"Some pumpkin soup!" he said with glee
as he ate some jam from the jamboree.
I'm afraid the king gets the soup
and you are but a dupe
said the barmaid with nice knockers
amid the chat of patron talkers.

Oh merde! oh merde!
said the French chef
whose hair was parted down the clef
no pumpkins left in the kitchen
and the king's stomach is a-twitchin'.

Sir Belvedere my lovely dear!
The barmaid raised her skirts,
I hope you're not queer
but you'll get a better look
if you huff it down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin you do took
and bring it back here.

Sir Belvedere leapt upon his horse,
I'll be back before the main course
and galloped on down to the brook
and a mighty pumpkin he did took
and brought it back to the cook.

But as he handed it to Alphonse
he slipped on some twisted prawns
and with a prance in his pants
the pumpkin smashed like a crash dance.

You fool! Said Alphonse, I'm ruined
I'll end up a dry pruned
my head upon the king's castle gate
such will be my dreadful fate.

Why lose your head, Alphonse dear?
The barmaid smiled
a look so wild
she flashed her beaver
and raised the cleaver
and cut off the head of Sir Belvedere.

The knight's head was served in the king's pumpkin soup
head of a knight- such a dupe!
and as the chickens leave the coop
they chirp and slirp
at the pumpkin remains
while a new Headless Horseman
grabs the horse's reins.

-The Headless Horseman
a Halloween poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Friday October 30th, 2009

Comments

So he saddled up his saddlebag
and climbed up on his horse
took a look at his compass
and decided to set course.

Westward ho! he went,
banjo somewhat bent,
he soon stumbled on a mountain pass,
he surveyed the scene while scratching his ass.

Look! There's a tunnel there!
he said to his horse, Tiddlesquare.
Get along little Tiddle!
He played his fiddle
as his horse took a piddle.

Soon they arrived at the tunnel dark,
he found his horse a place to park
and then Wayne entered the tunnel dark
Should have brought a match
to add some spark
and a dash of light
this place's a fright
said Wayne in the midst of this dark tunnel,
so dark, he had to pee using a funnel.

And then Wayne gave a shout of delight
for he suddenly saw a big bright light,
there was light at the end of this tunnel,
Wayne jumped for joy
before he did stumble,
his life flashed
like a clog down the drain.
For the light at the end of the tunnel
was the light from the east bound train.

-The Cowpoke They Called Wayne
A cowboy poem
written by Dracul Van Helsing
Monday, September 28th, 2009.

Comments

He's lived in the back yard for the past 3 or 4 years now.

He hangs out all over the neighbourhood but my back yard seems to be his home.

He'll occasionally watch me through the basement window while I'm downstairs working on my computer.

And he also seems to follow me whenever I walk the four blocks to my local neighbourhood pub.

He may do it in the summer but I can't tell. However in the winter I can see his tracks in the snow.

A couple of nights ago when my dad and I got home from shopping, he was standing in the middle of the road a couple of doors down from our house with his big ears sticking up in the middle of the air.

I was hoping he wasn't suicidally depressed and the reason he was standing in the middle of the road wasn't because he was hoping a car would drive over him and end it all for him, his last words being, "This bunny wabbit can no longer stand the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."

But no he's still alive.

Yesterday on a 32 degrees Celsius day, I looked through the kitchen window about 5:30 PM and saw him resting under the shadow of one of the apple trees in the back yard no doubt grateful to get out of the hot blazing sun.

So Jack O' Hare is alive and well.

And all is right with the world.

Comments

Woman: Are you Jack O'Hare Private Eye?

Jack O'Hare: I am.

Woman: But you're a bunny rabbit?

Jack O'Hare: So I've been told.

Woman: Well, I suppose that's okay seeing as how Easter is just around the corner.

Jack O'Hare: Yes but I hope you're not wanting me to lay any coloured eggs. That's just a myth like the theory that says man evolved out of a group of animals going back to an amoeba which in turn evolved out of nothing.

Woman: What are those two big things sticking up out of your hat?

Jack O' Hare: My ears.

Woman: Wow. What enormously big ears you have.

Jack O'Hare: So I've been told.

Woman: I have something to get off my chest.

Jack O'Hare: That looks like two things you have to get off your chest.

Woman: I must confess they're not real. I had a lot of help from Silicone Valley.

Jack O'Hare: From Silicone Valley? And to think my stock broker had told me that computer stocks had flattened out.

Woman: Well, there's nothing flat about these.

Jack O'Hare: I'll say.

Woman: My fiancee's been kidnapped.

Jack O'Hare: I see. And what's your fiancee's name?

Woman: Charles Lindbergh Jr.

Jack O'Hare: Charles Lindbergh Jr.? But he was kidnapped almost 80 years ago!

Woman: He was? Wow! He must be old then. This is the last time I'm going to get my family to arrange a marriage for me.

Jack O'Hare: He's not only old. He's dead. He was murdered by his kidnapper.

Woman: Dead? Well that does it, this IS definitely the last time my family is arranging a marriage for me.

(struts off on her heels and walks out the door)

Jack O' Hare: Wow! That was the fastest case I''ve ever solved.

(pours himself a glass of bourbon)

Jack O' Hare (raising a toast to himself in the mirror): To the quick...

(he then raises a toast to a missing kid's picture on a milk carton that had
not been thrown out in a very long time)

Jack O'Hare: And the dead.

The End.

Comments

Like a spider rising from his web
he moves like a virtual Undead
oh, what a tale could be told
beneath his smile so eery bold
his eyes dark and shadowy
his laugh a demon's cacophony
his face white as the moon
his lips red like battlefields
covered on the Day of Doom.

His heart is a castle dark
devoid of life
or any spark
his sole mission now
is to bring the Batman down.

And so on this moonlit night
where wolf howls give you fright
and the birds they do not sing
only vultures circling
and Death's skull rides his horse
Hope's rays have gone off course.

The Joker dances in the street
odd cloven hooves for feet
to a dreadful dreary beat
no soul, just body heat.

And now Batman you must hear
the Joker's laughing jeer
you knew this time would come
to face the final drum.

And on the streets of Gotham today
underneath clouds cold and gray
the Batman met his end
a message to Robin one must send.

So Fate has shuffled his deck of cards
like mannequins at Mme. Toussard's
the Joker has beaten the Ace
woe betide Gotham's human race.

-The Joker
a poem written on this Feast of Fools
Wednesday, April 1st 2009
by Dracul Van Helsing

Comments

The soup was heavy laden with arsenic.

Hector then dragged the man into his bathtub where he had a huge chainsaw and proceeded to cut the man up. The head, arms and torso he wrapped up in tiny packages and put downstairs in the freezer.

He was feeling like some thighs and legs tonight for dinner so that's what he had.

Hector had been into cannibalism for some five years now.

It had started when he had been stranded in the woods in a log cabin during a snowstorm and the only books he had to read were Silence of The Lambs and Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris.

He had had nothing to eat during those 3 days he was stranded so when a rescue party arrived, he rewarded his rescuers by knocking them on the head and promptly eating them.

The first couple of years of his new found appetite had been difficult.

For Hector had made the mistake of knocking off and eating some of his acquaintances.

The police would then be around asking annoying questions about the disappeared.

But by concentrating on total strangers and knocking them off and eating them, he discovered no nosy police detectives would come to his house.

Hector cooked the homeless man's thighs and legs in a garlic and olive oil sauce laced with a touch of paprika. It was absolutely delicious.

When he had finished eating, Hector belched loudly and decided to go for a walk to ease his digestion.

While walking through the neighbourhood, he happened to come across a new vegetarian restaurant. For some reason, despite the heavy meal he had eaten, Hector felt a sudden craving for vegetarian food.

He walked inside the restaurant and ordered a salad.

The restaurant was a small place and over the counter was a small TV set.

The Larry King Show was on.

Larry: So we are continuing our conversation with Gabby Mugabe the noted African voodoo witch doctor. Mr. Mugabe, will you be willing to give us a demonstration of your powers?

Gabby Mugabe: Certainly, in this city, I call on all murder victims who have been murdered in the past 24 hours to come back to life.

20 minutes later, a woman who had been sitting at the table by the window suddenly screamed.

There outside a headless torso and arms could be seen rolling down the street.

A frost covered head followed along.

The body parts stopped outside the door of the vegetarian restaurant.

Hector meanwhile was undergoing what he thought was the worst case of indigestion in his life.

It felt like his guts were literally being ripped open.

Which is what they were.

A pair of human legs ripped their way out of Hector's stomach.

Hector naturally died as a result of this occuring.

The arms that were outside managed to get the door of the vegetarian restaurant open.

And soon head, torso, arms and legs were reunited and the walking dead man walked down the street.

Meanwhile Hector lay dead on the floor with his guts ripped open.

"Must have been something he ate," the local newspaper's restaurant reviewer and food critic stated.

That night, dozens of people who had been in that restaurant swore off the vegetarian lifestyle.

The End.

Comments

He wasn't seeking to climb Mount Everest.

Loads of people had already done that.

He was in search of the Abominable Snowman- that strange creature of Nepalese and Tibetan folklore- the creature called the Yeti.

Sir Hilary Edmund had spent his life searching for monsters and strange beasts.

He had spent time in northern Washington state and southern British Columbia searching for the Sasquatch.

He had spent time in Scotland searching for the Loch Ness monster.

And he had spent time in Hollywood searching for Paris Hilton's singing voice.

But alas! It had all come to nought.

But this time it was different- he felt. This time he felt that he would come face to face with the Abominable Snowman.

Edmund turned the corner of the mountain trail...

... and there was the abominable snowman...

"Good God," Edmund exclaimed.

The buttons on the snowman sort of resembled eyes kinda, the carrot on the snowman sort of resembled a nose kinda, and the black felt etching below the nose sort of resembled a mouth kinda, the corn cobs sticking out of the side of the head sort of resembled ears kinda, and the black top hat on the top of his head sort of resembled a black top hat kinda. The scarf tied around the neck of the snowman had colours that were sort of a cross between expressionism and cubism. At the feet of the snowman lay a Campbelll's soup can personally autographed by Andy Warhol.

Sir Hilary Edmund's Nepalese guide translated the inscription below the snowman into English for Edmund, "This snowman was made in 1965 by students of the New York School of Modern Art
and has stood perfectly preserved in these temperatures ever since."

Sir Hilary Edmund trudged back down the mountain again.

He had some idea of how Clementine Churchill must have felt when a modern art sculptor unveiled a bust he had done of her husband Sir Winston Churchill.

Winnie himself had humourously and accurately quipped at the time, "A most remarkable example of... modern... art."

Clementine wasn't so forgiving.

After Winston's death, she ordered the sculpture destroyed.

How sad for the future of good taste in art, Sir Hilary Edmund reflected, that this world's most abominable snowman hadn't had a wife.

The End.

Comments

Is Clark Kent really a disguise?
Who does Lois Lane see in her eyes?
Who you are?
Or what you do?
Who's her real hero
when the day is through?

You'd like to tell her
but you hesitate
wearing glasses for a mask
seems your fate.

Has she fallen for you
or fallen for a cape?
Does she love you for your heart
or your muscleman shape?

Oh Superman you may never know
but it's her touch and smile
that keeps you on the go
for those leaps and bounds
don't mean anything
if to the one you love
you're not everything.

-written by Dracul Van Helsing
Wednesday, Feb. 25th, 2009

Comments

Sadly he isn't as well known today as Sir Laurence
Olivier but in some ways Laughton could be just as
good as Olivier if not better in some of his acting
performances.

What brought this to mind is this past weekend, my dad
and I watched the 13th installment of the BBC television
series I, Claudius.

I, Claudius was a famous BBC television series of the
late 1970s which gained enormous popularity and a large
following in North America when it was shown on American
PBS television back in the early 1980s.

We got the DVD back in December and we've been
watching it on and off- 1 or 2 episodes a week ever
since.

Last Thursday, we watched the final installment- Episode 12-
where Claudius eats poisoned mushrooms fed to him by
Agrippina (the psychotic mother of the equally psychotic
Emperor Nero) and promptly kicks the bucket.

But there was a bonus on the DVD- a thirteenth episode- if
you will - a documentary that was done on BBC television
back in the mid-1960s.

The documentary was about British filmmaker Sir
Alexander Korda's forgotten and unfinished epic
movie of 1937- I, Claudius- the first time they
attempted to film Robert Graves' famed 1934 novel
I, Claudius.

The movie starred Charles Laughton as Claudius,
Merle Oberon as Messalina and Flora Robson as Livia.

Surprisingly this was one London Films production (London
Films was the name of Sir Alexander Korda's studios) that
Korda did not direct himself.

He was just the producer.

Instead he hired a German-American director named von
Sternberg (the man who directed Marlene Dietrich in her
breakthrough film in America, The Blue Angel) to direct
his production of I, Claudius.

Only a few scenes were shot in the film and then the
project was scrapped.

Coincidentally shooting on the film began on February 15th,
1937.
And it was the wee morning hours of February 15th, 2009 (exactly
72 years later) that my dad and I watched the documentary about
the making of this unknown and unfinished virtually forgotten
epic.

The film it turns out was Charles Laughton's most
difficult role. He was having a hard time trying to figure
out how to bring Claudius to life.

For Charles Laughton was one of those method actors who
wanted to totally immerse himself in the character and become
that character. It was this that made him such a great actor of course.

But he was having a heck of time trying to capture Claudius- trying
to become Claudius- trying to bring Claudius to life.

In a 1965 interview with Merle Oberon for the documentary, she
said that during the month of shooting for the flim, Laughton would
enter her dressing room and start crying on her shoulder for hours
saying, "I can't find Claudius. I can't find Claudius. I can't bring
Claudius to life."

Needless to say, this caused numerous setbacks in the
shooting schedule. And it lead to much bitter fighting
between von Sternberg the director and Laughton the actor.

Laughton was depressed.

von Sternberg was depressed.

And there was a feeling of tension and unease on the
set.

What finally killed the film was that Merle Oberon had a
car accident after about a month of shooting into the film.

It turns out Miss Oberon had a crazed chauffeur and
the jerk blew through a traffic intersection crashing into
another car and sending poor Miss Oberon flying
through the windshield of the car (remember there were
no seat belts in those days).

Anyways Merle Oberon's face was badly cut
and they didn't know if her scars would ever heal
and since Merle had shot so many scenes as Messalina
it would have been impossible to bring in a replacement for
her (not that Korda would have allowed them to anyways
since his purpose in making the picture was to make an epic
greater than the Hollywood epics of the day with his beloved
Merle as the star).

And since the picture was behind schedule anyways because
of Laughton's anghst and the tensions between Laughton and
von Sternberg, it was decided to just scrap the picture.
Of course, Merle Oberon's facial scars did heal but by the
time they did, the chilling winds of impending war were already
blowing across Europe so no effort was ever made to finish
the picture.

I remember as a young kid, I had a tremendous crush on
Merle Oberon.

There was one night a week when the local TV station every summer
showed what they called a Korda Film Festival in which they ran one
of Sir Alexander Korda's great London Films movies from the 1930s.

The first film I ever saw Merle Oberon in was called The Divorce of
Lady X and starred both Miss Oberon and the young Sir
Laurence Olivier.

I went to bed that night having pleasant dreams.

I dreamed that I was busy kissing Merle Oberon.

But my favourite Korda film of all with Merle Oberon in
it was the 1934 The Scarlet Pimpernel in which she
played Lady Blakeney and Leslie Howard played the
eccentric English nobleman and seeming fop Sir Percy
Blakeney (it was just an act for he was actually
the courageous intelligent and brave Scarlet
Pimpernel who saved thousands of Frechmen
and women and children from their deaths at the
hands of Madame Guillotine during the French Revolution).

I remember the dresses Merle Oberon wore in that
film were absolutely gorgeous.

So I'd go to bed imagining that I was the
Scarlet Pimpernel and having spent the day
rescuing people from Robespierre's guillotine
would spend my nights kissing and making out
with the lovely and beautiful Merle Oberon.

In the few scenes that were shot with
Merle Oberon as Messalina in I, Claudius,
she made a priceless and far better Messalina
than the one they cast in the mid-70s BBC TV
production.

And Flora Robson made a far better Livia
than did the one cast in the mid-70s TV production.

Derek Jacobi was of course excellent as Claudius in
the BBC-TV production.

But how did he stack up against Laughton?

Well of course not too many scenes were shot
with Laughton as Claudius because of Laughton's personal
anghst in trying to capture the character.

My godfather a retired high school art teacher
who used to also do set designs for local stage
theatre productions once met Charles Laughton.

My godfather and another man Bob Willis
were doing set designs for a University
Studio Theatre production back in the 1950s
and Charles Laughton was going to be sitting
in the audience on the opening night of the production.

The play was a Greek tragedy and was to be set
in the Temple of Diana of the Ephesians.

Now for those of you who have studied classical
Greek history, the statue of Diana of the Ephesians
was of course a multi-breasted woman.

So my godfather and Bob did a faithful reproduction of
the statue- there was Diana of the Ephesians in all her
multi-breasted glory.

Well of course in Social Credit governed Alberta of
the 1950s, to show a statue of a nude multi-breasted
woman would be verbotten shall we say?

So the breasts were covered up with gauze and cloths.

My godfather being the meek and mild mannered man
that he is went along with it.

But Bob Willis was fuming.

On opening night before the play began,
Bob stormed out on stage in front of the curtain
and began a long diatribe against censorship to
the audience.

At first the director thought, "oh well. We'll just
give Bob the chance to get it all off his chest
and then the play can begin."

But Bob wasn't letting up in getting it all
off his chest (the way Diana of the Ephesians
had got it all on her chest) and so after
20 minutes with no end in sight, the play's
director sent out a couple of extra strong
stage hands to drag Bob off stage.

Bob had to be dragged literally kicking
and screaming off the stage.
At the end of the play, Charles Laughton
in the theatre auditorium was asked by the local
press what he thought of the play and Laughton
answered in all honesty and seriousness, "Well
I do think the play dragged a bit but I thought
the prologue was positively brilliant. I don't
think I've ever seen a better performed prologue
to this play. That fellow was marvellous.
A marvellous actor. And to have him dragged
kicking and screaming off the stage like that-
with such utter passion. My kudos to the director
for conceiving such a brilliant performance."

As to who was the better Claudius? Laughton
or Derek Jacobi?

Well most of the scenes with Laughton as Claudius,
Laughton did seem a bit unsure of himself.

You could see his anghst in trying to capture the
character.

Ironically on the same day that Merle Oberon had her
car accident, they shot the scene where Claudius
after the murder of Caligula is dragged off by the
Praetorian Guard to the chambers of the Roman
Senate to have Claudius acclaimed Emperor.

The night before, Laughton had spent hours
listening to a grammophone recording of
King Edward VIII's abdication speech
in which Edward gave up the throne "for the woman
I love" (Mrs. Wallis Simpson).

That morning like a child, Laughton excitedly entered
the studio, exclaiming with glee, "I've found him.
I've found Claudius."

And after watching that performance where Laughton as
Claudius had spoken to the Senate and the Praetorian
Guard, my dad and I both sat silent at the end of the speech.

It's what one does when one is in the presence of a
great work of art.

Viewing the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.

Or gazing at Michaelangelo's Last Judgement on
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Or putting down a copy of Shakespeare's or Keats'
sonnets.

Or having just listened to Beethoven's 9th Symphony.

I don't think I've ever seen or probably ever will see
a better speech delivered on a screen by an actor.

It was even better than Sir Laurence Olivier's St.
Crispin's Day speech from his performance as
Shakespeare's King Henry V.

For Laughton had indeed become Claudius.

Sad that the day it happened, Merle Oberon
had a car accident and the picture was shelved.

For what was probably the greatest film performance
in all of motion picture history has sadly been seen by few
as a result.

Only those fortunate enough to watch that scene on
that documentary about the forgotten unfinished epic
of Sir Alexander Korda would have seen it.

And today instead of wondering whether it
was Sir Laurence Olivier or Sir John Gielgud
who was the 20th Century's greatest actor,
there'd be no discussion.

Laughton as Claudius. The silver screen's greatest
performance.

The 20th Century's greatest actor.

Comments

Just another Saturday night.

Except it was a Saturday night that was a Valentine's Day.

And once again Cupid was working.

Valentine's Day.

It was his one big day of the year.

Santa Claus had Christmas.

The Easter Bunny had Easter.

And Al Gore had April Fool's Day.

But this, Cupid thought, this was his day.

This was his moment, this was his time.

To paraphrase Barack Obama.

Cupid set out for the nearest nightclub with his arrows.

After a short kerfuffle with the bouncer, he drew back an arrow and shot the bouncer in the heart.

Just as a male ballet dancer wearing pink tutus arrived on the scene.

The tattooed muscle bound bouncer ran after the pink tutued
male ballet dancer who shouted, "Help! "Help!".

Cupid entered the nightclub.

He noticed a girl with pink hair sitting up at the bar.

"Hey Psyche," the bartender said to the pink haired girl, "what will it be?".

"A Pink Lady," Psyche replied.

Cupid shot his arrow at Psyche.

"Now for the bartender," he thought.

But he was having problems getting the arrow into his bow...

and he accidently shot himself in the heart.

Psyche gazed at Cupid.

And Cupid gazed at Psyche.

And after so many eons, Cupid himself now had a girlfriend.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, everyone!

Comments

-Dracul Van Helsing
February 12th, 2009

Comments

It was for the same kid who had been buying them every
Friday afternoon now for the past 2 years.

The kid didn't say much. Just bought four
chocolate eclairs. And left the shop.

Bernie looked at the clock. Yep, just after
4 o' clock- the same time every Friday
the kid bought them.

There was a late afternoon rush of business
people on their way home who stopped to buy
his goods.

At 6 o' clock, Bernie closed up shop.

He walked around the block to the little
deli where he ate every Friday night.

He couldn't handle going back to his apartment
alone every Friday night.

Friday night had been his and Estelle's night to go out-
have dinner, a glass of wine and then go to a movie,
a concert or a stage play.

How he missed those times.

He didn't think Estelle would have been the first to go.

Then he thought.

That was selfish of him.

How did he think Estelle would have felt had he been
the first to go?

Living life without the one you truly love must be hard for
anyone male or female.

Being the one left behind is not easy for anyone no
matter who they are.

Of course these days there were plenty of husbands and wives
who felt quite relieved when their spouses die.

But that wasn't true for him and Estelle.

His and Estelle's had been a golden love story- one of those
rare and too unfrequent occasions when two soulmates actually met
and encountered one another in the right place at the right time-
the encounter that the rest of us can only dream about.

Some of us may even think that such a love does not exist.

Because it's not part of our life, our experience.

Bernie ate his cold meat sandwich and thought back on his
life.

He thought of Richard's Milkshake Bar.

Wow. Richard's Milkshake Bar.

He hadn't thought of that place in years.

A place he had visited when he was a kid.

Oh, how he had loved Richard's Milk Shake Bar.

Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, blueberry, raspberry and seemingly
every other flavour under the sun.

You know he had never tasted a milkshake as good before or since.

There was just something about Richard's milkshakes that was different
and better than any other milkshake.

What was that secret ingredient?

Probably love, his romantic of a mother would have said.

Some people carry out their jobs with love
and it makes all the difference in the world his mother
told him. Love. Passion. It's what created excellence not greed or desire
for fame, his mother told him.

Funny, the time he had walked into Richard's Milkshake Bar
and had been told the old man had died came as a stunning
blow to him.

He had felt Richard would always be there. Always be there serving
his delicious milkshakes. But he was gone.

Still Bernie ordered a mikshake from the new
owner.

But it wasn't the same.

And it would never be the same.

Funny, the day he walked away from
Richard's Mikshake Bar the day Richard
had died, Bernie knew then that he would
look on this period of his life as a golden
age, a golden age as far as milkshakes were
concerned.

Bernie finished his sandwich and got
up to pay the bill.

As he did so, Bernie felt a sharp piercing
pain in his chest.

He fell to the floor gasping for breath.

Someone call an ambulance, the deli
manager shouted.

Bernie looked at the whirling images
of faces now around him.

The manager, the cashier, the waitress,
the paramedics as they came rushing
through the door.

Then he looked at the woman to his immediate
right.

Estelle.

It was Estelle.

How young and beautiful she looked.

Bernie looked up at her and smiled.

And then closed his mortal eyes for the last
time.

Paul entered the bakery promptly at
4 PM the next Friday afternoon.

He looked around for signs of old Bernie.

Where was old Bernie?

He looked at the chocolate eclairs.

What was up with the chocolate eclairs?

They didn't look the same.

"Can I help you?" a gruff voice spoke to him.

"Um... where's Bernie?" Paul asked.

"Bernie's dead," the voice answered very
unsympathetically, "he croaked last Friday
night."

"Um..." Bernie looked at the chocolate eclairs,
"I'll have... I'll have... one chocolate eclair please."

"One chocolate eclair?" the man answered, "is
that all?".

"Yes," Paul nodded.

As he walked down the street after
leaving the bakery, Paul bit into the solitary
chocolate eclair.

No, it wasn't the same.

And even though young as Paul was, he
felt the voice of wisdom telling him that somehow
this was the end of the golden age as far as
chocolate eclairs were concerned.

He would never again taste a chocolate eclair
as good as Bernie's had been.

15 years later as Paul sat on a bench
on a promenade overlooking the river
valley, he munched on a ham and cheese
sandwich and started thinking about
Bernie's Bakery.

Funny, he hadn't thought about Bernie's Bakery
in ages. Bernie's Bakery. And those yummy
mouthwatering out of this world chocolate
eclairs.

What was in it that made them so good?,
Paul wondered.

"Hi, is it all right if I sit here?" a soft gentle
feminine voice asked him.

Paul looked up. A beautiful woman in a multicoloured
spring dress stood there.

"Sure," Paul stammered somewhat.

Paul had always usually felt comfortable around pretty women
but this woman somehow felt different.

Not that Paul didn't feel comfortable in her presence
but he felt extremely awkward as well for some reason.

Both extremely extremely extremely comfortable and at
the same time awkward. It was a strange sensation.

The more Paul and the young woman whose name was
Laura talked, the more comfortable he felt.

They got up and left the bench and walked on a
path along the river.

They were so busy looking at each other, of course
neither of them would notice the tiny plaque on the park
bench.

For the city encouraged people and businesses to donate
money to pay for these park benches.

And plaques would be put on the back of these
benches naming the people or business who
had sponsored this particular bench.

As Paul walked away with Laura, he thought to
himself, yes the golden age of chocolate eclairs
was long behind him but he couldn't help thinking
to himself that some vaster greater golden age of
something far far more wonderful lay just ahead
of him.

As for the plaque on the very old but extremely well
kept-up park bench, it read,

Bernie and Estelle- two people who were very much
in love.

The End.

Comments

... he was John Sond... 000...

... aka Double-O Nothing...

... he liked his can of Coca-Cola shaken
(not stirred) before opening...

... with the end result... being a bloody mess
all over the place...

... but it made the dry-cleaners of London happy...

... after Sond sprayed customers inside restaurants
after ordering a can of Coke...

Today Sond entered the MI-6 laboratory for help
on his next mission...

The doctor-scientist working inside the MI-6
lab was named P ...

not to be confused with Q. of James Bond fame...

(every secret service lab must mind its P's and Q's)

"Well John," began P, "I've invented a time
machine to bring people back from the past to
help you on your next mission... Lord Horatio Nelson,
Vincent Van Gogh and Captain Long John Silver..."

"Why those people?" John asked.

"That's what came up on the machine," P answered,
"the time operator asked me to insert another one
billion pounds but I didn't have it on me... so these
are the three we're stuck with..."

John Sond's mission was to guard Burlap House
the ancestral home of Lord Burlap where the Burlap
Diamond was kept...

... he must prevent the Burlap Diamond from being stolen by
Swiss terrorists (a group of unemployed Swiss watch makers
who lost their jobs after the downturn in the global economy
and turned to a life of crime)....

Lord Horatio Nelson kept guard in the house tower...

... his job was to watch for the terrorists...

Vincent Van Gogh's job was to listen at the door for
the sound of the terrorists approaching...

Captain Long John Silver's job was to run after
the terrorists should they actually manage to steal
the diamond...

and John Sond Double-O Nothing's job was to
oversee the mission...

Penelope Cruz the well-known actress showed up
at Burlap House in an evening dress, sexy black nylons
and spiked stiletto heels so John Sond took her to the
upstairs bedroom and proceeded to make out with her...

Lord Nelson was getting bored while waiting for
the Swiss terrorists to show so he started to open
a bottle of champagne but unfortunately for his
Lordship while opening the bottle, the cork popped
out suddenly and hit Nelson in his one good eye (Nelson's
other eye having been blinded in a great naval battle)...

... the end result was that Nelson didn't see the
Swiss terrorists approaching...

... Meanwhile Vincent Van Gogh was standing
at the door listening for any sound of the Swiss
terrorists approaching...

... he was chewing a piece of bubble gum and blew
a huge bubble...

... which unfortunately popped and got stuck in Vincent's
sole remaining ear (Vincent had cut his other ear off in
what turned out to be an ill-conceived and ultimately unsuccessful
attempt to impress and win back his ex-girlfriend)...

... the end result was that Vincent couldn't hear the terrorists
approaching...

... once inside the house the terrorists were able
to successfully steal the diamond...

... as John Sond Double O-Nothing wasn't guarding the diamond...

... since he was busy being spanked by Penelope Cruz who had assumed
the role of a dominatrix in the bedroom for Sond's erotic pleasure...

Once outside the house, the Swiss terrorists ran with the diamond
to their waiting taxi cab...

Captain Long John Silver ran after the terrorists
but unfortunately got his one good leg caught in
a bear trap (the Burlap estate was having problems
with bears coming in to swipe honey from the estate's
bee hives)...

... Silver's other leg was a peg leg (he had
lost his real leg after beating a shark in a
chess game on a Caribbean beach and the
shark turned out to be a poor loser)!

The end result was the Swiss terrorists got
away with the Burlap diamond...

In a confidential report later submitted to British
Prime Minister Gordon Brown, the head of
MI-6 admitted that MI-6's mission to guard
and protect the Burlap diamond had been
an abysmal failure...

The End.

Comments

Dr. Nietzsche Friedrich: God does not
exist.

Anderson Cooper: I understand the British
Atheist Association is conducting an aggressive
advertising campaign.

Dr. Nietzsche: That's right. Numerous wars
have been fought in the name of religion.
We don't need any more people killed.

Anderson Cooper: How do you explain the fact that
3 of the greatest mass murderers in History-
Josef Stalin, Mao-tse tung and Pol Pot were all
atheists?

Dr. Nietzsche: I don't try to explain that fact.
I just ignore it.

Anderson Cooper: And what has been the
reaction of Doctor Rowan Williams the Archbishop
of Canterbuy to your militant God does not
exist advertising campaign?

Dr. Nietzsche: Being a contemporary modern
Anglican, Doctor Williams isn't sure what he believes
in, He could be an atheist one day and a Druidic sun
worshipper the next.

(Anderson Cooper slips on some ice on the sidewalk)

Dr. Nietzsche: You should really be more careful,
Anderson. It's people like you who rush blindly
ahead who most likely are to run into danger...
and remember...
God is dead!

(Dr. Nietzsche steps off the curb directly in front
of an oncoming London doubledecker bus bearing the side
advertisement God probably doesn't exist. So enjoy
life!)

Anderson Cooper: It appears so is Doctor Nietzsche.

The End.

Comments

Said Barack Obama,
"Yes, we can, yes we can"
and he did-
he's being sworn in on Capitol Hill.

Said the Moulin Rouge owner to the show girls,
"Do the can-can, Do the can-can"
and now Paris gentlemen
are pole vaulting up the hill.

-Dracul Van Helsing
January 19th, 2009

Comments

In last night's newspaper here, they gave a write-up
on the film in which they noted Slumdog Millionaire
won 4 Golden Globe Awards including Best Motion
Picture Drama.

The Golden Globes of course are a good
predictor of the Oscar winners.

The plot of Slumdog Millionaire
is about a teen-ager who lives in the
rougher districts of Mumbai who lands a
spot on the Indian equivalent of the quiz
show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.

Anyways this started me thinking about an
ezBlog post Soni Kudi wrote in the past week-
something to the effect about "If life were
like a Bollywood movie..."

One of the amusing things she
mentioned was about being stuck in
a traffic jam in the middle of Mumbai
in the middle of the pouring rain
and jumping out of the taxi cab
you're in and breaking into song.

I found this highly amusing.

If anyone has actually done this in real life
and has taken a photo of this, please post it
so I can see.

Anyhow this started me thinking what it
would be like if they filmed a Bollywood movie
here in Canada in the middle of winter in the
middle of a typical Canadian snowstorm.

Our hero would be stuck in a taxi in a traffic
jam in downtown not in the middle of the
pouring rain but in the middle of a blizzarding
snowstorm.

He would have trouble opening the door of the
back seat of the cab to break out in song in
the middle of the street because he would be
trying to open the door against 80 kilometre
an hour wind gusts.

The taxi driver would be shouting at him,
"Close the door you idiot. You're letting snow
into the cab."

When our hero finally succeeds in opening the cab
door against the 80 kilometre an hour winds,
he bursts into song as he's pelted with rapidly
falling snow flakes.

As he's singing, the taxi driver angrily gets out
of the cab, "You idiot. You let a ton of snow into
my cab" and proceeds to start strangling our hero
who never misses a note of the song he's singing.

As our hero is bravely singing and bravely
being strangled at the same time in the midst
of the ferocious blizzard, Aishwarya Rai wearing
a multicoloured sari struggles in her spiked stiletto
high-heeled shoes through the 40 foot snow drifts
running down the middle of the snow covered street
and shouting, "God, it's freezing cold out."

A singing policeman who's over here on a
Mumbai-Edmonton police exchange program
manages to get the fingers of the strangling
taxi cab driver off the throat of our hero.

Our hero and Aishwarya Rai are about to run
into each other's arms when suddenly they are both
scooped up by different snow ploughs driving in
opposing directions.

Our hero sings to Aishwarya Rai, "Don't worry,
darling. I'll find you in whatever snowpile you're in."

The entire city then bursts into a chorus of

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful
but the weather inside's delightful,
let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

The End.

Comments

And Flavius is sentenced to bed
this coming Christmas Eve.
His replacement?
The elf called Steve.

And so in Santa's sleigh
the night before Christmas Day
there will be no Antonio Flavius
nor any sudden hiccavius
(that's reindeerese for hiccoughs)
from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
nor Comet nor Blitzen drinking beer.
What is the cause of Rudolph's red shiny nose?
Licking beer off Antonio Flavius' toes!

And so Nathan De Burgh is the hero of the hour
and despite the penguin's voice being sour
sing he will for Obama
not to mention
any future telerama.
And now 'tis the end
of our little drama
and we must bid adieu
to you and you
but on Christmas Eve
watch out for reindeer pooh!

Comments

One of the elves stopped to whistle
a sound to make mistletoes shrivel
"that doesn't sound like an elfen voice!",
Nathan looked up from reading his James Joyce.

He grabbed a beer from the barmaid Jenna
and looked up at an antenna
GPS would indicate
music copyright syndicate.

The elf's whistle was Dan Pengin's voice,
Nathan put down his James Joyce
and pulled a gun out of his underwear
this Ramboesque polar bear.

"Hands up Flavius
you pain in the avius."

To be continued.

Comments

It really gave quite a buzz
but don't drive
or face the fuzz
"Nathan here,"
he drank the beer
but no reply on his cell phone
so he yawned
and reached for an ice cream cone.

"That'll be 50 cents,"
said Major Spence
of the North Pole army
an elf the size
of a leprechaun in Killarney.

Nathan reached into his pocket
where he pulled out a light socket
"this is all I have," Nathan grinned.
"I guess tonight
the Northern Lights will be twinned."

To be continued.

Comments

And so Nathan took the case
while the penguin's huskies
held a race
with penguin following
at great pace.

The penguin whose name was Dan
used for deodorant Ultra-Ban
A good thing
the huskies he couldn't outran.

And so to the North Pole Nathan went
in his Model T Ford without a dent
this rare gem he did own
along with a ring tone
on his cell phone.

His cell phone went off
like an Irishman's cough
just as he spotted
Santa's reindeer trough.

To be continued.

Comments

Said the penguin, I am a singer
also a part-time bell ringer
I was to sing at Obama's inaugural ball
day after election, I got the call
my manager nearly hit the walll.

But something happened, alas, alas
I need to take epsom salts for my gas
somebody has stolen my singing voice
over this, my showerhead did rejoice.
Who do you think stole your voice?
Nathan did inquire
while the penguin danced
like his pants were on fire.

Somebody at the North Pole I suspect
a certain elf gives me no respect
He put coal in my stockings last year
which caused a rash in my rear
now I always look before I put on stockings
I'm a Knight of the Garter
isn't that shocking?

Nathan took some aspirin off the shelf
washed it down with water,
"What's the name of this elf?".

His name is Antonio Flavius
certainly a pain in the avius
He works for Santa
sometimes Banta
He makes loads of toys
for good girls and boys.

To be continued.

Comments

This is a poem I wrote today about a polar bear private
eye who lives at the North Pole not far from Santa
Claus and his toy workshop.

Nathan de Burgh was a polar bear
he had no need for long underwear
He lived on a berg made of ice
in a little igloo that was nice.

He was a private eye
this polar bear was
who claimed he was
Philip Marlow's cuz.

One day as he was sitting in his office
reading the works of Thomas Malthus
a penguin knocked at his door
and Nathan hit the floor.

"You're a long way from home?"
said Nathan the bear.
"Indeed," said the penguin
in his tuxedo wear.

From South Pole to North Pole
the penguin had come
accompanied by huskies
and a bottle of rum.

"What brings you here?
So far to so near?"
Nathan drank
his ginger beer.

Swatting aside some whirling dervishes,
the penguin replied,
I'm seeking your services.

To be continued.

Comments

Jack O' Hare is the name I have given a
jack rabbit that lives in my back yard.

Tiny Tim is the name I have given a squirrel that
lives in my back yard.

Although neither my dad nor I have seen Jack
O'Hare for a while, we often see Tiny Tim
leaping from tree to tree hoarding apples
and pine cones.

Jack O'Hare and Tiny Tim

In the autumn chill, trees are bare
still no sign of Jack O'Hare
oh where has gone my big-earred furry friend
with a big tail on his rear-end?

Oh Tiny Tim do you know
as you watch the North winds blow
from your tree so high
from which you observe
ground and sky?

Any sign of a mad hopper
eating the lettuce
cause it's so topper
well Tim as you sit and grapple
carrying your big load apple
say hello to Jack for me
as you guard the yard
up in your tree.

Comments

Here's a poem I wrote in the form
of a rap song as it would be sung
by a nasty gangsta rappa ghoulie!

It's Halloween quite the scene
as demons roam
outside your home
kinda sends a chill to the bone
but the cat is dead
as you lay in bed
zombies rule
their head a ghoul
He'll slice you in half
with a sword for a staff
such is voodoo witchcraft.

Comments

As the PETA protestors set themselves upon the
fur-coat wearing Britney Spears in this blistering
heat, Miss Spears screamed, "I'm not crazy. I tell
you I'm not crazy."

I walked down a back alley way.

Well, Mr. Mush's horse was gone.

And I was partly to blame.

The last clue we had to the whereabouts of Mr.
Mush according to the tight skirt wearing dame
(who was now getting her marshmallowed covered
skirt cleaned at Mr. Lee's Drycleaning), Mr. Mush
was last seen on a horse before he was kidnapped
or killed or whatever had happened to him.

And now the horse was no more.

It was my good fortune that I happened to
walk by a Sri Lankan restaurant.

The proprietor directed me down to the
wine cellar.

I guess he thought I needed a drink.

When I was down in the wine cellar, there tied
up and sitting next to a bottle of chardonay
was the missing Mr. Mush.

I turned and there stood... the ancient demon
Ravana a notorious demon king of Sri Lanka
who had kidnapped Princess Sita the fiancee
of Lord Rama the ruler of the ancient Indian
kingdom of Ayodhya millenia earlier.

The Hindu monkey god Hanuman had helped
Lord Rama rescue his beloved Sita from the
clutches of the demonic Ravana.

It was a good thing I had taken that course
A Comparative Study in World Religions in
my first year of University or otherwise I
wouldn't have recognized the strange entity.

"You're Ravana aren't you?" I asked as I helped
myself to a bottle of German Reisling.

The demonic entity belched, "Excuse me."
And then bowed, "Yes, I am Ravana."

"And you've kidnapped Mr. Mush?" I popped
the cork off the Reisling, "has living in the
state of California changed your sexual orientation?
You're going after guys now instead of princesses?".

Ravana shook his head, "Mr. Mush here is a well
known writer of romantic love poetry. I thought if I couldn't
win Princess Sita's heart through abduction, I thought I
might win her heart by sending her some of Mr. Mush's love
poems saying that I had written them."

"May I see some of Mr. Mush's poems?" I asked.

Ravana handed me a whole bunch with his clawed
hands.

After reading the first half-dozen, I was rolling
on the floor in great gales of laughter.

Mr. Mush's face turned bright red.

It couldn't have been the wine.

As having a gag in his mouth probably prevented him
from imbibing.

"You were planning to win her over with this mush?" I roared,
"tell me, Ravana, how does it feel to be an idiot?".

Now it was Ravana's turn for his face to turn red.

"Just one thing," something had occurred to me,
"I thought Lord Rama had slain you. How is it you're
alive?".

"I was brought back to life by a Hollywood film producer,"
Ravana explained.

That was plausible. Hollywood film producers
were bringing ancient demons back to life all the time.

"Let Mr. Mush go," I told Ravana.

"No," Ravana shook his head.

Ravana had had his chance. I always carried a bottle
of Holy Water with me ever since I was attacked by
the ancient Aztec serpent god Quetzalcoatl while making out
with Jessica Alba in the back of a red Corvette in Hollywood
years ago.

I sprayed Ravana with the Holy Water. He quickly
disintegrated into mush- almost as mushy as Mr.
Mush's love poems.

I untied Mr. Mush.

He quickly ran upstairs and out the door.

I gathered up the scraps of paper on which were written The
Collected Works of Mr. Mush.

I thought I could use them for a bon fire to roast
marshmallows later as the evening heat seemed to have
died down.

As I walked out the door of the Sri Lankan restaurant,
I noticed Mr. Mush was run over by a car driven by
Lindsay Lohan. After running over Mr. Mush, Lindsay
Lohan then wrapped her car around a light pole.

Well two mysteries were solved tonight.

Who kidnapped Mr. Mush?

The ancient Hindu demon Ravana.

Who killed Mr. Mush?

Alcoholic airhead drunk driver Lindsay Lohan.

Comments

So I entered the restaurant.

Gov. Schwarzeneggar was attempting to pay his bill,
"Anyone know where I can get some extra credit?
The banks are locked up like a tight end on a gay
football team!".

The lounge singer was singing the latest Hardy
Drew and Nancy Boys song, "There's no one as
Irish as Barack O'bama."

The French maitre'd directed me to a table.

What was a French maitre'd doing working in
a Chinese restaurant?

"Tonight's special, Monsieur, is Roasted
Cheval in an Orange Duck and Marshmallow
sauce," he handed me a menu.

"I'll try the special then," I answered him.
I had never had Roasted Cheval before.
Although it had been a few years since
I had taken High School French. I couldn't remember
what cheval was.

I looked around the restaurant.

There were a bunch of men (they all looked like
hairdressers) who wore t-shirts that said, "Vote
No to Proposition 8." I noticed they all seemed
to go to the men's room together. On the table,
they were sharing a large fruit salad between them.

But no sign of a horse.

"Your Roasted Cheval in Orange Duck
and Marshmallow sauce, Monsieur," the waiter brought
me the plate.

"Thanks," I ate it. It was delicious.

I paid my bill in dimes and nickels which quite discombobulated
the cashier.

I walked out the restaurant door wondering where that
horse could have possibly got to.

It was then that I remembered what cheval meant in English.

"Murderer," a group of protestors from PETA shouted.

Were they talking to me?

Or to Britney Spears who was walking down the street wearing
a fur coat in this hot muggy sultry weather?

To be continued.

Comments

So she took her skirt down to the dry cleaner's
and I went out to buy a new bag of marshmallows.

It was a stifling hot night.

Some guy wearing a lone ranger mask was
frying an egg on his bald head in the middle of
this heat wave.

A lone ranger but no horse.

What had become of the horse?

Mr. Mush was last seen on a horse.

The horse was the answer to everything,
I thought as I observed the huge piles of
manure going down the street.

I followed them to a Chinese restaurant.

No horse but California Gov. Arnold
Schwarzeneggar was inside the restaurant.

To be continued.

Comments

It was a hot sultry night, the kind which sends people
skinny dipping into fountains and ordering buckets of
Tequila Sunrise at sunset!
I was sitting in my private eye office, my fedora off, my trenchcoat
on the floor and my suspenders down.
I was wiping my brow, the fan was going up and down
like Paris Hilton's dress on a ferris wheel
(even when the wheel's not in operation!).
It was then that this dame walks in- tight blouse, tight skirt and spiked stilettos!
She sat down on the chair right in front of my desk right
on top of a bag of marshmallows!
I had planned to roast the marshmallows later by sticking them
on a stick and holding them out the window in the stifling night air!
"I want to know who killed Mr. Mush?" she spoke in a voice as sultry as the night.
"Speaking of mush, you might want to check the back of your skirt,"
I handed her a business card with the address
of a neighbourhood dry cleaning establishment.

To be continued.

Comments

"Tell me, have you ever heard of an individual called
Renfield R. Renfield?" Akira Lane asked.

"Yes, I have," Dracul replied.

Renfield R. Renfield (the R. stood for Renfield) was
the evil shapeshifting hamster who served as Chief
of Security and CyberIntelligence for the London-based
ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

"He's apparently been digging up dead bodies
in the local cemetery here and hooking them up
to robots," Akira explained.

"Sort of creating a cyborg robotic zombie then,"
Dracul thought aloud, "where did you say that
you were calling from again?".

"Roswell, New Mexico," Akira Lane replied.

"Roswell, New Mexico?" Dracul was incredulous,
"the site of the supposed 1947 UFO crash?".

"That's right," Akira nodded although since she was
speaking over the phone, Dracul couldn't see her
nodding.

"Knowing the type of individual we're dealing with here,"
Dracul said in reference to Renfield, "I wouldn't be
surprised if those weren't the dead bodies of ET aliens
that Renfield was digging up and hooking up with robots."

"Would the U.S. government have actually buried the bodies
of the UFO occupants in a local cemetery where any ET
hunting grave-digger could have easily got at them?"
Akira asked.

"This is the U.S. government we're talking about," Dracul noted,
"they do think like a typical bureaucracy at times which is to
say they don't think at all."

And in a cemetery in Roswell, New Mexico, Renfield hooked
up the body of the dead gray ET to the Japanese built robot
(the Japanese and the South Koreans built the best robots
in the world) and then generated an electrical shock
into the creature.

The combined ET alien-automaton stirred and
mumbled, "ET... foam... groan... "

Comments

"What is singularity?" reporter Akira Lane asked
the vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.

"Singularity?" Dracul Van Helsing's voice
sounded quizzical over the phone.

"Yes, and I'm not talking about being single,"
Akira laughed, "I've heard Singularity as a term
that is currently being talked about in philosophical
circles."

"There's a current branch of scientist-philosophers
who call themselves Transhumanists," Dracul
Van Helsing explained, "Singularity is a term they
often use. Singularity is the term given to the point
in our advancing science and technology where
either man and machine become one or where
a machine genuinely becomes more intelligent
than man or more powerful than man."

"Really?" Akira Lane sounded incredulous.

"The advances in our science and technology are
happening so fast, that these Transhumanist scientists
and philosophers think it will happen any day now,"
Dracul stated, "there really will be a cyborg with a human brain
or a computer where AI (artificial intelligence) and human
consciousness have joined together."

"Why do they call themselves Transhumanists?" Akira Lane asked.

"Because they believe in the advent of the Transhuman," Dracul
Van Helsing answered, "and really what the Transhuman is- is
the 21st Century term for the German ubermensch- the Nietzschean
superman. Naziism and Hitler's Third Reich gave a bad name
to what these social Darwinist Nietzschean fascists believe
so they're re-invented themselves and their terms.
The ubermensch and the Supermen of Nietsche are now called
Transhumans. Instead of the Superman advancing by wiping
out what they consider inferior classes of people, the
Transhumanists believe that the elite- those people who
should have the right to rule (for some reason these people
think it's themselves) will instead be merged with immortal
machines and computers and they shall live forever and they shall
rule forever."

"There are people who actually believe that?" Akira Lane asked.
"Let's call one such person Richard Dawkins and another such
person Christopher Hitchens," Dracul said, "this is what these
two militant atheists tell transhumanists when they're speaking to
their fellow travellers. They are the new deities- the new gods of
the new age- who will have their brains merged with artificial
intelligence and live forever supposedly. That's why they look
down their noses at people who still believe in the existence
of a supernatural God that exists outside the universe. In
order for them to become the everlasting deities of the new
order of the Universe, there can't exist any Supernatural
Creator or deity outside it because this might upset their
plans and they can't have that."

To be continued.

Comments