Bernies rant
Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2021 10:29 pm
I was going through some old documents on my computer and found a rant Bernie made after Hector/Turd Boi thought he had died in an assault on Bernies Somalian compound back in 2014 or so. I had a lot of fun writing it and thought Turd Boi would twig. He did not:
Bernie, the 2000 year old homosexual vampire wrote:Fuckboi,
I got a message from Celene to write you at this email. So, here I am. Did you miss me?
I bet you fucking cried tears when you got the news that I was dead. I bet you fucking missed me, and mourned that we never were able to be together. I bet you wished that you had let me slide into your asshole, just once. Sure you did, **Deleted**.
Not.
It may come as a fucking surprise, but the blood still courses in my veins. Many, many people, they have tried to kill me. They have. Many, many, many times. Over many, many, many years. Do not think you can comprehend this. You cannot. Most simple minded motherfuckers cannot. They all died. Many of them died slowly. Selah.
I have to ask. Did you know? Did you fucking know? Did you? When they came for me, did you know? Did Krotchmeister tell you? Oh, yes, I know you spoke with him, several times. “slit my throat”. Yes, I knew. All the while, your petty and transparent lies, sitting like a dog shit on the pavement in the hot sun. But my throat cannot be slit. Today you will understand why. I have always loved you. I love you, still. If I did not, you would have died a long long time ago. I have written this email 1000 times in my head. I had little else to do, sealed in my vault. Over and over and over, I wrote you. The things I want to tell you. The things I need to share with you.
I am older than your grandfathers grandfathers grandfathers great, great, great grandfather. Yes. I am ancient. I am not immortal. No. One day, I will die. Many, many, many, many years from now. But I am ancient. My body appears to be 50 years old, but I am over 2,000 years old. The things I have seen, you will never understand. The horrors I have committed. The EVIL things. I have drunk the blood of thousands of people, Hector, thousands and thousands and thousands, faceless, unknown, forgotten, discarded, from babies to nuns, young school girls to old drunken men, saints, sinners, soldiers and nurses, princes, paupers and priests. Nothing can ever clean the blood from my hands. But through it, I am kept young.
What keeps me young, you may ask? I think you know. I think you understand. Yes. It is what you think. Celene, she does not know. She cannot know. All who know, die. All I have shared with died long ago. You must never tell her, or she will die. I do not want to hurt her, my last tie to Walid, such a good man he was, unlike you, you fucking shitty cock teasing two bit piece of shit pond scum weasel, but if you share this with her, I will hurt her. I will kill her. In the rest of your fucking miserable life, you must never share what you know with another human being. You will all grow old and die, but long after you are gone, I will live. I will soon leave her and all of you to live out the balance of your lives. But I, I will live on. Selah.
When Krotchmeister sent his crowd of errand boys, brainless expendable tough guys, to "kill me", they came in, guns blazing, some in old Russian helicopters, trucks, a lot of men. Oh, yes. 500 men, many of them seasoned veterans, of other wars, in other places. Greywater men. Russian Spetsnatz. Special Forces, SAS. Gurkhas.They easily overpowered my untrained and undisciplined men, killing them in droves. Oh, how sad, the blood that was wasted that day, soaking into the ground. I retreated to the safety of the vaults. Down I went, with some of my men, followed by some of Krotchmeisters men. They caused me to seal the lower levels of the vaults. The ones on the surface, well, yes, they made off with some money, some gold, some diamonds, but they did not kill me. No. They did not. Many were buried in the explosion. And they missed the most special thing. They missed it. They did not even know it was there.
The explosion ripped through the top 400 feet of vaults, collapsing the upper layers. Yes. The noise. The loss of life. There was not anything of real value there. It was all gone, except for a little of this, and a little of that. Oh, a lot of men died. Ha. Except for my men, nothing that cannot be replaced in the next 50 years. A shame to lose the gold and jewels, but not all was lost. I have a vial left of the most precious substance known, or unknown. It is special.
Down in the vaults, I stayed. I waited. I did. I heard the moles out in the dirt, scratching. Oh yes. I did. I heard them. Fucking scraping. And in the vaults I heard the rats, hurriedly scurrying behind the boxes, beneath the desks. Oh yes. I heard them. They ran. And I ate them. For the first month, I had other blood. I need more then food. I had fucking case after case after case of food, and I ate, but I need the blood of a dying thing for nutrition, too. Oatmeal, soup, beef, fish. I eat that. It sustains me, but I GROW, I BECOME when I drink the blood of a dying thing, so I drank blood. Oh yes. I drank. And it was good.
First, in the vault, I drank the blood of the three of Krotchmeisters men who made it deep into the vault, sealed in with me. Oh, yes. They came down to get me, thinking that killing me they would get a big reward, but, instead, they came to their doom and damnation. What happens when the hunters become the hunted? When they were drained, I drank the five men who came with me. My men. They wanted to escape from the attackers, with me, at first, but, with the vaults above collapse, where could they go? Nothing but collapsed tunnels. In the weeks that followed, I drained them of their blood. One after another. I fucked all of them, too, hard, bending them over and pushing myself into them. I fucked one of Krotchmeisters men so hard he died with my dick in him, spoiling the quality of his blood, but I drank it, anyway. It was sour, but it was good. Oh, yes. But when all of their corpses rotted, lifeless, drained of blood, in shallow pools of stink, I ate the rats, the very rats who came out of the corners, from behind the boxes, they did, to pick the meat from the carcasses of the men I brought down to the vaults with me.
And, yes, the men, they screamed. They implored. They pleaded, whined, oh, God, help me! they screamed, I don't want to die like this! they said. I have children, Lord help me! they cried, please, please, spare me! they begged, and then they watched as, one by one, I chose the next one, and I drank the blood of their friends.
The last man, he sat and rocked back and forth and cried for three weeks. He was still breathing when I took him, but his soul, it was dead. His mind, it was gone. He just was. And then, all there were were the rats and me, and the air getting stale.
Did you know that if you fuck a rat, it dies? It's true. Apparently it ruptures their inner organs, and they die, coated in semen. In all the long and many years, I have never had a chance to learn this before. And I killed dozens of them this way in the vault, after the men had all died. Thats kind of sad, don't you think? Poor things.
I had a ventilation shaft that opened out at the surface, three miles from the compound. In a straight line it was 8 kilometers. It was small. I had to make myself smaller just to get out. I can do that, you know. Make myself small. Yes, I can. And I did. And when I decided that all the picking and gleaning of the ruins above was done, when all that would remain is rubble, I emerged up through the shaft. It took me 4 days to get out, crawling. It was work to push my shoulders forward, in the dark. My last battery died on my flashlight after 16 hours. I forged ahead, in the dark. Hour after hour. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I hallucinated. My trousers, by the end, they were caked in feces, damp with urine. I left most everything except my special package, and some gold. Only 6 kilos of coins, and $400,000.00 in cash. But that was enough to get me where I needed to be.
To not see the sun for months, the return is overwhelming. I felt the sun on my face, after months underground, with nobody but the doomed men, and the rats in the vault to keep my company, and nothing but 600 feet of dirt and rocks outside of the vault, and the moles, Hector, the moles, who clawed, quietly, confused by the blast, I imagine, unable to enter, to rip my flesh and steal my gold. The sun on my face reminded me that life, it is good. Life is good, Hector.
By the time Krotchmeisters men arrived, most of my gold had been shipped out, and most of the diamonds were gone from Somalia. I had them here, in Eritrea, and in the desert of Algeria, where I will go, next, collecting it all. After that, I am headed to Argentina, where I will go into a deep cave, and molt, like a butterfly, and I will become young, again. Two weeks in a cave, and I will be young. Selah. I will live there for 50 years, and then, when my body has aged, and all around me have faded, when I cannot explain my youth, when all of my friends and associates have died, I will move on. By then, everyone we know will be dead and gone, and I can come back to the hunting grounds of Africa, where blood is free for the taking. Oh, how Africa is the best for me. But I will live. Selah. And I will prosper.
I have an elixir, made from the blood of Jesus. It has sustained me for all these years. I was there, when they pounded the stakes in, when he cried, and shit himself, and pissed himself, when he was thirsty. They gave him spoiled wine to drink. I collected his blood. I drank his blood. Oh yes. I did. That was the beginning for me. I was a centurion. I have always been a warrior. War is where the blood is. As they nailed him to the cross, this poor man, suffering, I was there. I even felt sorry for the man. That bottle of blood, I have some left. Only a small amount. But it is worth all the gold and all the diamonds in the world. I have that and one of the nails that went through his hand. It has been with me ever since. In WW2, I was in Stalingrad. I lost my other nail, there. In the first world war, I was at Verdun. In the American Civil War, I was at Shiloh. I was at Custer's last stand, I was a Sioux warrior, and, oh yes, I did drink. There is blood for the taking in war. Be a soldier, and you will never go thirsty for blood. Selah.
Your life, Hector, it is more than half over. Lets say you live to 90. The rest of your life, you will become old, feeble, your bones will be brittle. Your eyes will fail. Your dick will become shriveled. Your memory, it too, will fade. But even with a fading memory, you will remember me as you become old, decaying in your body, and then you will die. Oh, you may want to tell people about this, about the great Bernie Rhodes, who lived for ever, who drank the blood of Jesus Christ. But no one will believe you. If you tell a single living soul, they will think you are crazy. I guaranfuckingtee that if you tell people about me, you will end up in a mental hospital, with wires on your skull as they try to zap you back to some fucking "normalcy". That is their delusion. Only you and I know the truth. They are not ready for this truth, Hector. They are not ready. And soon I will be someone else. Bernie Rhodes will cease to exist. I kind of liked the name Bernie. Maybe I should be Bernaldo. What do you think? Whatever I name myself, I will be new. In a month or two, I will be 20 again. I will be young. And I will hunt again. Oh, yes. The pampas will be my hunting ground, as it was in 1752. And I will find new blood. I will find new lovers. I will drink blood. And then, after a little while, in five years, I will hunt Krotchmeister, who believes I have died at the bottom of the vault, crushed in rubble, and it will be good. He will pay. Oh yes. I have a debt to settle with him. He will pay. Selah.
Do you want to live like me? I can help you, Hector. I can make you truly live, to hear the sound of a bees wings at 200 meters. To read a newspaper at one kilometers distance. To feel the pulse of a young woman’s heart from across the street. To satisfy 6 lovers in one night. To be able to kill with impunity. To be stronger than any ten men. To live far beyond the years of anyone you know. The Church of Satan can give you all that, and so much more.
I can give you that. Follow me, follow Satan, and I will. I know you are afraid of me. I understand. But I mean you no harm. I still love you. You can be my bride, forever. I will never hurt you, and together, we will hunt. It feels good to be able to tell another living soul who I am. Thank you for being there for me. You will always be a special love. In all the years I have only told a few people. None of them opted for a longer life. They have been dead over a thousand years. I wept for centuries. I have not spoken of this with another human being since 854AD. It is lonely to be me. I am uniquely blessed, or cursed. But at the end of the day, the end of the century, I am alone. You people all grow old and die. It is hard to love you, knowing that, to invest in your short and fleeting life, to watch your inevitable decline and death. I am weeping to think of it, Hector. Weeping tears.ß
I have money, diamonds and gold cached for you in both Eritrea and in Algeria. Lots of money. I will be gone from here in a few days, lingering in Algeria for a week to move my things to my land in Argentina. 50,000 acres. Horses. A large hacienda. The land borders an adjacent country. You can come to me, in Argentina, or, if you prefer to get rich, get old and die, you only need to tell me when you reach Eritrea or Algeria, and I will tell you how to find your gold, money and diamonds. I have $40,000,000.00 in cash waiting for you, in each of those locations, and millions in gold and diamonds. I am sorry I do not have more to spare, but vaults cost a lot to build, and I need money for Argentina. If you do not get it, I will be back in 2075 to retrieve it, when my next iteration grows old and I need to be born anew. By then, you will be dead, like all the people you and I know. I will keep this email account so that you can write about the funds waiting for you. Once you have them, I will simply move on with things, and you are fee to live out the rest of your life. I promise you that you have nothing to fear from me.
If you opt to grow old and die, I will understand. Life is precious. A short life, even more so. Just never, ever, reveal what I have told you here, to anyone. If you do, I will know, and I will seek you out, and end your life, in ways you cannot possibly imagine, and you will die, in pain, afraid. Your destruction will be absolute. So, if you decide you want to die old, you must make sure that is what happens.
In fact, just forget all of what I wrote except the money waiting in Eritrea and in Algeria. I will be in Eritrea for one more week, then to Algeria. After that, I will be gone.
Kissy noises, my little man child, mwah!
Bernie