Set Sees An Optometrist
The billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set entered through the front door of his colossal London mansion.
His valet Athelstan stood there to put away his black top hat, his black cape and black jackal headed walking stick.
Set growled when, on the dresser at the entrance, he noticed the evening
headline of The Times of London-Pope Francis Enjoys Eating Lebanese
Donairs With Egyptian God Osiris At High Altar of Saint Peter's
Basilica.
"What's that in your hand, Boss?" a donair eating Amadeus Emanon asked
the billionaire Egyptian vampire as he entered the sitting room.
"It's a prescription," Set replied as he put the piece of paper down on a desk.
"Prescription?" Renfield R. Renfield looked up from the cup of Bavarian
Magic Mushroom laced tea that he was drinking, "You doing drugs again,
Boss?".
"No, it's an optical prescription," Set answered, "from an optometrist. It's a prescription for a new pair of glasses."
"You need glasses, Boss?" Amadeus wondered where his dropped crumb of
donair had got to against the background of the floor's Persian carpet.
"Yes, I do," Set snorted through his nostrils.
"Admittedly, sir," Athelstan stated sympathetically, "the size of
writing they use in Egyptian hieroglyphs these days leaves a lot to be
desired."
"You shouldn't have got a prescription for glasses, Boss," Renfield
inhaled his tea the way an 18th Century English gentleman would have
inhaled snuff, "you'd look much better with contact lenses."
"And how am I suppose to put contact lenses in my eyes every night
without looking like a post-paternity discovering and post-maternity
discovering Oedipus Rex?" Set held up his 66 inch fingernails.
"Good point," Renfield answered.
"Actually it would be a bad point," Amadeus quipped, "if he tried putting a contact lens in his eye."
Renfield blamed the magic mushroom laced tea for suddenly analyzing
situations with the mental capacity of your average voter in rural
British Columbia.
Amadeus sang Handel's Hallelujah Chorus when he successfully found the crumb of donair on the Persian carpet.
"So Renfield, did you get that text message I sent you earlier this
evening?" Set asked as he helped himself to a bowl of human fingers.
"I did, Boss," Renfield acknowledged.
"What message was this, Boss?" Amadeus started filing his finger nails with his nail file.
"I ran into Sherrielock Holmes earlier this evening," Set explained,
"which reminds me, Athelstan, would you mind leaving a tube of medicinal
ointment by my sarcophagus this morning and also ask my lovely Filipino
nurse to be on standby to apply the said ointment to my said
buttocks?".
"Of course, sir," Athelstan bowed.
"Getting back to the message," Set proceeded to answer Amadeus'
question, "Sherrielock Holmes informed me that my nephew Horus was
actually depicted in Egyptian hieroglyphs with the head of a hawk not a
falcon. When I heard this, the thought hit me that I may have unjustly
decapitated a back alley urinator the other night when I noticed a
falcon headed spirit with an ancient Egyptian accent possessing his
body. Sherrielock told me that it was actually the Egyptian moon god
Khonsu who had the head of a falcon and so I thought maybe I had
decapitated Khonsu's earthly human vessel instead. I don't want to
alienate any other members in good standing of the Egyptian pantheon as I
need all the allies I can get for my coming global war against Osiris
and Isis and Horus. So I asked Renfield via text message who it was that
had a falcon head among Egypt's ancient deities and who had a hawk
head? I asked him to do some research on the topic for me to illuminate
me when I got home."
"I went to the library and did some research on that very topic, Boss,"
Renfield helped himself to a drumstick from a bucket of KFC, "but your
illumination won't come in the form of a membership application from the
Illuminati as 99% of those members support the goals of Osiris and Isis
and Horus in the coming global war."
"That means I'm allied with Jesus of Nazareth of all people. How's that
for bloody irony?" Set spit a bloodied human hand (still holding on to a
clothing iron) out of his mouth.
"Say, Boss," Amadeus helped himself to the plate of crackers with caviar
that Athelstan offered him, "surely you yourself should remember which
deity had which head. Hawk or falcon? Horus or Khonsu? After all you're
taking the word of an admittedly extremely young looking and very
attractive 162-year-old leather skirted dominatrix when you yourself are
a vampire and Egyptian deity well over 3 millennia old and you knew
these entities from the very beginning. Why text message Renfield to do
research on the topic? Why not use your own memory?".
"Because," Set raged and foamed as he spit a mortal human tongue out of
his mouth, "like I've always told you whenever you constantly ask me
why I'm using 2 totally different colours of nail polish on each hand,
I've been suffering from extreme dementia ever since I watched that A
& E documentary on the lives of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Kim
Kardashian last year."
"And that," Renfield smiled, "is why the Boss no longer trusts his
memory. That's why he asked me to research the matter of Horus and
Khonsu and who was hawk and who was falcon. That's also why he's asked
me to manage his banking and chequing accounts as he goes through this
difficult period."
Amadeus looked out the window at the new BMW that Renfield had bought
himself earlier this week and was now parked on the driveway.
"So," Renfield put on his reading glasses and flipped through his
notebook to read Set what he had discovered on this subject, "Apparently
whether Horus was falcon headed or hawk headed depended on which
hieroglyphs were being used in which district of Egypt. Horus was often
depicted with the head of a falcon and in other places he was depicted
with the head of a hawk. Even Khonsu (that Miss Sherrielock Holmes
mentioned as being falcon headed) was depicted in many districts of
Egypt as having the head of a hawk. So it all depended on which district
of Egypt you were living in and what particular hieroglyphic image was
being used."
"I wonder what boiled tana leaves taste like," Amadeus mused aloud about
the variety of ancient Egyptian leaves that were used to keep the mummy
Kharis alive in the Universal Pictures Mummy horror films of the early
1940s.
"So in your opinion, Renfield," Set ignored the question posed by
Amadeus' filmographical botanical culinary musings, "which of those two
deities was most likely to have a falcon head and which was most likely
to have a hawk head?".
"Well in my humble opinion," Renfield adjusted his I'm The World's
Greatest Lover t- shirt, "it was usually Horus who was depicted as
falcon headed most of the time and Khonsu who was depicted as hawk
headed."
"So then Sherrielock Holmes was wrong?" Set queried.
"Yes," Renfield nodded, "but I wouldn't say that aloud to her unless you
wanted to have trouble sitting down for the next century."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 4th
2016.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Monday, March 28, 2016
Easter Reflections In A World Haunted By The Zombie Apocalypse
Easter Reflections In A World Haunted By The Zombie Apocalypse
Jesus rose from the dead
But Jesus is not a zombie
He is not the Living Dead
He is the Living fully living and truly alive (in a glorified body- perfectly alive now and forever)
-A poem written by Christopher
Easter Monday
Monday March 28th
2016.
Jesus rose from the dead
But Jesus is not a zombie
He is not the Living Dead
He is the Living fully living and truly alive (in a glorified body- perfectly alive now and forever)
-A poem written by Christopher
Easter Monday
Monday March 28th
2016.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
A Tale of Two Hybrids
A Tale of Two Hybrids
Pan Goatee was walking down the street of the city cutting off the heads of any ugly looking women who happened to cross his path.
When one attractive looking teen-aged girl requested taking a selfie with her and Pan Goatee cutting off the head of her ugly looking friend, Pan Goatee obliged but he put a bag over the ugly looking girl's head first.
"No use ruining your Facebook friends' day by having to look at an ugly looking person," Pan Goatee explained.
The girl took a selfie of herself smiling with her arms around a beaming photogenic Pan Goatee while the beaming satyr serial killer held up the paper bag wearing severed head of her ugly looking friend that dripped blood to the ground.
. . .
Another captured ISIS prisoner was taken into the interrogation chamber at a secret location in London where his interrogator Renfield R. Renfield was awaiting him.
Renfield was a freelance interrogator often used by Scotland Yard, MI-5 and MI-6 as well as the CIA (he was even used by a chapter of the PTA in Southern California at one juncture in time to deal with a couple of particularly obnoxious parents who were often disruptive at local PTA meetings).
Renfield's particularly unique form of interrogation was kept secret from the general public as it would no doubt upset the politically correct bleeding hearts among them.
Whenever the political elites in the West made use of those like Renfield, the streets of Western Civilization were usually safe.
When their conscience gave in to the cries of political correctness and they temporarily laid aside the Renfields of the world, that's when attacks like those that happened in Paris last year and yesterday in Brussels occurred.
Now after the Brussels attack, captured ISIS prisoners that were held at secret locales throughout Europe were wheeled into Renfield's interrogation center nicknamed The King and I Hotel (to honour those song lyrics from the musical The King and I that went, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...").
There inside The King and I Hotel interrogation center, Renfield would interview the prisoners in a very un-Oprah Winfreyesque fashion.
As the prisoner was wheeled into the room, Renfield was putting a couple of human eyeballs, severed hands, severed feet, and other severed body parts into a Ziploc plastic bag.
"Oh hello," Renfield flashed a warm friendly smile at the prisoner, "I'm just finishing up with the last of the fellow who was brought in before you."
As the ISIS prisoner gulped and swallowed hard, Renfield handed the Ziploc bag to a Scotland Yard policeman.
"Would you mind putting this in the refrigerator for me? I'll take it home so my boss can have it as a midnight snack later," he said referring to his regular employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
The policeman bowed and left.
"So," Renfield decided to make casual friendly chit chat before getting down to the nitty gritty of things, "Did you hear what that airhead Hillary Clinton said after winning in Arizona? She said she was proud to serve in an administration that didn't use torture. What an airhead. Barry Goldwater must have rolled over in his grave upon hearing that. Thank God (or I guess you say Allah don't you?) that such a stupid ugly old bat isn't running for Prime Minister of Britain."
Renfield looked at his Rolex watch, "Well, time to get down to business."
He took a pair of pliers out of the drawer.
"I always wondered," Renfield held up a pair of pliers, "how do you say 'Can you give me a blow job please?' in Arabic. I notice there's a lot of attractive looking Arab girls walking the streets of London these days and women are always much more impressed when you can speak to them in their language. So how do you say that?".
"I'm not going to tell you," the ISIS prisoner was defiant.
"Wrong answer," Renfield started pulling out the man's fingernails with the pliers while he recited the lines from an old Palmolive dishwashing liquid commercial from the 1960s, "It looks like you've got dishpan hands. You're probably using the wrong sort of dishwashing liquid. All that chapped skin doesn't look so good. Why not switch to Palmolive? Your hands will be soaking in them in a second."
Renfield put the man's hands in a dish of liquid.
The man started screaming his head off.
"Oops, me bad," Renfield grinned apologetically, "I must have accidentally put sulfuric acid instead of Palmolive dishwashing liquid in that dish."
Suddenly a knock at the door and a Scotland Yard policeman wheeled in a dolly with a huge tea pot and two cups.
"Oh, coffee break time," Renfield looked at his Rolex again, "The Interrogators' Union won these privileges for hardworking union members such as myself."
Renfield put one of the teacups down between the bound prisoner's genitals and then proceeded to pick up the teapot and sing Anna's song from The King and I, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you... a cup of tea..."
Renfield poured tea into the teacup between the man's genitals and then continued pouring even as the cup overflowed.
"Hm, your cup overfloweth," Renfield put the tea pot down and scratched his head, "I must remember to ask a Japanese geisha next time I see one how to do that properly in Japanese tea ceremony fashion."
As the prisoner screamed his head off, Renfield asked him, "Speaking of which, do you know how to say 'Can I have a blow job please?' in Japanese ?".
When the prisoner shook his head, Renfield said, "Wrong answer" and proceeded to use the pliers on the man's toe nails while reciting, "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, this little piggy went "Waaaah... waaaah... all the way home."
The prisoner started screaming.
"Yes," Renfield nodded his head smiling, "but more of a "Waaaah... waaaah!" Let's try it again one more time shall we until you get it right?".
Renfield then started pulling off the man's actual toes while reciting the childhood verse.
And such is a day in the life of interrogator Renfield R. Renfield- the bane of ISIS' existence- as he extracts personal information of a pick-up line nature for himself and secrets that governments could use to stop further terrorist attacks.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday March 23rd
2016.
Pan Goatee was walking down the street of the city cutting off the heads of any ugly looking women who happened to cross his path.
When one attractive looking teen-aged girl requested taking a selfie with her and Pan Goatee cutting off the head of her ugly looking friend, Pan Goatee obliged but he put a bag over the ugly looking girl's head first.
"No use ruining your Facebook friends' day by having to look at an ugly looking person," Pan Goatee explained.
The girl took a selfie of herself smiling with her arms around a beaming photogenic Pan Goatee while the beaming satyr serial killer held up the paper bag wearing severed head of her ugly looking friend that dripped blood to the ground.
. . .
Another captured ISIS prisoner was taken into the interrogation chamber at a secret location in London where his interrogator Renfield R. Renfield was awaiting him.
Renfield was a freelance interrogator often used by Scotland Yard, MI-5 and MI-6 as well as the CIA (he was even used by a chapter of the PTA in Southern California at one juncture in time to deal with a couple of particularly obnoxious parents who were often disruptive at local PTA meetings).
Renfield's particularly unique form of interrogation was kept secret from the general public as it would no doubt upset the politically correct bleeding hearts among them.
Whenever the political elites in the West made use of those like Renfield, the streets of Western Civilization were usually safe.
When their conscience gave in to the cries of political correctness and they temporarily laid aside the Renfields of the world, that's when attacks like those that happened in Paris last year and yesterday in Brussels occurred.
Now after the Brussels attack, captured ISIS prisoners that were held at secret locales throughout Europe were wheeled into Renfield's interrogation center nicknamed The King and I Hotel (to honour those song lyrics from the musical The King and I that went, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...").
There inside The King and I Hotel interrogation center, Renfield would interview the prisoners in a very un-Oprah Winfreyesque fashion.
As the prisoner was wheeled into the room, Renfield was putting a couple of human eyeballs, severed hands, severed feet, and other severed body parts into a Ziploc plastic bag.
"Oh hello," Renfield flashed a warm friendly smile at the prisoner, "I'm just finishing up with the last of the fellow who was brought in before you."
As the ISIS prisoner gulped and swallowed hard, Renfield handed the Ziploc bag to a Scotland Yard policeman.
"Would you mind putting this in the refrigerator for me? I'll take it home so my boss can have it as a midnight snack later," he said referring to his regular employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
The policeman bowed and left.
"So," Renfield decided to make casual friendly chit chat before getting down to the nitty gritty of things, "Did you hear what that airhead Hillary Clinton said after winning in Arizona? She said she was proud to serve in an administration that didn't use torture. What an airhead. Barry Goldwater must have rolled over in his grave upon hearing that. Thank God (or I guess you say Allah don't you?) that such a stupid ugly old bat isn't running for Prime Minister of Britain."
Renfield looked at his Rolex watch, "Well, time to get down to business."
He took a pair of pliers out of the drawer.
"I always wondered," Renfield held up a pair of pliers, "how do you say 'Can you give me a blow job please?' in Arabic. I notice there's a lot of attractive looking Arab girls walking the streets of London these days and women are always much more impressed when you can speak to them in their language. So how do you say that?".
"I'm not going to tell you," the ISIS prisoner was defiant.
"Wrong answer," Renfield started pulling out the man's fingernails with the pliers while he recited the lines from an old Palmolive dishwashing liquid commercial from the 1960s, "It looks like you've got dishpan hands. You're probably using the wrong sort of dishwashing liquid. All that chapped skin doesn't look so good. Why not switch to Palmolive? Your hands will be soaking in them in a second."
Renfield put the man's hands in a dish of liquid.
The man started screaming his head off.
"Oops, me bad," Renfield grinned apologetically, "I must have accidentally put sulfuric acid instead of Palmolive dishwashing liquid in that dish."
Suddenly a knock at the door and a Scotland Yard policeman wheeled in a dolly with a huge tea pot and two cups.
"Oh, coffee break time," Renfield looked at his Rolex again, "The Interrogators' Union won these privileges for hardworking union members such as myself."
Renfield put one of the teacups down between the bound prisoner's genitals and then proceeded to pick up the teapot and sing Anna's song from The King and I, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you... a cup of tea..."
Renfield poured tea into the teacup between the man's genitals and then continued pouring even as the cup overflowed.
"Hm, your cup overfloweth," Renfield put the tea pot down and scratched his head, "I must remember to ask a Japanese geisha next time I see one how to do that properly in Japanese tea ceremony fashion."
As the prisoner screamed his head off, Renfield asked him, "Speaking of which, do you know how to say 'Can I have a blow job please?' in Japanese ?".
When the prisoner shook his head, Renfield said, "Wrong answer" and proceeded to use the pliers on the man's toe nails while reciting, "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, this little piggy went "Waaaah... waaaah... all the way home."
The prisoner started screaming.
"Yes," Renfield nodded his head smiling, "but more of a "Waaaah... waaaah!" Let's try it again one more time shall we until you get it right?".
Renfield then started pulling off the man's actual toes while reciting the childhood verse.
And such is a day in the life of interrogator Renfield R. Renfield- the bane of ISIS' existence- as he extracts personal information of a pick-up line nature for himself and secrets that governments could use to stop further terrorist attacks.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday March 23rd
2016.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
The Headless Horseman In New York: A Poem
A can of Dew Kickstart one could barely swallow
when one saw the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
riding his horse down Fifth Avenue
swiping from a traffic cop a bowl of Irish stew
but realizing he had no mouth to eat it
he threw it aside quoting Michael Jackson, "Beat it."
He then rode to Park Avenue
and starting to feel a little blue
sang that grand old tune
by the light of silvery moon,
"Puttin' on the Ritz
Dressed up like a million dollar trouper
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper"
And having no head the Headless Horseman failed miserably at looking like Gary Cooper
he more resembled Donald Trump minus his red spider monkey fur toup-er
And thus he left New York a Presidential party pooper.
-A poem written by Christopher
Sunday March 20th 2016.
Friday, March 18, 2016
The Puppy Monkey Baby: Licensed To Thrill Or To Kill?
The Puppy Monkey Baby: Licensed To Thrill Or To Kill?
Russian Assistant Deputy Foreign Minister Nikolai Sonavitch was in London, England for a secret conference to see if the conflicts in Ukraine and Syria could be solved simultaneously.
The meeting was very hush hush and top secret.
Not even Barack Obama or even Alex Jones knew about it.
The chairman for the meeting would be a British parliamentarian named Magog Rhys Petley.
Nikolai was in his hotel room at the Saint James Hotel and had not been called to the meeting yet because apparently Petley was busy scouring the streets of London trying to find a carton of buttermilk.
Meanwhile reports on the radio said that a werewolf was seen walking the streets of London.
Nikolai turned off the radio and put on the television.
The TV was showing the Mountain Dew Kickstart commercial with Puppy Monkey Baby:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=
"How did the capitalist warmongers at Mountain Dew find out about Dr. Nicht Werhoffen's secret Puppy Monkey Baby creation in his top secret Moscow lab?" The lifelong Bolshevik Sonavitch wanted to know.
Dr. Nicht Werhoffen was the Russian FSB's leading mad scientist.
Dr. Werhoffen was formerly a mad scientist for the Stasi (the East German Secret Police) but had to seek employment elsewhere when the Berlin Wall came down.
The commercial it turned out (as Nikolai Sonavitch started to feel thirsty) was part of a documentary the BBC was doing on the Puppy Monkey Baby phenomenon.
As Sonavitch phoned down to the front desk and asked them to send up 3 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart, the BBC was interviewing Set Enterprises' chief corporate mad scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher.
Said Rocher, "The Puppy Monkey Baby is so yesterday. I created one back in 2001. Unfortunately it was applying for a job on the upper floors of one of the World Trade Center towers the morning of September 11th 2001. Set Enterprises' corporate lawyers still aren't sure whether to sue the Estate of Osama Bin Laden, the trio of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld or the Illuminati over that loss."
Shit, the British beat us in creating a Puppy Monkey Baby, Sonavitch thought to himself as the hotel porter brought in the 3 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart.
Sonavitch opened the first can and started drinking.
That old movie from 1942 The Cat People with Simone Simon was on one of the other channels so he started watching.
He was soon on his 3rd can of Mountain Dew Kickstart.
On the screen, the old Black and White movie suddenly turned into a coloured film and a beautiful leather skirted Asian dominatrix woman who called herself Sherrielock Holmes was standing there in the midst of a bunch of fiery red coloured cats.
"That's funny, I don't remember this scene," Nikolai Sonavitch commented.
The hotel room door suddenly opened and a Puppy Monkey Baby entered the room.
"Puppy Monkey Baby," the Puppy Monkey Baby kept repeating over and over.
The Puppy Monkey Baby jumped up on the coffee table in front of Sonavitch and did a little dance.
He then jumped on to Sonavitch's lap and proceeded to lick him on the face all the while saying Puppy Monkey Baby.
He then kissed Sonavitch on the lips and then pulled a carving knife out of his diaper and slashed the assistant deputy foreign minister of Russia to death.
The Puppy Monkey Baby then shapeshifted into his natural form of satyr serial killer and hired contract assassin Pan Goatee.
Said Goatee, "That was fun. I always thought it would be cool to play the part of Judas Iscariot but be quick about it."
He picked up the remaining can of Mountain Dew Kickstart and finished it saying, "There's no need to let this new Holy Trinity or 3-in-1 to go to waste."
He downed the Kickstart, belched and put the can back on the table.
"I'll let the cleaning staff pocket the return deposit money for this," Pan Goatee couldn't help but grin at his own personal generosity.
He turned back into a Puppy Monkey Baby again, "My audience- the hotel security cameras- awaits."
He went out the door and into the hall saying over and over again, "Puppy Monkey Baby... Puppy Monkey Baby... Puppy Monkey Baby... "
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 18th
2016
Russian Assistant Deputy Foreign Minister Nikolai Sonavitch was in London, England for a secret conference to see if the conflicts in Ukraine and Syria could be solved simultaneously.
The meeting was very hush hush and top secret.
Not even Barack Obama or even Alex Jones knew about it.
The chairman for the meeting would be a British parliamentarian named Magog Rhys Petley.
Nikolai was in his hotel room at the Saint James Hotel and had not been called to the meeting yet because apparently Petley was busy scouring the streets of London trying to find a carton of buttermilk.
Meanwhile reports on the radio said that a werewolf was seen walking the streets of London.
Nikolai turned off the radio and put on the television.
The TV was showing the Mountain Dew Kickstart commercial with Puppy Monkey Baby:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=
"How did the capitalist warmongers at Mountain Dew find out about Dr. Nicht Werhoffen's secret Puppy Monkey Baby creation in his top secret Moscow lab?" The lifelong Bolshevik Sonavitch wanted to know.
Dr. Nicht Werhoffen was the Russian FSB's leading mad scientist.
Dr. Werhoffen was formerly a mad scientist for the Stasi (the East German Secret Police) but had to seek employment elsewhere when the Berlin Wall came down.
The commercial it turned out (as Nikolai Sonavitch started to feel thirsty) was part of a documentary the BBC was doing on the Puppy Monkey Baby phenomenon.
As Sonavitch phoned down to the front desk and asked them to send up 3 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart, the BBC was interviewing Set Enterprises' chief corporate mad scientist Dr. Cadbury Rocher.
Said Rocher, "The Puppy Monkey Baby is so yesterday. I created one back in 2001. Unfortunately it was applying for a job on the upper floors of one of the World Trade Center towers the morning of September 11th 2001. Set Enterprises' corporate lawyers still aren't sure whether to sue the Estate of Osama Bin Laden, the trio of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld or the Illuminati over that loss."
Shit, the British beat us in creating a Puppy Monkey Baby, Sonavitch thought to himself as the hotel porter brought in the 3 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart.
Sonavitch opened the first can and started drinking.
That old movie from 1942 The Cat People with Simone Simon was on one of the other channels so he started watching.
He was soon on his 3rd can of Mountain Dew Kickstart.
On the screen, the old Black and White movie suddenly turned into a coloured film and a beautiful leather skirted Asian dominatrix woman who called herself Sherrielock Holmes was standing there in the midst of a bunch of fiery red coloured cats.
"That's funny, I don't remember this scene," Nikolai Sonavitch commented.
The hotel room door suddenly opened and a Puppy Monkey Baby entered the room.
"Puppy Monkey Baby," the Puppy Monkey Baby kept repeating over and over.
The Puppy Monkey Baby jumped up on the coffee table in front of Sonavitch and did a little dance.
He then jumped on to Sonavitch's lap and proceeded to lick him on the face all the while saying Puppy Monkey Baby.
He then kissed Sonavitch on the lips and then pulled a carving knife out of his diaper and slashed the assistant deputy foreign minister of Russia to death.
The Puppy Monkey Baby then shapeshifted into his natural form of satyr serial killer and hired contract assassin Pan Goatee.
Said Goatee, "That was fun. I always thought it would be cool to play the part of Judas Iscariot but be quick about it."
He picked up the remaining can of Mountain Dew Kickstart and finished it saying, "There's no need to let this new Holy Trinity or 3-in-1 to go to waste."
He downed the Kickstart, belched and put the can back on the table.
"I'll let the cleaning staff pocket the return deposit money for this," Pan Goatee couldn't help but grin at his own personal generosity.
He turned back into a Puppy Monkey Baby again, "My audience- the hotel security cameras- awaits."
He went out the door and into the hall saying over and over again, "Puppy Monkey Baby... Puppy Monkey Baby... Puppy Monkey Baby... "
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday March 18th
2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
What Connor McFinn Saw On Saint Patrick's Day
What Connor McFinn Saw On Saint Patrick's Day
Connor McFinn stumbled out of his house on the way to the pub.
Usually most nights it was the reverse.
But his brainless Irish-American nephew from Boston was visiting.
And to mark Saint Paddy's Day, his brainless nephew had bought some bottles of American beer and laced it with green food dye.
"Faith and begorrah," his nephew brutally murdered the accent of his homeland with the same severity that MacBeth had stabbed Duncan, " 'tis a fine Irish tradition to drink green beer on Saint Paddy's Day."
"No, it isn't, you moron," Connor said in an exasperated voice, "maybe in America but not here in Ireland. Here in Ireland, we toast Saint Paddy with Guinness or Murphy's or some fine local stout. This beer is an abomination and blasphemy against the Holy Saint Patrick himself."
"Abomination and blasphemy against Saint Paddy himself," his nephew spewed green beer out of his mouth all over the brown sofa with the same velocity as an ex-DARPA employee would spew bourbon and coffee all over his computer screen after reading a humourous blog post, "surely you exaggerate, Uncle."
After drinking several green beers, his nephew lay passed out on the floor.
Connor had been forced to drink several pints of the abominable blasphemous substance to please his sister's brainless son.
Once the misfit lay on the floor snoring away, Connor got up and stumbled out the door to head down to the local pub to drink a pint of Guinness and toast the Apostle and Patron Saint of Ireland the proper Irish way.
As he stumbled his way through the meadows and forests to get to the village, he hit his head on a low-lying tree branch.
As Connor sat there dazed under the tree, he noticed a bunch of giant snakes approaching him.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Connor made the Sign of the Cross, "this is what comes from drinking a witch's brew of green beer."
The huge giant serpents with giant fangs approached him.
This couldn't be happening, Connor thought to himself.
After all, the Holy Saint Patrick had personally driven all the snakes out of Ireland.
"Get away," Connor shouted, "you're not real. You're a figment of a warped imagination brought on by drinking that Devil's brew of green beer."
Seeing as how the snakes actually proceeded to eat Connor McFinn in literal objective reality (although that concept would be disputed and denied by a great many modern and post-modern philosophers), his brainless Irish-American nephew's green beer was a Devil's brew from a witch's cauldron indeed.
-A short story
and vampire novel
chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday March 17th
2016.
Connor McFinn stumbled out of his house on the way to the pub.
Usually most nights it was the reverse.
But his brainless Irish-American nephew from Boston was visiting.
And to mark Saint Paddy's Day, his brainless nephew had bought some bottles of American beer and laced it with green food dye.
"Faith and begorrah," his nephew brutally murdered the accent of his homeland with the same severity that MacBeth had stabbed Duncan, " 'tis a fine Irish tradition to drink green beer on Saint Paddy's Day."
"No, it isn't, you moron," Connor said in an exasperated voice, "maybe in America but not here in Ireland. Here in Ireland, we toast Saint Paddy with Guinness or Murphy's or some fine local stout. This beer is an abomination and blasphemy against the Holy Saint Patrick himself."
"Abomination and blasphemy against Saint Paddy himself," his nephew spewed green beer out of his mouth all over the brown sofa with the same velocity as an ex-DARPA employee would spew bourbon and coffee all over his computer screen after reading a humourous blog post, "surely you exaggerate, Uncle."
After drinking several green beers, his nephew lay passed out on the floor.
Connor had been forced to drink several pints of the abominable blasphemous substance to please his sister's brainless son.
Once the misfit lay on the floor snoring away, Connor got up and stumbled out the door to head down to the local pub to drink a pint of Guinness and toast the Apostle and Patron Saint of Ireland the proper Irish way.
As he stumbled his way through the meadows and forests to get to the village, he hit his head on a low-lying tree branch.
As Connor sat there dazed under the tree, he noticed a bunch of giant snakes approaching him.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Connor made the Sign of the Cross, "this is what comes from drinking a witch's brew of green beer."
The huge giant serpents with giant fangs approached him.
This couldn't be happening, Connor thought to himself.
After all, the Holy Saint Patrick had personally driven all the snakes out of Ireland.
"Get away," Connor shouted, "you're not real. You're a figment of a warped imagination brought on by drinking that Devil's brew of green beer."
Seeing as how the snakes actually proceeded to eat Connor McFinn in literal objective reality (although that concept would be disputed and denied by a great many modern and post-modern philosophers), his brainless Irish-American nephew's green beer was a Devil's brew from a witch's cauldron indeed.
-A short story
and vampire novel
chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday March 17th
2016.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Passing The Torch: Julius Caesar On The Ides of March
Passing The Torch: Julius Caesar On The Ides of March
The great Shakespearian actor Quentin O' Sullivan was starring in a West End London theatre production of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
After the performance he met a fellow performer the New Orleans actress and songstress Angelique Dumont for late night/early morning drinks in a cocktail lounge.
Miss Dumont was playing Mina Harker in a musical version of Bram Stoker's Dracula.
When they parted, Quentin O' Sullivan laughed to himself as he walked down the street.
There were rumours that Miss Angelique Dumont was herself a Vampiress.
Quentin laughed.
Oh where, oh where do these silly rumours get started?
He turned to look back in Angelique's direction but there was no sign of the purple evening dress wearing lovely brunette songstress and actress.
Only a small bat flying down the street.
Quentin laughed again.
He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow on his bed when he got home.
He dreamed a dream.
He dreamed he was in a theatre audience watching a live stage performance of Julius Caesar.
He could not see who was playing Caesar.
When Caesar fell after being stabbed by Brutus, Cassius and their fellow conspirators, the figure of Caesar dropped the Imperial Roman laurel crown of Emperor that Mark Antony had once offered him.
Donald Trump appeared on stage and picked up the blood soaked laurel wreath crown.
"Thank you, thank you very much ladies and gentlemen," Donald Trump waved to the crowd, "The people of Ohio suck. But what can you say about a state that produces a comedian the likes of Drew Carey? However I thank all the intelligent voters who voted for me in all the places we won tonight. Thank you. And please light a votive candle to my genius and pray to my image. Thank you. Thank you very much."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday March 15th
2016.
The great Shakespearian actor Quentin O' Sullivan was starring in a West End London theatre production of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
After the performance he met a fellow performer the New Orleans actress and songstress Angelique Dumont for late night/early morning drinks in a cocktail lounge.
Miss Dumont was playing Mina Harker in a musical version of Bram Stoker's Dracula.
When they parted, Quentin O' Sullivan laughed to himself as he walked down the street.
There were rumours that Miss Angelique Dumont was herself a Vampiress.
Quentin laughed.
Oh where, oh where do these silly rumours get started?
He turned to look back in Angelique's direction but there was no sign of the purple evening dress wearing lovely brunette songstress and actress.
Only a small bat flying down the street.
Quentin laughed again.
He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow on his bed when he got home.
He dreamed a dream.
He dreamed he was in a theatre audience watching a live stage performance of Julius Caesar.
He could not see who was playing Caesar.
When Caesar fell after being stabbed by Brutus, Cassius and their fellow conspirators, the figure of Caesar dropped the Imperial Roman laurel crown of Emperor that Mark Antony had once offered him.
Donald Trump appeared on stage and picked up the blood soaked laurel wreath crown.
"Thank you, thank you very much ladies and gentlemen," Donald Trump waved to the crowd, "The people of Ohio suck. But what can you say about a state that produces a comedian the likes of Drew Carey? However I thank all the intelligent voters who voted for me in all the places we won tonight. Thank you. And please light a votive candle to my genius and pray to my image. Thank you. Thank you very much."
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday March 15th
2016.
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