire to this man's face."
"Wow," O' Mallow took a good look at the photograph, "Do I drink too much? Or does this man's face look like a farmer's field?".
"The answer is yes to both of your questions," Renfield replied.
"Who is he?" the Irish arsonist asked.
"He's Doctor Johann Georg Faust," Renfield answered.
"Wow, the guy who was supposed to have sold his soul to the Devil back in the early 16th Century," O' Mallow whistled.
"That's right," Renfield nodded.
"Gee, my mother-in-law promised me immortality if I didn't marry her daughter," O' Mallow shook his head, "I guess she was right. I wonder which one of my mother-in-law's daughters Faust turned down in order to accept her offer."
"I have no idea," Renfield started drumming his fingers on the desk.
"Why does his face look like a farmer's field?" O' Mallow asked.
"An early 16th century experiment in genetically modified foods gone horribly wrong," was Renfield's answer.
"Why do you want me to set fire to him?" O' Mallow asked.
"He was the fellow who developed the H1N1 swine flu virus which devastated the Alberta hog industry and lead to a huge financial set-back for my boss," Renfield explained, "my boss has gone from being a billionaire to being only a mere multi-millionaire in the last year. Setting fire to his face will hopefully kill him and it will be payback for this rat."
"Okay," O' Mallow accepted the job.
"This is Faust's last known whereabouts," Renfield handed him a card, "you'll have to track him down from there."
"All right," O' Mallow picked up the card and left.
To be continued.
Across from him was sitting a very red nosed gentleman.
"So," Renfield began, "you're Toasty Marsh O' Mallow the famous Irish arsonist?".
"That's right," O' Mallow beamed at him through a glass of Guinness which seeing as how it was a dark ale, Renfield could not see the Irishman smiling at him, "I just got released from Dublin Prison last week."
"I understand you've set fire to a large number of farm fields in your time," Renfield said as he carefully examined the Irish arsonist's resume.
"That's right, when I was younger my psychiatrist told me I suffered from agoraphobia which is fear of agriculture," the arsonist explained, "so as a result of those therapy sessions, I started setting fire to farm fields."
"Actually," Amadeus Emanon spoke up as he entered the office, "agoraphobia is Greek for fear of the marketplace."
"I do hate shopping malls," O' Mallow admitted, "wow those psychoanalysis sessions were a total waste of time. My psychiatrist didn't even know Greek."
"Most of them don't know much else either," Renfield was getting impatient, "but despite your misdiagnosis, you have had experience setting fire to farmers' fields."
"That I most definitely have," the Irishman hiccoughed.
"Good," Renfield handed the man a photo, "I want you to set fire to this man's face."
"Wow," O' Mallow took a good look at the photograph, "Do I drink too much? Or does this man's face look like a farmer's field?".
"The answer is yes to both of your questions," Renfield replied.
"Who is he?" the Irish arsonist asked.
"He's Doctor Johann Georg Faust," Renfield answered.
"Wow, the guy who was supposed to have sold his soul to the Devil back in the early 16th Century," O' Mallow whistled.
"That's right," Renfield nodded.
"Gee, my mother-in-law promised me immortality if I didn't marry her daughter," O' Mallow shook his head, "I guess she was right. I wonder which one of my mother-in-law's daughters Faust turned down in order to accept her offer."
"I have no idea," Renfield started drumming his fingers on the desk.
"Why does his face look like a farmer's field?" O' Mallow asked.
"An early 16th century experiment in genetically modified foods gone horribly wrong," was Renfield's answer.
"Why do you want me to set fire to him?" O' Mallow asked.
"He was the fellow who developed the H1N1 swine flu virus which devastated the Alberta hog industry and lead to a huge financial set-back for my boss," Renfield explained, "my boss has gone from being a billionaire to being only a mere multi-millionaire in the last year. Setting fire to his face will hopefully kill him and it will be payback for this rat."
"Okay," O' Mallow accepted the job.
"This is Faust's last known whereabouts," Renfield handed him a card, "you'll have to track him down from there."
"All right," O' Mallow picked up the card and left.
To be continued.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Eyes Without A Face
Dr. Morgana Jones the Baltimore Maryland psychiatrist was getting nowhere with the vampiress called Martini.
Martini was a vampiress with amnesia and had been sent to Dr. Jones for treatment by Dracul Van Helsing a couple of months earlier.
But no sign of any memory. Hypnosis. Regression. Nothing seemed to work.
Now Martini was asleep on the couch.
It appeared that this latest session was going to waste as well.
Something had so traumatized the beautiful vampiress that she had lost all memory of her previous life.
Suddenly Martini woke up screaming.
"Martini, what is it?" Doctor Jones asked.
"I was singing the role of Marguerite in Charles Gounod's opera Faust when I saw someone staring at me from a second floor box seat," Martini sobbed, "he had eyes but no face. His face was made of wheat, barley, crabgrass, dandelions, Scotch thistle, purple dock and ragweed."
* * *
Renfield R. Renfield, Chief of Security and Intelligence for Set Enterprises (the conglomerate owned by the multi-millionaire and formerly multibillionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set) was hoping to track down the one responsible for creating the H1N1 virus. That virus had devastated the hog industry in the Canadian province of Alberta and was one of many financial setbacks his formerly billionaire boss had to endure this past year.
Of course the paranoid UN and WHO were chattering about a possible pandemic that could kill millions of people.
But that didn't concern Renfield. People were only people. And money WAS money.
Renfield now had an informer from the murky world of intelligence and espionage.
An informer called Brooklyn Costello.
"The man you're after... if you can call him a man," Brooklyn coughed, "is a scientist who does contract work for some of America's largest arms manufacturers. Some people claim that he's the legendary Doctor Johann Georg Faust the famous Renaissance alchemist. astrologer and magician. Born in 1480, and supposedly sold his soul to the Devil in 1512 in exchange for 28 years of service from the demon Mephistopheles. He supposedly died in 1540 in an alchemical experiment gone horribly wrong. His body was found mutilated. But some reports say he never died and the Devil will collect his soul on Judgement Day."
"Well," Renfield replied, "if Richard Dawkins is right and there is no God, then presumably there's no Devil and Faust has nothing to be worried about."
"Would you like a picture of him?" Brooklyn asked.
"That would be nice," Renfield replied.
"Personally, if it was an experiment gone horribly wrong," Costello handed Renfield the photo, "I think he was trying to create the world's first genetically modified foods rather than turning lead into gold."
The photo was of a man with eyes but no face. The face was made up of wheat, barley, crabgrass, dandelions, Scotch thistle, purple dock and ragweed.
To be continued.
Martini was a vampiress with amnesia and had been sent to Dr. Jones for treatment by Dracul Van Helsing a couple of months earlier.
But no sign of any memory. Hypnosis. Regression. Nothing seemed to work.
Now Martini was asleep on the couch.
It appeared that this latest session was going to waste as well.
Something had so traumatized the beautiful vampiress that she had lost all memory of her previous life.
Suddenly Martini woke up screaming.
"Martini, what is it?" Doctor Jones asked.
"I was singing the role of Marguerite in Charles Gounod's opera Faust when I saw someone staring at me from a second floor box seat," Martini sobbed, "he had eyes but no face. His face was made of wheat, barley, crabgrass, dandelions, Scotch thistle, purple dock and ragweed."
* * *
Renfield R. Renfield, Chief of Security and Intelligence for Set Enterprises (the conglomerate owned by the multi-millionaire and formerly multibillionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set) was hoping to track down the one responsible for creating the H1N1 virus. That virus had devastated the hog industry in the Canadian province of Alberta and was one of many financial setbacks his formerly billionaire boss had to endure this past year.
Of course the paranoid UN and WHO were chattering about a possible pandemic that could kill millions of people.
But that didn't concern Renfield. People were only people. And money WAS money.
Renfield now had an informer from the murky world of intelligence and espionage.
An informer called Brooklyn Costello.
"The man you're after... if you can call him a man," Brooklyn coughed, "is a scientist who does contract work for some of America's largest arms manufacturers. Some people claim that he's the legendary Doctor Johann Georg Faust the famous Renaissance alchemist. astrologer and magician. Born in 1480, and supposedly sold his soul to the Devil in 1512 in exchange for 28 years of service from the demon Mephistopheles. He supposedly died in 1540 in an alchemical experiment gone horribly wrong. His body was found mutilated. But some reports say he never died and the Devil will collect his soul on Judgement Day."
"Well," Renfield replied, "if Richard Dawkins is right and there is no God, then presumably there's no Devil and Faust has nothing to be worried about."
"Would you like a picture of him?" Brooklyn asked.
"That would be nice," Renfield replied.
"Personally, if it was an experiment gone horribly wrong," Costello handed Renfield the photo, "I think he was trying to create the world's first genetically modified foods rather than turning lead into gold."
The photo was of a man with eyes but no face. The face was made up of wheat, barley, crabgrass, dandelions, Scotch thistle, purple dock and ragweed.
To be continued.
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