Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: 65TH BINGO BOY episode (like a film treatment) 1/2...: BINGO BOY - post 65 So the new house at the shore was all filled up that night. Marge and Jimmy in their room. Ricky and Little Chrissie ...BINGO BOY is really a crazy, charming tale. This is the final episode. a lot of people like to read stories backwards. If you're like that... and if you like a weird, hardscrabble romance in a crooked bingo hall under the Philadelphia 'EL' tracks, that leads to a 'murder'.... a prisoner down the cellar and a cushy move to a nice town along the South Jersey Shore---this one's for you.



Click on the title up above, read the episode and then keep clicking OLDER POST to see what came before, or just scroll down to it, if your screen is set up that way. If you like THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP, or that kind of pixilated tale, take a look at this.



Please leave comments along the way. Writers appreciate that so much.



And in another vein. Who watches Saturday Night Live? Who'd like to write for Saturday night Live? Well, we have this 'thing' we do that's almost as good. Every week, while the real show airs on the east coast, we 'live tweet' our opinions and critiques, but most of all our own humor to - Twitter.com/#SNL4fun .. (click it) . Jump in and join us. Ad a little joke... your 'take' on a sketch... even something humorous that has nothing to do with the sketch... If the sketch is about an office, share a work story. Use the show as inspiration. But YOUR creativity is important, not theirs. And don't be afraid to bomb. Comics and comedy writers bomb all the time. Most of the time we DON'T bomb. Remember--- MANY people will see your material. SOME of them will like it. Once you try you will be hooked. It IS almost like having our own show... our own version of SNL. So give yourself a job in 'showbiz'... Join everybody else next week at 11:30PM for #SNL4fun <~~~ and remember to use this hashtag on every tweet, so it will be seen as part of the group. That way we all gain greater visibility. This isn't my hashtag. I'm just one of the 'cheerleaders' who really push it (there are others)...



We've been growing every week and are close to TRENDING. Post your humor, observations, critiques and comedy where people WILL SEE IT. Post in on #SNL4fun. If we don't (yet) write for the real SNL, we can still write for this one. It's simple. It's easy and it appears to be working.



Now you know.



<back to our regular story next time>



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NOT EVEN THE CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN AT GOLDEN CORRAL COULD SPOUT SO MUCH BLOOD . 3/7/15

Billy's body was still. The tiny wet praying mantis things were gone. Someone stood over Jamba (the orangutan) reading stanzas out of an old book. Apparently there was no time for memorization, so they just read. I know not who the reader was. Many of the players in this farce I do know. For it is I, Zebulon, the disembodied spirit, who narrates this passage. 

Jonathon and Sarah waited in another room filled with aroma candles and supplied with specially flavored bottles of chilled, top shelf vodka. Whoever set up the room had only a rudimentary knowledge of night-folk. While those trappings may have distracted certain baser sorts of vampires under normal circumstances, Jonathon and Sarah were more assimilated than that. Besides, they were far from relaxed. Billy was essentially 'family' and they were very concerned. So they sat there in silence. Jonathon closed his eyes, conjuring the dry, sunny hills of old Al Andalus. Sarah just stared at a vase filled with flowers. There was piped in music, Oklahoma, but they didn't listen to that.

God knows what formerly arthropod sentient spirits think about. What does life smell like to them? This one claimed nativity on a cultivated world, rather like Edwardian, or late Victorian Britain, but with equine sized praying mantises, given to promenades through the park and musicales filled with stringed instruments easily plucked by spiky, mantid 'hands.'

Could be that our esteemed humanity was no big thing to him? What he wanted was a body...some container... a physical way to interact and taste the mortal world for a while. A telepath... a technician specially trained, in an effort to enhance his already natural abilities, stood by Jamba's stainless steel table, providing a running commentary on the thoughts and images rising up from the dazed, red ape. .... He said - Sleepy...so sleepy..No words. Just an image.....

Another functionary, a woman in a white coat, gestured toward Billy and said - What else? What do you get from him?

He said - I don't know. Nothing's coming through. Aren't you getting anything from the sensors? My God, you got him so wired up. Don't blame me. What are YOU getting?

She just gave him a look. Goddamn 'level six' giving her grief!? She don't care about him. Franklin tooled around on his little scooter going - Children! Children! We're all here to learn. Remember that. Calm down.

The thing is, formerly insectoid spirit creatures are so different. Maybe not in the absolute. Honey bees dream too, after all. But this thing just looked like an Earth-bug-thing. Who knows what it really was all those eons ago? So they waited some more.

Little while later, Franklin goes - What do you get now?..... Level six telepath says - He's free. The human one, over there, is free.......His name's Billy. They call him Billy. Use his name - goes Franklin..... The telepath says - He seems to be inhabiting the totality of his brain again. 'Billy' I mean...... And the entity? - asked Franklin..... I don't know - goes the Level Six guy.

But five feet away, Jamba, the orangutan, suddenly sat up, opened his eyes, grabbed 'Level Six' by the forearm, shoved his hand all the way down his throat and bit it off. Then he bolted 'round the room like a simian bullet, shattering equipment and scattering terrified staff people, all the while shrieking like a banshee. Level Six guy spouts blood all over the place. Chocolate fountain at Golden Corral can't gush that much blood. Guy goes white, collapses onto the floor and thrashes around like a fish.

Franklin goes - Jesus Christ!... pulls a one eighty and tears out a there...... God bless that scooter. I'll tell you that.... Speeds down the hall yellin' - Get the guards! Get the guards! Get the guns! Get the guns!... before disappearing 'round a corner.

Two Level Threes wheeled Billy out a there real fast..

Think the Level Two guy channels spirits real good now, because he is one...

<more next time>

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PIG'S BLOOD AND HONEY... DOCTOR FRANKLIN TELLS TALES... 3/6/15

This is Doctor Franklin. They don't know I can commandeer their system. They don't know a lot of things. The vampires and their like, I mean. But if you're loyal to the tale, you know how many times I, or others attached the The Bureau have pulled their chestnuts out of the fire.  And this 'Billy' thing is just the latest example. To them, I'm just another 'familiar,' an exalted one, at least I like to think, but a glorified servant just the same. You probably think so too. Do you identify me with the gentleman from history class... with the, well, for lack of a better term, the 'midwife' to the birth of our American Republic? Or do you just see me as that old guy in a strange painting with a Davy Crockett hat smashed on his head? Remember, ladies and gentlemen, it's I who grace the one hundred dollar bill.... Which one are you on?

And even I have a dark side too. How do you think we beat the British? (he gazes off, focusing on a what-not artfully placed on a fruit wood table in The Residence, before continuing) Let me relate one instance. Captains would bring back things. Ships' captains, I mean. We had spices and fabrics and ivory carvings and carpets from the Turkey trade, Chinese porcelains too... and then there was the 'quickened' cargo... the live trade... exotic animals.... small, wildcats, such as ocelots for aristocratic menageries. We had our landed class too. Hereditary patroons in New York. Manor-Lords in our Pennsylvania. Not to mention those troublesome, cavalier, slave holders farther south. The New World didn't come with ready-made serfs, so they willingly compromised our ideals and created a beaten down peasantry of our own. God, how we were blind to those things. Even me. (he toys with an enamel snuff box in his vest pocket before going on) What were we talking about? Oh, yes... my dark side..... 

There were these crabs. I can't recall whence they came... an island in the South Atlantic, I believe. Rather large and 'muscular' for crustaceans... about the size of a farmer's fist, not counting the claws and legs, which were stout in their own right. And the most hideous mouth parts all working and working to tear away the flesh... Ah, yes! Shiboomi Crabs! I remember....Dull green and purple creatures. Natives would dig a pit... smear a victim with pig's blood and honey... Can you imagine such a concoction? Then they'd do a dance, sing a song, line up, spit in the victim's face and throw him in. Did I mention the pit was filled to approximately thigh level with the crabs? Well, it was. Screaming started right away. They'd thrash and try to climb out, but that was impossible. Then they'd slip in the whole bloody mess and fall into the hellish maelstrom, sending the horrible scavengers into a frenzy. Like being devoured by living quicksand. Hands and limbs went first, along with the gentleman's bits and pieces. Oh, the bones were left... tendons too. But without muscles they were, shall we say, somewhat passed their prime. I'd say it took a good quarter hour to die in that pit... at least. Then a few minutes more to thoroughly clean the bones. They'd fish them out with a hook... the bones, I mean.. and  worship them in the bonehouse. 

Well, we did the same thing. Had a pit right where 'The Wedding Cake' is today. That's a term some people use for City Hall, since it looks like a gigantic, Second Empire, French wedding cake. Politicians just say 'the cake.' Who's got the cake? -means who's got the power. In those days it was our Tyburn... our killing field... where we did executions. Mostly foreign spies and the like. Kill the first and the rest tend to become quite blabby. Had a gallows there too. Readers know this. Right in the middle of City Hall Courtyard. Right where the big, inlaid, bronze compass rose is today. That's where they 'dropped.' Crab pit was right nearby. I think just off to the northwest. We did the crab thing at night, lest children and ladies see. Occasional doxies didn't count. Kept the pit locked under a thick, oak slab when not in use. Constabulary chased people away... (nods and sighs) Yes.... Shiboomi Crabs. I forgot about them. Today, I use other means. (lowers voice) Enemies are all about us, you know... contemporary Redcoats... even worse... a lot worse and 'magic' has nothing to do with it.

Now let me go speak to Jonathon and Sarah. I'm sure they're at sixes and sevens. Let me tell them how goes it with their Billy and his vexacious spirit. After that, I'll come back and we'll continue our conversation.

With that, the old reprobate gets up to leave... heads toward the door... turns and says - 
Pig's blood and honey. Can you imagine such a thing? heh heh heh heh heh heh heh.

<more next time>

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MAGIC AND SCIENCE MIX ... 3/5/15

They laid Billy's body on a large stainless steel table. He was not actually dead, just in retreat. The entity was in control. I suppose the whole experience was rather like being the victim of a violent home invasion... tied up, gagged and watching helpless, as other hands violate your life.

Technicians wired him up, attaching sensors to all parts of his body. Luna was there, besides being a physician, she is a vampirina too after all. Look at her, in that white coat, her sandy colored hair tied back. I don't know where she hunts, or who she hunts. Maybe the Anti-Enchantment Bureau brings in victims for her. She's so clinical and practiced. Believe me. I've been a disembodied, spirit narrator (somewhat like the entity, but not remotely as old, or of such exotic background) a long time and I've never seen any other night-folk like her. Grace Kelly with fangs. Not lurid, comic book fangs, but neat, little sharp pointed teeth.

Doctor Franklin floated around behind all the action. He wasn't flying. Nothing like that. Rode his scooter... that little electric thing he has. Oh, he did put on a fresh, Philadelphia Eagles sweat suit.  The team made sure he had plenty of those. Some of them were sterile. But he could see what was going on. Barked directions every now and then. After centuries of scientific inquiry, what discipline didn't he know? Franklin was 'the Wizard,' so to speak. He had his hand in everything. 

Then they wheeled in the orangutan. Jamba was strapped down on his own stainless steel table, but he hadn't yet been sedated. And he seemed so sad, stretching his huge neck to look around and take it all in... rather like a human abducted by aliens. Orangutans are such quiet, abiding beasts. He makes faint, little moaning sounds. Those straps must really be strong. 

Blood tests disclosed they were both type O. humans and other Great Apes share most blood traits. Staffers decided to transfuse a bit of blood from one participant to the other. Not much. Just a little. In that way, the entity might grow confused and wander into the other host. Perhaps the greater strength of the orange ape might attract it?

I think magnetism played a part too. Spirits are made of energy, or they manifest as energy in our world, which is essentially the same thing. If the subtle magnetic fields 'round Billy's body and the ape's can be brought into synchronicity, the transfer might, more readily take place.

And it seemed the entity noticed. Great knots of flesh roiled under Billy's skin. Technicians rolled around the tall, pole-like magnets, the better to stabilize the field. If you've ever seen those outdoor heaters restaurants use to warm alfresco diners on chill evenings, you sort of know what they look like. 

But then Billy tensed... more than tensed... He convulsed, arching up from the table, as if his spine would break. His eyes bulged, like two, wet, blue-pink orbs. His body trembled. Luna bit into her lip, wiped a drop of blood on her finger tip and put it in his mouth. You know how efficacious small applications of night-folk blood can be. She also gave a drop to the orangutan to equalize their 'environments.' Must make things homey for that spirit thing.

Then they watched, as tiny, pale green praying mantises erupted all over Billy's sweat soaked skin....

<more next time>

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to see all episodes, click TALES AND STORIES... and join me on TWITTER, click COMMUNICATE ... please leave a COMMENT down below. thank you. and one other thing-- I noticed someone unfollowed me on G+. Please understand I truly do not know much about that site. It confuses me and seems complicated. Maybe because I learned Twitter first. If you contact me there (on Twitter) I am very supportive. So don't think I ignore ANYONE on G+, just not so adept. Just wanted to say that.

Joe Cocker - I Shall Be Released (Live at Woodstock 1969) <~in my mind, end song to PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK

This is not my regular post. that will come later. This is just an insight into my 'cinematic' feelings and vision. Vampire Wonderland is a big lose nebula based on my real screenplay, PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK, a much tighter and focused piece. The characters are similar, though there are differences. Jonathon is a minor Scots aristocrat. Sarah is still Sarah. They have a spiritual adviser named ROLAND. You see parts of him here broken up among a few characters. He's a life-eater holy man... half Celtic Christian... half Byzantine Jew. His parents met on Pilgrimage over fifteen hundred years ago. Then we have 'The Khan,' our puck and maybe the hand that stirs the pot. The townhouse is still there. The mysterious all night bookshop remains, as do the elferinos and cherubs. We have other characters too.



And at the end, just before the credits roll, when it's all over, we hear the song up above. Please listen and enjoy.



The script only exists in hard copy. Maybe some night a real movie person will read this and ask to see it? 



Who knows?



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MUSINGS ABOUT MARS ... 3/4/15

In the 'real' parallel universe tonight. Twitter page all messed up. Looks like somebody cut up all the elements of a regular page and scrambled them up. Hard to read and navigate. Makes me seasick. So I went to my old highschool year book page and looked around over there. Never knew how to navigate that site either. Lot a fun. Will go back and post pictures when I learn how. I guess those yearbook sites are like a variation of FaceBook. Took my mind off Twitter problems. Some people say Twitter goes screwy when hacked and to change my password. I don't know. will do so tomorrow. Too late for that. 

You know what I really want to write about? MARS.... Was never there or anything, but very attracted to the place. Looks like Gobi Desert. Would like to do more EL RANCHO TEXACO story arcs. This time a prequel about first settlers, the original 'troopers' who went out on the first ArchAngel class ships right after initial terraforming. Early days in desert towns. Big land holdings. how the Texacos got their place, El Polva Rosa. The growth of capital city, Barsoom (pronounced BARsum). First taste of Tuva-Tuva culture. Every settlement got a WalMart and a Cabella's. The WEST will live again.

Who knows? Your kids and grandkids might establish powerful Martian dynasties? Gonna carve the place into states--- North Mars, South Mars, East Equator, West Equator, Mars Montana and the Federal District of Barsoom. 

Whole place still part of America. Martian leader not called President. He, or she's called 'the Secretary, as in Secretary of Mars... a cabinet level position, although voted by the local constituency. Them what read the first EL RANCHO TEXACO arc know planetary anthem's SHE WORE A YELLOW RIBBON.... America's anthem (America includes Earth, Moon, Mars, Europa plus a 'twilight zone' outpost on Mercury. Them what's been out there 'go all Kansas' from the sight of a threatening, bloated sun. Term means crazy. Sun's called 'Kansas,' 'cause one of the few times it's actually been given a name is in Frank L. Baum's THE WIZARD OF OZ ---- 'and Kansas, she said was the name of the star.'

Oh, yeah... one other thing... Martian dialect a kind a South Texas, Spanish-English patois. Comprende, partner? 

And befor I sign off for the night/morning, 'born' Martians a tall and lanky breed. Less gravity does that... longer bones... longer spaces between 'em... Not giants...just taller.

Maybe y'all come out one year for the Bartlesboro Stampede?

MARS is a place... or soon will be.

Hasta la proxima, amigos.

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Shhh... Drunk Carnies did It.... 3/3/15

Orangutans are the oldest of the great apes and somewhat separate from the gorillas and chimpanzees and bonobos and humans. Geneticists say we're more closely related to chimps and bonobos than either are to gorillas, which (according to the math) puts us squarely among the great apes. Thus 'MAN' did not evolve from the apes. He never left them. And don't think this violates 'creation.' God merely used what was already on hand. We may be apes, but we're not chimps, or bonobos, or gorillas. We are the finest of the breed, possessed of intricate language and a higher form of reasoning, though in most instances just as violent.

But tonight we speak of our orange haired kin, a bucolic race, quiet and sungular. They munch leaves and grubs, insects and mammals. Don't worry, only the tiny ones and everybody eats them. Well, in the jungle they do. 

Doctor Franklin has one. He calls him Jumba. Not exactly an Indonesian name. But the Doctor is not always politically correct, though he is intelligent and inquisitive. Both the Doctor and the orangutan, I mean. Jumba is seventeen years old and in his prime. He should be somewhere deep within the forests of Sumatra or Borneo seeing to his wives and scaring off interlopers, but he's not. His mother performed in a jungle theme park in Florida. Wore a coconut brassiere and a grass skirt. Never been to Hawaii, but did a real mean hula. Daddy was feral. Escaped from a circus. Hid in a patch of semi-tropical woods south of Orlando. Every once in a while somebody'd see him. They'd yell - Skunk Ape! Skunk Ape!... That's southern for bigfoot. Only he was no skunk ape. Never made no trouble or nothing. Just turned away and disappeared in the brush. Found an old trailer knocked on its side. Probably happened in a hurricane. Fake skunk ape slept in it on cold nights. Found a mattress . Covered himself with blankets, or drapes, or something. What difference did it make? He don't know from home decor. Eats live shrews too. Told you humans were better than them other apes.

One night he sees a compound. Sees a real pretty orangutan woman in it too. Sneaks inside. Solitary apes are good at picking locks. Once he found his way into some pie house. Got drunk on key lime pie. Messed the place up real bad. Ran off with a box of hamantaschen (like triangular, Linzer tortes filled with tart prune filling for Purim time) just before owner comes in. Blamed it on a bunch a drunk carnies wintering near by. Folks blame everything on drunk carnies... even when there ain't no drunk carnies..

So that's how Jamba was born. Drunk carny did it... heh heh heh heh heh...

Franklin got him from a discount orangutan place. Nobody knows too much about his childhood. Them discount joints don't keep fancy records and orangutans don't say nothin'...

Now he's gonna be a  receptacle for some ugly, old entity. He don't wanna leave his place. Got little trees in it... tropical butterflies an' a Coca~cola machine. Just Diet~Coke, 'cause Franklin want him to be healthy an' all.

Even if he is gonna be mostly dead....

I know this is not a typical Vampire Wonderland post... but what is? Just wanted to give Jamba some back story...

Poor Jamba.... He's the nicest great ape of all.

<more next time>

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