Monday, July 23, 2012


Word of 'the massacre on The Main Line' got out. Two of the maids saw everything. They saw the greasy ashes smeared all over the sheets. They saw the tiny bits of human remains. At  first they couldn't tell what it was. But one of them has a daughter in medical school and she gave her a sample (wants a be a pediatrician ---- nobody questions fees for sick kids). Initially, she thought it might be simian, like maybe a chimp, or a chupicabra or something. However, after further experimentation she was certain. The re-solidified fat was human.

And the only reason the maids were allowed  to go home every night was because they didn't understand English. All English speaking service employees were kept on the premises for the duration. Plus, each and every piece of internet capable equipment was confiscated. Not from the attendees. From the help. They even posted guards outside to look for coded messages, via flashlight dots and dashes.

I'm telling you. This yearly event is a big deal. They serve that South American (or maybe Central African) cat shit coffee and everything. Diane von Furstenberg played a flute. Warren Buffet gave out pens. And they mapped out the parameters of  Third World development (which included an ever growing segment of our own, North American population) plus the weekend guest lists at various carriage trade, seaside retreats.

Oh, they knew it was a vampire. True, one of the cases may have just been an example of plain, run-of-the-mill spontaneous human combustion. High level movers and shakers are completely open to things like that. Look, they've been to Area 51 (inside the gates, I mean). What do you expect? And a certain, little, deformed Chihuahua with hands that gets carried around at a lot of these soirees isn't exactly canine. They tried to make him wear little pants, but he told them to 'go to hell.' So now they mostly just divert their eyes.... or pretend to. You should see him tuck into the cold shrimp.

So Tele-Mundo has the story. And I think the dancers on Sabado Gigante sang a little song about it, but so far, the mainstream English speaking media has been silent. I'm told Kathy Lee and Hoda made some kind of an obtuse reference, but they always do that, so who knows?

But Edith picked it up. And Tomas picked it up (he does speak Spanish, after all). And Papa picked it up...... Tomas has gone back to spouting his holy roller chants ---'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog... Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog.' Sure he swore it off a few months ago, but don't believe it. That's just the way he is. Talks Hebrew and Aramaic (I can't tell the difference) in his sleep. Wants to be called by his 'liturgical' name - Jonathon ben Macabi. Communes with his long dead, former body servant, Johannan, and everything.

Look, go back to the first posts. Go back two years. You'll see how he really is. Annie likes when he rattles on in Old Castillian. Says he reminds her of the dad in them Spy Kids movies. 

Doctor Franklin says they should lay low for a while. So everybody's staying over at the Bureau. Annie likes it. The yeti lets her fix his hair. She's got him in French braids, cornrows and everything. As long as they got aroma candles and booze the vampires are happy. And they fix char-broiled chopped steak (with onions and gravy) for Edith and wilkravitz. Everything's honky-dory. 

Last night the Russian-vampire-bastid killed two guys at the U.N.. I guess it wasn't so honky-dory for them.....

This is Zebulon (the two thousand year old, disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old boy) signing off. I wanna see how the yeti looks in dreadlocks.

supposed to be a line of sharks' jaws indicative of violence yet to come... forgive limited graphics knowledge.

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