Sunday, July 22, 2012

GRIGORI USIPOV the RUSSIAN, VAMPIRE TALKS

You are so stupid, you will not believe what I say. So let me tell you things. I am here to pull you down. I am here to destroy those who might save you. The one known as 'Papa' in my 'friend,' ..... up to a point. But my true friends live deep within the thick, strong walls of  The Kremlin. 


I am NOT one of those perverse, effeminate vampires 'liberated' from the Germans in the last days of The War. I despise  them and have crushed the skulls of many.... My sojourn in The Land began with Nevsky. We fought our own Crusades...against invaders and usurpers from The East. Do you know, that for a time, we volunteered our services to the petty king-lings of the Franks and the Latins and the Celts? Prince Michael himself, had a golden chariot shipped to St. Jean de Acre in preparation for his triumphal march through The Holy City. But to the evil standard bearers of the western 'faith' we were simply heretics and our patriarchs and metropolitans none but glorious bawds, festooned like Byzantine whores...... They were jealous of the gold. That's what it was. We were rich and they were poor. They called us Jews, forgetting that it was the Jewish Khazars themselves who stopped the Saracens from grinding them to dust. ..... So we stayed home and fought the Swedes. The Saracens of The North, if you will. And we defeated them.


Soon, we shall do the same to you and this un-congealed, loose amalgamation of Europe's lesser sons you call a nation will return to the Red Men once more.


Just know that I 'dined' well last night. Poets and alchemists (scientists) and statesmen and bores, I ate them all. Look not for the lurid stories in your wretched media. Oh, they know. They saw. They smelled it all. 


A convocation, not unlike that flaccid, though ambitious Tri-Lateral-Commission, gathered in a palatial, Main Line mansion to plot the course of 'empire.'........ Your empire. They drank vintage wines and nibbled fine fillets. But 'another' came to the banquet. too... and he ate even more. 


Now please know this was not a cheap homage to The Grande Guignol . No painted, Paris tawdriness for me. I am too much the aristocrat for that, preferring to drift through walls like a tortured dream, alighting atop slumbering 'great' ones like pussy in the crib, drawing in each tiny dram of their lives, as cats suck breath from babies.


I..... am..... so..... bad.


And there's no way you can stop me.


Baba Yaga taught me well.....


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