"The Steinenfrank Circus appointed me as its agent for looking after the animals while on this voyage," Hemlock the Magician pulled a document out of his cloak pocket, "seeing as how Vittoria and I have been hired to perform for the Steinenfrank Circus over the next few months."
"May I see that document?" the lawyers Morrison and Dodd asked in unison but it was Dodd who grabbed it first.
While Morrison and Dodd read and salivated over the legal jargon in the document which named Hemlock the Magician as the agent and legal representative of the Steinenfrank Circus Company on the voyage of the Matilda Briggs from the East Indies back to England, the rest of the group walked down the stairs to the lower decks where the caged animals were kept.
Vittoria Donna Gina held her long beautiful red dress high above her ankles so as not to get it dirty on the floor.
Both the eyes of Hemlock and Holmes seemed to be gazing appreciatively at the black silk nylon stockings legs of Vittoria.
Captain Heelander seemed to be the last of the group to come down the stairs.
He skipped and jumped merrily down the stairs singing a song of his own invention, "Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers..."
"Please for the reputation of the crew of the Matilda Briggs," First Mate Leonard Spock begged, "please do not finish the rest of the song, Captain."
Hemlock finally took his eyes off the sexy nylon legs of Vittoria and introduced the animals.
"This," Hemlock said, "is a Sumatran tiger."
The tiger emitted a loud thunderous roar.
"We call him Krakatoa," Hemlock explained.
The magician then walked over to the next cage and said, "This is a Sumatran orangutan."
The orangutan bellowed and thumped his chest.
"We call him Darwin," smiled Hemlock underneath his mask.
Hemlock walked over to the next cage, "These are Sumatran elephants, a mother and her calf. The mother we call Lady Godiva and the calf we call Goliath."
Lady Godiva ate some grasses that lined the floor of the cage while Goliath stared at the on-lookers and yawned.
"And this," Hemlock went over to the next cage, "is the Sumatran Striped Rabbit also called the Sumatran short-eared rabbit because its ears aren't very big."
"Indeed his ears aren't very big," Mr. Spock commented as he viewed the rabbit through the bars.
"We call this rabbit Ides of March," Hemlock said.
"That rabbit seems to be eating romaine lettuce and bread croutons topped with parmesan cheese," Holmes remarked.
"And this," Hemlock walked over to the smallest cage of them all- what looked to be little bigger than a bird cage, "is a Dayak Fruit Bat."
"I'm batty about fruit too," Captain Heelander did a small pirouette and giggled like a schoolgirl.
"We call this old bat Brassy Maggy," Hemlock said, "it was caught by an English roof thatcher on holidays in Sumatra."
"The animals look to be all healthy," Fred Clegg remarked, "and what animal is in this largest cage of all? Even bigger than the elephant cage? And seems to be covered with a black cloth all around?".
"The animal in that cage won't be seen by anyone until the spring opening night of Steinenfrank's Circus one week away," Hemlock replied.
"Well, then how can I tell if it's healthy or not?" Fred Clegg asked.
"You'll have to take my word for it," Hemlock answered.
Vittoria spoke, "Let's go up on deck now and look at the moonlight."
Holmes meanwhile appeared to have dropped his pipe on the floor and seemed to be looking up Vittoria's dress as he picked it up.
"And what are you looking at, Mr. Holmes?" Hemlock asked as he adjusted his golden mask.
To be continued.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Part V
"You've heard of me?" Vittoria Donna Gina batted her eyelashes at Sherlock Holmes.
"When I was a boy," Holmes emptied the ashes of his pipe on the floor and put his pipe back in his pocket, "I did have a fantasy about running away and joining the circus which was cured the day I did visit a circus and stepped in some elephant dung. I did follow the career of some circus performers however. And when you burst on the carnival scene 5 years ago as the Singing Lion Tamer, I followed your career. I heard you had the voice of a nightingale. And I loved the way you used the whip on those lions in your photos."
"She no longer tames lions," said a man wearing a golden mask that resembled the face of Tragedy from the old Greek dramas, "she's assumed a more submissive role."
"Sounds like an article from The Pearl," Dodd stated referring to a notorious underground erotic journal of the day, "or at least that's what I've been told by others." The lawyer blushed.
"I'm surprised that being a lawyer, you'd still suffer from a sense of shame," Fred Clegg quipped when he noticed the blushing solicitor.
Holmes gazed intently at the Man in the Mask.
The Man in the Mask blinked his eyes under Holmes' gaze and explained, "My face was burnt in a fire some years ago."
"This is Hemlock the Magician," Vittoria Donna Gina introduced the Man in the Golden Mask.
"My stage name," the masked magician offered his hand to Holmes but the consulting detective didn't take it to shake it.
"I didn't think your parents would give you a Christian name like that," Holmes retorted sourly, "unless of course they were modern German philosophers who would naturally despise the father of Socratic reasoning."
Anger seemed to flare in the eyes of the Man in the Golden Mask.
"I haven't read of your exploits for quite a while," Holmes' gaze turned back to the lovely Vittoria Donna Gina.
"I've been touring in the Far East," Vittoria explained, "Shanghai, Manila, Bangkok, the East Indies."
"And you're no longer an exquisitely dressed singing lion tamer with a whip?" Holmes looked disappointed.
"She's now a magician's assistant," Hemlock the Magician broke in, "she now SERVES under me."
The atmosphere of tension in the air between the two men- Holmes and Hemlock- could be felt by all.
"What say we go down to the lower decks and view the animals in their cages?" Clegg suggested.
"And hopefully we won't come across any drunken Noahs in their nakedness." Holmes' walking stick seemed to deliberately touch the bottom of Hemlock the Magician's cloak.
To be continued.
"When I was a boy," Holmes emptied the ashes of his pipe on the floor and put his pipe back in his pocket, "I did have a fantasy about running away and joining the circus which was cured the day I did visit a circus and stepped in some elephant dung. I did follow the career of some circus performers however. And when you burst on the carnival scene 5 years ago as the Singing Lion Tamer, I followed your career. I heard you had the voice of a nightingale. And I loved the way you used the whip on those lions in your photos."
"She no longer tames lions," said a man wearing a golden mask that resembled the face of Tragedy from the old Greek dramas, "she's assumed a more submissive role."
"Sounds like an article from The Pearl," Dodd stated referring to a notorious underground erotic journal of the day, "or at least that's what I've been told by others." The lawyer blushed.
"I'm surprised that being a lawyer, you'd still suffer from a sense of shame," Fred Clegg quipped when he noticed the blushing solicitor.
Holmes gazed intently at the Man in the Mask.
The Man in the Mask blinked his eyes under Holmes' gaze and explained, "My face was burnt in a fire some years ago."
"This is Hemlock the Magician," Vittoria Donna Gina introduced the Man in the Golden Mask.
"My stage name," the masked magician offered his hand to Holmes but the consulting detective didn't take it to shake it.
"I didn't think your parents would give you a Christian name like that," Holmes retorted sourly, "unless of course they were modern German philosophers who would naturally despise the father of Socratic reasoning."
Anger seemed to flare in the eyes of the Man in the Golden Mask.
"I haven't read of your exploits for quite a while," Holmes' gaze turned back to the lovely Vittoria Donna Gina.
"I've been touring in the Far East," Vittoria explained, "Shanghai, Manila, Bangkok, the East Indies."
"And you're no longer an exquisitely dressed singing lion tamer with a whip?" Holmes looked disappointed.
"She's now a magician's assistant," Hemlock the Magician broke in, "she now SERVES under me."
The atmosphere of tension in the air between the two men- Holmes and Hemlock- could be felt by all.
"What say we go down to the lower decks and view the animals in their cages?" Clegg suggested.
"And hopefully we won't come across any drunken Noahs in their nakedness." Holmes' walking stick seemed to deliberately touch the bottom of Hemlock the Magician's cloak.
To be continued.
Friday, January 29, 2010
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Part IV
"Arrrh, have you ever been to sea, Billy?" Captain Heelander tugged on First Mate Leonard Spock's sleeve as he came to, "There's nothing fresher though than fresh fish from the sea. Would you like to eat my fish, Billy? Arrrr! I tell you Billy, when the ship is tossing and turning on the ocean and it's a cold and windswept rainswept night, I need something to keep warm in my cabin, Billy. Will you help keep me warm beside you, Billy and I'll show you what I have down below. Arrrr!"
First Mate Leonard Spock quickly removed himself from Captain Heelander's grip.
"Well this explains why our ship's cabin boy Billy chose to face head hunters in Borneo rather than return with us to England," Mr. Spock quipped.
"This is not the only steam engine you have," Sherlock Holmes mentioned to Scotty as the ship's engineer held the exploded valve in his hands.
"No, but this one didn't work our entire voyage to the East Indies and back," Scotty answered, "I only got it working finally a couple of miles off shore from here."
"This particular steam engine wasn't manufactured by our client," Manny Morrison noted as he looked at the manufacturer's name on the steam engine with the exploded valve, "so you can't hold us responsible for this one."
"I take it that it was this steam engine over here that was partly destroyed under mysterious circumstances," Holmes walked over to the larger steam engine.
"Those look like huge teeth marks on what remains of this engine," the veterinarian Fred Clegg observed.
"Indeed," Holmes nodded, "as if something gigantic had taken a huge bite out of the engine and decided not to eat the rest."
"The part that was eaten was the part which had the manufacturer's name on it," Derek Dodd wiped his glasses in lawyerly triumph, "so one can't really prove our client made this one either."
"My employers have the bill of receipt signed by your client's company," Captain Heelander spoke as he had a pink strawberry cocktail handed him by the ship's bartender.
"Bills of receipt can be forged," Manny Morrison stated solemnly.
"And indeed, Manny, you ought to know about that," Dodd laughed then cleared his throat and looked serious when he noticed everyone staring at him.
Morrison made the Masonic motion of having one's throat slit and one's bowels disembowelled to Dodd for the verbal slip-up he had just made.
"Why is this steam engine that looks to be eaten," Holmes inquired, "why is it orange and yellow in colour while the engine whose steam valve just exploded is coloured black?".
"I'm afraid that's due to my little Billy," Captain Heelander seemed to hop, skip and jump over to where Holmes was standing, "my little Billy was a great admirer of the painter Vincent Van Gogh with his bright and vibrant yellow colours. Vincent has been dead almost four years now. I never met the man but I got to know him through Billy's talk of him. I allowed Billy to paint this engine a vibrant yellow and orange in honour of Vincent."
"Vincent Van Gogh," Mr. Spock tugged at the knob of one of his large pointed ears, "I've never heard of him."
Captain Heelander pulled a daffodil out of his pocket and smelled it, "I could have told you Vincent this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."
"Aside from part of this engine," Holmes blew smoke rings, "you say the only other things missing on this voyage were two tons of cheese."
"That is correct, Mr. Holmes," First Mate Spock nodded.
"But this is fantastic," Holmes pounded one solid fist into his other hand.
"Have you solved the case, Mr. Holmes?" Captain Heelander pranced and danced about the room with the daffodil stuck between his teeth.
"Well, I see one wouldn't have to worry about contracting scurvy on this voyage," Holmes quipped as he observed the prancing and dancing of Captain Heelander.
"Is our client left off the hook?" Morrison and Dodd asked in joyful unison.
"What say we go and look at those cages of animals bound for Steinenfrank's Circus?" Holmes stated.
"Is the answer to be found there?" Morrison twirled his moustache.
"I suspect so," Holmes opened the door of the engine room...
... and...
... there stood the most beautiful woman Holmes had ever seen in his life.
Beautiful long dark hair. Beautiful penetrating dark eyes. A low-cut red evening dress exquisitely designed and decorated.
"Vittoria Donna Gina," Holmes gasped.
"Who?" Morrison asked.
"I believe," Dodd said as he quietly adjusted his spectacles (and his testicles!), "that Doctor Watson mentioned her in one of his published accounts of Holmes' adventures referring to her as "THE other woman". Holmes has apparently never met her, Watson wrote, but he keeps a photograph of her in his copy of Suetononius' The Lives of the Twelve Caesars at a special place on the bookshelf at 221 B Baker Street in a chair that Holmes only sits in when he gazes at her photograph. A chair that Watson remarks has some rather peculiar stains on it..."
To be continued.
First Mate Leonard Spock quickly removed himself from Captain Heelander's grip.
"Well this explains why our ship's cabin boy Billy chose to face head hunters in Borneo rather than return with us to England," Mr. Spock quipped.
"This is not the only steam engine you have," Sherlock Holmes mentioned to Scotty as the ship's engineer held the exploded valve in his hands.
"No, but this one didn't work our entire voyage to the East Indies and back," Scotty answered, "I only got it working finally a couple of miles off shore from here."
"This particular steam engine wasn't manufactured by our client," Manny Morrison noted as he looked at the manufacturer's name on the steam engine with the exploded valve, "so you can't hold us responsible for this one."
"I take it that it was this steam engine over here that was partly destroyed under mysterious circumstances," Holmes walked over to the larger steam engine.
"Those look like huge teeth marks on what remains of this engine," the veterinarian Fred Clegg observed.
"Indeed," Holmes nodded, "as if something gigantic had taken a huge bite out of the engine and decided not to eat the rest."
"The part that was eaten was the part which had the manufacturer's name on it," Derek Dodd wiped his glasses in lawyerly triumph, "so one can't really prove our client made this one either."
"My employers have the bill of receipt signed by your client's company," Captain Heelander spoke as he had a pink strawberry cocktail handed him by the ship's bartender.
"Bills of receipt can be forged," Manny Morrison stated solemnly.
"And indeed, Manny, you ought to know about that," Dodd laughed then cleared his throat and looked serious when he noticed everyone staring at him.
Morrison made the Masonic motion of having one's throat slit and one's bowels disembowelled to Dodd for the verbal slip-up he had just made.
"Why is this steam engine that looks to be eaten," Holmes inquired, "why is it orange and yellow in colour while the engine whose steam valve just exploded is coloured black?".
"I'm afraid that's due to my little Billy," Captain Heelander seemed to hop, skip and jump over to where Holmes was standing, "my little Billy was a great admirer of the painter Vincent Van Gogh with his bright and vibrant yellow colours. Vincent has been dead almost four years now. I never met the man but I got to know him through Billy's talk of him. I allowed Billy to paint this engine a vibrant yellow and orange in honour of Vincent."
"Vincent Van Gogh," Mr. Spock tugged at the knob of one of his large pointed ears, "I've never heard of him."
Captain Heelander pulled a daffodil out of his pocket and smelled it, "I could have told you Vincent this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."
"Aside from part of this engine," Holmes blew smoke rings, "you say the only other things missing on this voyage were two tons of cheese."
"That is correct, Mr. Holmes," First Mate Spock nodded.
"But this is fantastic," Holmes pounded one solid fist into his other hand.
"Have you solved the case, Mr. Holmes?" Captain Heelander pranced and danced about the room with the daffodil stuck between his teeth.
"Well, I see one wouldn't have to worry about contracting scurvy on this voyage," Holmes quipped as he observed the prancing and dancing of Captain Heelander.
"Is our client left off the hook?" Morrison and Dodd asked in joyful unison.
"What say we go and look at those cages of animals bound for Steinenfrank's Circus?" Holmes stated.
"Is the answer to be found there?" Morrison twirled his moustache.
"I suspect so," Holmes opened the door of the engine room...
... and...
... there stood the most beautiful woman Holmes had ever seen in his life.
Beautiful long dark hair. Beautiful penetrating dark eyes. A low-cut red evening dress exquisitely designed and decorated.
"Vittoria Donna Gina," Holmes gasped.
"Who?" Morrison asked.
"I believe," Dodd said as he quietly adjusted his spectacles (and his testicles!), "that Doctor Watson mentioned her in one of his published accounts of Holmes' adventures referring to her as "THE other woman". Holmes has apparently never met her, Watson wrote, but he keeps a photograph of her in his copy of Suetononius' The Lives of the Twelve Caesars at a special place on the bookshelf at 221 B Baker Street in a chair that Holmes only sits in when he gazes at her photograph. A chair that Watson remarks has some rather peculiar stains on it..."
To be continued.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Part III
"It's a good thing this ship had sails," the captain of the Matilda Briggs said to his first mate, "seeing as how something destroyed our ship's steam engine."
Captain Heelander of the Matilda Briggs stood on the bridge.
"The strangest thing, Captain," said First Mate Leonard Spock, "it almost looks as if someone or something ate a huge piece out of the engine."
"That it does," the Captain shook his head.
Suddenly the two mariners were approached by two men very formally dressed- black suit, black tie, black jacket, black top hat- each man wore.
"I'm Manny Morrison of the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd," the first gentleman introduced himself.
"I'm Derek Dodd of the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd," the second gentleman introduced himself.
"I'm afraid my brother Monty Morrison is down with a bad case of Montezuma's revenge- alas! poor Monty," Manny Morrison looked dutifully sorrowful, "having recently returned from Mexico."
"That's why he isn't here today," Derek Dodd explained.
"How can I help you gentlemen?" Captain Heelander asked, "other than to recommend lots of cheese and dairy products to your visibly absent brother?".
"Speaking of cheese, Captain," First Mate Leonard Spock scratched one of his huge pointed ears, "someone or something has eaten all the two tons of cheese we had down below as well."
"Well, if it's a human culprit," Sherlock Holmes quipped as he strolled aboard the bridge, "he should be easy to catch. Find out who's gotten off the ship and gone to see a physician in Liverpool with the worst case of constipation in all recorded history."
Holmes' colleague the veterinarian Fred Clegg laughed heartily at this remark.
"Aren't you Sherlock Holmes?" Manny Morrison's jaw dropped.
"I am," the world's greatest consulting detective nodded.
"Well, how about this for a coincidence?" Derek Dodd laughed.
"I hope you're not trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson," a porter remarked as he went by carrying some luggage for an older yet very attractive middle-aged woman passenger compared to the youthful porter.
"How a coincidence?" Holmes asked as he re-lit his pipe.
"We've been hired by the manufacturer of the ship's steam engine to determine how damage was done to the ship's engine," Dodd explained, "apparently the shipping company that owns the Matilda Briggs is thinking of suing the steam engine's manufacturer for a faultily built steam engine. Yet as legal specialists when it comes to machinery, we believe the damage to the engine was done externally rather than something which was caused internally within the engine."
"So we thought of hiring you to look into this matter," Manny Morrison added, "but when we sent a messenger to your apartment, we were told by your landlady Mrs. Hudson that you were working on another case."
"And we had no idea that this case you were working on would bring you down here to the Matilda Briggs," Dodd added, "we'd like to hire you to determine what caused the damage to the ship's steam engine."
"I already have a client at the moment," Holmes remarked, "still my job only involves bringing some animals for a circus safely to shore. What say we go look at the ship's engine?".
"That seems the logical thing to do, wouldn't you say, Captain?" Mr. Spock looked towards his superior officer.
"Indeed, Mr. Spock," Captain Heelander replied.
They went to the ship's boiler room.
Inside the boiler room, the ship's engineer seemed to be going through some consternation.
The concerned Captain inquired, "What is it, Scotty?"
"Captain, I can-na hold on much longer," Scotty answered in a thick Scottish brogue.
Scotty was trying to stop one of the valves from exploding.
The valve popped and steam shot up towards the ceiling.
One of the ceiling's beams collapsed from the intense steam and fell on top of the Captain.
Before the Captain lost consciousness, he spoke incomprehensibly, "Beam me down, Scotty."
To be continued.
Captain Heelander of the Matilda Briggs stood on the bridge.
"The strangest thing, Captain," said First Mate Leonard Spock, "it almost looks as if someone or something ate a huge piece out of the engine."
"That it does," the Captain shook his head.
Suddenly the two mariners were approached by two men very formally dressed- black suit, black tie, black jacket, black top hat- each man wore.
"I'm Manny Morrison of the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd," the first gentleman introduced himself.
"I'm Derek Dodd of the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd," the second gentleman introduced himself.
"I'm afraid my brother Monty Morrison is down with a bad case of Montezuma's revenge- alas! poor Monty," Manny Morrison looked dutifully sorrowful, "having recently returned from Mexico."
"That's why he isn't here today," Derek Dodd explained.
"How can I help you gentlemen?" Captain Heelander asked, "other than to recommend lots of cheese and dairy products to your visibly absent brother?".
"Speaking of cheese, Captain," First Mate Leonard Spock scratched one of his huge pointed ears, "someone or something has eaten all the two tons of cheese we had down below as well."
"Well, if it's a human culprit," Sherlock Holmes quipped as he strolled aboard the bridge, "he should be easy to catch. Find out who's gotten off the ship and gone to see a physician in Liverpool with the worst case of constipation in all recorded history."
Holmes' colleague the veterinarian Fred Clegg laughed heartily at this remark.
"Aren't you Sherlock Holmes?" Manny Morrison's jaw dropped.
"I am," the world's greatest consulting detective nodded.
"Well, how about this for a coincidence?" Derek Dodd laughed.
"I hope you're not trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson," a porter remarked as he went by carrying some luggage for an older yet very attractive middle-aged woman passenger compared to the youthful porter.
"How a coincidence?" Holmes asked as he re-lit his pipe.
"We've been hired by the manufacturer of the ship's steam engine to determine how damage was done to the ship's engine," Dodd explained, "apparently the shipping company that owns the Matilda Briggs is thinking of suing the steam engine's manufacturer for a faultily built steam engine. Yet as legal specialists when it comes to machinery, we believe the damage to the engine was done externally rather than something which was caused internally within the engine."
"So we thought of hiring you to look into this matter," Manny Morrison added, "but when we sent a messenger to your apartment, we were told by your landlady Mrs. Hudson that you were working on another case."
"And we had no idea that this case you were working on would bring you down here to the Matilda Briggs," Dodd added, "we'd like to hire you to determine what caused the damage to the ship's steam engine."
"I already have a client at the moment," Holmes remarked, "still my job only involves bringing some animals for a circus safely to shore. What say we go look at the ship's engine?".
"That seems the logical thing to do, wouldn't you say, Captain?" Mr. Spock looked towards his superior officer.
"Indeed, Mr. Spock," Captain Heelander replied.
They went to the ship's boiler room.
Inside the boiler room, the ship's engineer seemed to be going through some consternation.
The concerned Captain inquired, "What is it, Scotty?"
"Captain, I can-na hold on much longer," Scotty answered in a thick Scottish brogue.
Scotty was trying to stop one of the valves from exploding.
The valve popped and steam shot up towards the ceiling.
One of the ceiling's beams collapsed from the intense steam and fell on top of the Captain.
Before the Captain lost consciousness, he spoke incomprehensibly, "Beam me down, Scotty."
To be continued.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Part II
Sherlock Holmes rode along in a coach through the streets of Liverpool.
Across from him sat a tall thin man with auburn hair and a prominent auburn moustache and piercing blue eyes.
Holmes noticed the man staring at him intently.
Finally when the man had finished gazing at Holmes, he leaned back in his chair and said, "So you're the world's greatest consulting detective."
Holmes looked back at the man, "So you're an extremely skilled veterinarian who runs an omnibus service through the seaside resort of Morecambe."
The man laughed, "I won't ask you how you know that, Mr. Holmes. I've heard all about your amazing powers of deduction and observation. When people ask you how you know what you do about them, they come off feeling rather foolish because when it's explained to them, it seems so profoundly simple."
"I'm afraid though I can't deduce your name," the detective held out his hand, "I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"Fred Clegg," the man grabbed the detective's hand and shook it in a firm masculine grip, "Nice to meet you."
"I take it you'll be examining the animals as soon as they get off the Matilda Briggs," Holmes said.
"That I will indeed, Mr. Holmes," Clegg nodded, "though I gather most of the animals I'll be examining aren't in my regular area of expertise."
"That's all right," Holmes smiled, "being a ship's nanny to see it pulls into the docks safely isn't my area of expertise as a consulting detective either."
"Indeed it's not," Clegg smiled, "so why are you doing it?".
"The fee is good," Holmes answered, "plus it piqued my curiosity as to why they felt it necessary to have a detective serve as an escort for their animals."
"And what do you intend to do with all the fees you've earned over the years as a consulting detective?" Clegg asked.
"I hope to buy myself a bee farm someday and raise honey," Holmes took his pipe out of his pocket.
"Speaking of honey, I recall hearing once about a bishop of Constantinople who was such a powerful preacher with a golden voice that they called him the honey tongued," Clegg remarked as he looked out the coach window as they passed an Anglican church, "I gather since he was the honey-tongued, he wouldn't be as boring as some of the fellows who preach in pulpits in places like that."
"Ah yes, Saint John Chrysostom- Saint John the Honey-Tongued or St. John the Golden Mouthed," Holmes removed some tobacco out of a pouch, "the famous Patriarch of Constantinople- he whose liturgy is sung in most Eastern Orthodox and Eastern rite Catholic Churches- the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. His Feast Day is January 27th- the Feast Day of St. John Chrysostom. Mozart was born on January 27th- that's why his full name was Johannes Chrysostomos Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."
"An encyclopedic memory, Mr. Holmes," Clegg winked.
"Thank you," Holmes stuck some tobacco in his pipe, "of course having an encyclopedic memory is not always a good thing. What you were saying about boring preachers earlier- one Christmas Eve I was forced to sit through a sermon preached by a Church of England vicar named Rev. Fr. Robert Molyneux who was probably the most boring speaker in history and I do not exaggerate. By the time the fellow finished his long boring totally incomprehensible sermon, the entire congregation, the entire choir, all the altar boys and all the other priests had all fallen asleep and were snoring loudly. I only managed to stay awake by seeing if it was possible to stick pins into one's eyeballs without screaming loudly."
"I take it you succeeded, Mr. Holmes," Clegg smiled.
"Yes, which is more than I can say for Father Molyneux," the consulting detective grimaced, "I suspect the man came from a long pedigree of clerical idiots and will no doubt go on to produce another long line of clerical idiots with each new generation of vicars being more boring and more incomprehensible in their preaching than the last."
"I suspect what you say is very true, Mr. Holmes," the veterinarian nodded.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" Holmes asked before he lit his pipe.
"Go ahead, Mr. Holmes," Clegg waved him on, "I smoke a pipe myself now and again."
"That's good to hear," Holmes lit the pipe and inhaled a long mouthful, "a Lloyd's of London representative had to require urgent medical attention when he sat in my smoke-filled apartment at 221B Baker Street last week when he asked me to take this case."
"Those cufflinks on your sleeves, Mr. Holmes," Clegg pointed, "Egyptian scarab beetles are they not?".
"That is correct," Holmes nodded and looked out the coach window.
Clegg turned in the direction of Holmes' gaze and looked at the street of shops and pubs, "Funny. Those beetles and this street of shops and pubs, I almost had a sense of seeing the future there for a moment."
"Oh?" Holmes looked quizzical.
"Do you think a musical orchestra might someday name itself after beetles?" Clegg asked.
"What an unusual thought to have," Holmes meditated on that, "still if this musical orchestra that names itself after beetles was made up of Liverpool residents, it might be the only possible way that Liverpudlians would ever conquer the world."
Clegg laughed as the coach turned right and veered down a street in the direction of the docks just as the ship Matilda Briggs approached.
To be continued.
Across from him sat a tall thin man with auburn hair and a prominent auburn moustache and piercing blue eyes.
Holmes noticed the man staring at him intently.
Finally when the man had finished gazing at Holmes, he leaned back in his chair and said, "So you're the world's greatest consulting detective."
Holmes looked back at the man, "So you're an extremely skilled veterinarian who runs an omnibus service through the seaside resort of Morecambe."
The man laughed, "I won't ask you how you know that, Mr. Holmes. I've heard all about your amazing powers of deduction and observation. When people ask you how you know what you do about them, they come off feeling rather foolish because when it's explained to them, it seems so profoundly simple."
"I'm afraid though I can't deduce your name," the detective held out his hand, "I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"Fred Clegg," the man grabbed the detective's hand and shook it in a firm masculine grip, "Nice to meet you."
"I take it you'll be examining the animals as soon as they get off the Matilda Briggs," Holmes said.
"That I will indeed, Mr. Holmes," Clegg nodded, "though I gather most of the animals I'll be examining aren't in my regular area of expertise."
"That's all right," Holmes smiled, "being a ship's nanny to see it pulls into the docks safely isn't my area of expertise as a consulting detective either."
"Indeed it's not," Clegg smiled, "so why are you doing it?".
"The fee is good," Holmes answered, "plus it piqued my curiosity as to why they felt it necessary to have a detective serve as an escort for their animals."
"And what do you intend to do with all the fees you've earned over the years as a consulting detective?" Clegg asked.
"I hope to buy myself a bee farm someday and raise honey," Holmes took his pipe out of his pocket.
"Speaking of honey, I recall hearing once about a bishop of Constantinople who was such a powerful preacher with a golden voice that they called him the honey tongued," Clegg remarked as he looked out the coach window as they passed an Anglican church, "I gather since he was the honey-tongued, he wouldn't be as boring as some of the fellows who preach in pulpits in places like that."
"Ah yes, Saint John Chrysostom- Saint John the Honey-Tongued or St. John the Golden Mouthed," Holmes removed some tobacco out of a pouch, "the famous Patriarch of Constantinople- he whose liturgy is sung in most Eastern Orthodox and Eastern rite Catholic Churches- the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. His Feast Day is January 27th- the Feast Day of St. John Chrysostom. Mozart was born on January 27th- that's why his full name was Johannes Chrysostomos Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."
"An encyclopedic memory, Mr. Holmes," Clegg winked.
"Thank you," Holmes stuck some tobacco in his pipe, "of course having an encyclopedic memory is not always a good thing. What you were saying about boring preachers earlier- one Christmas Eve I was forced to sit through a sermon preached by a Church of England vicar named Rev. Fr. Robert Molyneux who was probably the most boring speaker in history and I do not exaggerate. By the time the fellow finished his long boring totally incomprehensible sermon, the entire congregation, the entire choir, all the altar boys and all the other priests had all fallen asleep and were snoring loudly. I only managed to stay awake by seeing if it was possible to stick pins into one's eyeballs without screaming loudly."
"I take it you succeeded, Mr. Holmes," Clegg smiled.
"Yes, which is more than I can say for Father Molyneux," the consulting detective grimaced, "I suspect the man came from a long pedigree of clerical idiots and will no doubt go on to produce another long line of clerical idiots with each new generation of vicars being more boring and more incomprehensible in their preaching than the last."
"I suspect what you say is very true, Mr. Holmes," the veterinarian nodded.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" Holmes asked before he lit his pipe.
"Go ahead, Mr. Holmes," Clegg waved him on, "I smoke a pipe myself now and again."
"That's good to hear," Holmes lit the pipe and inhaled a long mouthful, "a Lloyd's of London representative had to require urgent medical attention when he sat in my smoke-filled apartment at 221B Baker Street last week when he asked me to take this case."
"Those cufflinks on your sleeves, Mr. Holmes," Clegg pointed, "Egyptian scarab beetles are they not?".
"That is correct," Holmes nodded and looked out the coach window.
Clegg turned in the direction of Holmes' gaze and looked at the street of shops and pubs, "Funny. Those beetles and this street of shops and pubs, I almost had a sense of seeing the future there for a moment."
"Oh?" Holmes looked quizzical.
"Do you think a musical orchestra might someday name itself after beetles?" Clegg asked.
"What an unusual thought to have," Holmes meditated on that, "still if this musical orchestra that names itself after beetles was made up of Liverpool residents, it might be the only possible way that Liverpudlians would ever conquer the world."
Clegg laughed as the coach turned right and veered down a street in the direction of the docks just as the ship Matilda Briggs approached.
To be continued.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Giant Rat of Sumatra
Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson, . . . It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared."
-Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire, The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes
Doctor John H. Watson had a mass of clients lately so he would not be accompanying Holmes those dreadful few days in the late spring of 1894.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes the world's greatest consulting detective had been approached by a representative of Lloyd's of London to see to a ship the Matilda Briggs when it landed at the docks of Liverpool.
"You think something will happen to the ship on its landing?" Holmes asked as he lit his pipe.
"Well, one of our clients seems particularly interested in making sure the ship arrives safely with all of its goods brought safely to shore," the Lloyd's representative replied.
"And who is this client?" Holmes asked as he blew smoke rings into the air.
"Well, I'm not at liberty to say, Mr. Holmes," the Lloyd's representative answered.
"Then I'm not at liberty to help you," Holmes folded his arms and gazed at his bust of Julius Caesar on the mantle, "before I take a case, I need to know everything up front."
"Well, if you must know the client is a circus," the Lloyd's man blushed.
"A circus?" Holmes gazed with great mirth at the Lloyd's representative.
"The Steinenfrank Circus which hails from York," the Lloyd's man explained, "owned by Mr. Magus Steinenfrank originally from Berlin."
"Magus Steinenfrank," Holmes chewed on the end of his pipe, "wasn't he the one kicked out of Germany for allegedly putting a black magic curse on the penis of the then Crown Prince and currently Kaiser Wilhelm II?".
"Yes, that's the one," the Lloyd's man nodded.
"They say that's the reason why Kaiser Wilhelm has such a long pointed spike atop his Prussian military helment," Holmes mused aloud, "to make up for his shortcomings elsewhere."
"That's what they say," the Lloyd's rep agreed.
"And yet they say old Bismarck's thoroughly exhausted wife keeps telling her maids, 'We've got to sink the Bismarck to the bottom of the sea' so she can finally get some rest," Holmes sucked the sweet Dutch tobacco through his pipe.
"Will you take the case, Holmes?" the Lloyd's man asked.
"I take it Steinenfrank's Circus has some goods on this ship the Matilda Briggs which it wants to see safely ashore," Holmes blew smoke rings in the direction of Julius Caesar's bust.
"That is correct," the Lloyd's man coughed from some of the Holmesian pipe smoke he inhaled, "some exotic animals."
"Exotic animals?" Holmes looked quizzical, "where from?".
"The island of Sumatra," the Lloyd's man coughed vigourously.
"Interesting," Holmes looked at his tin of pipe tobacco, "although the seller of this tobacco has an Amsterdam address, I believe this tobacco itself is from Sumatra as well."
"Then God help us all," the Lloyd's rep sneezed into his handkerchief.
To be continued.
-Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire, The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes
Doctor John H. Watson had a mass of clients lately so he would not be accompanying Holmes those dreadful few days in the late spring of 1894.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes the world's greatest consulting detective had been approached by a representative of Lloyd's of London to see to a ship the Matilda Briggs when it landed at the docks of Liverpool.
"You think something will happen to the ship on its landing?" Holmes asked as he lit his pipe.
"Well, one of our clients seems particularly interested in making sure the ship arrives safely with all of its goods brought safely to shore," the Lloyd's representative replied.
"And who is this client?" Holmes asked as he blew smoke rings into the air.
"Well, I'm not at liberty to say, Mr. Holmes," the Lloyd's representative answered.
"Then I'm not at liberty to help you," Holmes folded his arms and gazed at his bust of Julius Caesar on the mantle, "before I take a case, I need to know everything up front."
"Well, if you must know the client is a circus," the Lloyd's man blushed.
"A circus?" Holmes gazed with great mirth at the Lloyd's representative.
"The Steinenfrank Circus which hails from York," the Lloyd's man explained, "owned by Mr. Magus Steinenfrank originally from Berlin."
"Magus Steinenfrank," Holmes chewed on the end of his pipe, "wasn't he the one kicked out of Germany for allegedly putting a black magic curse on the penis of the then Crown Prince and currently Kaiser Wilhelm II?".
"Yes, that's the one," the Lloyd's man nodded.
"They say that's the reason why Kaiser Wilhelm has such a long pointed spike atop his Prussian military helment," Holmes mused aloud, "to make up for his shortcomings elsewhere."
"That's what they say," the Lloyd's rep agreed.
"And yet they say old Bismarck's thoroughly exhausted wife keeps telling her maids, 'We've got to sink the Bismarck to the bottom of the sea' so she can finally get some rest," Holmes sucked the sweet Dutch tobacco through his pipe.
"Will you take the case, Holmes?" the Lloyd's man asked.
"I take it Steinenfrank's Circus has some goods on this ship the Matilda Briggs which it wants to see safely ashore," Holmes blew smoke rings in the direction of Julius Caesar's bust.
"That is correct," the Lloyd's man coughed from some of the Holmesian pipe smoke he inhaled, "some exotic animals."
"Exotic animals?" Holmes looked quizzical, "where from?".
"The island of Sumatra," the Lloyd's man coughed vigourously.
"Interesting," Holmes looked at his tin of pipe tobacco, "although the seller of this tobacco has an Amsterdam address, I believe this tobacco itself is from Sumatra as well."
"Then God help us all," the Lloyd's rep sneezed into his handkerchief.
To be continued.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Freedom On Robbie Burns Day
Deep in a cave below the Himalayas of the Tibet-Nepal border region lived the golden cobra whose name was known to few.
It was gazing admiringly at its own reflection in a diamond studded golden mirror.
For like all narcissistic creatures, it was deeply in love with its own self.
Suddenly the snake turned away from its own reflection- something it rarely did.
For it sensed a presence.
A presence that shouldn't be there in this cave.
The cobra turned...
... hissed....
... and spat...
"Dracul Van Helsing vampire hunter and slayer, do you think you can kill me?" the cobra advanced menacingly towards the slayer's head then stopped.
"That sliver of wood you have around your neck," the golden serpent backed away, "at one time they said there was enough of it to make an entire forest in medieval Europe but they were mainly false relics. You have a sliver of the Real Thing if I may quote a Coca-Cola commercial."
"Despite your appearance of being a cobra, I know you're in fact pure spirit and not a material substance and therefore I can't kill you," Dracul said, "but still I haven't come for that. And I find it a relief that demons watch Coca-Cola commercials. It's nice to know that it's not only humanity who suffers."
The cobra glared at the vampire hunter.
"And you're right, I do have a sliver of the True Cross around my neck," Dracul touched its comforting presence, "one personally blessed by both Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI. I wouldn't venture into this cave without it."
"Sad most visitors who wander in here by mistake only have their American Express cards," the cobra smirked, "something that doesn't help them here."
"I don't imagine the new Visa card with its new technologically enhanced pin code system that the voice of Morgan Freeman assures us is a breakthrough and doesn't work 70% of the time in reality wouldn't help here either," Dracul stated.
"No, it wouldn't," the cobra licked its fangs, "however I'm sure you haven't come here to exchange Oscar Wilde like witticisms on the advertising slogans of modern Madison Avenue."
"No, I haven't, _ _ _ _ _ _," Dracul named the cobra.
The cobra arched its back towards the cave wall and spat and hissed, "You know my name?".
"I do," Dracul said.
"How did you get here anyways?" the cobra asked.
But it then answered its own question using its third eye atop its head.
"Inna Huculak the vampiress secret agent for the Republic of Ukraine," the cobra hissed, "flying one of the lithium battery powered Nikola Tesla prototype flying saucers."
"That's right," Dracul nodded.
"Inna Huculak, a vampiress whose life you spared," the cobra acted the Accuser against the vampire hunter.
"She's good in her heart and she was made a vampiress against her will," Dracul answered.
"What about Svetlana Kireerva the Russian vampiress and agent for the KGB's successor the FSB? A vampiress whose life you also spared on several occasions? Is she good in her heart? She certainly wasn't made a vampiress against her will," the cobra laughed.
Dracul said nothing.
"What do you want from me?" the cobra hissed.
Dracul threw down the note that Renfield R. Renfield had written on the napkin in the Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe in London.
"Yes," the cobra hissed, "I do owe Renfield a favour. And he's passed that favour on to you? What is it?".
Dracul told him.
The cobra nodded.
Dracul left the cave and walked towards the Nikola Tesla prototype flying saucer driven by the mini skirted vampiress Inna Huculak who flew the craft back towards the United Kingdom.
On the way back, more UFO spotters were posting their cell phone cam shot videos on YouTube.
* * *
The cobra danced and bowed towards its own reflection of itself in the mirror.
As it danced and moved, holographic images of various gods and deities and prophets and messianic style figures in turn danced in a circle around the cobra.
One of the images- an image of the Imam Mahdi left the circle and went across the world to Tehran in the Islamic Republic of Iran and appeared in the bedroom of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad where it ordered Ahmadinejad to order the release of the political prisoner and accused foreign spy Manuel de Rivera y Vargas (the famous Spanish vampire concert pianist) and his immediate transport out of the country.
* * *
Dracul Van Helsing and Inna Huculak were now in a Scottish pub in Edinburgh, Scotland celebrating Robbie Burns Day.
They were enjoying haggis and a couple of wee drams of Scottish whisky.
Then the Scottish bagpiper played Scotland The Brave and then the Scottish singer sang that old song dedicated to Bonnie Prince Charlie, "Will ye no come back again?".
But as Dracul listened to the lyrics, "will ye no come back again?", it wasn't that bonnie old Prince who led the Rebellion of '45-46 back in 18th Century Scotland that Dracul thought of.
Rather his old friend Manuel de Rivera y Vargas.
A beautiful red headed songstress dressed in a red evening dress then sang Robbie Burns' most famous song, Auld Lang Syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
On the tarmac at Tehran Airport, the newly released prisoner Manuel de Rivera y Vargas thin and ragged looking boarded a plane.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
In the pub in Edinburgh, Dracul and Inna drank their drams of whisky.
On the plane flying over the Middle East, Manuel drank a cup of blood given him by the Red Cross.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
Dracul and Inna then each downed a hardy mouthful of Scottish ale.
On the plane, Manuel ordered a pint of Guinness and downed it eagerly.
The red haired beauty continued with the song and then came to the final verse:
And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.
Dracul and Inna held hands and finished the pints of ale together.
On a plane now flying over the Sea of Galilee, Manuel pressed his hand towards the plane window near his seat as if to touch that distant star he saw in the distance and as he did so he raised his glass of Guinness in toast to a distant absent friend and then finished his glass.
To be continued.
It was gazing admiringly at its own reflection in a diamond studded golden mirror.
For like all narcissistic creatures, it was deeply in love with its own self.
Suddenly the snake turned away from its own reflection- something it rarely did.
For it sensed a presence.
A presence that shouldn't be there in this cave.
The cobra turned...
... hissed....
... and spat...
"Dracul Van Helsing vampire hunter and slayer, do you think you can kill me?" the cobra advanced menacingly towards the slayer's head then stopped.
"That sliver of wood you have around your neck," the golden serpent backed away, "at one time they said there was enough of it to make an entire forest in medieval Europe but they were mainly false relics. You have a sliver of the Real Thing if I may quote a Coca-Cola commercial."
"Despite your appearance of being a cobra, I know you're in fact pure spirit and not a material substance and therefore I can't kill you," Dracul said, "but still I haven't come for that. And I find it a relief that demons watch Coca-Cola commercials. It's nice to know that it's not only humanity who suffers."
The cobra glared at the vampire hunter.
"And you're right, I do have a sliver of the True Cross around my neck," Dracul touched its comforting presence, "one personally blessed by both Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI. I wouldn't venture into this cave without it."
"Sad most visitors who wander in here by mistake only have their American Express cards," the cobra smirked, "something that doesn't help them here."
"I don't imagine the new Visa card with its new technologically enhanced pin code system that the voice of Morgan Freeman assures us is a breakthrough and doesn't work 70% of the time in reality wouldn't help here either," Dracul stated.
"No, it wouldn't," the cobra licked its fangs, "however I'm sure you haven't come here to exchange Oscar Wilde like witticisms on the advertising slogans of modern Madison Avenue."
"No, I haven't, _ _ _ _ _ _," Dracul named the cobra.
The cobra arched its back towards the cave wall and spat and hissed, "You know my name?".
"I do," Dracul said.
"How did you get here anyways?" the cobra asked.
But it then answered its own question using its third eye atop its head.
"Inna Huculak the vampiress secret agent for the Republic of Ukraine," the cobra hissed, "flying one of the lithium battery powered Nikola Tesla prototype flying saucers."
"That's right," Dracul nodded.
"Inna Huculak, a vampiress whose life you spared," the cobra acted the Accuser against the vampire hunter.
"She's good in her heart and she was made a vampiress against her will," Dracul answered.
"What about Svetlana Kireerva the Russian vampiress and agent for the KGB's successor the FSB? A vampiress whose life you also spared on several occasions? Is she good in her heart? She certainly wasn't made a vampiress against her will," the cobra laughed.
Dracul said nothing.
"What do you want from me?" the cobra hissed.
Dracul threw down the note that Renfield R. Renfield had written on the napkin in the Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe in London.
"Yes," the cobra hissed, "I do owe Renfield a favour. And he's passed that favour on to you? What is it?".
Dracul told him.
The cobra nodded.
Dracul left the cave and walked towards the Nikola Tesla prototype flying saucer driven by the mini skirted vampiress Inna Huculak who flew the craft back towards the United Kingdom.
On the way back, more UFO spotters were posting their cell phone cam shot videos on YouTube.
* * *
The cobra danced and bowed towards its own reflection of itself in the mirror.
As it danced and moved, holographic images of various gods and deities and prophets and messianic style figures in turn danced in a circle around the cobra.
One of the images- an image of the Imam Mahdi left the circle and went across the world to Tehran in the Islamic Republic of Iran and appeared in the bedroom of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad where it ordered Ahmadinejad to order the release of the political prisoner and accused foreign spy Manuel de Rivera y Vargas (the famous Spanish vampire concert pianist) and his immediate transport out of the country.
* * *
Dracul Van Helsing and Inna Huculak were now in a Scottish pub in Edinburgh, Scotland celebrating Robbie Burns Day.
They were enjoying haggis and a couple of wee drams of Scottish whisky.
Then the Scottish bagpiper played Scotland The Brave and then the Scottish singer sang that old song dedicated to Bonnie Prince Charlie, "Will ye no come back again?".
But as Dracul listened to the lyrics, "will ye no come back again?", it wasn't that bonnie old Prince who led the Rebellion of '45-46 back in 18th Century Scotland that Dracul thought of.
Rather his old friend Manuel de Rivera y Vargas.
A beautiful red headed songstress dressed in a red evening dress then sang Robbie Burns' most famous song, Auld Lang Syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
On the tarmac at Tehran Airport, the newly released prisoner Manuel de Rivera y Vargas thin and ragged looking boarded a plane.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
In the pub in Edinburgh, Dracul and Inna drank their drams of whisky.
On the plane flying over the Middle East, Manuel drank a cup of blood given him by the Red Cross.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine,
And we'll tak a cup o kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!
Dracul and Inna then each downed a hardy mouthful of Scottish ale.
On the plane, Manuel ordered a pint of Guinness and downed it eagerly.
The red haired beauty continued with the song and then came to the final verse:
And there's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o thine,
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.
Dracul and Inna held hands and finished the pints of ale together.
On a plane now flying over the Sea of Galilee, Manuel pressed his hand towards the plane window near his seat as if to touch that distant star he saw in the distance and as he did so he raised his glass of Guinness in toast to a distant absent friend and then finished his glass.
To be continued.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Esau's Pottage Revisited In Piccadilly Circus
Renfield R. Renfield was feeling a craving for tuna fish sandwiches.
In fact, Renfield was a tuna fish sandwich junkie.
Despite the fact he was allergic to tuna fish.
Renfield shot his arm full of medication so he wouldn't break out in hives whenever he ate tuna fish sandwiches.
The shapeshifting hamster Chief of Security and Corporate Intelligence for the millionaire (and formerly billionaire) ancient Egyptian vampire Set had spent the evening writing love letters to the new billionairess (and formerly homeless) vampiress named Martini and signing them with Set's name.
Renfield who didn't have a romantic bone in his body wondered how he'd be able to write anything to capture Martini's vampiric heart without coming across as the psychological/emotional equivalent of a hawthorne wooden stake that most vampire hunters and slayers used.
He asked Amadeus since Amadeus struck him as being the poetic type.
Amadeus suggested that Renfield read some of the sonnets of Shakespeare and Keats.
Renfield had done so.
He finished writing the last letter addressed to Martini and then looked at his watch.
10:30 P.M.
Renfield felt a craving for tuna fish sandwiches.
More specifically a craving for tuna fish sandwiches made by Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe just off Piccadilly Circus.
Mobius Dyck made the best tuna fish sandwiches in the world in Renfield's opinion.
The last order for sandwiches would occur at 11 P.M. this evening.
That gave Renfield half an hour to get there.
Renfield put on his power skis (with an outboard motor on the back of each ski) and skied the snow filled streets of London to Piccadilly Circus and then the half block down to Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe.
10:55 PM.
5 minutes to go.
Two customers were ahead of him- Bono and Rihanna.
Renfield had caught glimpses of Bono and Rihanna singing on TV last night while he was busy trying to read and comprehend Keats and Shakespeare.
Amadeus was watching the Hope For Haiti Concert on television.
"Oh, be a man, will ya?" Renfield bellowed at Amadeus when Amadeus started crying when he saw photos of injured Haitian children.
Bono and Rihanna grabbed their tuna fish sandwiches and sat down at a table overlooking the street.
"What sort of man wears sunglasses at night in the middle of a snowstorm?" Renfield glanced over contemptuously at Bono.
"It seems to work on the ladies," the cashier said.
Renfield took a notebook out of his jacket and made a notation, "Remember to tell boss to take Martini out on a date in the middle of the night in a snowstorm and wear sunglasses."
"What can I get you, sir?" the cashier asked.
"I'll have one of your extra large tuna fish sandwiches please," Renfield grinned like a Cheshire cat.
"I'm sorry, sir," the cashier pointed to Bono and Rihanna, "I just sold the last two tuna fish sandwiches."
Renfield's countenance fell like a mouse running down the clock.
Hickory dickory dock.
"But you usually have a few sandwiches still left at 5 to 11 before you have your last call for sandwiches," Renfield protested like a victim about to be beheaded on the orders of the Queen of Hearts.
"Normally we do, sir," the cashier nodded, "but that gentleman there came in at 10:45 this evening and ordered all our remaining sandwiches... with the exception of two when he saw Bono and Rihanna come in."
Renfield turned in the direction of where the cashier pointed.
The man blonde, blue-eyed and 6 feet tall (if he had been standing) wore a tannish yellow rain coat and a reddish brown fedora hat as he ate a sandwich.
Dracul Van Helsing.
"You bastard," Renfield spat at him as he walked over to his table.
"That pen you used to write a notation there," Dracul said, "it has a listening device in it. When you exclaimed you were coming here, I beat you to it and bought the last tuna fish sandwiches available for sale with the exception of the two Bono and Rihanna are eating of course."
Renfield's forehead broke into a sweat as he watched Dracul sampling the tuna.
"What do you want?" Renfield wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"My good friend the vampire concert pianist Manuel de Rivera y Vargas is being held in an Iranian prison," Dracul explained.
"I fail to see how that concerns me," Renfield started hyperventilating.
"You want one of Mobius Dyck's tuna fish sandwiches, don't you?" Dracul waved the bag of tuna fish sandwiches under his nose.
Renfield was starting to shake all over.
"You know I do," the shapeshifting hamster/human cursed at the Canadian vampire hunter.
Some of Renfield's hamster whiskers started growing under his nose as his bodily metabolism started going into shock over not getting its fixed cravings for tuna fish sandwiches.
"And you'll get one," Dracul smiled, "heck you'll get the entire bag if..."
"What do you want me to do?" tears started flowing out of Renfield's eyes.
"I understand this individual owes you a favour," Dracul wrote a name down on a napkin and handed it to Renfield to read.
Renfield started trembling when he saw the name (and it wasn't being caused by tuna fish withdrawal symptoms this time), "I wasn't aware of the fact that you were aware of this individual's existence."
"You'd be surprised to know what I'm aware of, Renfield," Dracul smiled at the shapeshifter, "now I want you to take this blank napkin and write on it, "The favour you owe me, give to Christopher Dracul Nicholas Alexander Constantine Van Helsing." And sign it using your signature of course."
Renfield grabbed the napkin and wrote on it just as Dracul had dictated.
He handed the napkin to Dracul who put it in his coat's inner pocket.
Dracul handed him the bag of tuna fish sandwiches which Renfield dove into eagerly and passionately.
Dracul tipped his hat to Bono and Rihanna on the way out.
As Renfield hungrily downed the last of the tuna fish sandwiches from the bag, he wondered if he'd ever come to regret selling the favour of that one individual for a bag of tuna fish sandwiches.
On the radio inside Mobius Dyck's cafe, a woman gospel singer was singing the song, "We are climbing Jacob's ladder, higher, higher, higher..."
Outside in the snow filled streets of London, Dracul walked.
He'd now be able to help his friend.
Dracul looked at the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus.
Bright. Flashing.
He felt joy that his friend would soon be out of that Iranian prison.
But what else seemed to be troubling his mind tonight as he lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the falling snow?
Perhaps the answer was being played on the ipod by a young woman who walked by.
For on the ipod, the voice of U2's Bono could be heard singing, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."
To be continued.
In fact, Renfield was a tuna fish sandwich junkie.
Despite the fact he was allergic to tuna fish.
Renfield shot his arm full of medication so he wouldn't break out in hives whenever he ate tuna fish sandwiches.
The shapeshifting hamster Chief of Security and Corporate Intelligence for the millionaire (and formerly billionaire) ancient Egyptian vampire Set had spent the evening writing love letters to the new billionairess (and formerly homeless) vampiress named Martini and signing them with Set's name.
Renfield who didn't have a romantic bone in his body wondered how he'd be able to write anything to capture Martini's vampiric heart without coming across as the psychological/emotional equivalent of a hawthorne wooden stake that most vampire hunters and slayers used.
He asked Amadeus since Amadeus struck him as being the poetic type.
Amadeus suggested that Renfield read some of the sonnets of Shakespeare and Keats.
Renfield had done so.
He finished writing the last letter addressed to Martini and then looked at his watch.
10:30 P.M.
Renfield felt a craving for tuna fish sandwiches.
More specifically a craving for tuna fish sandwiches made by Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe just off Piccadilly Circus.
Mobius Dyck made the best tuna fish sandwiches in the world in Renfield's opinion.
The last order for sandwiches would occur at 11 P.M. this evening.
That gave Renfield half an hour to get there.
Renfield put on his power skis (with an outboard motor on the back of each ski) and skied the snow filled streets of London to Piccadilly Circus and then the half block down to Mobius Dyck's House of Tuna Fish Cafe.
10:55 PM.
5 minutes to go.
Two customers were ahead of him- Bono and Rihanna.
Renfield had caught glimpses of Bono and Rihanna singing on TV last night while he was busy trying to read and comprehend Keats and Shakespeare.
Amadeus was watching the Hope For Haiti Concert on television.
"Oh, be a man, will ya?" Renfield bellowed at Amadeus when Amadeus started crying when he saw photos of injured Haitian children.
Bono and Rihanna grabbed their tuna fish sandwiches and sat down at a table overlooking the street.
"What sort of man wears sunglasses at night in the middle of a snowstorm?" Renfield glanced over contemptuously at Bono.
"It seems to work on the ladies," the cashier said.
Renfield took a notebook out of his jacket and made a notation, "Remember to tell boss to take Martini out on a date in the middle of the night in a snowstorm and wear sunglasses."
"What can I get you, sir?" the cashier asked.
"I'll have one of your extra large tuna fish sandwiches please," Renfield grinned like a Cheshire cat.
"I'm sorry, sir," the cashier pointed to Bono and Rihanna, "I just sold the last two tuna fish sandwiches."
Renfield's countenance fell like a mouse running down the clock.
Hickory dickory dock.
"But you usually have a few sandwiches still left at 5 to 11 before you have your last call for sandwiches," Renfield protested like a victim about to be beheaded on the orders of the Queen of Hearts.
"Normally we do, sir," the cashier nodded, "but that gentleman there came in at 10:45 this evening and ordered all our remaining sandwiches... with the exception of two when he saw Bono and Rihanna come in."
Renfield turned in the direction of where the cashier pointed.
The man blonde, blue-eyed and 6 feet tall (if he had been standing) wore a tannish yellow rain coat and a reddish brown fedora hat as he ate a sandwich.
Dracul Van Helsing.
"You bastard," Renfield spat at him as he walked over to his table.
"That pen you used to write a notation there," Dracul said, "it has a listening device in it. When you exclaimed you were coming here, I beat you to it and bought the last tuna fish sandwiches available for sale with the exception of the two Bono and Rihanna are eating of course."
Renfield's forehead broke into a sweat as he watched Dracul sampling the tuna.
"What do you want?" Renfield wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
"My good friend the vampire concert pianist Manuel de Rivera y Vargas is being held in an Iranian prison," Dracul explained.
"I fail to see how that concerns me," Renfield started hyperventilating.
"You want one of Mobius Dyck's tuna fish sandwiches, don't you?" Dracul waved the bag of tuna fish sandwiches under his nose.
Renfield was starting to shake all over.
"You know I do," the shapeshifting hamster/human cursed at the Canadian vampire hunter.
Some of Renfield's hamster whiskers started growing under his nose as his bodily metabolism started going into shock over not getting its fixed cravings for tuna fish sandwiches.
"And you'll get one," Dracul smiled, "heck you'll get the entire bag if..."
"What do you want me to do?" tears started flowing out of Renfield's eyes.
"I understand this individual owes you a favour," Dracul wrote a name down on a napkin and handed it to Renfield to read.
Renfield started trembling when he saw the name (and it wasn't being caused by tuna fish withdrawal symptoms this time), "I wasn't aware of the fact that you were aware of this individual's existence."
"You'd be surprised to know what I'm aware of, Renfield," Dracul smiled at the shapeshifter, "now I want you to take this blank napkin and write on it, "The favour you owe me, give to Christopher Dracul Nicholas Alexander Constantine Van Helsing." And sign it using your signature of course."
Renfield grabbed the napkin and wrote on it just as Dracul had dictated.
He handed the napkin to Dracul who put it in his coat's inner pocket.
Dracul handed him the bag of tuna fish sandwiches which Renfield dove into eagerly and passionately.
Dracul tipped his hat to Bono and Rihanna on the way out.
As Renfield hungrily downed the last of the tuna fish sandwiches from the bag, he wondered if he'd ever come to regret selling the favour of that one individual for a bag of tuna fish sandwiches.
On the radio inside Mobius Dyck's cafe, a woman gospel singer was singing the song, "We are climbing Jacob's ladder, higher, higher, higher..."
Outside in the snow filled streets of London, Dracul walked.
He'd now be able to help his friend.
Dracul looked at the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus.
Bright. Flashing.
He felt joy that his friend would soon be out of that Iranian prison.
But what else seemed to be troubling his mind tonight as he lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the falling snow?
Perhaps the answer was being played on the ipod by a young woman who walked by.
For on the ipod, the voice of U2's Bono could be heard singing, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."
To be continued.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Surprise Guest On The North Sea
A cold freezing night on the Norwegian coast of the North Sea in January.
So what was Svend doing standing on the rocks casting a fishing rod into the surging tide?
Svend himself wasn't sure. His Internet had gone down earlier tonight and deprived without the comforts of modern technology, he was looking for something exciting to do.
He missed visiting chat rooms with Swedish blondes on line.
So since he couldn't do something with one rod tonight, he thought he'd do something with another.
As Svend threw his rod into the surging pounding tide again, there was suddenly silence.
Pure silence.
Total silence.
The waves had stopped pounding towards the shore.
The tide was moving out again.
Which was strange.
According to the almanac, low tide was several hours away.
He watched the tide go out.
He heard (if heard is the right expression to use) the deadly silence.
All was quiet.
It seemed the ocean was gone.
Was this one of the hallmarks of a coming tsunami?, Svend wondered.
He now wished he had spent more time watching news coverage of the Indian Ocean tsunami when it had struck back in December 2004 and less time watching Swedish porno movies on the Net.
Then he heard the loud thump.
THUMP.
What the-?
Silence again.
THUMP.
It was like that sound effect in scary movies which was generally created by having the beat of the human heart magnified several times- a terrifying sound.
Silence.
Then again...
THUMP.
The water of the ocean slowly parted as if Charlton Heston as Moses was waving a wand.
Silence.
Then the ocean came together once more.
Still silence.
All was calm.
All was bright.
On this silent night.
Svend looked around for signs of "Round yon Virgin Mother and child..."
... when the Kraken suddenly came up out of the water and grabbed Svend hoisting him in one of its tentacles.
Svend knew it was a Kraken because his next door neighbour kid had once drawn a picture of the gargantuan mythological creature of medieval Norwegian and Icelandic folklore.
The Kraken fed on Svend's limbs first as he screamed mercilessly on this no-longer so silent night.
Svend still swung from its tentacles as the Kraken delicately nibbled on what remained of Svend.
Like a gourmet culinary connoisseur feeding on calamari.
As the now bleeding rump of Svend (now deprived of arms and legs) was about to lose its head while swinging from the Kraken's tentacles, on the radio that Svend had left on in his empty cabin that old Duke Ellington melody played on the radio as a husky beautiful young voiced female jazz singer sang the lyrics, "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing..."
To be continued.
So what was Svend doing standing on the rocks casting a fishing rod into the surging tide?
Svend himself wasn't sure. His Internet had gone down earlier tonight and deprived without the comforts of modern technology, he was looking for something exciting to do.
He missed visiting chat rooms with Swedish blondes on line.
So since he couldn't do something with one rod tonight, he thought he'd do something with another.
As Svend threw his rod into the surging pounding tide again, there was suddenly silence.
Pure silence.
Total silence.
The waves had stopped pounding towards the shore.
The tide was moving out again.
Which was strange.
According to the almanac, low tide was several hours away.
He watched the tide go out.
He heard (if heard is the right expression to use) the deadly silence.
All was quiet.
It seemed the ocean was gone.
Was this one of the hallmarks of a coming tsunami?, Svend wondered.
He now wished he had spent more time watching news coverage of the Indian Ocean tsunami when it had struck back in December 2004 and less time watching Swedish porno movies on the Net.
Then he heard the loud thump.
THUMP.
What the-?
Silence again.
THUMP.
It was like that sound effect in scary movies which was generally created by having the beat of the human heart magnified several times- a terrifying sound.
Silence.
Then again...
THUMP.
The water of the ocean slowly parted as if Charlton Heston as Moses was waving a wand.
Silence.
Then the ocean came together once more.
Still silence.
All was calm.
All was bright.
On this silent night.
Svend looked around for signs of "Round yon Virgin Mother and child..."
... when the Kraken suddenly came up out of the water and grabbed Svend hoisting him in one of its tentacles.
Svend knew it was a Kraken because his next door neighbour kid had once drawn a picture of the gargantuan mythological creature of medieval Norwegian and Icelandic folklore.
The Kraken fed on Svend's limbs first as he screamed mercilessly on this no-longer so silent night.
Svend still swung from its tentacles as the Kraken delicately nibbled on what remained of Svend.
Like a gourmet culinary connoisseur feeding on calamari.
As the now bleeding rump of Svend (now deprived of arms and legs) was about to lose its head while swinging from the Kraken's tentacles, on the radio that Svend had left on in his empty cabin that old Duke Ellington melody played on the radio as a husky beautiful young voiced female jazz singer sang the lyrics, "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing..."
To be continued.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Desperate Times Require Desperate Measures
It was morning on the colossal London estate of the formerly billionaire and currently millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
Set was sitting in his study in a chair under an umbrella (personally autographed by Rihanna) to prevent any sun rays from reaching him.
Renfield was doing a crossword puzzle using a felt pen.
The television was on and a BBC morning news broadcast was playing.
Amadeus entered the room.
"You look more spaced out than normal this morning," Renfield looked up at Amadeus, "what's up?".
"I had trouble sleeping last night," Amadeus answered.
"Really?" Renfield scratched his head over the possible answer to 69 Down, "what did you do before you went to bed?".
"I went out last night and saw the 3D version of James Cameron's Avatar at the Multiplex," Amadeus replied.
"Any good?" Renfield glanced over at a nearby pencil.
"Kind of reminded me of the Disney cartoon Pocahontas for some reason," Amadeus took a lollipop out of a wrapper.
Deciding that pencils were only for wimps, Renfield held his felt pen poised over 69 down, "Anyone know a seven letter word to describe Tila Tequila?".
"Airhead," Amadeus started licking his lollipop.
"That fits," Renfield wrote it in.
The BBC News anchorman on the TV said, "And in the latest news from America, Sarah Palin has been given her own talk show on the Fox Network and NBC has bumped Jay Leno from his prime time spot..."
"What the f- ?" Renfield looked up from his crossword puzzle, "Next thing you know, Mark McGwire will be admitting that he used steroids."
As Amadeus held a copy of the morning newspaper (which Renfield hadn't seen yet) and looked out the window, he remarked, "That cardinal just fell out of the trees."
"Shouldn't be sitting on a tree in the middle of a blizzard," Renfield remarked unsympathetically.
"In other news," the BBC News Announcer intoned, "the world is still abuzz about the so-called Vampiress With Amnesia, the supposed vampiress who calls herself Martini, being named the heiress to the Romanov billions since it's now been shown that she was indeed the wife and widow of George Count Brasov the late nephew of the late Czar Nicholas II. Martini married Count Brasov only a couple of months before he was killed in a car accident during the summer of 1931. A recently discovered chest of Brasov's documents was found which contained a marriage certificate, a black and white photo of the couple on their wedding day and a will signed by Count Brasov in which he names his wife Maria Vodka as the heiress to his estate. The estate is now worth billions and billions of dollars. So Martini the vampiress is herself now worth billions and billions."
"Billions and billions," Renfield looked over at his boss the formerly billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set while a lightbulb suddenly appeared over Renfield's head.
"Where did you want me to put this lightbulb again?" Amadeus asked who was holding the bulb over Renfield's head.
"I'll tell you where you can stick that lightbulb," Renfield screamed and did just that.
"Hm," Amadeus said, "I better find that attractive and bossy tight skirted woman security guard at Heathrow Airport. She seems to have a lot of experience working in that particular area I recall when I went through the security check last week."
As Amadeus went outside to hail a taxi to Heathrow Airport, Renfield looked at the TV screen's image of the beautiful and lovely Martini the billionaire heiress vampiress with amnesia.
"Say, boss, have you ever thought of tying the knot?" Renfield asked his formerly billionaire employer.
"I admit I've been suffering bouts of depression ever since the global economic meltdown of the autumn of 2008 but I don't feel like hanging myself just yet," Set answered.
"No, I mean getting married," Renfield explained.
Set put down his copy of The Wall Street Journal. He hadn't considered marriage for millenia. The last time he thought of marrying was to his sister Isis. But his brother Osiris beat him to it.
"Marriage?" Set felt the urge to buy a Gillette Fusion Razor, "to whom?".
"To her," Renfield pointed to the television screen.
One of the BBC announcers intoned, "Bet you wouldn't mind sticking your olive into this martini."
To be continued.
Set was sitting in his study in a chair under an umbrella (personally autographed by Rihanna) to prevent any sun rays from reaching him.
Renfield was doing a crossword puzzle using a felt pen.
The television was on and a BBC morning news broadcast was playing.
Amadeus entered the room.
"You look more spaced out than normal this morning," Renfield looked up at Amadeus, "what's up?".
"I had trouble sleeping last night," Amadeus answered.
"Really?" Renfield scratched his head over the possible answer to 69 Down, "what did you do before you went to bed?".
"I went out last night and saw the 3D version of James Cameron's Avatar at the Multiplex," Amadeus replied.
"Any good?" Renfield glanced over at a nearby pencil.
"Kind of reminded me of the Disney cartoon Pocahontas for some reason," Amadeus took a lollipop out of a wrapper.
Deciding that pencils were only for wimps, Renfield held his felt pen poised over 69 down, "Anyone know a seven letter word to describe Tila Tequila?".
"Airhead," Amadeus started licking his lollipop.
"That fits," Renfield wrote it in.
The BBC News anchorman on the TV said, "And in the latest news from America, Sarah Palin has been given her own talk show on the Fox Network and NBC has bumped Jay Leno from his prime time spot..."
"What the f- ?" Renfield looked up from his crossword puzzle, "Next thing you know, Mark McGwire will be admitting that he used steroids."
As Amadeus held a copy of the morning newspaper (which Renfield hadn't seen yet) and looked out the window, he remarked, "That cardinal just fell out of the trees."
"Shouldn't be sitting on a tree in the middle of a blizzard," Renfield remarked unsympathetically.
"In other news," the BBC News Announcer intoned, "the world is still abuzz about the so-called Vampiress With Amnesia, the supposed vampiress who calls herself Martini, being named the heiress to the Romanov billions since it's now been shown that she was indeed the wife and widow of George Count Brasov the late nephew of the late Czar Nicholas II. Martini married Count Brasov only a couple of months before he was killed in a car accident during the summer of 1931. A recently discovered chest of Brasov's documents was found which contained a marriage certificate, a black and white photo of the couple on their wedding day and a will signed by Count Brasov in which he names his wife Maria Vodka as the heiress to his estate. The estate is now worth billions and billions of dollars. So Martini the vampiress is herself now worth billions and billions."
"Billions and billions," Renfield looked over at his boss the formerly billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set while a lightbulb suddenly appeared over Renfield's head.
"Where did you want me to put this lightbulb again?" Amadeus asked who was holding the bulb over Renfield's head.
"I'll tell you where you can stick that lightbulb," Renfield screamed and did just that.
"Hm," Amadeus said, "I better find that attractive and bossy tight skirted woman security guard at Heathrow Airport. She seems to have a lot of experience working in that particular area I recall when I went through the security check last week."
As Amadeus went outside to hail a taxi to Heathrow Airport, Renfield looked at the TV screen's image of the beautiful and lovely Martini the billionaire heiress vampiress with amnesia.
"Say, boss, have you ever thought of tying the knot?" Renfield asked his formerly billionaire employer.
"I admit I've been suffering bouts of depression ever since the global economic meltdown of the autumn of 2008 but I don't feel like hanging myself just yet," Set answered.
"No, I mean getting married," Renfield explained.
Set put down his copy of The Wall Street Journal. He hadn't considered marriage for millenia. The last time he thought of marrying was to his sister Isis. But his brother Osiris beat him to it.
"Marriage?" Set felt the urge to buy a Gillette Fusion Razor, "to whom?".
"To her," Renfield pointed to the television screen.
One of the BBC announcers intoned, "Bet you wouldn't mind sticking your olive into this martini."
To be continued.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Avatar and Avatars
Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad had attended a secret underground theatre in Tehran which he used to watch decadent western movies in private.
Of course other decadent western movies he could watch in the privacy of his study on his computer where he could also have his chair taken out to be steam cleaned afterwards while he washed his hands and also laundered his underwear (not to mention using glass cleaner on those stains on his computer screen!).
But this movie was different. James Cameron's Avatar in 3D.
So he attended the secret underground theatre. Put on the glasses. And watched it in 3D.
He had trouble sleeping afterwards that night.
A Thai Buddhist monk paid his admission at the theatre in Bangkok where James Cameron's Avatar was showing in 3D.
He put on the glasses and watched the show.
He had trouble sleeping that night.
An Orthodox Jewish rabbi in Jerusalem used a Hanukkah gift certificate to purchase his way into the theatre where a 3D performance of James Cameron's Avatar was being held.
He put on his glasses and watched the show.
He too had trouble sleeping that night.
In the theatre district of Mumbai, India- there was one theatre that was not showing a Bollywood film. It was showing James Cameron's Avatar in 3D. A High Priest of a Temple of Vishnu paid the admission and entered the theatre.
He put on his glasses and watched the show.
He too had trouble sleeping that night.
A woman who was the former Governor of a northern U.S. state looked around the line at the movie theatre hoping no one would recognize her. As a good Republican and a good Christian, it might hurt her chances of taking a run at the Presidency in 2012 if she was seen buying her way into a movie that promoted the same New Age pantheism as Disney Films' Pocahontas did back in 1995 (not to mention virtually the same plot according to some).
She bought her ticket, put on her 3D glasses and watched James Cameron's Avatar.
She too had trouble sleeping that night.
The being of light manifested itself to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
"You're Imam Mahdi," said Ahmadinejad awestruck.
"I am Imam Mahdi," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to Ahmadinejad.
Ahmadinejad smiled, "That will bring about World War III and the end of the world but I shall do as you say."
The being of light manifested itself to the Thai Buddhist monk sleeping on the floor of his cell in the monastery in Bangkok.
"You are Maitreya," said the Buddhist monk awestruck.
"I am Maitreya," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the monk.
"That will bring about destruction and cataclysm on our planet but nevertheless I shall do as you say," the monk bowed his head to the floor.
The being of light manifested itself to the orthodox Jewish rabbi in Jerusalem.
"You are Messiah," said the rabbi awestruck.
"I am Messiah," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the rabbi.
"This will mean the Apocalypse and World War III but I shall do as you say," the Rabbi lowered his head and bowed to the being.
The being of light manifested itself to the High Priest of Vishnu who was praying on the floor of the Temple of Vishnu.
"You are Krishna," said the High Priest awestruck.
"I am Krishna," answered the being of light and then spoke a few words to the High Priest.
"This will mean the end of this present age and the world as we know it but nevertheless I shall do as you say," the High Priest prostrated himself on the floor of the Temple.
The former Governor woke up in the middle of the night fearing that Katie Couric was in her bedroom.
"Oh, it's you, Jesus," the former Governor felt relieved especially as she could hear the Katy Perry song I Kissed A Girl being played loudly in the room next door.
"Yes, I am Jesus," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the former Governor.
"Well that will bring about Armageddon and the Apocalypse and World War III but nevertheless I shall do as you say, Lord," the former Governor fell on her knees in front of the being of light.
* * *
Somewhere on this earth in a deep underground cave, a golden cobra danced to and fro in front of its own reflection in a diamond studded golden mirror so carefully polished that the cobra could see its exact own reflection.
The golden cobra bowed to its own reflection in the mirror and hissed in a voice more terrifying than the voice of a snake of Voldemort in a Harry Potter film, "Let the games begin."
Around the golden cobra circled tiny 3D holographic images of the Imam Mahdi, the Maitreya Buddha, Krishna, the Messiah of Judaism and the figure of Jesus.
* * *
It was the middle of the night and a 3D holographic image of a giant QUESTION MARK suddenly appeared to militant atheist Richard Dawkins who had only seen the 3D version of James Cameron's Avatar a few hours earlier.
To be continued.
Of course other decadent western movies he could watch in the privacy of his study on his computer where he could also have his chair taken out to be steam cleaned afterwards while he washed his hands and also laundered his underwear (not to mention using glass cleaner on those stains on his computer screen!).
But this movie was different. James Cameron's Avatar in 3D.
So he attended the secret underground theatre. Put on the glasses. And watched it in 3D.
He had trouble sleeping afterwards that night.
A Thai Buddhist monk paid his admission at the theatre in Bangkok where James Cameron's Avatar was showing in 3D.
He put on the glasses and watched the show.
He had trouble sleeping that night.
An Orthodox Jewish rabbi in Jerusalem used a Hanukkah gift certificate to purchase his way into the theatre where a 3D performance of James Cameron's Avatar was being held.
He put on his glasses and watched the show.
He too had trouble sleeping that night.
In the theatre district of Mumbai, India- there was one theatre that was not showing a Bollywood film. It was showing James Cameron's Avatar in 3D. A High Priest of a Temple of Vishnu paid the admission and entered the theatre.
He put on his glasses and watched the show.
He too had trouble sleeping that night.
A woman who was the former Governor of a northern U.S. state looked around the line at the movie theatre hoping no one would recognize her. As a good Republican and a good Christian, it might hurt her chances of taking a run at the Presidency in 2012 if she was seen buying her way into a movie that promoted the same New Age pantheism as Disney Films' Pocahontas did back in 1995 (not to mention virtually the same plot according to some).
She bought her ticket, put on her 3D glasses and watched James Cameron's Avatar.
She too had trouble sleeping that night.
The being of light manifested itself to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
"You're Imam Mahdi," said Ahmadinejad awestruck.
"I am Imam Mahdi," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to Ahmadinejad.
Ahmadinejad smiled, "That will bring about World War III and the end of the world but I shall do as you say."
The being of light manifested itself to the Thai Buddhist monk sleeping on the floor of his cell in the monastery in Bangkok.
"You are Maitreya," said the Buddhist monk awestruck.
"I am Maitreya," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the monk.
"That will bring about destruction and cataclysm on our planet but nevertheless I shall do as you say," the monk bowed his head to the floor.
The being of light manifested itself to the orthodox Jewish rabbi in Jerusalem.
"You are Messiah," said the rabbi awestruck.
"I am Messiah," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the rabbi.
"This will mean the Apocalypse and World War III but I shall do as you say," the Rabbi lowered his head and bowed to the being.
The being of light manifested itself to the High Priest of Vishnu who was praying on the floor of the Temple of Vishnu.
"You are Krishna," said the High Priest awestruck.
"I am Krishna," answered the being of light and then spoke a few words to the High Priest.
"This will mean the end of this present age and the world as we know it but nevertheless I shall do as you say," the High Priest prostrated himself on the floor of the Temple.
The former Governor woke up in the middle of the night fearing that Katie Couric was in her bedroom.
"Oh, it's you, Jesus," the former Governor felt relieved especially as she could hear the Katy Perry song I Kissed A Girl being played loudly in the room next door.
"Yes, I am Jesus," the being of light answered and then spoke a few words to the former Governor.
"Well that will bring about Armageddon and the Apocalypse and World War III but nevertheless I shall do as you say, Lord," the former Governor fell on her knees in front of the being of light.
* * *
Somewhere on this earth in a deep underground cave, a golden cobra danced to and fro in front of its own reflection in a diamond studded golden mirror so carefully polished that the cobra could see its exact own reflection.
The golden cobra bowed to its own reflection in the mirror and hissed in a voice more terrifying than the voice of a snake of Voldemort in a Harry Potter film, "Let the games begin."
Around the golden cobra circled tiny 3D holographic images of the Imam Mahdi, the Maitreya Buddha, Krishna, the Messiah of Judaism and the figure of Jesus.
* * *
It was the middle of the night and a 3D holographic image of a giant QUESTION MARK suddenly appeared to militant atheist Richard Dawkins who had only seen the 3D version of James Cameron's Avatar a few hours earlier.
To be continued.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Martini... Shaken But Not Stirred
The guest on the CNN Talk Show was a professor of 20th Century Eastern European History.
The guest told Anderson Cooper, "What the average American should remember about a totalitarian state like the U.S.S.R. is how greatly it impacted every single individual's life. In addition to the possibility of being arbitrarily arrested, shot or exiled to a Siberian gulag, there was the daily irritation of having to stand in line for hours on end in order to get something. And having to have your personal ID papers on you at all times. Imagine that- standing in line for hours on end and being required to produce the proper papers when asked."
"Thank heaven we live in 21st Century America instead of the 20th Century U.S.S.R.," Anderson quipped.
As the end credits rolled on the program, CNN's announcer intoned, "Coming up on Headline News, there are 6 to 12 hour line-ups at virtually every airport in the country. Airlines are reminding passengers to have the proper documentation and ID cards on them when they reach the front of the line."
Martini the vampiress with amnesia shut off the TV with her remote.
She stretched out on the sofa of her Baltimore, Maryland apartment.
The apartment had been found for her by psychiatrist Doctor Morgana Jones who was a personal friend of the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.
Dr. Jones was overseeing Martini's treatment to recover from her amnesia.
No one was sure of the vampiress's real name. Martini was the name given her after what Dracul was drinking on the night they decided she really did need a name.
So far all she had been able to remember was that she Martini had once sang the role of Marguerite in a live stage version of the opera Faust. A production which the real immortal Doctor Faust had personally attended and in which Doctor Faust tried to have sexual relations with Martini in the dressing room after the show.
Martini had been rescued by a masked man who was said to be an unknown composer who haunted the basements of the opera house and took ladies for boat rides in the sewer systems of Paris.
Who was that masked man?
Some called him The Phantom.
The masked man had rushed into her dressing room just as the orchestra was finishing Ravel's Bolero (in accompaniment with Faust's ravishing touches). The orchestra had broken into a glorious rendition of Rossini's William Tell Overture just as the masked man punched Doctor Faust in his farmfield resembling face.
"Who was that masked man?" Martini had asked just as the William Tell Overture finished.
As for the immortal Doctor Faust, he died last autumn when he was set on fire in the Moonlite Bunny Ranch in Nevada.
Martini had also had recurring dreams of being married in a church.
There was a knock on her apartment door.
She opened it.
Standing there was a distinguished looking gentleman in pinstripe suit and tie with top hat and cane.
The man handed her his card, bowed and introduced himself, "I'm Nyet Bleak the XVIIth of the distinguished and very ancient British law firm of Dickens, Jamdyce and Nyet Bleak. Your photo was sent to us by a private investigator and we couldn't help noticing the resemblance to the woman in this picture."
Nyet Bleak handed her an old black and white photo of a beautiful young woman (who was the spitting image of her- Martini) standing next to a handsome blonde young man in front of what appeared to be an Orthodox Church.
The young Martini lookalike was dressed in a white bridal dress and veil while the young man was dressed in a groom's outfit.
"This photo was taken in front of Saint Vladimir's Orthodox Church in Paris back in May, 1931," Nyet Bleak explained, "it's a photo of George Count Brasov the nephew of Czar Nicholas II and the son of Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich of Russia (who was Czar for a few hours briefly in March 1917 after Nicholas had abdicated the throne for both himself and his son the Tsarevich Alexis but Michael refused to accept the throne unless the title was officially given to him by an elected assembly of the Russian people)."
"I was married to this man?" Martini asked.
"Well not you personally," the man laughed, "but certainly judging from the resemblance, your grandmother might have been."
"But I'm a vampiress," Martini lowered the lingerie slip she was wearing, "so I have no idea how old I am."
"You could very well be his bride then," Bleak's face lit up, "in which case you're the heiress to the Romanov family billions."
"Billions?" Martini stammered.
"Yes, " Bleak said, "we have the wedding photo, the marriage certificate, your name on the certificate was apparently Maria Vodka and as his wife, you're the heiress to the Romanov fortune which lays unclaimed in a Lloyd's of London Bank vault today. George got a third of the Romanov estate from his grandmother the Dowager Empress Marie when she died in 1928. Today that third of the estate- in gold bullion and diamonds and rubies and precious jewels is worth billions and billions of dollars." Bleak then added in a voice sounding much like the late astronomer Carl Sagan, "Billions and billions."
"When did my husband die?" Martini asked.
"He was killed in an auto accident that summer of 1931," Bleak did his best to look bleak, "July 21st 1931 to be exact."
She had played Marguerite on stage, she was currently called Martini and she had married the heir of the Romanovs under the name of Vodka.
Margarita. Martini. Vodka.
With all these names named after drinks, no wonder she was a vampiress with amnesia.
To be continued.
The guest told Anderson Cooper, "What the average American should remember about a totalitarian state like the U.S.S.R. is how greatly it impacted every single individual's life. In addition to the possibility of being arbitrarily arrested, shot or exiled to a Siberian gulag, there was the daily irritation of having to stand in line for hours on end in order to get something. And having to have your personal ID papers on you at all times. Imagine that- standing in line for hours on end and being required to produce the proper papers when asked."
"Thank heaven we live in 21st Century America instead of the 20th Century U.S.S.R.," Anderson quipped.
As the end credits rolled on the program, CNN's announcer intoned, "Coming up on Headline News, there are 6 to 12 hour line-ups at virtually every airport in the country. Airlines are reminding passengers to have the proper documentation and ID cards on them when they reach the front of the line."
Martini the vampiress with amnesia shut off the TV with her remote.
She stretched out on the sofa of her Baltimore, Maryland apartment.
The apartment had been found for her by psychiatrist Doctor Morgana Jones who was a personal friend of the Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.
Dr. Jones was overseeing Martini's treatment to recover from her amnesia.
No one was sure of the vampiress's real name. Martini was the name given her after what Dracul was drinking on the night they decided she really did need a name.
So far all she had been able to remember was that she Martini had once sang the role of Marguerite in a live stage version of the opera Faust. A production which the real immortal Doctor Faust had personally attended and in which Doctor Faust tried to have sexual relations with Martini in the dressing room after the show.
Martini had been rescued by a masked man who was said to be an unknown composer who haunted the basements of the opera house and took ladies for boat rides in the sewer systems of Paris.
Who was that masked man?
Some called him The Phantom.
The masked man had rushed into her dressing room just as the orchestra was finishing Ravel's Bolero (in accompaniment with Faust's ravishing touches). The orchestra had broken into a glorious rendition of Rossini's William Tell Overture just as the masked man punched Doctor Faust in his farmfield resembling face.
"Who was that masked man?" Martini had asked just as the William Tell Overture finished.
As for the immortal Doctor Faust, he died last autumn when he was set on fire in the Moonlite Bunny Ranch in Nevada.
Martini had also had recurring dreams of being married in a church.
There was a knock on her apartment door.
She opened it.
Standing there was a distinguished looking gentleman in pinstripe suit and tie with top hat and cane.
The man handed her his card, bowed and introduced himself, "I'm Nyet Bleak the XVIIth of the distinguished and very ancient British law firm of Dickens, Jamdyce and Nyet Bleak. Your photo was sent to us by a private investigator and we couldn't help noticing the resemblance to the woman in this picture."
Nyet Bleak handed her an old black and white photo of a beautiful young woman (who was the spitting image of her- Martini) standing next to a handsome blonde young man in front of what appeared to be an Orthodox Church.
The young Martini lookalike was dressed in a white bridal dress and veil while the young man was dressed in a groom's outfit.
"This photo was taken in front of Saint Vladimir's Orthodox Church in Paris back in May, 1931," Nyet Bleak explained, "it's a photo of George Count Brasov the nephew of Czar Nicholas II and the son of Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich of Russia (who was Czar for a few hours briefly in March 1917 after Nicholas had abdicated the throne for both himself and his son the Tsarevich Alexis but Michael refused to accept the throne unless the title was officially given to him by an elected assembly of the Russian people)."
"I was married to this man?" Martini asked.
"Well not you personally," the man laughed, "but certainly judging from the resemblance, your grandmother might have been."
"But I'm a vampiress," Martini lowered the lingerie slip she was wearing, "so I have no idea how old I am."
"You could very well be his bride then," Bleak's face lit up, "in which case you're the heiress to the Romanov family billions."
"Billions?" Martini stammered.
"Yes, " Bleak said, "we have the wedding photo, the marriage certificate, your name on the certificate was apparently Maria Vodka and as his wife, you're the heiress to the Romanov fortune which lays unclaimed in a Lloyd's of London Bank vault today. George got a third of the Romanov estate from his grandmother the Dowager Empress Marie when she died in 1928. Today that third of the estate- in gold bullion and diamonds and rubies and precious jewels is worth billions and billions of dollars." Bleak then added in a voice sounding much like the late astronomer Carl Sagan, "Billions and billions."
"When did my husband die?" Martini asked.
"He was killed in an auto accident that summer of 1931," Bleak did his best to look bleak, "July 21st 1931 to be exact."
She had played Marguerite on stage, she was currently called Martini and she had married the heir of the Romanovs under the name of Vodka.
Margarita. Martini. Vodka.
With all these names named after drinks, no wonder she was a vampiress with amnesia.
To be continued.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Best Laid Plans Of Mice and Men Often Go Astray
O' Hare International Airport in Chicago had to cancel 400 flights yesterday.
The official reason was the weather.
But the real reason is that federal Law Enforcement agencies have still been unable to locate the mysterious individual who shot and killed a U.S. Air Marshall during a dispute over wanting to go to the washroom during the last hour of an international flight between London, England and Chicago, Illinois.
The shooting incident happened on Tuesday.
When the plane arrived at O'Hare, it was stormed by federal law enforcement authorities who shot and killed the pilot, the co-pilot, some of the flight crew and five innocent passengers.
A Homeland Security spokesperson originally described the operation as a success.
An hour later when it turned out the shooter of the U.S. Air Marshall didn't appear to be on board the plane and several innocent people had died in his stead, the same Homeland Security spokesperson then described the operation as a failure but assured the assembled media, "I can assure you our department has really learned a lot from this."
United States President Barack Obama, commenting on the incident, said, "The buck stops in my office."
Pulling on their father's shirt sleeves, daughters Sasha and Malia commented, "But daddy, that new deer head in your office is a doe not a buck."
Obama White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel immediately ordered both the media and the deer head out of the Oval Office after noticing a sudden drop in the President's approval ratings on the latest updates on the P.E.T.A. Twitter page.
P.E.T.A. (People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals) have also condemned the head of the tactical squad who stormed the plane at O' Hare International Airport this past Tuesday night.
The head of the tactical squad who lost his leg in that incident after being bitten on the ankle by a rabid rodent (who scurried off the plane when it was stormed) had threatened to track down the elusive rabid rodent and kill it.
There is still a huge debate going on in various talking head shows on both CNN and the Fox Network as to whether the rodent was a rat, a mouse or a hamster.
Conservative talk show hosts say the rodent was a rat because it looked like a Democrat to them.
Liberal talk show hosts say the rodent was a mouse because it did look like a Democrat to them as well and mice are good at frightening Republican elephants.
A spokesman for the U.S. Libertarian party said the rabid rodent who scurried off the plane in Tuesday's incident was probably a hamster since it looked like a virtual double of the robotic hamster toy that was this past Christmas' bestselling item- "proof of what the free market in America is capable of creating when it's left unhampered (or in this case un-hamstered) by government".
And speaking of hamsters, a hamster has been confirmed as the suspected suspect in the death of a guest on this past Wednesday's taping of the Oprah Show.
During the show, a rabid hamster jumped on the guest's neck and bit the jugular vein in his neck. Doctor Oz who was in the audience at the time was unable to immediately respond since he was answering text messages about an upcoming lucrative book deal on his Blackberry. A paramedic who carried away the corpse on a stretcher said, "Often what's done in the first few minutes after one of these incidents occurs is critical to the patient's survival."
Oprah had as her guest on the show well-known New Age financial guru Eckhart Donne Bell Tolled author of the best selling book Letting Your Inner Buddha Guide You On Making Important Financial Decisions.
The late Eckhart Donne Bell Tolled is best known for being a former financial advisor to the formerly billionaire and currently millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
-Reuters News Service
* * *
The formerly billionaire and currently millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set turned to his shapeshifting hamster/human Chief of Security Renfield R. Renfield and said, "Well Ren, another job well done."
To be continued.
The official reason was the weather.
But the real reason is that federal Law Enforcement agencies have still been unable to locate the mysterious individual who shot and killed a U.S. Air Marshall during a dispute over wanting to go to the washroom during the last hour of an international flight between London, England and Chicago, Illinois.
The shooting incident happened on Tuesday.
When the plane arrived at O'Hare, it was stormed by federal law enforcement authorities who shot and killed the pilot, the co-pilot, some of the flight crew and five innocent passengers.
A Homeland Security spokesperson originally described the operation as a success.
An hour later when it turned out the shooter of the U.S. Air Marshall didn't appear to be on board the plane and several innocent people had died in his stead, the same Homeland Security spokesperson then described the operation as a failure but assured the assembled media, "I can assure you our department has really learned a lot from this."
United States President Barack Obama, commenting on the incident, said, "The buck stops in my office."
Pulling on their father's shirt sleeves, daughters Sasha and Malia commented, "But daddy, that new deer head in your office is a doe not a buck."
Obama White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel immediately ordered both the media and the deer head out of the Oval Office after noticing a sudden drop in the President's approval ratings on the latest updates on the P.E.T.A. Twitter page.
P.E.T.A. (People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals) have also condemned the head of the tactical squad who stormed the plane at O' Hare International Airport this past Tuesday night.
The head of the tactical squad who lost his leg in that incident after being bitten on the ankle by a rabid rodent (who scurried off the plane when it was stormed) had threatened to track down the elusive rabid rodent and kill it.
There is still a huge debate going on in various talking head shows on both CNN and the Fox Network as to whether the rodent was a rat, a mouse or a hamster.
Conservative talk show hosts say the rodent was a rat because it looked like a Democrat to them.
Liberal talk show hosts say the rodent was a mouse because it did look like a Democrat to them as well and mice are good at frightening Republican elephants.
A spokesman for the U.S. Libertarian party said the rabid rodent who scurried off the plane in Tuesday's incident was probably a hamster since it looked like a virtual double of the robotic hamster toy that was this past Christmas' bestselling item- "proof of what the free market in America is capable of creating when it's left unhampered (or in this case un-hamstered) by government".
And speaking of hamsters, a hamster has been confirmed as the suspected suspect in the death of a guest on this past Wednesday's taping of the Oprah Show.
During the show, a rabid hamster jumped on the guest's neck and bit the jugular vein in his neck. Doctor Oz who was in the audience at the time was unable to immediately respond since he was answering text messages about an upcoming lucrative book deal on his Blackberry. A paramedic who carried away the corpse on a stretcher said, "Often what's done in the first few minutes after one of these incidents occurs is critical to the patient's survival."
Oprah had as her guest on the show well-known New Age financial guru Eckhart Donne Bell Tolled author of the best selling book Letting Your Inner Buddha Guide You On Making Important Financial Decisions.
The late Eckhart Donne Bell Tolled is best known for being a former financial advisor to the formerly billionaire and currently millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
-Reuters News Service
* * *
The formerly billionaire and currently millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set turned to his shapeshifting hamster/human Chief of Security Renfield R. Renfield and said, "Well Ren, another job well done."
To be continued.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Dracul Drinks Tea, Renfield Has To Pee
Dracul Van Helsing was sitting in his cousin's house in Tewkesbury, England.
"So," his cousin Edmund asked him, "one of your friends is a political prisoner in an Iranian Secret Police dungeon in Tehran?".
"That's right," Dracul nodded.
"And this friend of yours is a real honest-to-God vampire?" Edmund queried.
Dracul nodded again but said nothing.
"So how does a vampire hunter and slayer such as yourself get to be friends with a vampire?" Edmund added some more hot water to the pot of tea.
"Long story," Dracul poured the tea into his cup, "but he was made a vampire against his will. And he always bought bottles of blood that were rejected as unacceptable by the Red Cross. He's never attacked anyone."
Dracul remembered in his own mind that Manuel de Rivera y Vargas had turned the New Orleans singer Angelique Dumont into a vampiress but that was at her own request because she was dying of cancer and wanted to live a little longer. It wasn't an attack by a vampire on a human.
"I doubt the Iranian Red Crescent in Tehran will be able to deliver bottles of blood to him," Edmund poured cream into the bottom of his cup and then added the tea.
"Yes, he'll probably die in prison over there..." Dracul gazed out the window at the John Halifax Gentleman mill in the distance, "unless... unless... unless..."
"Unless what, Dracul?" Edmund seemed hesitant to ask since he knew his cousin, "what are you thinking of?".
* * *
Renfield R. Renfield and Amadeus Emanon were sitting on a British Airways flight from London to Chicago.
"I have to take a piss," Renfield loudly announced and then proceeded to undo his seatbelt.
"But you're not allowed to get up the last hour of the flight," Amadeus said.
"Bullshit," Renfield started walking down the aisle, "I'm not inconveniencing myself because of some stupid airheaded bureaucratic decision because U.S. Intelligence wasn't intelligent enough to stop some scumbag who hid explosives down his panties."
"Sir, you'll have to return to your seat," a stewardess approached him.
Renfield took his hand and pinched a nerve at the back of the stewardess' neck and rendered the woman unconscious.
It turned out that an armed Flight Marshall was aboard the flight. He ran down the aisle with his gun drawn and ordered Renfield to put his hands up in the air.
Renfield instead gave the man the finger and using a swift kung fu jump and leap in the air soon had the Flight Marshall pinned to the ground with both of his arms behind his back.
Renfield then used the Flight Marshall's own gun and fired a bullet at the back of the man's head.
Renfield then pulled his pants down and pissed all over the corpse of the dead Flight Marshall.
"This is what I do to people who irritate me when I'm having a bad day," Renfield spoke calmly.
He then pulled his pants back up, stuck the Flight Marshall's gun in his belt and then walked down the aisle back to his seat where for some reason no one felt like irritating him further on this bad day he was having.
To be continued.
"So," his cousin Edmund asked him, "one of your friends is a political prisoner in an Iranian Secret Police dungeon in Tehran?".
"That's right," Dracul nodded.
"And this friend of yours is a real honest-to-God vampire?" Edmund queried.
Dracul nodded again but said nothing.
"So how does a vampire hunter and slayer such as yourself get to be friends with a vampire?" Edmund added some more hot water to the pot of tea.
"Long story," Dracul poured the tea into his cup, "but he was made a vampire against his will. And he always bought bottles of blood that were rejected as unacceptable by the Red Cross. He's never attacked anyone."
Dracul remembered in his own mind that Manuel de Rivera y Vargas had turned the New Orleans singer Angelique Dumont into a vampiress but that was at her own request because she was dying of cancer and wanted to live a little longer. It wasn't an attack by a vampire on a human.
"I doubt the Iranian Red Crescent in Tehran will be able to deliver bottles of blood to him," Edmund poured cream into the bottom of his cup and then added the tea.
"Yes, he'll probably die in prison over there..." Dracul gazed out the window at the John Halifax Gentleman mill in the distance, "unless... unless... unless..."
"Unless what, Dracul?" Edmund seemed hesitant to ask since he knew his cousin, "what are you thinking of?".
* * *
Renfield R. Renfield and Amadeus Emanon were sitting on a British Airways flight from London to Chicago.
"I have to take a piss," Renfield loudly announced and then proceeded to undo his seatbelt.
"But you're not allowed to get up the last hour of the flight," Amadeus said.
"Bullshit," Renfield started walking down the aisle, "I'm not inconveniencing myself because of some stupid airheaded bureaucratic decision because U.S. Intelligence wasn't intelligent enough to stop some scumbag who hid explosives down his panties."
"Sir, you'll have to return to your seat," a stewardess approached him.
Renfield took his hand and pinched a nerve at the back of the stewardess' neck and rendered the woman unconscious.
It turned out that an armed Flight Marshall was aboard the flight. He ran down the aisle with his gun drawn and ordered Renfield to put his hands up in the air.
Renfield instead gave the man the finger and using a swift kung fu jump and leap in the air soon had the Flight Marshall pinned to the ground with both of his arms behind his back.
Renfield then used the Flight Marshall's own gun and fired a bullet at the back of the man's head.
Renfield then pulled his pants down and pissed all over the corpse of the dead Flight Marshall.
"This is what I do to people who irritate me when I'm having a bad day," Renfield spoke calmly.
He then pulled his pants back up, stuck the Flight Marshall's gun in his belt and then walked down the aisle back to his seat where for some reason no one felt like irritating him further on this bad day he was having.
To be continued.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Interrogator and The Vampire
It was in the basement of one of the Iranian government's ministries in downtown Tehran.
A dungeon presided over by an officer of the Ahmadinejad regime's Secret Police.
The man was only known as The Interrogator.
But every reformer and democrat and student protestor in Iran was aware of the man's existence.
A virtual Marquis de Sade who carried a Koran around with him instead of the works of Voltaire and Rousseau like the original de Sade.
The interrogator pushed an intercom on his desk and instructed, "Send in the prisoner."
The door opened.
In chains and leg irons the prisoner was pushed into the room.
"Well, well, well," the Interrogator smiled, "a real vampire. Or should I say a real vampiric vampire. I've had other vampires in this room who were supposedly mortal and human- Jews and American CIA and a number of those codfish eating Brits of British Intelligence- all dogs."
"How did they feel about being in the same room as a pig?" The Spanish vampire Manuel de Rivera y Vargas looked at the Interrogator directly in the eyes.
The Interrogator flinched momentarily. But then smiled an evil smile.
He picked up his copy of The Koran.
"Can a pig read the Koran?" he asked sarcastically.
"Why not?" Manuel spat back at him, "since pigs are able to give their own interpretations of it." He pointed his head in the direction of the photo of the Ayatollah Ali Khameini on the wall.
The Interrogator raced from behind his desk and punched Manuel squarely in the face.
Blood poured down from Manuel's nose.
The Interrogator then went back and sat behind the desk.
"Well how does a vampire feel about blood coming out of his nose?" the Interrogator laughed.
"I'd rather have blood coming out of my nose than shit coming out of my ass," Manuel answered calmly back, "because the moment shit drops out of anyone's ass, another you is being created."
The Interrogator seethed at Manuel but said nothing.
Like all Fascists, the Interrogator was left speechless in the face of true courage.
"So," the Interrogator changed the subject, "your girlfriend is dead eh? Hahaha! And you decided to fly here and see what you could do to help her cause."
(See the entry for June 23rd 2009 Vampiric Hearts Do Break! and Not Only From A Stake http://draculvanhelsing.xanga.com/705461328/vampiric-hearts-do-break-and-not-only-from-a-stake/ )
"I am here," Manuel answered calmly.
He approached Manuel with the lit cigarette and a gluttonous smile.
To be continued.
A dungeon presided over by an officer of the Ahmadinejad regime's Secret Police.
The man was only known as The Interrogator.
But every reformer and democrat and student protestor in Iran was aware of the man's existence.
A virtual Marquis de Sade who carried a Koran around with him instead of the works of Voltaire and Rousseau like the original de Sade.
The interrogator pushed an intercom on his desk and instructed, "Send in the prisoner."
The door opened.
In chains and leg irons the prisoner was pushed into the room.
"Well, well, well," the Interrogator smiled, "a real vampire. Or should I say a real vampiric vampire. I've had other vampires in this room who were supposedly mortal and human- Jews and American CIA and a number of those codfish eating Brits of British Intelligence- all dogs."
"How did they feel about being in the same room as a pig?" The Spanish vampire Manuel de Rivera y Vargas looked at the Interrogator directly in the eyes.
The Interrogator flinched momentarily. But then smiled an evil smile.
He picked up his copy of The Koran.
"Can a pig read the Koran?" he asked sarcastically.
"Why not?" Manuel spat back at him, "since pigs are able to give their own interpretations of it." He pointed his head in the direction of the photo of the Ayatollah Ali Khameini on the wall.
The Interrogator raced from behind his desk and punched Manuel squarely in the face.
Blood poured down from Manuel's nose.
The Interrogator then went back and sat behind the desk.
"Well how does a vampire feel about blood coming out of his nose?" the Interrogator laughed.
"I'd rather have blood coming out of my nose than shit coming out of my ass," Manuel answered calmly back, "because the moment shit drops out of anyone's ass, another you is being created."
The Interrogator seethed at Manuel but said nothing.
Like all Fascists, the Interrogator was left speechless in the face of true courage.
"So," the Interrogator changed the subject, "your girlfriend is dead eh? Hahaha! And you decided to fly here and see what you could do to help her cause."
(See the entry for June 23rd 2009 Vampiric Hearts Do Break! and Not Only From A Stake http://draculvanhelsing.xanga.com/705461328/vampiric-hearts-do-break-and-not-only-from-a-stake/ )
"I am here," Manuel answered calmly.
He approached Manuel with the lit cigarette and a gluttonous smile.
To be continued.
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