Renfield's New Image
"What are you smiling about?" Amadeus asked Renfield.
"A woman from an oatmeal cereal company is coming by to visit me," Renfield grinned, "they may use me as their poster boy for ads and TV commercials promoting a wholesome family friendly image to sell their oatmeal cereal products."
Amadeus choked on the 3-foot deli submarine sandwich he was eating, "You're about as wholesome and family friendly as that obscene porno version of The Cat In The Hat I watched on The Family Channel on satellite TV from North America last night- the one I had to switch to another channel after watching 5 minutes of it."
"I'm afraid the Americans are light years ahead of the British in acknowledging the depths of human depravity that they feel young minds are capable of absorbing," Renfield explained, "this fact was explained in an interview right after that news documentary I watched that was trying to explain why America's prisons and psychiatric hospitals seem to be bursting at the seams. They never were able to find an answer to that question. One of the experts who appeared in that documentary later appeared on the interview show that was on afterwards where he talked about how Elm Street's Freddy Krueger was in fact a healthy role model for young children."
"And so now you'll do for British youth what Freddy Krueger did for American," Amadeus was starting to lose his appetite which was a rare thing.
"Hey I can be as wholesome and family friendly as Beatrix Potter or the author of The Wind and The Willows," Renfield harrumphed.
Renfield was perturbed by the fact Amadeus was lying on the rug overcome by a huge fit of laughter the likes of which he had never seen before.
"When Miss Claresholm from the British Oatmeal Co. gets here, tell her I'll be in the study," Renfield went upstairs to the study and closed the door.
He went on to his computer.
Renfield owned a small porno film company in Southern California and was working on a promotional trailer for one of the new films being produced.
Renfield turned on the camera and spoke into the computer,
"Star Dick... orgy date 3233.4321 ... I'm Captain James E. Quirk. These are the voyages of the Starship Perverterprise... its 5 year mission... to explore strange new positions... to seek out new forms of sexual deviation... to boldly go where no man has gone before..."
Renfield heard a loud feminine gasp behind him.
He turned and standing there was the British Oatmeal Company's Miss Claresholm alongside Amadeus.
"Amadeus," Renfield raged, "don't you ever knock before entering a room?".
Miss Claresholm turned and ran down the stairs.
"Wait Miss Claresholm," Renfield ran down the stairs, "I can be wholesome and genuinely family friendly. Would you like to hear my impersonation of Linus reciting Chapter 2 of The Gospel of Luke from A Charlie Brown Christmas?".
Renfield tripped and fell down the stairs knocking himself out in the process.
In his unconscious dream, a short leather skirted and black silk nylons and red spiked stiletto Sherrielock Holmes gave him a well- deserved spanking.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 10th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Friday, November 27, 2015
Day In The Life of Dr. Cadbury Rocher
Day In The Life of Dr. Cadbury Rocher
The brilliant scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher (who some called "mad", others called "insane" and the politically correct called "sanity challenged") sat in his office overlooking the laboratory of Set Enterprises.
He looked down at the laboratory and noticed Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster sleeping peacefully in his lobster tank.
Which was a good thing.
The lobster tank had mysteriously exploded on 7 different occasions the past few weeks.
And the higher-ups on the Board of Directors of Set Enterprises were starting to take notice.
Especially the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set's new personal chartered accountant Ayn Rand Nosferatu.
A strange woman. Not quite human. Not quite vampire.
And different from both in that x-rays showed that she had within her chest an ancient Chinese abacus in the place where her heart should have been.
Her office was quite intimidating.
She had a statue of the Titan Atlas shrugging and casting the world down at the feet of a raven that had on its head a marble bust of Adam Smith.
The face of Atlas bore a striking resemblance to Donald Trump and the inscription below the statue read, "Do not give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, your wretched refuse or your homeless."
On the wall was an oil painting of a sour looking Ebenezer Scrooge.
The painting was titled Portrait of Ebenezer Scrooge Prior To His Visit By The Communist Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future.
Ayn Rand Nosferatu told Dr. Rocher in no uncertain terms that the company would not be buying any more lobster tanks.
Dr. Cadbury Rocher then turned to thoughts of his great grandmother.
It was embarrassing.
His great grandmother was 161 years old, still alive and didn't look a day over 30.
And to top it off, Renfield R. Renfield had recently hired his (Rocher's) great grandmother as his personal dominatrix.
Dr. Cadbury Rocher stood up as memories of his own childhood came back to mind.
He subconsciously rubbed his buttocks.
His great grandmother was certainly a woman who knew how to spank.
His great grandmother Sherrielock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes' twin sister) who kept her maiden name had managed to achieve immortality by eating a Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom that had been specially treated by his great grandfather Dr. Louis Rocher (who was also a great scientific genius) to offset the possible harmful side effect of turning to stone once the mushroom was eaten.
Dr. Louis Rocher had decided not to eat the Supernatural Mushroom right away himself.
He would wait to eat it.
That was a mistake on his part.
As a fighter pilot for the RAF, Louis Rocher ended up dying after being shot down by the Red Baron Manfred Von Richtofen on April 20th 1918 (just a day prior to the Red Baron's own demise on April 21st 1918).
So the end result was that his great grandmother was immortal without the love of her love Louis by her side.
As Cadbury Rocher looked down at the laboratory, he began to wonder if there was any correlation between Michelangelo's lobster tanks exploding and nude drawings, sketches and paintings of his great grandmother Sherrielock Holmes being found in the laboratory.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday November 27th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
The brilliant scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher (who some called "mad", others called "insane" and the politically correct called "sanity challenged") sat in his office overlooking the laboratory of Set Enterprises.
He looked down at the laboratory and noticed Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster sleeping peacefully in his lobster tank.
Which was a good thing.
The lobster tank had mysteriously exploded on 7 different occasions the past few weeks.
And the higher-ups on the Board of Directors of Set Enterprises were starting to take notice.
Especially the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set's new personal chartered accountant Ayn Rand Nosferatu.
A strange woman. Not quite human. Not quite vampire.
And different from both in that x-rays showed that she had within her chest an ancient Chinese abacus in the place where her heart should have been.
Her office was quite intimidating.
She had a statue of the Titan Atlas shrugging and casting the world down at the feet of a raven that had on its head a marble bust of Adam Smith.
The face of Atlas bore a striking resemblance to Donald Trump and the inscription below the statue read, "Do not give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, your wretched refuse or your homeless."
On the wall was an oil painting of a sour looking Ebenezer Scrooge.
The painting was titled Portrait of Ebenezer Scrooge Prior To His Visit By The Communist Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future.
Ayn Rand Nosferatu told Dr. Rocher in no uncertain terms that the company would not be buying any more lobster tanks.
Dr. Cadbury Rocher then turned to thoughts of his great grandmother.
It was embarrassing.
His great grandmother was 161 years old, still alive and didn't look a day over 30.
And to top it off, Renfield R. Renfield had recently hired his (Rocher's) great grandmother as his personal dominatrix.
Dr. Cadbury Rocher stood up as memories of his own childhood came back to mind.
He subconsciously rubbed his buttocks.
His great grandmother was certainly a woman who knew how to spank.
His great grandmother Sherrielock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes' twin sister) who kept her maiden name had managed to achieve immortality by eating a Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom that had been specially treated by his great grandfather Dr. Louis Rocher (who was also a great scientific genius) to offset the possible harmful side effect of turning to stone once the mushroom was eaten.
Dr. Louis Rocher had decided not to eat the Supernatural Mushroom right away himself.
He would wait to eat it.
That was a mistake on his part.
As a fighter pilot for the RAF, Louis Rocher ended up dying after being shot down by the Red Baron Manfred Von Richtofen on April 20th 1918 (just a day prior to the Red Baron's own demise on April 21st 1918).
So the end result was that his great grandmother was immortal without the love of her love Louis by her side.
As Cadbury Rocher looked down at the laboratory, he began to wonder if there was any correlation between Michelangelo's lobster tanks exploding and nude drawings, sketches and paintings of his great grandmother Sherrielock Holmes being found in the laboratory.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday November 27th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Haunting Visions and The Black Hand In The Garden
Haunting Visions and The Black Hand In The Garden
The retired elderly priest sat at his desk reading a copy of Saint Augustine's major work The City of God.
Feeling a bit drowsy, he took off his glasses and put them on his desk.
He went over to his arm chair to rest.
He fell asleep.
He dreamed he was standing in Saint Peter's Square amongst a group of religious pilgrims.
They were waiting for the Pope to appear at the Vatican window to give his blessing.
Suddenly black darkened skies appeared over the dome of Saint Peter's Basilica.
Huge raindrops the colour of blood fell from the sky.
The blood red rain drops fell on to the square turning it into a flowing river of blood.
People screamed and started to run.
The rain suddenly stopped and a peculiar rainbow that continued to drip blood appeared over the dome of the Basilica.
People turned into pillars of salt as they stood and gazed at the rainbow.
The retired elderly priest was knocked to the ground by a Middle Eastern looking man who shouted "Allah Akbar!".
Loud speakers in the square suddenly started playing the voice of Barack Obama saying, "The United States strongly condemns these attacks. However we also strongly say that none of this would have happened had the world strongly listened to what the United States government dictated which is that Syrian President Bashar al-Assad must go in any and all circumstances without any discussion or questioning of U.S. State Department communiques and my own Executive Orders. The Syrian people and the Syrian people alone should decide who their leaders should be. And bearing that in mind, we say and we insist that Bashar Assad should go without any more questioning or discussion and he has no more part to play whatsoever in Syria's future. So our Imperial wisdom hath decreed."
An earthquake suddenly shook the City of Rome and the Basilica was destroyed.
The retired elderly priest suddenly awoke with a start.
He suddenly heard a tapping at his door.
He got up from his armchair and went over to the door to answer it.
He opened the door and looked around.
No one there.
He was about to shut the door when suddenly he noticed a severed charcoal burnt Black Hand crawling through the garden.
Grabbing his Breviary and his rosary, the retired elderly priest walked out to the garden and said the Saint Michael Prayer as well as a prayer of Exorcism.
He looked around.
The Black Hand was gone.
Still the elderly priest could not shake off the feeling that the Black Hand would be back bringing war and death in its wake.
Making the Sign of the Cross, the retired elderly priest - Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI- left the grounds of the Vatican Garden and returned to his living quarters and shut the door.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 26th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
The retired elderly priest sat at his desk reading a copy of Saint Augustine's major work The City of God.
Feeling a bit drowsy, he took off his glasses and put them on his desk.
He went over to his arm chair to rest.
He fell asleep.
He dreamed he was standing in Saint Peter's Square amongst a group of religious pilgrims.
They were waiting for the Pope to appear at the Vatican window to give his blessing.
Suddenly black darkened skies appeared over the dome of Saint Peter's Basilica.
Huge raindrops the colour of blood fell from the sky.
The blood red rain drops fell on to the square turning it into a flowing river of blood.
People screamed and started to run.
The rain suddenly stopped and a peculiar rainbow that continued to drip blood appeared over the dome of the Basilica.
People turned into pillars of salt as they stood and gazed at the rainbow.
The retired elderly priest was knocked to the ground by a Middle Eastern looking man who shouted "Allah Akbar!".
Loud speakers in the square suddenly started playing the voice of Barack Obama saying, "The United States strongly condemns these attacks. However we also strongly say that none of this would have happened had the world strongly listened to what the United States government dictated which is that Syrian President Bashar al-Assad must go in any and all circumstances without any discussion or questioning of U.S. State Department communiques and my own Executive Orders. The Syrian people and the Syrian people alone should decide who their leaders should be. And bearing that in mind, we say and we insist that Bashar Assad should go without any more questioning or discussion and he has no more part to play whatsoever in Syria's future. So our Imperial wisdom hath decreed."
An earthquake suddenly shook the City of Rome and the Basilica was destroyed.
The retired elderly priest suddenly awoke with a start.
He suddenly heard a tapping at his door.
He got up from his armchair and went over to the door to answer it.
He opened the door and looked around.
No one there.
He was about to shut the door when suddenly he noticed a severed charcoal burnt Black Hand crawling through the garden.
Grabbing his Breviary and his rosary, the retired elderly priest walked out to the garden and said the Saint Michael Prayer as well as a prayer of Exorcism.
He looked around.
The Black Hand was gone.
Still the elderly priest could not shake off the feeling that the Black Hand would be back bringing war and death in its wake.
Making the Sign of the Cross, the retired elderly priest - Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI- left the grounds of the Vatican Garden and returned to his living quarters and shut the door.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 26th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Five Fingers of Death: The Black Hand and Writing On The Wall
Five Fingers of Death: The Black Hand and Writing On The Wall
"The moving finger writes and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a Word of it."
-The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
. . .
The Turkish diplomat walked the streets of Moscow.
He wrapped his scarf around his face as much to hide himself as to keep out the Russian cold.
It had been a hectic couple of days ever since Turkey had shot down a Russian plane.
The diplomat was struggling to ensure that the incident didn't lead to the outbreak of war.
He stood looking at the view of the Kremlin from his vantage point.
The diplomat suddenly felt a tapping on his shoe.
He looked down and saw a severed charcoal burnt Black Hand.
The Black Hand crawled up his pants and then up his jacket and then proceeded to strangle him with his scarf.
The diplomat fell to the ground quite dead.
The Black Hand then grabbed a Samsung Galaxy 6 Smart Phone from a shocked tourist (who ran away after the phone was grabbed not wanting to argue with a moving severed hand) and took a photo of the dead Turkish diplomat on the ground with the walls of the Kremlin as a backdrop.
It then posted the photo on Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan's Facebook page with the inscription written in both Turkish and Russian, "Go fuck yourself, you syphilis infested running dog of Turkey."
And then signed it,
"Yours respectfully,
Vladimir Putin."
The Black Hand then pulled down the Turkish diplomat's pants and undershorts.
The hand then interrupted a mugging on a nearby Moscow street corner to grab the mugger's large butcher knife.
Both would-be mugger and would-be victim fled at the sight of the severed charcoal burnt Black Hand carrying the knife down the street.
The Black Hand then returned to the slain Turkish diplomat and cut off his penis.
It then stuck the penis in the Turkish diplomat's mouth and once again took another photo with the Samsung Galaxy 6 Smart Phone.
It then posted the photo to Recep Tayyip Erdogan's Twitter account with the message, "Chew on this for awhile you mongrelized motherfucker" adding the hash tag
#CaitlynJennerWannabe.
The hand then grabbed the penis and crawled into a nearby Moscow post office.
It helped itself to some postage stamps, an envelope and some string.
It put the diplomat's penis in the envelope, grabbed some glue, sealed the envelope, attached the appropriate postage and then grabbed a pen and addressed the envelope to
Recep Tayyip Erdogan
Chief Eunuch
Turkish Presidential Palace
Ankara, Turkey
And then wrote a notation on the back of the envelope in Turkish:
Attention Erdogan:
Now you have one.
It then dropped the appropriately addressed and proper postage stamped envelope into a nearby mail box.
All in all a good day's work for the severed charcoal burnt Black Hand who had been causing trouble throughout the world ever since the Battle of Kosovo in 1389.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 25th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
"The moving finger writes and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a Word of it."
-The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
. . .
The Turkish diplomat walked the streets of Moscow.
He wrapped his scarf around his face as much to hide himself as to keep out the Russian cold.
It had been a hectic couple of days ever since Turkey had shot down a Russian plane.
The diplomat was struggling to ensure that the incident didn't lead to the outbreak of war.
He stood looking at the view of the Kremlin from his vantage point.
The diplomat suddenly felt a tapping on his shoe.
He looked down and saw a severed charcoal burnt Black Hand.
The Black Hand crawled up his pants and then up his jacket and then proceeded to strangle him with his scarf.
The diplomat fell to the ground quite dead.
The Black Hand then grabbed a Samsung Galaxy 6 Smart Phone from a shocked tourist (who ran away after the phone was grabbed not wanting to argue with a moving severed hand) and took a photo of the dead Turkish diplomat on the ground with the walls of the Kremlin as a backdrop.
It then posted the photo on Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan's Facebook page with the inscription written in both Turkish and Russian, "Go fuck yourself, you syphilis infested running dog of Turkey."
And then signed it,
"Yours respectfully,
Vladimir Putin."
The Black Hand then pulled down the Turkish diplomat's pants and undershorts.
The hand then interrupted a mugging on a nearby Moscow street corner to grab the mugger's large butcher knife.
Both would-be mugger and would-be victim fled at the sight of the severed charcoal burnt Black Hand carrying the knife down the street.
The Black Hand then returned to the slain Turkish diplomat and cut off his penis.
It then stuck the penis in the Turkish diplomat's mouth and once again took another photo with the Samsung Galaxy 6 Smart Phone.
It then posted the photo to Recep Tayyip Erdogan's Twitter account with the message, "Chew on this for awhile you mongrelized motherfucker" adding the hash tag
#CaitlynJennerWannabe.
The hand then grabbed the penis and crawled into a nearby Moscow post office.
It helped itself to some postage stamps, an envelope and some string.
It put the diplomat's penis in the envelope, grabbed some glue, sealed the envelope, attached the appropriate postage and then grabbed a pen and addressed the envelope to
Recep Tayyip Erdogan
Chief Eunuch
Turkish Presidential Palace
Ankara, Turkey
And then wrote a notation on the back of the envelope in Turkish:
Attention Erdogan:
Now you have one.
It then dropped the appropriately addressed and proper postage stamped envelope into a nearby mail box.
All in all a good day's work for the severed charcoal burnt Black Hand who had been causing trouble throughout the world ever since the Battle of Kosovo in 1389.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 25th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Magog Rhys Petley: The Last Werewolf
Magog Rhys Petley: The Last Werewolf
Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley sat in a pub drinking a strong whiskey soda.
He usually drank buttermilk as there was an antidote in buttermilk that counteracted the peculiar form of lycanthropy gene he had received ever since he was bitten more than 4 years ago by Rahu the demon responsible for lunar and solar eclipses in Hindu religious tradition.
As a result of that bite, he could occasionally turn into a werewolf even if there wasn't a full moon.
But today Magog didn't really care whether he turned into a werewolf or not.
Although he really should be happy.
He had spent most of his life as a backbench MP- whether Labour was the government or whether Labour was the opposition.
Being a far far Left MP and an out and out Marxist-Leninist had confined him to the back benches of the Labour Party particularly when Tony Blair was in power.
Now that fellow far Leftist Jeremy Corbyn was the new leader of the Labour Party, he was now the Party's Foreign Affairs critic and sat on the Opposition front benches.
But Magog decided that he had been far happier sitting on the back benches.
Sitting on the front benches was much ado about nothing.
Besides nobody noticed when you ran out to the washroom when you sat on the back benches.
And recent Marxists elected to power were turning out to be a huge disappointment Magog thought to himself as he used his pub table candle to burn his personally autographed photo of Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras.
Then over a week ago, his favourite cafe in Paris had been shot up by ISIS terrorists.
He was pretty sure that bullet holes in the windows would take away from the ambience of the place he loved so well.
And now Turkey had shot down a Russian war plane.
There was talk of world war in the corridors of Westminster.
Coincidentally, a Russian submarine had been spotted off the coast of Scotland a few days ago.
And swear words in Russian had recently appeared on the Twitter accounts of Russian naval sailors after they had discovered what were the ingredients in the Scottish haggis they had been eating all week.
The world was going to Hell in a hand basket, Magog thought to himself.
Turning into a werewolf really wouldn't make much of a difference.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 24th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley sat in a pub drinking a strong whiskey soda.
He usually drank buttermilk as there was an antidote in buttermilk that counteracted the peculiar form of lycanthropy gene he had received ever since he was bitten more than 4 years ago by Rahu the demon responsible for lunar and solar eclipses in Hindu religious tradition.
As a result of that bite, he could occasionally turn into a werewolf even if there wasn't a full moon.
But today Magog didn't really care whether he turned into a werewolf or not.
Although he really should be happy.
He had spent most of his life as a backbench MP- whether Labour was the government or whether Labour was the opposition.
Being a far far Left MP and an out and out Marxist-Leninist had confined him to the back benches of the Labour Party particularly when Tony Blair was in power.
Now that fellow far Leftist Jeremy Corbyn was the new leader of the Labour Party, he was now the Party's Foreign Affairs critic and sat on the Opposition front benches.
But Magog decided that he had been far happier sitting on the back benches.
Sitting on the front benches was much ado about nothing.
Besides nobody noticed when you ran out to the washroom when you sat on the back benches.
And recent Marxists elected to power were turning out to be a huge disappointment Magog thought to himself as he used his pub table candle to burn his personally autographed photo of Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras.
Then over a week ago, his favourite cafe in Paris had been shot up by ISIS terrorists.
He was pretty sure that bullet holes in the windows would take away from the ambience of the place he loved so well.
And now Turkey had shot down a Russian war plane.
There was talk of world war in the corridors of Westminster.
Coincidentally, a Russian submarine had been spotted off the coast of Scotland a few days ago.
And swear words in Russian had recently appeared on the Twitter accounts of Russian naval sailors after they had discovered what were the ingredients in the Scottish haggis they had been eating all week.
The world was going to Hell in a hand basket, Magog thought to himself.
Turning into a werewolf really wouldn't make much of a difference.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 24th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Monday, November 23, 2015
Sherrielock Holmes
Sherrielock Holmes
It was the autumn of 1893.
And London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes (the virtually unknown twin sister of Sherlock Holmes whose existence was vigourously denied by the Holmes family) had been entertaining a client in her London apartments.
"Well," said her client, "it's good thing I'm giving a speech in the House of Commons this afternoon. That means I'll be standing. I don't think I'll be able to sit today."
Her client exited the apartment and she could hear her client's London bobby bodyguard say, "The street seems to be clear of any reporters, Mr. Prime Minister. I think it's safe to enter your carriage."
Sherrielock returned to her own thoughts as she put away the cane and wooden paddle.
She was thinking of a young man she had met in Paris that summer.
Louis.
A promising young physics and chemistry student at the Sorbonne.
The man was a genius.
He claimed to have in his possession the notebooks of the legendary Faust- the Renaissance alchemist whose tale and exploits had been made famous by England's Christopher Marlowe and Germany's Goethe.
He was also studying the work of the monk geneticist Gregor Johann Mendel.
He also had hopes of discovering the secret of immortality..
How Sherrielock longed to be immortal.
And to be immortal without being confined to the nocturnal existence of vampires and vampiresses.
. . .
Sherrielock Holmes walked through London's Chinatown taking in the vibrant sights and unique aromas.
She wondered to herself if she went into one of the district's nefarious opium dens if she'd spot her twin brother there- partaking of that strange vaporous dragon because he hadn't any interesting cases lately.
She noticed a vendor with a stall and sign that said Ling Po's Marvelous Mushrooms.
"So, Mr. Ling Po," she smiled at the vendor, "what's your most wonderful mushroom?".
"That would be the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom, Missy," the old vendor replied with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, a supernatural mushroom," Sherrie smiled as she threw back her long dark hair.
"Yes, it's said to eat it under certain conditions that it will grant one immortality," Ling Po smiled.
"Oh well, then I shall buy some and eat it," Sherrielock opened her purse.
"Wait, Missy," Ling Po held up his hand.
"What is it?" Sherrie asked.
"The form of immortality the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom will give you may not be the immortality you desire," warned Ling Po.
"No?" Sherrie looked quizzical.
"The warriors of the first Chinese Emperor Qin Shi Huang were promised immortality by the Chinese sorceress Wu Xian should they eat the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom boiled with a thousand year old egg," Ling Po stated, "and in a sense they were granted immortality after they ate this strange brew. They turned to stone."
"Turned to stone?" Sherrie struggled to get her coiled snake hairpin out of her hair.
"Yes, they became terracotta sculptures who were buried as funerary art when the Emperor Qin Shi Huang was buried circa 210-209 BC," Ling Po explained, "and whether the request of the Emperor's No. 1 wife was followed and Qin was buried face downwards so "he could see where he's going" (his No. 1 wife's words), I'm not sure. Nevertheless the Emperor's stoned Terracotta Army was buried with him."
"And has this tomb ever been found?" Sherrie asked as she raided her hair desperately searching for her hairpin.
"No," Ling Po shook his head sadly, "There are rumours that the tomb is located in the Lintong District of Shaanxi Province in China but so far it has not been found."
"I see," Sherrie finally found her coiled snake hairpin, "nevertheless I'll take the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom. But I promise I won't eat it boiled with a thousand year old egg."
. . .
Sherrie walked through the streets of London vigourously clutching her bag of Linghzi Supernatural Mushrooms.
She was certain her handsome young French physicist chemist boyfriend could find a scientific way by which the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom could be consumed that would grant one immortality without turning one to stone.
Her Louis.
Her handsome brave intelligent young Louis.
When she visited Paris the next time, she should really convince Louis to return with her to London to live.
Her Louis.
Physicist.
Chemist.
Scientific prodigy.
Genius extraordinaire.
Her Louis.
Monsieur Louis Rocher.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday November 21st
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
It was the autumn of 1893.
And London dominatrix Sherrielock Holmes (the virtually unknown twin sister of Sherlock Holmes whose existence was vigourously denied by the Holmes family) had been entertaining a client in her London apartments.
"Well," said her client, "it's good thing I'm giving a speech in the House of Commons this afternoon. That means I'll be standing. I don't think I'll be able to sit today."
Her client exited the apartment and she could hear her client's London bobby bodyguard say, "The street seems to be clear of any reporters, Mr. Prime Minister. I think it's safe to enter your carriage."
Sherrielock returned to her own thoughts as she put away the cane and wooden paddle.
She was thinking of a young man she had met in Paris that summer.
Louis.
A promising young physics and chemistry student at the Sorbonne.
The man was a genius.
He claimed to have in his possession the notebooks of the legendary Faust- the Renaissance alchemist whose tale and exploits had been made famous by England's Christopher Marlowe and Germany's Goethe.
He was also studying the work of the monk geneticist Gregor Johann Mendel.
He also had hopes of discovering the secret of immortality..
How Sherrielock longed to be immortal.
And to be immortal without being confined to the nocturnal existence of vampires and vampiresses.
. . .
Sherrielock Holmes walked through London's Chinatown taking in the vibrant sights and unique aromas.
She wondered to herself if she went into one of the district's nefarious opium dens if she'd spot her twin brother there- partaking of that strange vaporous dragon because he hadn't any interesting cases lately.
She noticed a vendor with a stall and sign that said Ling Po's Marvelous Mushrooms.
"So, Mr. Ling Po," she smiled at the vendor, "what's your most wonderful mushroom?".
"That would be the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom, Missy," the old vendor replied with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, a supernatural mushroom," Sherrie smiled as she threw back her long dark hair.
"Yes, it's said to eat it under certain conditions that it will grant one immortality," Ling Po smiled.
"Oh well, then I shall buy some and eat it," Sherrielock opened her purse.
"Wait, Missy," Ling Po held up his hand.
"What is it?" Sherrie asked.
"The form of immortality the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom will give you may not be the immortality you desire," warned Ling Po.
"No?" Sherrie looked quizzical.
"The warriors of the first Chinese Emperor Qin Shi Huang were promised immortality by the Chinese sorceress Wu Xian should they eat the Lingzhi Supernatural Mushroom boiled with a thousand year old egg," Ling Po stated, "and in a sense they were granted immortality after they ate this strange brew. They turned to stone."
"Turned to stone?" Sherrie struggled to get her coiled snake hairpin out of her hair.
"Yes, they became terracotta sculptures who were buried as funerary art when the Emperor Qin Shi Huang was buried circa 210-209 BC," Ling Po explained, "and whether the request of the Emperor's No. 1 wife was followed and Qin was buried face downwards so "he could see where he's going" (his No. 1 wife's words), I'm not sure. Nevertheless the Emperor's stoned Terracotta Army was buried with him."
"And has this tomb ever been found?" Sherrie asked as she raided her hair desperately searching for her hairpin.
"No," Ling Po shook his head sadly, "There are rumours that the tomb is located in the Lintong District of Shaanxi Province in China but so far it has not been found."
"I see," Sherrie finally found her coiled snake hairpin, "nevertheless I'll take the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom. But I promise I won't eat it boiled with a thousand year old egg."
. . .
Sherrie walked through the streets of London vigourously clutching her bag of Linghzi Supernatural Mushrooms.
She was certain her handsome young French physicist chemist boyfriend could find a scientific way by which the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom could be consumed that would grant one immortality without turning one to stone.
Her Louis.
Her handsome brave intelligent young Louis.
When she visited Paris the next time, she should really convince Louis to return with her to London to live.
Her Louis.
Physicist.
Chemist.
Scientific prodigy.
Genius extraordinaire.
Her Louis.
Monsieur Louis Rocher.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday November 21st
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Part XVII The Giant Rat of Sumatra
Part XVII The Giant Rat of Sumatra
The Steinenfrank Circus had been closed down by Lincolnshire County authorities for knowingly bringing rodents into county boundaries.
And there was no way for them to deny it with the body of the Giant Rat of Sumatra on the premises.
It was evening and Dr. Faustus aka Hemlock the Magician was loading his belongings into his caravan wagon.
He was returning to Germany along with Vittoria Donna Gina.
Vittoria stood there in a lovely black evening dress and Sherlock Holmes kissed her elegantly black leather glove clad hand.
"England shall miss you, Miss Vittoria," Holmes said as he gazed into her eyes.
"And you, Mr.Holmes, shall you miss me?" Her deep dark jet black eyes gazed into the detective's soul.
"I shall indeed, Miss Vittoria," Holmes spoke softly.
Vittoria grabbed the man from 221B Baker Street and kissed him passionately on the lips.
"Oh God, the game is more than afoot," Holmes whispered after the kiss.
"I feel it to be so," Vittoria sighed in ecstasy as she held Holmes in a passionate embrace.
"It's time to be going, Miss Vittoria," Faust's voice showed more than a hint of anger and jealousy.
"Good-bye, Mr. Holmes," Vittoria smiled at the deerstalker cap clad gentleman.
"Au revoir, ma cherie d'amour," Holmes reluctantly let go of the enchanting Vittoria Donna Gina.
She lifted her dress to walk up the steps of the caravan trailer.
Holmes dropped his pipe on the ground so he could look up as his hands fiddled around on the ground to find the pipe.
"I did not know the world's greatest detective was also the world's greatest pervert," Faust remarked dryly.
"As Abraham Lincoln shrewdly observed, a man without vices is inevitably also a man without virtues," was Holmes' reply.
Faust harrumphed.
"So will you now experiment with rats over in Germany?" Holmes inquired.
In his mind's eye, Holmes pictured Germany's Kaiser Wilhelm II on a giant glass slide under a giant microscope.
"I shall continue my work in Mendel's new science of genetics," was Faust's reply, "I'm thinking of working with the Bavarian Forest's rich supply of magic mushrooms to create new pharmaceuticals and perhaps someday in the field of human genetics I shall create an übermensch."
"I imagine Nietzsche would approve," Holmes lit his pipe.
. . .
Sherlock Holmes rode the train from Stamford to London with veterinarian Fred Clegg.
"So you have some business to attend to in London, Mr. Clegg?" Holmes asked the veterinarian as he gazed out at the English countryside.
"Some brief business, yes, Mr. Holmes," Clegg gazed at the detective.
"And then back to your veterinary practice and livery stable business?" Holmes asked.
"Indeed, Mr. Holmes," Clegg smiled.
"Ever consider any other plans in your future besides running a horse drawn omnibus service in the seaside resort of Morecambe?" Holmes asked.
"Well, I've sometimes thought of going out to Canada," Clegg answered.
"Canada, eh?" Holmes felt a sudden craving for beer and back bacon.
"Yes, the Northwest Territories," Clegg nodded, "possibly the Alberta Territory. They say there's lots of good potential ranch land and farmland in and around the area of the Red Deer River Badlands."
"That was the area where the geologist Tyrrell discovered 10 years ago bones belonging to one of those giant creatures we call dinosaurs?" Holmes asked.
"That was the area all right," Clegg smiled.
"I wonder if any such creatures are around today," Holmes mused aloud.
"Only in the House of Lords," Clegg winked.
Holmes laughed.
"What about you, Mr. Holmes?" Clegg asked, "Returning to your old haunts in London?".
"Eventually, Mr. Clegg," Holmes looked pained as he talked, "I have some family business to attend to in Paris."
"Oh really?" Clegg seemed surprised.
"Yes, it's my twin sister Sherrielock Holmes," Holmes frowned, "she's done something of potential embarrassment to the family."
"I didn't even know you had a twin sister," Clegg seemed genuinely shocked, "Dr. Watson has only mentioned an older brother Mycroft in his articles about you."
"Dr. Watson doesn't know about Sherrielock," Holmes lit a pipe, "she's the black sheep of the family."
"Oh," Clegg nodded sympathetically.
"I can only deduce what she does for a living," Holmes looked out the window again, "in her room, she has all sorts of whips and riding crops and wooden paddles and sinister looking hairbrushes. In her closet, all sorts of leather corsets and black velvet skirts. And her clientele is mainly made up of members of the British Cabinet and the House of Lords."
"And she's now in Paris?" Fred Clegg asked.
"Yes, it's come to my attention that she has appeared in several nude drawings and paintings done by that notorious Montmartre artist Toulouse-Lautrec," Holmes' face turned red, "such exposure the Holmes family doesn't really need."
"You have my sympathy, Mr. Holmes," Fred Clegg extended his hand.
"Thank you, Clegg," the detective shook the veterinarian's hand.
"And will you be telling Dr. Watson of our adventure with the Giant Rat of Sumatra?" Clegg asked.
"No," Holmes shook his head, "I don't want every vampire hunter in the world pursuing the lovely Miss Vittoria Donna Gina. So if the matter of the Matilda Briggs and the Giant Rat of Sumatra should ever come up, I'll just tell Dr. Watson that it's a story for which the world is not yet prepared."
-A Sherlock Holmes novella chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 12th
2015.
-THE END-
Sent from my iPhone
The Steinenfrank Circus had been closed down by Lincolnshire County authorities for knowingly bringing rodents into county boundaries.
And there was no way for them to deny it with the body of the Giant Rat of Sumatra on the premises.
It was evening and Dr. Faustus aka Hemlock the Magician was loading his belongings into his caravan wagon.
He was returning to Germany along with Vittoria Donna Gina.
Vittoria stood there in a lovely black evening dress and Sherlock Holmes kissed her elegantly black leather glove clad hand.
"England shall miss you, Miss Vittoria," Holmes said as he gazed into her eyes.
"And you, Mr.Holmes, shall you miss me?" Her deep dark jet black eyes gazed into the detective's soul.
"I shall indeed, Miss Vittoria," Holmes spoke softly.
Vittoria grabbed the man from 221B Baker Street and kissed him passionately on the lips.
"Oh God, the game is more than afoot," Holmes whispered after the kiss.
"I feel it to be so," Vittoria sighed in ecstasy as she held Holmes in a passionate embrace.
"It's time to be going, Miss Vittoria," Faust's voice showed more than a hint of anger and jealousy.
"Good-bye, Mr. Holmes," Vittoria smiled at the deerstalker cap clad gentleman.
"Au revoir, ma cherie d'amour," Holmes reluctantly let go of the enchanting Vittoria Donna Gina.
She lifted her dress to walk up the steps of the caravan trailer.
Holmes dropped his pipe on the ground so he could look up as his hands fiddled around on the ground to find the pipe.
"I did not know the world's greatest detective was also the world's greatest pervert," Faust remarked dryly.
"As Abraham Lincoln shrewdly observed, a man without vices is inevitably also a man without virtues," was Holmes' reply.
Faust harrumphed.
"So will you now experiment with rats over in Germany?" Holmes inquired.
In his mind's eye, Holmes pictured Germany's Kaiser Wilhelm II on a giant glass slide under a giant microscope.
"I shall continue my work in Mendel's new science of genetics," was Faust's reply, "I'm thinking of working with the Bavarian Forest's rich supply of magic mushrooms to create new pharmaceuticals and perhaps someday in the field of human genetics I shall create an übermensch."
"I imagine Nietzsche would approve," Holmes lit his pipe.
. . .
Sherlock Holmes rode the train from Stamford to London with veterinarian Fred Clegg.
"So you have some business to attend to in London, Mr. Clegg?" Holmes asked the veterinarian as he gazed out at the English countryside.
"Some brief business, yes, Mr. Holmes," Clegg gazed at the detective.
"And then back to your veterinary practice and livery stable business?" Holmes asked.
"Indeed, Mr. Holmes," Clegg smiled.
"Ever consider any other plans in your future besides running a horse drawn omnibus service in the seaside resort of Morecambe?" Holmes asked.
"Well, I've sometimes thought of going out to Canada," Clegg answered.
"Canada, eh?" Holmes felt a sudden craving for beer and back bacon.
"Yes, the Northwest Territories," Clegg nodded, "possibly the Alberta Territory. They say there's lots of good potential ranch land and farmland in and around the area of the Red Deer River Badlands."
"That was the area where the geologist Tyrrell discovered 10 years ago bones belonging to one of those giant creatures we call dinosaurs?" Holmes asked.
"That was the area all right," Clegg smiled.
"I wonder if any such creatures are around today," Holmes mused aloud.
"Only in the House of Lords," Clegg winked.
Holmes laughed.
"What about you, Mr. Holmes?" Clegg asked, "Returning to your old haunts in London?".
"Eventually, Mr. Clegg," Holmes looked pained as he talked, "I have some family business to attend to in Paris."
"Oh really?" Clegg seemed surprised.
"Yes, it's my twin sister Sherrielock Holmes," Holmes frowned, "she's done something of potential embarrassment to the family."
"I didn't even know you had a twin sister," Clegg seemed genuinely shocked, "Dr. Watson has only mentioned an older brother Mycroft in his articles about you."
"Dr. Watson doesn't know about Sherrielock," Holmes lit a pipe, "she's the black sheep of the family."
"Oh," Clegg nodded sympathetically.
"I can only deduce what she does for a living," Holmes looked out the window again, "in her room, she has all sorts of whips and riding crops and wooden paddles and sinister looking hairbrushes. In her closet, all sorts of leather corsets and black velvet skirts. And her clientele is mainly made up of members of the British Cabinet and the House of Lords."
"And she's now in Paris?" Fred Clegg asked.
"Yes, it's come to my attention that she has appeared in several nude drawings and paintings done by that notorious Montmartre artist Toulouse-Lautrec," Holmes' face turned red, "such exposure the Holmes family doesn't really need."
"You have my sympathy, Mr. Holmes," Fred Clegg extended his hand.
"Thank you, Clegg," the detective shook the veterinarian's hand.
"And will you be telling Dr. Watson of our adventure with the Giant Rat of Sumatra?" Clegg asked.
"No," Holmes shook his head, "I don't want every vampire hunter in the world pursuing the lovely Miss Vittoria Donna Gina. So if the matter of the Matilda Briggs and the Giant Rat of Sumatra should ever come up, I'll just tell Dr. Watson that it's a story for which the world is not yet prepared."
-A Sherlock Holmes novella chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 12th
2015.
-THE END-
Sent from my iPhone
Friday, November 13, 2015
Friday The 13th Massacre Pan Goatee Style
Friday The 13th Massacre Pan Goatee Style
It was Friday the 13th.
A festive holiday for serial killers everywhere.
In honour of that serial killer with the hockey mask and big knife who's always penalized for slashing- Jason.
Friday the 13th was to serial killers what Christmas, Hanukkah and Diwali were to other people.
Serial killer Pan Goatee, who now worked as a contract hired assassin for the U.S. government and therefore just did serial killing as a hobby, grabbed his laser light beam machete.
When Pan Goatee decided that he was far more intelligent than your average run of the mill serial killers a year and a half ago, he noticed that many serial killers predominantly killed beautiful women as their victims.
This was strange, Pan Goatee thought to himself on an evening of profound philosophical reflection.
God only knows, Pan contemplated, there were too few beautiful women and too many ugly women in the world already.
Particularly in those so-called advanced western countries where The Oprah Show enjoyed immense popularity after that no-good interfering busybody spent decades telling women that they were good just the way they were.
This piece of sophist reasoning had led to an explosion of female ugliness unprecedented in human history.
If the angelic sons of God had come down to earth today and had seen the daughters of men like they did in Genesis Chapter 6 (where it was written back then, "That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose" thus leading to the procreation of Nephilim- giants), it would surely be written today, "That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were ugly; they regurgitated en masse and hurriedly left the planet never to return".
There would be no giants in the earth these days.
Thus Pan Goatee had a moment of intellectual epiphany and he would do what no serial killer had done before.
He would only bump off ugly women.
And in so doing, make the world a more beautiful place to live.
Surely those great practitioners of aesthetics and lovers of beauty like Nietzsche, Oscar Wilde and the Greek god Apollo would most wholeheartedly approve.
And so Pan Goatee headed out that morning of Friday November 13th on his own personal urban beautification improvement project.
As he walked down a back alley, he noticed a woman walking her dog straight ahead.
Some strange looking man came walking down the alley and frightened the dog.
The dog started barking and the woman turned and pulled the dog away from the maniacal looking man.
At the moment she turned around, Pan Goatee noticed how repulsively ugly she was.
"Egad," Pan Goatee emptied his breakfast on the side of the lane, "Some dog is out taking her dog for a walk."
As the maniac man passed him by looking thoroughly crazed and insane, Pan Goatee walked up to the ugly looking woman and beheaded her.
"This wouldn't have happened if you had had the courtesy to wear a paper bag over your head when you went out today," Pan Goatee remarked as he beheaded her.
The four-legged dog barked and snarled.
Pan Goatee beheaded him as well.
"We must put an end to noise pollution in the city," Pan Goatee commented as he permanently silenced the yippy creature's excessive barking.
Pan Goatee looked back down the alley at the maniacal looking man who seemed to be walking around in circles as he walked.
"Hm," Pan Goatee thought to himself, "We can't have such deranged looking maniacs wandering the streets either. They're a threat to civilization."
Pan Goatee walked up to the maniacal deranged looking man and beheaded him.
"We must stop insanity in its tracks while we still have the time," was Pan Goatee's verbal homespun bit of philosophy as he sent the man to Hades' Home For The Chronically Insane.
He then kicked the maniac's severed head down the alley where it went a fair distance.
Hm, he really should try out to play for Manchester United or maybe a position as a field goal kicker for an NFL team.
That afternoon he beheaded an ugly female cyclist who not only visually assaulted the city with her looks but was also using her bike on the sidewalks instead of the streets as well.
He then beheaded a couple of ugly looking women pedestrians who got too close to him on the sidewalk as he walked along.
After a successful day of beheadings, he went home and read some Nietzsche and Oscar Wilde before going to bed.
Jason would have been proud.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday November 13th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
It was Friday the 13th.
A festive holiday for serial killers everywhere.
In honour of that serial killer with the hockey mask and big knife who's always penalized for slashing- Jason.
Friday the 13th was to serial killers what Christmas, Hanukkah and Diwali were to other people.
Serial killer Pan Goatee, who now worked as a contract hired assassin for the U.S. government and therefore just did serial killing as a hobby, grabbed his laser light beam machete.
When Pan Goatee decided that he was far more intelligent than your average run of the mill serial killers a year and a half ago, he noticed that many serial killers predominantly killed beautiful women as their victims.
This was strange, Pan Goatee thought to himself on an evening of profound philosophical reflection.
God only knows, Pan contemplated, there were too few beautiful women and too many ugly women in the world already.
Particularly in those so-called advanced western countries where The Oprah Show enjoyed immense popularity after that no-good interfering busybody spent decades telling women that they were good just the way they were.
This piece of sophist reasoning had led to an explosion of female ugliness unprecedented in human history.
If the angelic sons of God had come down to earth today and had seen the daughters of men like they did in Genesis Chapter 6 (where it was written back then, "That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose" thus leading to the procreation of Nephilim- giants), it would surely be written today, "That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were ugly; they regurgitated en masse and hurriedly left the planet never to return".
There would be no giants in the earth these days.
Thus Pan Goatee had a moment of intellectual epiphany and he would do what no serial killer had done before.
He would only bump off ugly women.
And in so doing, make the world a more beautiful place to live.
Surely those great practitioners of aesthetics and lovers of beauty like Nietzsche, Oscar Wilde and the Greek god Apollo would most wholeheartedly approve.
And so Pan Goatee headed out that morning of Friday November 13th on his own personal urban beautification improvement project.
As he walked down a back alley, he noticed a woman walking her dog straight ahead.
Some strange looking man came walking down the alley and frightened the dog.
The dog started barking and the woman turned and pulled the dog away from the maniacal looking man.
At the moment she turned around, Pan Goatee noticed how repulsively ugly she was.
"Egad," Pan Goatee emptied his breakfast on the side of the lane, "Some dog is out taking her dog for a walk."
As the maniac man passed him by looking thoroughly crazed and insane, Pan Goatee walked up to the ugly looking woman and beheaded her.
"This wouldn't have happened if you had had the courtesy to wear a paper bag over your head when you went out today," Pan Goatee remarked as he beheaded her.
The four-legged dog barked and snarled.
Pan Goatee beheaded him as well.
"We must put an end to noise pollution in the city," Pan Goatee commented as he permanently silenced the yippy creature's excessive barking.
Pan Goatee looked back down the alley at the maniacal looking man who seemed to be walking around in circles as he walked.
"Hm," Pan Goatee thought to himself, "We can't have such deranged looking maniacs wandering the streets either. They're a threat to civilization."
Pan Goatee walked up to the maniacal deranged looking man and beheaded him.
"We must stop insanity in its tracks while we still have the time," was Pan Goatee's verbal homespun bit of philosophy as he sent the man to Hades' Home For The Chronically Insane.
He then kicked the maniac's severed head down the alley where it went a fair distance.
Hm, he really should try out to play for Manchester United or maybe a position as a field goal kicker for an NFL team.
That afternoon he beheaded an ugly female cyclist who not only visually assaulted the city with her looks but was also using her bike on the sidewalks instead of the streets as well.
He then beheaded a couple of ugly looking women pedestrians who got too close to him on the sidewalk as he walked along.
After a successful day of beheadings, he went home and read some Nietzsche and Oscar Wilde before going to bed.
Jason would have been proud.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday November 13th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Osiris' Vision For One World Government
Osiris' Vision For One World Government
Having got his mojo back recently (after paying his arch-enemy brother's top research scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher a huge amount of money to re-attach a certain long lost body part), Osiris was sitting in a Rome night club hoping to get it on with the ladies.
A drunken diplomat who sat next to him up at the bar said to him, "Excuse me, sir, I was just having a conversation with my friend here," he gestured to the empty seat next to him, "about what form a one- world government should take if one should ever happen to come into place. What form do you think it will take?."
Osiris had been brushing up on world history ever since he had been brought back into material existence by the accelerated high particle beams of an ET laser death ray gun fired in reverse a year ago this past Halloween.
Thus he was able to answer the question.
"Well," Osiris dropped an ancient cyclops' eyeball into his martini, "I don't think either an extreme laissez-faire capitalism nor a Soviet style Communism shall succeed in establishing a one-world government."
"No, what will succeed then?" The diplomat bought another round of drinks for himself and his invisible bunny rabbit friend sitting next to him.
"I believe it will be a globalized form of German National Socialism," Osiris answered, "but one that will be truly global and not Germanic. It will be the political and economic system of the Third Reich on a world-wide scale but one devoid of its racial theories and notions of racial superiority. In this globalized form of an international National Socialism, all races and ethnic groups will be accepted. It will be certain individuals that will be persecuted but for their beliefs and not for their racial or ethnic backgrounds- individuals who do not follow the global hive mindset (what Teilhard de Chardin would probably consider an Incarnation of his Noosphere). Those individuals will be persecuted and maybe eliminated.
The rest will follow the world leader without question under the slogan One Planet One People One Leader.
And of course instead of doing everything for the Fatherland, they will do everything for Mother Earth."
"Wow," the diplomat pondered this for a moment and then turned to his invisible friend (who had not touched his Harvey Wallbanger), "what do you think about that, Harvey, old boy?".
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 12th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Having got his mojo back recently (after paying his arch-enemy brother's top research scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher a huge amount of money to re-attach a certain long lost body part), Osiris was sitting in a Rome night club hoping to get it on with the ladies.
A drunken diplomat who sat next to him up at the bar said to him, "Excuse me, sir, I was just having a conversation with my friend here," he gestured to the empty seat next to him, "about what form a one- world government should take if one should ever happen to come into place. What form do you think it will take?."
Osiris had been brushing up on world history ever since he had been brought back into material existence by the accelerated high particle beams of an ET laser death ray gun fired in reverse a year ago this past Halloween.
Thus he was able to answer the question.
"Well," Osiris dropped an ancient cyclops' eyeball into his martini, "I don't think either an extreme laissez-faire capitalism nor a Soviet style Communism shall succeed in establishing a one-world government."
"No, what will succeed then?" The diplomat bought another round of drinks for himself and his invisible bunny rabbit friend sitting next to him.
"I believe it will be a globalized form of German National Socialism," Osiris answered, "but one that will be truly global and not Germanic. It will be the political and economic system of the Third Reich on a world-wide scale but one devoid of its racial theories and notions of racial superiority. In this globalized form of an international National Socialism, all races and ethnic groups will be accepted. It will be certain individuals that will be persecuted but for their beliefs and not for their racial or ethnic backgrounds- individuals who do not follow the global hive mindset (what Teilhard de Chardin would probably consider an Incarnation of his Noosphere). Those individuals will be persecuted and maybe eliminated.
The rest will follow the world leader without question under the slogan One Planet One People One Leader.
And of course instead of doing everything for the Fatherland, they will do everything for Mother Earth."
"Wow," the diplomat pondered this for a moment and then turned to his invisible friend (who had not touched his Harvey Wallbanger), "what do you think about that, Harvey, old boy?".
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 12th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
The Apparition
The Apparition
Stu Nichols was a reporter and news correspondent newly walking the Vatican beat.
He strolled through the Vatican Gardens waiting for the Cardinal he was to interview.
In the distance, he saw what looked to be a priest or monk standing by one of the bushes.
The monk or priest beckoned to him.
Stu approached.
The man had extremely long wild looking hair and a very long flowing beard.
As Stu approached, he noticed the Cross around the monk-priest's neck was not a Crucifix or even a Latin rite Cross.
It was a Russian Orthodox style Cross.
The man also had the most hypnotic looking eyes he had ever seen.
Stu stopped in his tracks.
For he suddenly recognized the man.
From photos from history books in his student days at Oxford.
Rasputin.
The Mad Monk.
Who helped pave the way for the fall of the Czar through his manipulations and control over the Russian Imperial Family.
The figure suddenly vanished into thin air.
"Good evening, Mr. Nichols," the voice of Cardinal JM startled the reporter as the Vatican prelate approached from the side, "It looks like you've seen a ghost."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 11th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Stu Nichols was a reporter and news correspondent newly walking the Vatican beat.
He strolled through the Vatican Gardens waiting for the Cardinal he was to interview.
In the distance, he saw what looked to be a priest or monk standing by one of the bushes.
The monk or priest beckoned to him.
Stu approached.
The man had extremely long wild looking hair and a very long flowing beard.
As Stu approached, he noticed the Cross around the monk-priest's neck was not a Crucifix or even a Latin rite Cross.
It was a Russian Orthodox style Cross.
The man also had the most hypnotic looking eyes he had ever seen.
Stu stopped in his tracks.
For he suddenly recognized the man.
From photos from history books in his student days at Oxford.
Rasputin.
The Mad Monk.
Who helped pave the way for the fall of the Czar through his manipulations and control over the Russian Imperial Family.
The figure suddenly vanished into thin air.
"Good evening, Mr. Nichols," the voice of Cardinal JM startled the reporter as the Vatican prelate approached from the side, "It looks like you've seen a ghost."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 11th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Renfield and The Modigliani Painting
Renfield and The Modigliani Painting
"You look pale," Amadeus commented as he ate his 17th dish of vanilla ice cream.
"It's this article I read on the BBC News website," Renfield looked as white as a ghost.
This is the article:
http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-34775073
"The Modigliani painting Nu couche (Reclining nude) was sold this past Monday at Christie's in New York for $170.4 million U.S.," Amadeus read the story on his iPhone, "Hm, that woman in the painting looks familiar."
"She should," Renfield turned the colour of a polar bear, "that's Sherrielock Holmes."
"Your personal dominatrix?" Amadeus asked Renfield as Athelstan the butler entered the room to take away the tea pot.
"You didn't have to mention her profession in such a loud voice," Renfield now looked as red as a lobster.
"It says here this painting was painted back in 1917 and 1918," Amadeus reached for some dates to eat, "gosh, Sherrielock still looks good for her age."
"That's the thing," Renfield turned back to the colour of an albino again, "when she told me that she was Sherlock Holmes' twin sister from the late 19th Century, I thought maybe she had just eaten too many magic mushrooms or something. I didn't take her seriously. I know she isn't a vampiress from those times she walked me while I was wearing a dog collar in Hyde Park during daylight hours. So how did she achieve immortality?".
"And she didn't do it in Dorian Gray style either," Amadeus spilled red strawberry jam all over himself, "seeing as how her image in the painting still looks wonderful."
"Unless she's got another painting in her attic somewhere," Renfield now looked like a snow man.
The power suddenly went out.
"The power is out," Renfield stated the obvious.
While they listened to the sound of Athelstan tripping and falling in the dark as he struggled to find the mansion's spare electric generator, Amadeus' iPhone rang.
"That was Dr. Cadbury Rocher down at the Set Enterprises lab," Amadeus said, "apparently Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster had a major psychic episode in the aquarium. He not only knocked out the power in the facility but blew out the entire electrical grid of the entire City of London as well."
"It's that damn painting," Renfield's eyes glowed in the dark, "I know it is."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 10th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
"You look pale," Amadeus commented as he ate his 17th dish of vanilla ice cream.
"It's this article I read on the BBC News website," Renfield looked as white as a ghost.
This is the article:
http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-34775073
"The Modigliani painting Nu couche (Reclining nude) was sold this past Monday at Christie's in New York for $170.4 million U.S.," Amadeus read the story on his iPhone, "Hm, that woman in the painting looks familiar."
"She should," Renfield turned the colour of a polar bear, "that's Sherrielock Holmes."
"Your personal dominatrix?" Amadeus asked Renfield as Athelstan the butler entered the room to take away the tea pot.
"You didn't have to mention her profession in such a loud voice," Renfield now looked as red as a lobster.
"It says here this painting was painted back in 1917 and 1918," Amadeus reached for some dates to eat, "gosh, Sherrielock still looks good for her age."
"That's the thing," Renfield turned back to the colour of an albino again, "when she told me that she was Sherlock Holmes' twin sister from the late 19th Century, I thought maybe she had just eaten too many magic mushrooms or something. I didn't take her seriously. I know she isn't a vampiress from those times she walked me while I was wearing a dog collar in Hyde Park during daylight hours. So how did she achieve immortality?".
"And she didn't do it in Dorian Gray style either," Amadeus spilled red strawberry jam all over himself, "seeing as how her image in the painting still looks wonderful."
"Unless she's got another painting in her attic somewhere," Renfield now looked like a snow man.
The power suddenly went out.
"The power is out," Renfield stated the obvious.
While they listened to the sound of Athelstan tripping and falling in the dark as he struggled to find the mansion's spare electric generator, Amadeus' iPhone rang.
"That was Dr. Cadbury Rocher down at the Set Enterprises lab," Amadeus said, "apparently Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster had a major psychic episode in the aquarium. He not only knocked out the power in the facility but blew out the entire electrical grid of the entire City of London as well."
"It's that damn painting," Renfield's eyes glowed in the dark, "I know it is."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 10th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Friday, November 6, 2015
All You Can Eat Buffet
All You Can Eat Buffet
Ben noticed the huge line-up ahead on the sidewalk as he walked down the street.
"Is there a big concert or something?" Ben asked the last person in line as he walked by.
"No, this line-up is for a new all you can eat buffet," the man answered.
"Really?" Ben was surprised, "They must have really really good food if there's this long a line up for it."
"There's a special promotional offer for today," the last man in line explained, "they'll pay you $20 if you can handle the all you can eat buffet according to this promotional pamphlet flyer here."
"What?" Ben was incredulous, "you can eat all you want and then they'll pay you $20 at the end?".
"That's right," the last man in line nodded.
"Well, I might as well join in," Ben got behind the man.
The line seemed to be moving pretty quickly and before Ben knew it, he was the first person in line before the door that said All You Can Eat Buffet.
The door opened and Ben walked in.
The door immediately closed behind him.
"So," Ben asked the maitre'd at the door, "how do you expect to make a profit if you give people an all you can eat buffet and then you pay them at the end?".
"You only get the money if you can survive handling the buffet," the maitre'd explained, "and besides the all you can eat buffet isn't for you... it's for... him."
The maitre'd pushed Ben into a room which had a huge pit on the floor with a sign beside it that said Glemp the Giant Cannibal.
The giant's hands emerged from the pit and grabbed Ben.
Before Ben knew it, he was in the giant's mouth where he was crunched and munched to pieces by Glemp's huge teeth.
Ben did not get his $20.
-A short story
written by Christopher
Friday November 6th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Ben noticed the huge line-up ahead on the sidewalk as he walked down the street.
"Is there a big concert or something?" Ben asked the last person in line as he walked by.
"No, this line-up is for a new all you can eat buffet," the man answered.
"Really?" Ben was surprised, "They must have really really good food if there's this long a line up for it."
"There's a special promotional offer for today," the last man in line explained, "they'll pay you $20 if you can handle the all you can eat buffet according to this promotional pamphlet flyer here."
"What?" Ben was incredulous, "you can eat all you want and then they'll pay you $20 at the end?".
"That's right," the last man in line nodded.
"Well, I might as well join in," Ben got behind the man.
The line seemed to be moving pretty quickly and before Ben knew it, he was the first person in line before the door that said All You Can Eat Buffet.
The door opened and Ben walked in.
The door immediately closed behind him.
"So," Ben asked the maitre'd at the door, "how do you expect to make a profit if you give people an all you can eat buffet and then you pay them at the end?".
"You only get the money if you can survive handling the buffet," the maitre'd explained, "and besides the all you can eat buffet isn't for you... it's for... him."
The maitre'd pushed Ben into a room which had a huge pit on the floor with a sign beside it that said Glemp the Giant Cannibal.
The giant's hands emerged from the pit and grabbed Ben.
Before Ben knew it, he was in the giant's mouth where he was crunched and munched to pieces by Glemp's huge teeth.
Ben did not get his $20.
-A short story
written by Christopher
Friday November 6th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Cardinal JM and Osiris
Cardinal JM and Osiris
The Vatican Cardinal JM was in a downtown Rome lounge waiting to meet the ancient Egyptian vampire Osiris.
His personal secretary Father Oliver Thomas Wardenclyffe would not be accompanying him as he usually did to such meetings.
Father Wardenclyffe would be attending a performance of a new ballet Swan Lake In The Desert at the U. S. Embassy this night.
The original avante-garde ballet was being performed by the U.S. Marine Corps Barack Obama Performing Arts Division.
"Your Eminence," The Vampire Osiris dressed in a tuxedo and tie greeted Cardinal JM.
"Your Most Exalted Ancient Egyptian Highness," Cardinal JM bowed.
"You look well, JM," Osiris stated.
"You're looking somewhat green this evening," the Cardinal observed, "aren't you feeling well?".
"I've always looked green," Osiris snapped irritably, "if you ever bothered to look at pictures of my painted image on the walls of Egyptian temples and tombs. It was a condition brought about by eating too many jars of pickles when I was younger."
"I apologize for my abysmal ignorance, your Highness," Cardinal JM looked flustered, "ancient Greek religion is my field of study."
"It wasn't Catholicism?" Osiris inquired.
"I know very little about Catholicism," Cardinal JM replied, "which probably explains why I was named a Cardinal. If I had known even less, I would have probably been elected Pope at the Papal Conclave back in 2013."
"Why did you arrange for us to meet tonight?" Osiris ordered a martini with extra olives from the waiter.
"I have a gift for you," Cardinal JM put a small box on the table, "this was recently found in the Vatican Archives."
Osiris opened the box and cried, "My original phallus."
"Yes," Cardinal JM nodded and smiled, "the one that your brother Set cut off so brutally in Egypt many millennia ago in a procedure which these days may or may not be covered under modern Obamacare, I'd have to check on that."
"The one piece of my original 14 dismembered body parts that my sister, wife and lover Isis was never able to find," Osiris wept.
"It was found back in 1922 by a Jesuit Egyptologist who died after being bitten by an asp on his ass," the Cardinal explained, "our aging archivist only got around to cataloging it this year."
To be continued.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 4th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
The Vatican Cardinal JM was in a downtown Rome lounge waiting to meet the ancient Egyptian vampire Osiris.
His personal secretary Father Oliver Thomas Wardenclyffe would not be accompanying him as he usually did to such meetings.
Father Wardenclyffe would be attending a performance of a new ballet Swan Lake In The Desert at the U. S. Embassy this night.
The original avante-garde ballet was being performed by the U.S. Marine Corps Barack Obama Performing Arts Division.
"Your Eminence," The Vampire Osiris dressed in a tuxedo and tie greeted Cardinal JM.
"Your Most Exalted Ancient Egyptian Highness," Cardinal JM bowed.
"You look well, JM," Osiris stated.
"You're looking somewhat green this evening," the Cardinal observed, "aren't you feeling well?".
"I've always looked green," Osiris snapped irritably, "if you ever bothered to look at pictures of my painted image on the walls of Egyptian temples and tombs. It was a condition brought about by eating too many jars of pickles when I was younger."
"I apologize for my abysmal ignorance, your Highness," Cardinal JM looked flustered, "ancient Greek religion is my field of study."
"It wasn't Catholicism?" Osiris inquired.
"I know very little about Catholicism," Cardinal JM replied, "which probably explains why I was named a Cardinal. If I had known even less, I would have probably been elected Pope at the Papal Conclave back in 2013."
"Why did you arrange for us to meet tonight?" Osiris ordered a martini with extra olives from the waiter.
"I have a gift for you," Cardinal JM put a small box on the table, "this was recently found in the Vatican Archives."
Osiris opened the box and cried, "My original phallus."
"Yes," Cardinal JM nodded and smiled, "the one that your brother Set cut off so brutally in Egypt many millennia ago in a procedure which these days may or may not be covered under modern Obamacare, I'd have to check on that."
"The one piece of my original 14 dismembered body parts that my sister, wife and lover Isis was never able to find," Osiris wept.
"It was found back in 1922 by a Jesuit Egyptologist who died after being bitten by an asp on his ass," the Cardinal explained, "our aging archivist only got around to cataloging it this year."
To be continued.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday November 4th
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Mount Hermon and The UFOs
Mount Hermon and The UFOs
Yuri, a pilot in the Russian Air Force, was doing a reconnaissance mission over Mount Hermon on the border between Lebanon, Syria and the Israeli occupied Golan Heights.
Yuri radioed in to base.
"Central Command, have spotted a series of UFOs over Mount Hermon. Should I engage?" asked Yuri.
"Yuri, this is Central Command," the voice on the radio answered, "please clarify what you mean by UFOs?".
"Flying saucers," Yuri replied, "what are called extraterrestrial spacecraft or ET vehicles in popular movies. Repeat question, should I engage?".
"How many would you estimate are there?" The voice on the radio inquired.
"According to in-flight computer calculations of the blips on the radar, exactly 200," Yuri answered, "repeat question, should I engage?".
"Negative, Yuri," the voice ordered, "Get to Hell out of there and get back to base."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 3rd
2015.
Yuri, a pilot in the Russian Air Force, was doing a reconnaissance mission over Mount Hermon on the border between Lebanon, Syria and the Israeli occupied Golan Heights.
Yuri radioed in to base.
"Central Command, have spotted a series of UFOs over Mount Hermon. Should I engage?" asked Yuri.
"Yuri, this is Central Command," the voice on the radio answered, "please clarify what you mean by UFOs?".
"Flying saucers," Yuri replied, "what are called extraterrestrial spacecraft or ET vehicles in popular movies. Repeat question, should I engage?".
"How many would you estimate are there?" The voice on the radio inquired.
"According to in-flight computer calculations of the blips on the radar, exactly 200," Yuri answered, "repeat question, should I engage?".
"Negative, Yuri," the voice ordered, "Get to Hell out of there and get back to base."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday November 3rd
2015.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Renfield and Recep: A Tale of Two Assholes
Renfield and Recep: A Tale of Two Assholes
To Renfield R. Renfield, Sherrielock Holmes would always be THE woman, Renfield thought to himself as he rubbed his buttocks.
He had spent Halloween in Sleepy Hollow, U.S.A.
On the plane ride back home to London, he had sung the Sir Elton John song I'm Still Standing.
And had literally done just what the title says on the entire flight home.
In the living room, Amadeus was watching the news on television.
U.S. Secretary of Defense Ashton Carter was answering questions from members of the media on the TV screen.
"Mr. Secretary," said one reporter, "given recent happenings in both Iraq and Syria, is the President breaking his promise about not having boots on the ground in those countries?."
"The President is not breaking his promise," Carter reiterated, "the Army has a huge appropriations order for ballet slippers under Presidential directive."
. . .
The MI-6 Operative called Diablos Nocturna was writing an analysis for himself on the results of today's Parliamentary elections in Turkey.
He wrote, "Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan took another step closer to creating a new Ottoman Empire with himself as Sultan.
His so-called Justice and Development Party (AKP) won a majority of seats in today's Turkish parliamentary elections.
Blowing away his opponents in two separate bombings since last June's election and blaming it on ISIS seems to have helped him considerably.
He doesn't have enough seats in Parliament to enact changes to the Turkish Constitution yet but no doubt a few more well-placed and well-timed bombings will help him overcome those obstacles as well."
-Diablos Nocturna
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday November 1st
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
To Renfield R. Renfield, Sherrielock Holmes would always be THE woman, Renfield thought to himself as he rubbed his buttocks.
He had spent Halloween in Sleepy Hollow, U.S.A.
On the plane ride back home to London, he had sung the Sir Elton John song I'm Still Standing.
And had literally done just what the title says on the entire flight home.
In the living room, Amadeus was watching the news on television.
U.S. Secretary of Defense Ashton Carter was answering questions from members of the media on the TV screen.
"Mr. Secretary," said one reporter, "given recent happenings in both Iraq and Syria, is the President breaking his promise about not having boots on the ground in those countries?."
"The President is not breaking his promise," Carter reiterated, "the Army has a huge appropriations order for ballet slippers under Presidential directive."
. . .
The MI-6 Operative called Diablos Nocturna was writing an analysis for himself on the results of today's Parliamentary elections in Turkey.
He wrote, "Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan took another step closer to creating a new Ottoman Empire with himself as Sultan.
His so-called Justice and Development Party (AKP) won a majority of seats in today's Turkish parliamentary elections.
Blowing away his opponents in two separate bombings since last June's election and blaming it on ISIS seems to have helped him considerably.
He doesn't have enough seats in Parliament to enact changes to the Turkish Constitution yet but no doubt a few more well-placed and well-timed bombings will help him overcome those obstacles as well."
-Diablos Nocturna
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday November 1st
2015.
Sent from my iPhone
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