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Travel and Dine on The Orient Express With Alison Alexandra

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A few days ago, Alison Alexandra unceremoniously ended my chapter. I had planned another week of work to arrive at the ending. She did away with my ending, put in her own, and ignored the intricate back story I had planned.

So, I sat myself down and wondered what would happen in its place. It turns out Alison Alexandra wants to take a vacation, and the one place where she might just get away from herself (as she seems to desire) is the . She previously had a few pages (literally writing-years ago) on the train.

Sounded good enough for me.

A half hour later, the Face Book page for the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express popped up in my feed.

Full steam ahead, think I.

The following is a portion of Alison Alexandra’s previous trip on the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the reflection in the glass of her for-the-time-being-stateroom window, Alison Alexandra notices the glances from people on the platform watching her peering, and she doesn’t want to give them any ideas of turning into spies themselves so she stops and turns from the train and continues to walk its length to the engine. Of course, she is looking for spies herself, as befits the aura of the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express. Spies and temptresses and writers and countesses and moustached gentlemen of natty appearance with zee little grey cells working overtime. And criminals and murderers and explorers and adventurers and (no doubt) adulterers and placid businessmen with fettered imaginations and the old wealth and the nouveau rich and folk on the run from the past and folk hoping to run to the past and not once in her complete walk to the engine did she once stop for all those posing to take a Selfie with the Orient Express in the background because – really – if you can’t remember it with your own memory then what’s the point?

She looks up at the engine and realizes that it has never belched billowing smoke and that it never will and she has been prepared for this disappointment – but still. It is a pleasant fantasy as is the whole trip as is the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express itself since the *real* train stopped years ago and even then there had been so many variations with so many destinations that someone could have taken several “Orient Express” trips and travelled on several different routes. In fact, two of the most famous books set on the Orient Express”, Christie’s Murder On The Orient Express and Greene’s Stamboul Train, are set on two different trains, neither of them the “Orient Express”. So Alison Alexandra is not really miffed there is no smoke-belching engine with escaping steam. She can make her own fantasy as others have done before her.

She returns along the platform, rubbing her fingers across the side of the blue-and-gold Waggons-Lits Sleeping Cars. She has kept out of the way of the ceremonial line-ups of the train staff greeting passengers. Enough attention has been paid. She again peers into her compartment window of the S-Series sleeper – slightly smaller and slightly less ornate – more suitable for a sole traveller who plans no assignations. The train is five minutes away from leaving. Alison Alexandra will indeed change for her evening meal. Not all her interests in the fashion of her youth have dissipated. And- after all –she is on the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express. She is not present only for the transportation.

Alison Alexandra wants to blend in and not be either a fashion statement nor a fashion disaster. Black is always the new black, so she enters her Waggon-Lit, enters her compartment, opens a travel case much older than she, and slips into spiffy clothing and accessories that would have allowed her to slip into any of the fantasies of the fantastic Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express with nary a comment of discord but with a nod of appreciation.

In the Etoile du Nord dining car, she has the desire to sit with three other people instead of one. She has made her request known, and will be hailed by a seated trio. She hopes for the best but her anticipation is tinged with a trace of concern. She does not want to be bored, nor does she want to spend the meal warding off unwanted attention. She felt it futile to make such stipulations up front. Sometimes you have to go with the flow.

“Hello.” A face turns up to her. “Are you Missy Alison?”

“Alison Alexandra.”

“I told you so.” Another head turns in her direction. “Your black attire will slide right well into a trio of  three widows.”

“Now, Blanche.” The third voice speaks without raising her head. “We’re sisters first, and widows second.”

“Which one of our husbands would have gone on this trip?”

“True.”

“So that’s why we’re here.”

“Is that why you’re here, Alison Alexandra?” The sister who has yet to look at her now does. “Death allowing you to escape into life?”

“No widow me.” Alison Alexandra looks at each face in turn. “Nor wife neither.”

“Do you still want to sit?”

“Oh, yes.” Alison Alexandra pulls out the final chair. “And as I am the only one in black, might I suppose your widowhoods are not recent.”

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Trump And Transgender, In The Military And In Politics

 

1200px-transgender_symbol_color~ Good Day to you, Mr. President.

~ Take it easy, soldier.

~ Sir.

~ You know – at ease.

~ Yes, Sir.

~ What can I get you?

~ I’m not allowed to drink on duty, Sir.

~ I’m your Commander-in-Chief. I can allow it.

~ You’d have to order me, Sir.

~ Would that work?

~ I don’t know, Sir. That’s above my pay grade.

~ Not above mine.

~ No, Sir.

~ I have billions.

~ Yes, Sir.

~ Billions and billions and billions.

~ Yes, Sir.

~ I could pay you to drink.

~ I couldn’t take pay, Sir.

~ It would be a bribe?

~ No other word for it, Sir.

~ So – what do you think of the cross-dressers?

~ Pardon me, Sir?

~ You know – cross-dressers in the military.

~ We’re all cross-dressers in the military, Sir.

~ What?

~We take off our civvies and put on a uniform. Sir.

~ Then that isn’t it.

~ No, Sir.

~ Gotcha. It’s the transgenders.You know them?

~ In truth, I don’t, Sir. Those uniforms keep things private.

~ But you must wonder about them.

~ Not for a second, Sir.

~ You don’t care what’s between their legs?

~ No, Sir.

~ That doesn’t sound natural.

~ Sir, as long as they carry a gun and got my back – I don’t care what’s between their legs.

From Russia With Sex And Blackmail

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At my business email (which has been very good at keeping spam and nut bars away), I received my first threatening message this morning.
All the way from Russia (or, in this day an age – from a mouth-breather in a basement two streets over), some person or bot wants me to fork over lots of bitcoin cash to keep a video compilation of my various naughty sex acts from going viral.
BTW, I’d love to see such a video, being quite proud of my various naughty sex acts.
And, I’m chuffed to be included in some Russian Internet umbrella that can rig an American election, bring down countries, and stop the trains from running all over the globe.
At any rate, here’s the email, uncorrected. Nor did I waste my time inserting [ sic erat scriptum ].  They are obvious.
Apparently the clock is ticking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You shouldn’t do haphazard things
Have  couple of issues to resolve with you Dale Estey, will not take too long, for u to go through and can undoubtedly take ur attention. How would u truly feel if all ur family members or good friends will witness you taking proper care of your self? How will they really feel is the proper dilemma here.

You see  exactly where I am going with this one?  poisoned particular adult internet sites with my malware that steals all info from your system and gets an access to it’s cameras, and lots more. Therefore at this point i have a video of u wanking and a video you wanked to, as well as all your personal contact information.

This is ur job email, which I have found on your personal device btw.

Ok last one, I’ve additionally modified a video to fit on a single tv screen, therefore it will be a lot more relaxing to watch for everybody. Anyway- if u want me to erase all your contact info with the movie, here is my Bitcoin wallet address-  18hytYB5QjjcikiW39GoU2axMQfFYtsLzX

make sure you won’t include no spaces or other symbols. You can easily find the info on the internet on how you can use this payment method if you have no idea how its done. 300 is the total in Usd i require to leave you alone completely.

This mail has undetectable monitoring tool inside and i will know when you’ll open it, and from that minute on, you’ll be given 4 days, to make-up your mind.

I guarantee that each contact from your address book will see this video, in case for some reason i won’t obtain my funds.
U can make contact with your localized authorities or anyone, i doubt that it might help.

(image)eco.imgix.net/uploads/2018/01/cropped-bitcoin-2868704_1920-1.jpg

When Trump And Putin Last Walked Into A Bar

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~ Have you been drinking the vodka, Donald?

~ Why do you ask, Vlad?

~ Because you are acting like Russian.

~ You know what Ivanka told me?

~ Nyet

~ That I was Putin you in your place.

~ Maybe I’ll have other drink.

~ We all laughed, believe me.

~ A double, I think.

~ Even President Xi. I didn’t know a Chinaman laughed.

~ To hell with double. Leave the bottle.

~ You know what Ivanka said about Assad?

~ Let me fill glass.

~ She said that I Bashared his Ass.
~ Ivanka has a mouth.

~ Tears. We howled laughter until the tears came.

~ Maybe she’d like to sell dresses in Russia.

~ She’ll sell you the best dresses, believe me.

~ Maybe some fur hats – made in Crimea.

~ You don’t want her starting a war, do you?

~ Donsky – you’re a funny man.

~ It’s where she gets it. Believe me.

 

DE

#Trump And #Putin Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg

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~ At least you do not offer me poison, Donald.

~ And you kindly offer me nothing, Vladimir.

~ I was taken aback when I learned you don’t drink.

~ Lips that touch liquor is the only way it touches me.

~ Still – Don – what is the point of getting through the day?

~ What do you mean?

~ If you never feel any better from beginning to end.

~ There are other ways – believe me.

~ Nothing as good as vodka – and I’ll drink to that.

~ Gotta admit, Vlad – there is one thing to tempt me to that bottle.

~ What?

~ Reich Chancellor Angela Dorothea Merkel.

~ Oy Vey!

~ “Amen” to that, Vlad.

~ That is one bitch in britches.

~ Freeze the balls right off you and use them for hockey pucks.

~ She gave me such a look.

~ Her handshake had the touch of death.

~ She has done one thing though, Don.

~ What, Vlad?

~ She has made comrades out of us, Comrade.

DE

(image)http://www.google.ca/search?q=Putin+%2B+Trump+%2B+Merkel&client=gmail&rls=aso&authuser=1&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj16ZHF6_fUAhUDcT4KHS0sD68Q_AUICCgD&biw=1366&bih=659#imgrc=7UWKn7dAWUaI3M:

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