Halloween in London town
Headless Motorcyclist rides around
looking for his head
and a comfortable bed
He'd been riding for many a day
cross-town, uptown, every which way
he even ran into a stack of hay
and so as night descends along the Thames
he ran into some prostitute femmes
and one of them gave him head
while another filled his ass with lead.
-An erotic and kinky Halloween poem
written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
this Halloween night, October 31st 2011.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Room: Hotel California
He was a part of the criminal underworld- its darkest darkest part.
The Raven was the name he went by.
Only a few close friends knew his real name.
And he had so few close friends.
By far his most devilish work was done in cyberspace- on social networking sites.
The Raven did not make money at this.
Not like the drugs he sold.
But it's what gave him the most joy.
The most delight.
Evil for the pure simple joy of evil.
It was not often that the Raven's curiosity was aroused.
But it was aroused this time.
When he received a key to Room 722 of the Hotel California in Palm Springs, California.
In an envelope.
In the mail.
An envelope addressed to him at his most secret location.
With no return address on it.
The key was an old fashioned metal hotel key.
Not like the computerized key cards that most hotels gave out these days.
So the Raven drove down to Palm Springs.
To the Hotel California.
He discovered in the lobby that the elevator wasn't working.
So the Raven walked up 7 flights of stairs to the 7th floor- the floor on which was room 722.
He stood outside Room 722 and was a little hesitant to open the door.
"What's stopping you, Raven?" a tall blonde man outside Room 721 asked.
The Raven looked at the questioner.
"Aren't you Dracul Van Helsing the famous Canadian vampire hunter?" the Raven asked.
"I am," the man replied.
"What are you doing here? How do you know my name?" the Raven wanted to know.
"I track vampires," Van Helsing answered.
"Well," the Raven laughed, "I'm no vampire."
"There's more than one kind of vampire," Dracul Van Helsing lit a cigarette despite the California state's strict no smoking laws and blew smoke in the Raven's direction.
"I don't know what you mean," the Raven smirked.
"I'm talking about people who pose under different aliases and different personas at various blogging and social networking sites," Van Helsing approached the Raven, "people who befriend lonely, sad and depressed people- people who are suicidally inclined and then by befriending such people try to encourage those people to commit suicide. And in many cases, some do. Those people who pose as friends and then try to push others into suicide are a modern 21st Century cyberspace form of vampires."
"Well," the Raven laughed, "you can't prove any of that."
"But I know you did it," Van Helsing approached.
"What are you going to do? Kill me? I'm not a vampire of the Dracula kind," the Raven continued to smirk, "I'm a mortal flesh and blood human."
"No, I'm not going to kill you," Van Helsing replied, "you're going to kill yourself. You may have noticed the elevator door is open on this floor and yet the elevator is trapped on the 8th floor above. You're going to jump down the elevator shaft and kill yourself. That way you will no longer be able to go after lost lonely souls and get them to end their lives."
"And how are you going to get me to kill myself?" the Raven laughed.
"Why don't you take that key and open the door to Room 722?" Dracul instructed.
The Raven did so.
What he saw in the room literally turned his hair white.
The Raven turned around and faced Van Helsing.
He seemed to choke on his own words, "You... you... you... you're more than just a vampire hunter aren't you?".
"Yes," Van Helsing calmly lit another cigarette and again blew smoke in the Raven's direction, "I am."
The Raven dropped the key to Room 722 on the floor, ran down the hall and jumped down the elevator shaft.
His shrill penetrating scream as he fell downwards was the last sound he ever made on this Earth.
Van Helsing calmly opened the door to the stairwell and walked down the stairs.
To be continued.
The Raven was the name he went by.
Only a few close friends knew his real name.
And he had so few close friends.
By far his most devilish work was done in cyberspace- on social networking sites.
The Raven did not make money at this.
Not like the drugs he sold.
But it's what gave him the most joy.
The most delight.
Evil for the pure simple joy of evil.
It was not often that the Raven's curiosity was aroused.
But it was aroused this time.
When he received a key to Room 722 of the Hotel California in Palm Springs, California.
In an envelope.
In the mail.
An envelope addressed to him at his most secret location.
With no return address on it.
The key was an old fashioned metal hotel key.
Not like the computerized key cards that most hotels gave out these days.
So the Raven drove down to Palm Springs.
To the Hotel California.
He discovered in the lobby that the elevator wasn't working.
So the Raven walked up 7 flights of stairs to the 7th floor- the floor on which was room 722.
He stood outside Room 722 and was a little hesitant to open the door.
"What's stopping you, Raven?" a tall blonde man outside Room 721 asked.
The Raven looked at the questioner.
"Aren't you Dracul Van Helsing the famous Canadian vampire hunter?" the Raven asked.
"I am," the man replied.
"What are you doing here? How do you know my name?" the Raven wanted to know.
"I track vampires," Van Helsing answered.
"Well," the Raven laughed, "I'm no vampire."
"There's more than one kind of vampire," Dracul Van Helsing lit a cigarette despite the California state's strict no smoking laws and blew smoke in the Raven's direction.
"I don't know what you mean," the Raven smirked.
"I'm talking about people who pose under different aliases and different personas at various blogging and social networking sites," Van Helsing approached the Raven, "people who befriend lonely, sad and depressed people- people who are suicidally inclined and then by befriending such people try to encourage those people to commit suicide. And in many cases, some do. Those people who pose as friends and then try to push others into suicide are a modern 21st Century cyberspace form of vampires."
"Well," the Raven laughed, "you can't prove any of that."
"But I know you did it," Van Helsing approached.
"What are you going to do? Kill me? I'm not a vampire of the Dracula kind," the Raven continued to smirk, "I'm a mortal flesh and blood human."
"No, I'm not going to kill you," Van Helsing replied, "you're going to kill yourself. You may have noticed the elevator door is open on this floor and yet the elevator is trapped on the 8th floor above. You're going to jump down the elevator shaft and kill yourself. That way you will no longer be able to go after lost lonely souls and get them to end their lives."
"And how are you going to get me to kill myself?" the Raven laughed.
"Why don't you take that key and open the door to Room 722?" Dracul instructed.
The Raven did so.
What he saw in the room literally turned his hair white.
The Raven turned around and faced Van Helsing.
He seemed to choke on his own words, "You... you... you... you're more than just a vampire hunter aren't you?".
"Yes," Van Helsing calmly lit another cigarette and again blew smoke in the Raven's direction, "I am."
The Raven dropped the key to Room 722 on the floor, ran down the hall and jumped down the elevator shaft.
His shrill penetrating scream as he fell downwards was the last sound he ever made on this Earth.
Van Helsing calmly opened the door to the stairwell and walked down the stairs.
To be continued.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Vampire Set Gets A Food Bill For 4500 British Pounds
The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set almost had a heart attack (he would have if he had been a mere mortal) when he noticed his estate's food bill.
"In the name of Amun-Ra," Set swore, "we paid 4500 pounds sterling just for one single piece of fish."
"Apparently," Renfield nodded, "the fish was a 10 kilogram Empurau or Emperor fish. It's an exotic variety of fish that's found in the Malaysian province of Sarawak on the island of Borneo. It can apparently cost up to RM 6,000 in Malaysian currency or roughly $2,000 in U.S. currency. So it's no surprise that it cost us 4500 pounds sterling."
"But who the Hell ordered it?" Set asked.
"Amadeus," Renfield answered, "he's developed an appetite for Malaysian cuisine recently."
"Well please tell Amadeus to develop an appetite for a less expensive form of cuisine," Set ordered.
"Will do, sir," Renfield made a note of that on his iPad.
"By the way," Set asked, "did you or I or Athelstan get to taste a piece of this Empurau fish?".
"No," Renfield shook his head, "Amadeus ate all 10 kilograms of it by himself at one sitting."
"Amadeus," it was the voice of Amadeus's date for the evening the New Orleans singer Angelique Dumont at the front door of the mansion, "you seem to have put on a lot of weight since I last saw you."
To be continued.
"In the name of Amun-Ra," Set swore, "we paid 4500 pounds sterling just for one single piece of fish."
"Apparently," Renfield nodded, "the fish was a 10 kilogram Empurau or Emperor fish. It's an exotic variety of fish that's found in the Malaysian province of Sarawak on the island of Borneo. It can apparently cost up to RM 6,000 in Malaysian currency or roughly $2,000 in U.S. currency. So it's no surprise that it cost us 4500 pounds sterling."
"But who the Hell ordered it?" Set asked.
"Amadeus," Renfield answered, "he's developed an appetite for Malaysian cuisine recently."
"Well please tell Amadeus to develop an appetite for a less expensive form of cuisine," Set ordered.
"Will do, sir," Renfield made a note of that on his iPad.
"By the way," Set asked, "did you or I or Athelstan get to taste a piece of this Empurau fish?".
"No," Renfield shook his head, "Amadeus ate all 10 kilograms of it by himself at one sitting."
"Amadeus," it was the voice of Amadeus's date for the evening the New Orleans singer Angelique Dumont at the front door of the mansion, "you seem to have put on a lot of weight since I last saw you."
To be continued.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
For Andrea CorvyusMorte: Requiem For A Poetess
Upon hearing of John Keats' death
Shelley wrote, "I weep for Adonais- he is dead"
on this rainy rainy night devoid of stars
I weep for Andrea- she is dead
Beautiful poetess, beautiful soul
I wish you were around still to tell you so.
You wrote from the heart
and what a beautiful heart it was
a heart that had been broken and felt pain
a heart that flowed with passion like dew and pouring rain
it can be truly said, this world won't see your like again.
You wrote real poetry in an age of text messages and mundane emails
you found kernels of buried truth under lies of hidden veils
your words burst with the range and gaunt of human emotions
but your own poor soul found no healing lotions.
O weep for Andrea- she is dead
now poetry has nowhere to lay its head
the finger no longer moves nor writes
and all your tears can no longer bring back the muse
that wrote of life and death and wine and song
where did this world go so terribly wrong?
Your words were finally drowned in a pool of despair
I wept tears for you in the pool downstair
now back in my room on this rainy rainy night
a pounding gloom devoid of light.
In my mind the voice of Josh Groban singing Vincent,
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry starry night
you took your life as lovers often do
but I could have told you Vincent
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
but I would change the lyrics of the song...
I would have changed the lyrics to something I should have done...
I would change the lyrics to...
I should have told you Andrea,
this world NEEDS someone as beautiful as you.
Shelley wrote, "I weep for Adonais- he is dead"
on this rainy rainy night devoid of stars
I weep for Andrea- she is dead
Beautiful poetess, beautiful soul
I wish you were around still to tell you so.
You wrote from the heart
and what a beautiful heart it was
a heart that had been broken and felt pain
a heart that flowed with passion like dew and pouring rain
it can be truly said, this world won't see your like again.
You wrote real poetry in an age of text messages and mundane emails
you found kernels of buried truth under lies of hidden veils
your words burst with the range and gaunt of human emotions
but your own poor soul found no healing lotions.
O weep for Andrea- she is dead
now poetry has nowhere to lay its head
the finger no longer moves nor writes
and all your tears can no longer bring back the muse
that wrote of life and death and wine and song
where did this world go so terribly wrong?
Your words were finally drowned in a pool of despair
I wept tears for you in the pool downstair
now back in my room on this rainy rainy night
a pounding gloom devoid of light.
In my mind the voice of Josh Groban singing Vincent,
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry starry night
you took your life as lovers often do
but I could have told you Vincent
this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
but I would change the lyrics of the song...
I would have changed the lyrics to something I should have done...
I would change the lyrics to...
I should have told you Andrea,
this world NEEDS someone as beautiful as you.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
When In Rome Do As The Werewolves Do
At the door of Set's colossal London mansion, Renfield was signing for an extremely long package from Purolator courier.
"What's inside?" Amadeus asked while eating a chocolate eclair.
"The body of the Were-Zomb-ire," Renfield replied as he opened it.
"It's dead again?" Amadeus wiped some chocolate off his mouth.
"Yes, it got electrocuted yesterday after it tripped over a black cat and fell into a large fount of Holy Water in the Vatican garden," Renfield answered.
"I wonder how it got to Rome?" Amadeus reached into a box and helped himself to his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"Moloch the demon took possession of its body and then used the creature's bat wings to fly to Rome," Renfield answered.
"Wow," Amadeus looked at the body of the Were-Zomb-ire in the very long box, "when Purolator says they can deliver anything, they really mean it."
"Of course they do," Renfield laughed, "how do you think I manage to get the products grown on my cocaine field in Colombia past U.S. customs."
"Really?" Amadeus momentarily stopped eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"Really," Renfield nodded.
"Wow," Amadeus continued eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"So I wonder what the poor demon Moloch will do since his host body of the Were-Zomb-ire has died?" Renfield started to read the Last Rites from the Necronomicon over the creature's body.
* * *
Welsh Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley was in Rome on a mission for the British government.
He was to meet a representative of the Libyan Transitional Council in Rome and sign an agreement with the new Libyan government.
Rhys Petley was also a werewolf- a malady he suffered from ever since he was bitten by the demon Rahu many months ago.
This particular variation of the lycanthropy gene he received through the bite could turn him into a werewolf at any time- not only during the full moon.
While sitting in a cybercafe in Rome and watching a YouTube video of the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec (who looked a lot like Salma Hayek) in a low-cut red evening dress administering a bare-bottom spanking to vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing who lay across her lap, Magog Rhys Petley felt himself becoming sexually aroused.
He also felt himself turning into a werewolf.
After he turned into a werewolf which seemed to empty the cybercafe for some reason sending patrons screaming out into the street, Magog also felt some strange alien force trying to take possession of his body.
To be continued.
"What's inside?" Amadeus asked while eating a chocolate eclair.
"The body of the Were-Zomb-ire," Renfield replied as he opened it.
"It's dead again?" Amadeus wiped some chocolate off his mouth.
"Yes, it got electrocuted yesterday after it tripped over a black cat and fell into a large fount of Holy Water in the Vatican garden," Renfield answered.
"I wonder how it got to Rome?" Amadeus reached into a box and helped himself to his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"Moloch the demon took possession of its body and then used the creature's bat wings to fly to Rome," Renfield answered.
"Wow," Amadeus looked at the body of the Were-Zomb-ire in the very long box, "when Purolator says they can deliver anything, they really mean it."
"Of course they do," Renfield laughed, "how do you think I manage to get the products grown on my cocaine field in Colombia past U.S. customs."
"Really?" Amadeus momentarily stopped eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"Really," Renfield nodded.
"Wow," Amadeus continued eating his 25th chocolate eclair of the day.
"So I wonder what the poor demon Moloch will do since his host body of the Were-Zomb-ire has died?" Renfield started to read the Last Rites from the Necronomicon over the creature's body.
* * *
Welsh Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley was in Rome on a mission for the British government.
He was to meet a representative of the Libyan Transitional Council in Rome and sign an agreement with the new Libyan government.
Rhys Petley was also a werewolf- a malady he suffered from ever since he was bitten by the demon Rahu many months ago.
This particular variation of the lycanthropy gene he received through the bite could turn him into a werewolf at any time- not only during the full moon.
While sitting in a cybercafe in Rome and watching a YouTube video of the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec (who looked a lot like Salma Hayek) in a low-cut red evening dress administering a bare-bottom spanking to vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing who lay across her lap, Magog Rhys Petley felt himself becoming sexually aroused.
He also felt himself turning into a werewolf.
After he turned into a werewolf which seemed to empty the cybercafe for some reason sending patrons screaming out into the street, Magog also felt some strange alien force trying to take possession of his body.
To be continued.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Moloch and Mammon
The Were-zomb-ire's teeth were chattering after having spent a night in the Vatican garden on a rather chilly Rome evening.
The demon Moloch who was using the Were-Zomb-ire's body as his host was starting to feel cold.
He was used to intense heat.
"Good morning," said the demon Mammon who happened to be in the neighbourhood.
"Mammon, what are you doing here?" Moloch through the Were-Zomb-ire's mouth asked the ancient Babylonian god of banking and commerce.
"Some of the Vatican bureaucrats who are under my control have just issued a statement through the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace calling for the creation of a World Financial Authority," Mammon smiled, "and I of course am going to be the one running that World Financial Authority when it's finally created."
"You haven't formed an alliance with the Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl by any chance have you?" Moloch asked through chattering teeth.
"So what if I have?" Mammon shrugged, "by the way what you were doing spending all night in the Vatican garden?".
"I was trying to locate Pope Benedict XVI," Moloch growled through the Were-Zomb-ire.
"Have you ever heard those stories about that mysterious priest who goes down into the catacombs and takes saucers of milk and bread to feed all the hungry stray cats who live down there in the catacombs?" Mammon asked.
"Yes, I have heard those stories," Moloch nodded.
"Well that mysterious priest since 1981 has been Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger now Pope Benedict XVI," replied Mammon, "he was down in the catacombs last night doing it."
Mammon walked away whistling.
Moloch took a step and tripped over a black cat which caused him to fall into a fount of Holy Water.
"Hell, no," Moloch's Were-Zomb-ire body started to smulder.
To be continued.
The demon Moloch who was using the Were-Zomb-ire's body as his host was starting to feel cold.
He was used to intense heat.
"Good morning," said the demon Mammon who happened to be in the neighbourhood.
"Mammon, what are you doing here?" Moloch through the Were-Zomb-ire's mouth asked the ancient Babylonian god of banking and commerce.
"Some of the Vatican bureaucrats who are under my control have just issued a statement through the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace calling for the creation of a World Financial Authority," Mammon smiled, "and I of course am going to be the one running that World Financial Authority when it's finally created."
"You haven't formed an alliance with the Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl by any chance have you?" Moloch asked through chattering teeth.
"So what if I have?" Mammon shrugged, "by the way what you were doing spending all night in the Vatican garden?".
"I was trying to locate Pope Benedict XVI," Moloch growled through the Were-Zomb-ire.
"Have you ever heard those stories about that mysterious priest who goes down into the catacombs and takes saucers of milk and bread to feed all the hungry stray cats who live down there in the catacombs?" Mammon asked.
"Yes, I have heard those stories," Moloch nodded.
"Well that mysterious priest since 1981 has been Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger now Pope Benedict XVI," replied Mammon, "he was down in the catacombs last night doing it."
Mammon walked away whistling.
Moloch took a step and tripped over a black cat which caused him to fall into a fount of Holy Water.
"Hell, no," Moloch's Were-Zomb-ire body started to smulder.
To be continued.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
The Ballad of The Demon Moloch Possessed Were-Zomb-ire
Under the dance of the stars of celestial fire
demon Moloch possessed the body of Were-Zomb-ire
and flying on bats' wings he flew to Rome
and came within sight of Saint Peter's Dome
then he encountered the Guards Swiss
embracing them with a deadly kiss
they fell to the ground
without a single sound
their flesh melted in the air
a sight of unholy terror
then he walked through the Vatican garden
hoping to encounter Benedict in the bargain.
To be continued.
demon Moloch possessed the body of Were-Zomb-ire
and flying on bats' wings he flew to Rome
and came within sight of Saint Peter's Dome
then he encountered the Guards Swiss
embracing them with a deadly kiss
they fell to the ground
without a single sound
their flesh melted in the air
a sight of unholy terror
then he walked through the Vatican garden
hoping to encounter Benedict in the bargain.
To be continued.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec Rising
The vampire Lev Tomi looked outside his office in the UN building in New York City.
In his mortal life, he had been the Marxist revolutionary Leon Trotsky.
He had been turned into a vampire by the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec in Mexico City on August 21st, 1940 a day after an attack by a Stalinist agent who tried to assassinate him with an ice pick.
Failure to be turned into a vampire would have resulted in his death.
Although his death was publicly announced to the world so that his enemy Josef Stalin would no longer bother him.
Today Lev Tomi was the Head of the UN Secretariat on The Environment and Climate Change.
He was also directing the Occupy Wall Street protests throughout the world on behalf of his boss the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec.
His mind went back to a conversation he had had with then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev back in the late 1980s.
"In order for global Communism to triumph," he had told Gorbachev, "global capitalism must triumph first. Only when extreme laissez-faire capitalism reigns everywhere on the globe will the peoples of the world realize what an inhuman system it is and will rush to willingly embrace global Communism."
At Tomi's suggestion, Gorbachev let Central and Eastern Europe go, allowed for the dismantling of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany and even allowed the dissolution of the Soviet Union itself.
By the year 2000, it had looked like global capitalism had triumphed.
By the autumn of 2008, global capitalism had shown the world its inhuman face and continued to show the world its inhuman face ever since.
Now the Arab Spring, the anti-austerity bill riots in Greece and the Occupy Wall Street protests in cities all over the world would pave the way for the triumph of global Communism.
Although it is ironic Tomi reflected to himself that the coming One World Marxist-Leninist government would be headed by the exiled (currently living in exile on Saturn's moon Titan) Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl.
* * *
Dracul Van Helsing read the quote from Leon Trotsky in the rare book store he was in, "Let there be formed a United States of Europe. When the United States of Europe is formed, then the United States of the World shall arise. And global Communism will triumph."
The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec appeared before him in a red evening dress and licked her fangs and then leaned over showing her ample bosom and whispered delicately in his ear, "Tenga cuidado..."
To be continued.
In his mortal life, he had been the Marxist revolutionary Leon Trotsky.
He had been turned into a vampire by the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec in Mexico City on August 21st, 1940 a day after an attack by a Stalinist agent who tried to assassinate him with an ice pick.
Failure to be turned into a vampire would have resulted in his death.
Although his death was publicly announced to the world so that his enemy Josef Stalin would no longer bother him.
Today Lev Tomi was the Head of the UN Secretariat on The Environment and Climate Change.
He was also directing the Occupy Wall Street protests throughout the world on behalf of his boss the Aztec Vampire Princess Qonzilqointec.
His mind went back to a conversation he had had with then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev back in the late 1980s.
"In order for global Communism to triumph," he had told Gorbachev, "global capitalism must triumph first. Only when extreme laissez-faire capitalism reigns everywhere on the globe will the peoples of the world realize what an inhuman system it is and will rush to willingly embrace global Communism."
At Tomi's suggestion, Gorbachev let Central and Eastern Europe go, allowed for the dismantling of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany and even allowed the dissolution of the Soviet Union itself.
By the year 2000, it had looked like global capitalism had triumphed.
By the autumn of 2008, global capitalism had shown the world its inhuman face and continued to show the world its inhuman face ever since.
Now the Arab Spring, the anti-austerity bill riots in Greece and the Occupy Wall Street protests in cities all over the world would pave the way for the triumph of global Communism.
Although it is ironic Tomi reflected to himself that the coming One World Marxist-Leninist government would be headed by the exiled (currently living in exile on Saturn's moon Titan) Aztec feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl.
* * *
Dracul Van Helsing read the quote from Leon Trotsky in the rare book store he was in, "Let there be formed a United States of Europe. When the United States of Europe is formed, then the United States of the World shall arise. And global Communism will triumph."
The Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec appeared before him in a red evening dress and licked her fangs and then leaned over showing her ample bosom and whispered delicately in his ear, "Tenga cuidado..."
To be continued.
Friday, October 21, 2011
If The Were-Zomb-ire Could Write Poetry
Blood baths are good for you
to bathe in blood is where it's at
burnt flesh and twisted limbs
ripped apart at the door
a menagerie of blood and gore
Death and destruction all around
New World Order's despotic crown
Change is acomin'
it's the demonic Spring
with Sauron Lord of the Ring
autumn moon is rising all blood red
looks like motorcyclist lost his head
Moloch's a headin' to Assisi
he ain't bringin' no Virgin Chi Chi
Kill! Kill!
Let's get our fill
Death is our ecstasy pill.
- A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday evening October 21st 2011.
to bathe in blood is where it's at
burnt flesh and twisted limbs
ripped apart at the door
a menagerie of blood and gore
Death and destruction all around
New World Order's despotic crown
Change is acomin'
it's the demonic Spring
with Sauron Lord of the Ring
autumn moon is rising all blood red
looks like motorcyclist lost his head
Moloch's a headin' to Assisi
he ain't bringin' no Virgin Chi Chi
Kill! Kill!
Let's get our fill
Death is our ecstasy pill.
- A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday evening October 21st 2011.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Where Will They Bury Gaddafi?
"So I hear Libyan leader Col. Muammar Gaddafi was killed today in his birthplace of Sirte," Amadeus Emanon remarked as he bit into his camel burger- a dish he was trying for the very first time.
"That's right," Renfield yawned as he looked at the video of Gaddafi's dead body at the BBC News website on his computer.
"Wasn't he one of the Boss' allies at one time?" Amadeus reached into a jar of pickles and added a pickle to his camel burger.
"That's right he was," Renfield nodded, "right up until the moment he started to lose the Libyan civil war- then the Boss quickly dropped him as an ally."
As the group The Black Eyed Peas started to sing the song My Humps on the radio, Amadeus bit into the most difficult portion of his camel burger and asked Renfield, "So what are you currently doing?".
"I'm trying to hack into the computers of the Libyan Transitional Council to see if I can discover the secret location where they plan to bury Col. Gaddafi's body," Renfield grinned.
"Do you suppose they'll bury him face downwards so he can see where he's going?" Amadeus felt musically motivated to add some black-eyed peas to his camel burger.
"I don't know," Renfield shook his head, "I'm trying to determine the site of his burial because I think it would be kind of nifty to fly there and raise Col. Gaddafi from the dead as a zombie."
"Have you ever wondered what they do with dying grapes?" Amadeus changed the topic as he reached into a box of raisins.
To be continued.
"That's right," Renfield yawned as he looked at the video of Gaddafi's dead body at the BBC News website on his computer.
"Wasn't he one of the Boss' allies at one time?" Amadeus reached into a jar of pickles and added a pickle to his camel burger.
"That's right he was," Renfield nodded, "right up until the moment he started to lose the Libyan civil war- then the Boss quickly dropped him as an ally."
As the group The Black Eyed Peas started to sing the song My Humps on the radio, Amadeus bit into the most difficult portion of his camel burger and asked Renfield, "So what are you currently doing?".
"I'm trying to hack into the computers of the Libyan Transitional Council to see if I can discover the secret location where they plan to bury Col. Gaddafi's body," Renfield grinned.
"Do you suppose they'll bury him face downwards so he can see where he's going?" Amadeus felt musically motivated to add some black-eyed peas to his camel burger.
"I don't know," Renfield shook his head, "I'm trying to determine the site of his burial because I think it would be kind of nifty to fly there and raise Col. Gaddafi from the dead as a zombie."
"Have you ever wondered what they do with dying grapes?" Amadeus changed the topic as he reached into a box of raisins.
To be continued.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
The Mysterious Drip
Drip, drip, drip.
What was that dripping sound coming from the hotel room above him?
Ever since he had returned back to his hotel room, he had heard that dripping sound.
He phoned the desk downstairs.
No answer.
Hm, maybe he should walk down to the desk in person.
No, he'll just walk up to the hotel floor above him and knock on the door of the room above him.
When he walked up to the floor above him, he noticed the door of the room directly above him was open.
He walked into the room.
There impaled on the ceiling with coat hangers was an elderly couple who dripped blood on to the floor.
The man picked up the phone in the room and once again tried phoning the desk.
Still no answer.
The man ran downstairs to the main floor.
He approached the desk, peered over it and noticed the hotel clerk had been torn to shreds on the floor.
The man went into shock.
A previous guest who was unregistered had already checked out of the hotel (without paying) half an hour before.
The Were-Zomb-ire.
To be continued.
What was that dripping sound coming from the hotel room above him?
Ever since he had returned back to his hotel room, he had heard that dripping sound.
He phoned the desk downstairs.
No answer.
Hm, maybe he should walk down to the desk in person.
No, he'll just walk up to the hotel floor above him and knock on the door of the room above him.
When he walked up to the floor above him, he noticed the door of the room directly above him was open.
He walked into the room.
There impaled on the ceiling with coat hangers was an elderly couple who dripped blood on to the floor.
The man picked up the phone in the room and once again tried phoning the desk.
Still no answer.
The man ran downstairs to the main floor.
He approached the desk, peered over it and noticed the hotel clerk had been torn to shreds on the floor.
The man went into shock.
A previous guest who was unregistered had already checked out of the hotel (without paying) half an hour before.
The Were-Zomb-ire.
To be continued.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Idol Talk At The Set Mansion
As Renfield entered the colossal mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set, he noticed a rather large and hideous looking creature leaving Set's study.
The creature had a rather angry looking expression on his face.
"Say wasn't that the demon Moloch who just left the Boss' study?" Renfield asked Amadeus.
"It was," Amadeus nodded as he continued to bite into a delicious Malaysian recipe for sweet and sour fish.
"What's he looking so angry about?" Renfield inquired.
"Apparently His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI didn't invite him to the Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace which is being held in Assisi on October 27th of this year," Amadeus answered, "so Moloch is somewhat upset about that. Eastern Orthodox priests have been invited, Protestant ministers have been invited, Jewish rabbis have been invited, Muslim imams have been invited, Buddhist lamas have been invited and Hindu gurus have been invited. In fact, 200 representatives of various different religious faiths from over 50 countries have been invited. But Moloch wasn't invited."
"Why not?" Renfield bit into a tuna fish sandwich which Athelstan the valet had brought him.
"I don't think demons were invited," Amadeus sampled some of the Malaysian Princess Diyana Aleeya's delicious spaghetti.
"And why the Hell not?" Renfield felt sympathy for Moloch.
"I think it's precisely because of Hell that demons haven't been invited," Amadeus answered.
"I fail to follow such logic," Renfield drew a satanic inverted pentagram into his chocolate cake.
Suddenly Renfield's cell phone emitted a beeping sound.
"Who's that?" Amadeus took a sip of orange juice.
"It's a text message from the demon Moloch," Renfield replied, "he wants to know if he can borrow my creature the Were-Zomb-ire for a few days and get it to attack the Vatican in retaliation for the Pope not inviting him to attend the Assisi Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace."
"And what answer are you giving him, sir?" Athelstan the valet inquired.
"If he can successfully trap the Were-Zomb-ire himself," Renfield replied, "he's welcome to him. So far all the traps I've set up around London to capture the Were-Zomb-ire have failed."
"And what sort of traps have you been using, sir?" Athelstan inquired.
"Giant mouse traps with giant pieces of cheese attached to them," Renfield answered.
"And who suggested that the Were-Zomb-ire likes cheese?" Athelstan looked surprised.
Renfield pointed towards Amadeus.
Athelstan looked quizzically at Amadeus.
"Well," Amadeus shrugged as he bit into a huge block of cheese, "since I like cheese, I thought maybe the Were-Zomb-ire might like cheese as well."
To be continued.
The creature had a rather angry looking expression on his face.
"Say wasn't that the demon Moloch who just left the Boss' study?" Renfield asked Amadeus.
"It was," Amadeus nodded as he continued to bite into a delicious Malaysian recipe for sweet and sour fish.
"What's he looking so angry about?" Renfield inquired.
"Apparently His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI didn't invite him to the Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace which is being held in Assisi on October 27th of this year," Amadeus answered, "so Moloch is somewhat upset about that. Eastern Orthodox priests have been invited, Protestant ministers have been invited, Jewish rabbis have been invited, Muslim imams have been invited, Buddhist lamas have been invited and Hindu gurus have been invited. In fact, 200 representatives of various different religious faiths from over 50 countries have been invited. But Moloch wasn't invited."
"Why not?" Renfield bit into a tuna fish sandwich which Athelstan the valet had brought him.
"I don't think demons were invited," Amadeus sampled some of the Malaysian Princess Diyana Aleeya's delicious spaghetti.
"And why the Hell not?" Renfield felt sympathy for Moloch.
"I think it's precisely because of Hell that demons haven't been invited," Amadeus answered.
"I fail to follow such logic," Renfield drew a satanic inverted pentagram into his chocolate cake.
Suddenly Renfield's cell phone emitted a beeping sound.
"Who's that?" Amadeus took a sip of orange juice.
"It's a text message from the demon Moloch," Renfield replied, "he wants to know if he can borrow my creature the Were-Zomb-ire for a few days and get it to attack the Vatican in retaliation for the Pope not inviting him to attend the Assisi Inter-Religious Dialogue and Pilgrimage For Peace."
"And what answer are you giving him, sir?" Athelstan the valet inquired.
"If he can successfully trap the Were-Zomb-ire himself," Renfield replied, "he's welcome to him. So far all the traps I've set up around London to capture the Were-Zomb-ire have failed."
"And what sort of traps have you been using, sir?" Athelstan inquired.
"Giant mouse traps with giant pieces of cheese attached to them," Renfield answered.
"And who suggested that the Were-Zomb-ire likes cheese?" Athelstan looked surprised.
Renfield pointed towards Amadeus.
Athelstan looked quizzically at Amadeus.
"Well," Amadeus shrugged as he bit into a huge block of cheese, "since I like cheese, I thought maybe the Were-Zomb-ire might like cheese as well."
To be continued.
Monday, October 17, 2011
London At Midnight
On the streets of London town
Were-Zomb-ire prowls around
Headless Motorcyclist rides the street
with no head and two left feet
he runs people down
can't stop for half a crown
quite the terror this Halloween
more horror than ever seen.
-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday evening October 17th 2011.
Were-Zomb-ire prowls around
Headless Motorcyclist rides the street
with no head and two left feet
he runs people down
can't stop for half a crown
quite the terror this Halloween
more horror than ever seen.
-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday evening October 17th 2011.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
The Further Escapades of The Headless Motorcyclist
The body of Jefferson Harley suddenly realized that he couldn't see where he was going as he barreled along on his Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
He thought maybe his hair was too long so he decided to find a barber shop to cut his hair.
His motorcycle crashed through a barber shop and the rotating red and white and blue barber pole ended up atop his neck where his head should have been.
Hm, that rather speedy hair cut didn't seem to help much he figured.
Maybe he should have something to eat.
He crashed through the window of Frankie's Frankfurter Hot Dog Place and the Hot Dog Neon sign ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole.
Having a hot dog didn't seem to help either.
Maybe he should have a beer.
Just one beer wouldn't hurt.
Jefferson Harley's motorcycle crashed through the window of The Duck and Head Pub and took the Buttercup Pale Ale tap off the Buttercup Pale Ale keg with it.
The tap that read Buttercup Pale Ale ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole and the Hot Dog shaped neon sign.
So just as the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow had a pumpkin atop his body instead of his head, so the Headless Motorcyclist of Wakey Meadows had a red and blue and white barber pole and a Hot Dog shaped neon sign and a Buttercup Pale Ale beer tap atop his body instead of his head.
To be continued.
He thought maybe his hair was too long so he decided to find a barber shop to cut his hair.
His motorcycle crashed through a barber shop and the rotating red and white and blue barber pole ended up atop his neck where his head should have been.
Hm, that rather speedy hair cut didn't seem to help much he figured.
Maybe he should have something to eat.
He crashed through the window of Frankie's Frankfurter Hot Dog Place and the Hot Dog Neon sign ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole.
Having a hot dog didn't seem to help either.
Maybe he should have a beer.
Just one beer wouldn't hurt.
Jefferson Harley's motorcycle crashed through the window of The Duck and Head Pub and took the Buttercup Pale Ale tap off the Buttercup Pale Ale keg with it.
The tap that read Buttercup Pale Ale ended up atop his neck (where his head should have been) alongside the red and white and blue barber pole and the Hot Dog shaped neon sign.
So just as the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow had a pumpkin atop his body instead of his head, so the Headless Motorcyclist of Wakey Meadows had a red and blue and white barber pole and a Hot Dog shaped neon sign and a Buttercup Pale Ale beer tap atop his body instead of his head.
To be continued.
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Ripper's Mind of The Were-Zomb-ire
The brain of Jack The Ripper had gone missing
among the venomous snakes hissing
in the lab
that's so fab
and belongs to the Vampire Set
who has a cobra for a pet.
Renfield had found the brain you see
while drinking Orange Pekoe tea
he put it in the head of his Were-Zomb-ire
the creature that made London streets so dire.
The Ripper's brain guides the creature
and as a bonus feature
it has werewolf, zombie and vampire DNA
now on Earth there is Hell to pay.
-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
this ghoulish Friday night, October 14th 2011.
17 more days until Halloween.
among the venomous snakes hissing
in the lab
that's so fab
and belongs to the Vampire Set
who has a cobra for a pet.
Renfield had found the brain you see
while drinking Orange Pekoe tea
he put it in the head of his Were-Zomb-ire
the creature that made London streets so dire.
The Ripper's brain guides the creature
and as a bonus feature
it has werewolf, zombie and vampire DNA
now on Earth there is Hell to pay.
-A poem written by Dracul Van Helsing
this ghoulish Friday night, October 14th 2011.
17 more days until Halloween.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The Legend of The Headless Motorcyclist
As Dr. Cadbury Rocher the chief scientist at Set Enterprises' lab instructed the leather clad motorcyclist to lift up his arm to receive the needle, a news bulletin broke in on the radio in the lab...
"This just in," the voice of BBC News said, "the infamous Were-Zomb-ire has attacked the Convent of the Order of Nuns of the Immaculate Heart of Our Lady of Fatima just outside London. The convent which had 21 living nuns just prior to the attack now has none..."
"This is what happens when mere amateurs try to practice science," Dr. Cadbury Rocher spat out a sneering reference to the shapeshifting hamster/human Renfield.
"So this shot you're going to give me is going to make me immortal, right doc?" the motorcyclist asked.
"It is or I'm not a member in good standing of the London Transhumanist Association," Dr. Rocher injected the serum, "this needle contains the DNA of a rare variety of fruit recently found growing in a lush valley in northeastern Iraq. I believe this fruit was the one that was growing on the Tree of Life in the Genesis account of the Garden of Eden."
"Wow," the motorcyclist smiled.
* * *
As Jefferson Harley sped on his motorcycle at 400 kilometres per hour down the streets of London, he relished the fact that he was going to live forever thanks to the injection that Dr. Cadbury Rocher had given him.
Harley raced towards the underpass in front of him.
He looked up at the bridge overpass above him.
"What an ugly looking gargoyle," Harley remarked, "I've never really noticed that before. This is what happens when someone tries to incorporate neo-medieval art into post-modern architecture."
The gargoyle who was actually the Were-Zomb-ire sitting atop the bridge was bothered by the noise of the motorcycle.
The Were-Zomb-ire jumped down on top of Jefferson Harley and ripped the motorcyclist's head off.
Since the motorcyclist had been injected with the serum of immortality, both body and head continued to live despite their Were-Zomb-ire enforced separation.
Harley's head was on the roadway pavement screaming, "Help!" Help!".
The headless body of Jefferson Harley continued to speed down the street driving the fast moving Harley-Davidson.
And thus was born the Legend of the Headless Motorcyclist.
To be continued.
"This just in," the voice of BBC News said, "the infamous Were-Zomb-ire has attacked the Convent of the Order of Nuns of the Immaculate Heart of Our Lady of Fatima just outside London. The convent which had 21 living nuns just prior to the attack now has none..."
"This is what happens when mere amateurs try to practice science," Dr. Cadbury Rocher spat out a sneering reference to the shapeshifting hamster/human Renfield.
"So this shot you're going to give me is going to make me immortal, right doc?" the motorcyclist asked.
"It is or I'm not a member in good standing of the London Transhumanist Association," Dr. Rocher injected the serum, "this needle contains the DNA of a rare variety of fruit recently found growing in a lush valley in northeastern Iraq. I believe this fruit was the one that was growing on the Tree of Life in the Genesis account of the Garden of Eden."
"Wow," the motorcyclist smiled.
* * *
As Jefferson Harley sped on his motorcycle at 400 kilometres per hour down the streets of London, he relished the fact that he was going to live forever thanks to the injection that Dr. Cadbury Rocher had given him.
Harley raced towards the underpass in front of him.
He looked up at the bridge overpass above him.
"What an ugly looking gargoyle," Harley remarked, "I've never really noticed that before. This is what happens when someone tries to incorporate neo-medieval art into post-modern architecture."
The gargoyle who was actually the Were-Zomb-ire sitting atop the bridge was bothered by the noise of the motorcycle.
The Were-Zomb-ire jumped down on top of Jefferson Harley and ripped the motorcyclist's head off.
Since the motorcyclist had been injected with the serum of immortality, both body and head continued to live despite their Were-Zomb-ire enforced separation.
Harley's head was on the roadway pavement screaming, "Help!" Help!".
The headless body of Jefferson Harley continued to speed down the street driving the fast moving Harley-Davidson.
And thus was born the Legend of the Headless Motorcyclist.
To be continued.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
London Swings Like A Pendulum Do
The ArchDruid of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams was performing a small wedding ceremony in a chapel inside Saint Paul's Cathedral.
It was the 11th marriage for the 10 times married and divorced Lord Justice Tiebe Sluttingham.
It was the 1st marriage for the 23 year-old escort girl.
"If any one here knows any just cause," the ArchDruid solemnly intoned, "why these two should not be lawfully wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace...."
The Were-Zomb-ire entered the chapel growling and snarling.
"Is someone here raising an objection?" the ArchDruid looked up.
The Were-Zomb-ire fell on top of the would-be groom Lord Justice Sluttingham and started tearing him to pieces.
"I'll take that as a yes," said the ArchDruid.
* * *
"So what's up?" Amadeus asked Renfield between mouthloads of mustard and mayonnaise laiden cold roast beef sandwiches.
"Well," Renfield was hooking up the antenna of the genetically engineered psychic lobster Michelangelo to the computer, "the Boss got an irate phone call from British Prime Minister David Cameron. It seems 10 Downing Street is pissed about my resurrected Were-Zomb-ire causing chaos and havoc throughout the streets of London."
"Really?" Amadeus reached for his bowl of soup and started slurping away.
"Yes," Renfield nodded, "so the Boss asked me to use Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster to track down the whereabouts of said Were-Zomb-ire."
Michelangelo kept on looking over at Amadeus and his bowl of soup.
"Hm, Michelangelo seems to be distracted by your eating a bowl of soup for some reason," Renfield remarked, "what type of soup is it by the way?".
"Lobster bisque," Amadeus replied.
Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster started freaking out.
To be continued.
It was the 11th marriage for the 10 times married and divorced Lord Justice Tiebe Sluttingham.
It was the 1st marriage for the 23 year-old escort girl.
"If any one here knows any just cause," the ArchDruid solemnly intoned, "why these two should not be lawfully wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace...."
The Were-Zomb-ire entered the chapel growling and snarling.
"Is someone here raising an objection?" the ArchDruid looked up.
The Were-Zomb-ire fell on top of the would-be groom Lord Justice Sluttingham and started tearing him to pieces.
"I'll take that as a yes," said the ArchDruid.
* * *
"So what's up?" Amadeus asked Renfield between mouthloads of mustard and mayonnaise laiden cold roast beef sandwiches.
"Well," Renfield was hooking up the antenna of the genetically engineered psychic lobster Michelangelo to the computer, "the Boss got an irate phone call from British Prime Minister David Cameron. It seems 10 Downing Street is pissed about my resurrected Were-Zomb-ire causing chaos and havoc throughout the streets of London."
"Really?" Amadeus reached for his bowl of soup and started slurping away.
"Yes," Renfield nodded, "so the Boss asked me to use Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster to track down the whereabouts of said Were-Zomb-ire."
Michelangelo kept on looking over at Amadeus and his bowl of soup.
"Hm, Michelangelo seems to be distracted by your eating a bowl of soup for some reason," Renfield remarked, "what type of soup is it by the way?".
"Lobster bisque," Amadeus replied.
Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster started freaking out.
To be continued.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Coppertop Were-Zomb-ire
As Renfield sat looking depressed over the dead body of his most recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire, the redheaded cyborg Sophia entered the Set Enterprises lab wearing a tight fitting red mini dress, red silk nylons and red super spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.
She was followed by Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. as well as a TV camera crew.
"What are you doing here?" Renfield asked the sexy and sultry cyborg.
"I'm here to shoot a TV commercial about your dead creation the Were-Zomb-ire," Sophia answered, "my recording manager Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell figures it will help my music career."
"Oh great," Renfield threw up his hands, "first someone posted a blog entry about my creation the Were-Zomb-ire's death at Xanga a site no one cares about (except for C.S. Lewis wannabes with a fetish for boobs and non-butterfly little read unpopular Malaysian bloggers who don't have a fetish for boobs) and now you're going to broadcast my failure to the entire world."
"That's right," Sophia adjusted her nylons and then smiled for the camera.
"Hit it," Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell gave her the thumbs up.
"I'm sitting here with colossal failure Renfield R, Renfield," Sophia smiled engagingly, "whose recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire a creature part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire was killed shortly after it was created. Mr. Renfield, what are your plans for the future?".
"Well, I've been offered the position of Secretary of State in a second Obama Administration for after the next U.S. election...." Renfield tried to smile.
"Let's try fitting your Were-Zomb-ire with a Duracell battery shall we?" Sophia cuts open the Were-Zomb-ire's stomach with a butcher knife and then inserts a Duracell battery and then stitches together the incision with thread and then delivers an electrical charge to the Were-Zomb-ire's stomach.
The Were-Zomb-ire then rises to life again.
"Duracell the Coppertop Battery," Sophia smiles at the camera, "the battery recommended and used by most professional mad scientists."
The Were-Zomb-ire then tears the door off the Set Enterprises lab and sets off to terrorize the City of London.
Amadeus Emanon enters through the now non-existent door of the Set Enterprises lab licking a maple walnut chocolate ice cream cone and remarking, "Hey Renfield, I noticed your Were-Zomb-ire came back to life and just stepped on the Energizer Bunny. It's no longer going and going..."
To be continued.
She was followed by Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording Ltd. as well as a TV camera crew.
"What are you doing here?" Renfield asked the sexy and sultry cyborg.
"I'm here to shoot a TV commercial about your dead creation the Were-Zomb-ire," Sophia answered, "my recording manager Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell figures it will help my music career."
"Oh great," Renfield threw up his hands, "first someone posted a blog entry about my creation the Were-Zomb-ire's death at Xanga a site no one cares about (except for C.S. Lewis wannabes with a fetish for boobs and non-butterfly little read unpopular Malaysian bloggers who don't have a fetish for boobs) and now you're going to broadcast my failure to the entire world."
"That's right," Sophia adjusted her nylons and then smiled for the camera.
"Hit it," Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell gave her the thumbs up.
"I'm sitting here with colossal failure Renfield R, Renfield," Sophia smiled engagingly, "whose recent creation the Were-Zomb-ire a creature part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire was killed shortly after it was created. Mr. Renfield, what are your plans for the future?".
"Well, I've been offered the position of Secretary of State in a second Obama Administration for after the next U.S. election...." Renfield tried to smile.
"Let's try fitting your Were-Zomb-ire with a Duracell battery shall we?" Sophia cuts open the Were-Zomb-ire's stomach with a butcher knife and then inserts a Duracell battery and then stitches together the incision with thread and then delivers an electrical charge to the Were-Zomb-ire's stomach.
The Were-Zomb-ire then rises to life again.
"Duracell the Coppertop Battery," Sophia smiles at the camera, "the battery recommended and used by most professional mad scientists."
The Were-Zomb-ire then tears the door off the Set Enterprises lab and sets off to terrorize the City of London.
Amadeus Emanon enters through the now non-existent door of the Set Enterprises lab licking a maple walnut chocolate ice cream cone and remarking, "Hey Renfield, I noticed your Were-Zomb-ire came back to life and just stepped on the Energizer Bunny. It's no longer going and going..."
To be continued.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
October Mists
October mists
increasing darkness
a month of ghosts and ghouls
and pumpkins cruelly carved
their insides cut out
and their shells
left with burning lights
on porches
and in windows.
Headless horsemen
in search of their heads
and horseless headsmen
in search of their horses.
The full moon rises
and werewolves howl
while monsters prowl
as Elvis checks in
at the Heartbreak Hotel.
-A poem written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
Saturday evening, October 8th 2011.
increasing darkness
a month of ghosts and ghouls
and pumpkins cruelly carved
their insides cut out
and their shells
left with burning lights
on porches
and in windows.
Headless horsemen
in search of their heads
and horseless headsmen
in search of their horses.
The full moon rises
and werewolves howl
while monsters prowl
as Elvis checks in
at the Heartbreak Hotel.
-A poem written by Christopher Dracul Van Helsing
Saturday evening, October 8th 2011.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
The Were-Zomb-ire
"So, what was it you invited me down to the lab to show me?" Amadeus asked as he ate a large piece of garlic sausage.
"I have created the world's first were-zomb-ire," Renfield laughed an evil laugh.
"What's a were-zomb-ire?" Amadeus checked his Eagle Scout's Iban-English Dictionary to see if he could find the word there.
"It's part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire," Renfield explained, "hence were-zomb-ire."
"How did you create it?" Amadeus took a salt shaker out of his pocket and poured more salt on his garlic sausage.
"I extracted DNA from our Boss who as we know is a vampire, extracted some DNA from Welsh werewolf Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley and extracted some DNA from that late 19th Century Irish-Canadian boxer Gordon "The Black Irish" Donnelly who as we know was raised from the dead as a zombie a couple of years ago and has subsequently never lost a fight in this century," Renfield boasted, "put all that DNA together in a test tube and shook it while I danced to that old Harry Belafonte song Day-O The Banana Boat Song and now you can see the finished results on the lab table- the world's first were-zomb-ire."
"Can I take a closer look?" Amadeus asked as he raised the blanket covering the creature on the lab table.
"Be my guest," Renfield smiled triumphantly.
* * *
As the pair entered the front door of the London mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set, Renfield had an angry pissed-off look on his face and Amadeus was smiling as he whistled Day-O The Banana Boat Song.
"I take it your were-zomb-ire experiment didn't work out so well, sir," the valet and butler Athelstan remarked as he helped Renfield remove his jacket.
"Harrumph," Renfield walked to his room.
"Well," Amadeus remarked as he ate some hot buttered popcorn he had purchased on his way back from the lab, "I accidently spilled some garlic sausage and salt on the creature. Garlic disagrees with vampires as we know and it turns out salt kills zombies- something I didn't know- I would have thought it would have been hot chili peppers as it is for the rest of us. Then after I spilled the garlic sausage and salt- I took out a bottle of water to quench my thirst- water I had picked up from the fount at Saint Francis Xavier Catholic Church- and I dropped the water on the creature- turned out to be Holy Water. Then when I dropped my contact lens on the floor and couldn't find where it went, I opened the curtain and the window to let in some sunlight which fried the creature and then it turns out the lab's neighbour the Duke of Marlborough was firing silver bullets into the air to protect his gold supply from thieves and one of the silver bullets came in through the window and struck the hairy werewolf face of the creature..."
"Say no more, sir," Athelstan raised his hand, " say no more..."
To be continued.
"I have created the world's first were-zomb-ire," Renfield laughed an evil laugh.
"What's a were-zomb-ire?" Amadeus checked his Eagle Scout's Iban-English Dictionary to see if he could find the word there.
"It's part werewolf, part zombie and part vampire," Renfield explained, "hence were-zomb-ire."
"How did you create it?" Amadeus took a salt shaker out of his pocket and poured more salt on his garlic sausage.
"I extracted DNA from our Boss who as we know is a vampire, extracted some DNA from Welsh werewolf Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley and extracted some DNA from that late 19th Century Irish-Canadian boxer Gordon "The Black Irish" Donnelly who as we know was raised from the dead as a zombie a couple of years ago and has subsequently never lost a fight in this century," Renfield boasted, "put all that DNA together in a test tube and shook it while I danced to that old Harry Belafonte song Day-O The Banana Boat Song and now you can see the finished results on the lab table- the world's first were-zomb-ire."
"Can I take a closer look?" Amadeus asked as he raised the blanket covering the creature on the lab table.
"Be my guest," Renfield smiled triumphantly.
* * *
As the pair entered the front door of the London mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set, Renfield had an angry pissed-off look on his face and Amadeus was smiling as he whistled Day-O The Banana Boat Song.
"I take it your were-zomb-ire experiment didn't work out so well, sir," the valet and butler Athelstan remarked as he helped Renfield remove his jacket.
"Harrumph," Renfield walked to his room.
"Well," Amadeus remarked as he ate some hot buttered popcorn he had purchased on his way back from the lab, "I accidently spilled some garlic sausage and salt on the creature. Garlic disagrees with vampires as we know and it turns out salt kills zombies- something I didn't know- I would have thought it would have been hot chili peppers as it is for the rest of us. Then after I spilled the garlic sausage and salt- I took out a bottle of water to quench my thirst- water I had picked up from the fount at Saint Francis Xavier Catholic Church- and I dropped the water on the creature- turned out to be Holy Water. Then when I dropped my contact lens on the floor and couldn't find where it went, I opened the curtain and the window to let in some sunlight which fried the creature and then it turns out the lab's neighbour the Duke of Marlborough was firing silver bullets into the air to protect his gold supply from thieves and one of the silver bullets came in through the window and struck the hairy werewolf face of the creature..."
"Say no more, sir," Athelstan raised his hand, " say no more..."
To be continued.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Renfield The Composer?
"What are you doing?" Amadeus asked Renfield as he ate the 11th of his two dozen chocolate eclairs.
"I'm analyzing the Greek debt situation for the boss," Renfield replied, "plus I just discovered that the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec is apparently behind the Occupy Wall Street protests so I'm doing an analysis of her motives for the boss."
"What are you writing in that music notation book?" Amadeus asked.
"Well in my own humble opinion, I've come to the conclusion that I can be just as great a composer as your namesake and part genetic sire Amadeus Mozart," Renfield answered, "so I'm composing some music."
"I'd hate to see what you'd try to accomplish if you were acting on behalf of your not so humble opinion," Amadeus downed the 12th eclair.
"Exactly," Renfield grinned, "I'm writing a duet for bagpipes and harmonica."
"I think that may be a duet for which the world is not yet prepared," Amadeus paraphrased an allusion Sherlock Holmes once made to the Giant Rat of Sumatra.
To be continued.
"I'm analyzing the Greek debt situation for the boss," Renfield replied, "plus I just discovered that the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec is apparently behind the Occupy Wall Street protests so I'm doing an analysis of her motives for the boss."
"What are you writing in that music notation book?" Amadeus asked.
"Well in my own humble opinion, I've come to the conclusion that I can be just as great a composer as your namesake and part genetic sire Amadeus Mozart," Renfield answered, "so I'm composing some music."
"I'd hate to see what you'd try to accomplish if you were acting on behalf of your not so humble opinion," Amadeus downed the 12th eclair.
"Exactly," Renfield grinned, "I'm writing a duet for bagpipes and harmonica."
"I think that may be a duet for which the world is not yet prepared," Amadeus paraphrased an allusion Sherlock Holmes once made to the Giant Rat of Sumatra.
To be continued.
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