Suggested Audio Candy:

 

[1] Insane Clown Posse “Mad Professor”

[2] Michael Sembello “Automatic Man”

[3] Bobsled “Monster Mash”

 

In just a few minutes time you will witness a sight which will stay with you until your dying day. That’s got your attention hasn’t it? Sounds like a pretty audacious claim and, by all accounts, it’s an utterly preposterous one. But it is also the truth. There are few things in life that one can guarantee but I feel that I am in a position to confidently place my balls on the chopping block on this occasion. You see, I have a secret. Something which, until now, has remained unspoken and hasn’t been shared with a single living soul. I’ve been in two minds as to whether I can trust you with such psychological burden but I think you can take it, at least I’m hoping you will. Before I elaborate further I must make a couple of stipulations and I hope you understand their necessity. This is sensitive information; the kind that could earn me a bullet in my skull should it fall into the wrong hands. If it sounds too ominous and you decide that a problem shared is one doubled then simply walk away. I won’t cast judgement; you’ll have your reasons and I promise that I will respect them but I do ask that you keep it under your hats out of respect for me if that is okay with you?

Thank you. I don’t wish to be pedantic but this is something of a colossal deal in my world. If my experiment is deemed a success then I may well earn myself a Pulitzer and be regarded one of the most ingenious minds in modern science. However, should things turn awry then I will be labeled a madman and spend the remainder of my existence bound in white shrink-wrap and banging my head needlessly against my soft cell. They wouldn’t simply throw away the key; they’d fry me with enough voltage to erase any visions of grandeur and leave me vegetated indefinitely. You surely already suspect that I had been up to something as I slip away surreptitiously for long periods and never inform anyone of my whereabouts. The truth is that I have been ploughing all my spare time into this for months now and I needed to be sure that I wasn’t just pissing in a force ten gale. I’ve been meticulous in my research and can assure you that, whatever occurs from this point forward, I’m prepared to accept full responsibility for any foibles. I’m not suggesting that you won’t be 100% secure at all times; I’ve catered for any unforeseen clusterfuck moments as I know that calamity is never more than a few steps away when I’m fusing the elements.

You’re still here. Excellent. I’m thrilled that you have decided to partake as it means that I can relax and commit all my attention to making sure there are no hiccups. Levels will need to be adjusted and knobs tweaked repeatedly to achieve equilibrium and I must temper the frequency right through the process until any ultimate voila can be necessitated. You will find safety goggles and hazmat suits by the door if you wish to suit up before commencement and, for the purpose of this experiment, the advisable splash zone distance will stand at ten feet. That’s right; it may well get a little messy. In the past results have been far less than encouraging and, to date, there is no bona fide proof that this procedure has ever yielded results. I’m aware of the lowly success rate and some would say that I am on a one-way pilgrimage to cataclysm. I agree wholeheartedly that the odds are far less than favorable but that’s what makes for such a fascinating proposition. What is the point in purely keeping up with the Joneses when you have enough bottled fatigue to lap their tired asses? If I wish to become known as a true revolutionary in my chosen field then I have to be prepared to break a few eggs en route. If it all turns to shit then it will be my face wearing the yeast and I’m okay with that.

I guess I should start then. There is no time like the present; especially when the future is only ever a moment away. I’m building a monster; there I said it. Don’t be acting all surprised; the title of this piece is called Frankenstein For Dummies. Call me crazy, and I am fully expectant of such, but it just seemed like an ideal challenge at this juncture in my existence. You can blame my dear friend Mike for this one; recently he posted a piece on his blog called Freaky Frankenstein and opened up one helluva can of wrigglers. In it, he pondered what his creation would look like and which body parts he would use to create his patchwork. I was inclined to agree with many of his choices and if he ever needed a sitter for his macabre freak of science then I would gladly offer up my hand to rock that particular cradle. You see, if this all goes breasts up, I point the finger of blame squarely at Mike. He should know well that Keeper is easily led; the words “harebrained scheme” are like a matador’s blanket to Bullwinkle. Or was it Rocky? Fuck it, I’m stumped. Actually, wasn’t he a moose? Please tell me you get my drift; I’m drowning here.

Anyhoots my creation would need to be something suitably grotesque as I’m not looking to fashion a fuck buddy. My desire is to fashion a creature so heinous that it couldn’t so much as retrieve the daily mail from my doorstep without a state-wide manhunt ensuing. I was meticulous in my planning and sourced my parts from the seediest crawlspaces of society as my monster would be disinterested in making friends and influencing people and far more intrigued by the concept of pounding innocent bystanders into the concrete and flashing its junk in public libraries. How ridiculous would it have been had Frank slid that cube into its decisive formation; only for the Cenobites to invite him inside for a mug of Earl Grey and a Rich Tea biscuit? Who would have given Freddy Krueger the time of day if he had invaded the dreams of his victims and commenced to teach them how to navigate Skype? Unfortunately, if one wishes to get ahead in his bid to become an evil mastermind, they are required to fart in a few hip flasks. That’s right; I have decided to be an utter bastard.

While that may come as a crushing disappointment to those of you who thought I was a stand-up guy, you’ve got to admit that Skype is particularly troublesome to navigate. I mean, there’s no sodding menu. Is it just me? Have I been so wrapped up in building a juggernaut that I have negated to to follow the help prompts? That’s right there aren’t any. It’s all just a sick joke devised by those who used to bully us in the school corridors. It’s just such a mind field. No, I would rather my progeny just thump people for no apparent reason and upload any embarrassing trips and slips to YouTube. While the nice guys are sitting around in a dingy cafe sipping tepid tea from a polystyrene cup; I’ll be quids in and becoming a mogul. Don’t try and stop me either as I have this place rigged and the perch you are sitting on is attached to an admittedly enjoyable flume which leads directly to my far less than welcoming kiln. That’s where I dispose of any surplus and the reason why this dark vapor cloud hangs over my chimney stack like a woolen nightmare. One must cover one’s tracks.

I guess that this would be the time to reveal my ingredients. Let’s start with the toes shall we and ascend to the summit from there? This is where the risk-taking began in earnest. If the sum of its parts was too in-touch with its own vanity then it would cost extra dollars for pedicures and pumice stones. That’s why I grabbed me some hooves from the nearest oxen I could lay my paws on. Shaggy hooves no less and cloven, so utterly cloven. These would prove invaluable for both the smashing of telephone kiosks and trampling of geraniums. That should grab my monster some headlines. Of course, I wouldn’t want it trouncing about town willy nilly and snagging its toe on uneven pavement slabs so I sized those trotters up and bought it some Ugg boots. I figured this may help with potential social interaction as it is the only word I plan to teach it anyway. What’s the point in reading it Great Expectations? If I had wanted it to graduate from Harvard and become a distinguished poet then I would have gifted it fingers.

You are correct in your assumptions; my creation is bereft of digits. I know this will leave many of you embittered as I dashed my creature’s dreams of becoming a pianist when I patented this plan. I blame it on my misspent youth and Bruce Campbell’s glorious elongated chin. Two fully fueled chainsaws, both in it up to the elbow, are the chosen alloy mittens. I fully intend on tasking it with carving down every bird bath in town and obliterating any loitering neighborhood watch in the process. How can you not be tempted to engage in some mildly heinous hi-jinx with two of these bad boys buzzing at your wrists? I was tempted to spice things up some with a chainsaw/anvil combo but I didn’t want to place too much pressure on its knees. You see, I think I may have come a cropper with the legs.

My idea was sound. Make the bastard tall; that should soil some diapers. I’d want people to see my monster coming and there not be a damned thing they can do to stop its relentless advance. Every three cowardly paces they would run; my monster would dwarf with a single stride and thus I opted for a the lower body of a giraffe. I think I just felt my credibility as a scientist dissipate by clueing you in on that one but, on the distinct plus side, at least it would stand out from the crowd. No mad scientist wishes for their monster to struggle making a first impression or to have to wait for the apple to fall from the tree before getting one of its five-a-day. To disguise its gangly pins I picked up a pair of bell-bottoms from the thrift store and some knee-high socks to keep its calves warm as the cold winter nights prepare to set in. If all else fails a lucrative career as a Pretty Polly model awaits although I have no intention of it coming to that.

Next up was the chest and it was here that I decided to cater for my own needs. A pair of breasts may seem like surplus to requirements but I managed to acquire some 32C’s which look delightful and won’t leave it complaining of back pains. They look rather purty all things considered and even better peeking through lingerie. So what if my choice appears somewhat self-centered; this is my monster after all and ultimately my responsibility. I stand fiercely behind my decision and don’t require validation from anyone. Also, when it is off-duty it can still fetch a pretty dollar by expressing breast milk for the local clinic and grabbing itself weekend shifts at Hooters. The tits weren’t hard to acquire as I live three blocks away from a crack den and found myself a subject on the swift decline. I think Shanice was just happy to be a part of something.

So to the cherry on top of my trifle and I was particularly choosy when picking head-gear. It wouldn’t be necessary for my monster to titillate and, besides, who knows if a plumpened pair of lips will be pumped full of collagen? I have the upkeep of my laboratory to consider and botox can get expensive once the bug bites. Of course, I still had the conundrum of weather to pick a male or female top box but sat on the fence with this one. Thus I fused components and the resulting flaxen locks which hang with lustre around its neckline are offset beautifully by its bushy facial furniture. If the Bee Gees ever decide to reform then they will likely need a new front man so I forked out for the very best dental treatment money can buy and got its pearl stones polished. I may know full well what my monster is capable of but it is hard to deny its winning smile. Whether or not that turns out to be a grimace once I ply it with voltage remains to be seen as discombobulation will no doubt be its first concern once it awakes from its slumber.

I’m going to have to insist on total silence as I commence with shock therapy. If we startle it then we open things up for all kinds of folly; it’s imperative that it feels at ease while it learns to become the sum of its parts for the very first time. I’m going to pull the lever in just a moment but, before I do, please adhere to the house rules and, above all else, be respectful of what I am trying to achieve. Once my monster is ready to hit the tiles and integrate itself into society; I expect you to act as guides. Nothing major; just show it the sights and pick up the tab at the tavern. Once it has found its feet; I’m sure it will get along famously with other patrons and become a pillar of the community. It is then, after it has gained acceptance from its peers, that I plan to reveal my beauty’s beast. That’s right, Uggs off, titties out, and hooves on the table. Bar brawls will inevitably play out as all manner of mavericks reside there. After provoking an all-out riot I want you to coax my monster through the rear exit and take him to bingo.

The elderly shouldn’t provide much resistance to my devilish plan. I’m not heartless and have no inclination to harm any of those soon to select pine receptacles. I just want my monster to switch a little medication, glance a few colostomy bags with its chainsaws, and tear up their bus passes; nothing too nefarious. When the local constabulary arrive to take eye-witness reports; collective cataracts and dementia will ensure that things remain somewhat ambiguous. By that point, my monster will have severed the tires of every mobility scooter in the parking lot. Then it will undertake the most vital leg of its pilgrimage; the instigation of massacre. I may be prepared to break a few eggs en route to making my omelet but they must be rotten to the yolk or else I just won’t sleep at night. Fortunately, as bingo is beginning to wind down for the evening, a few clicks to the southwest, deadlines will need to be met at the local tabloid publishing house. It is here that I shall request that my monster fling its feces and see what sticks.

For every body that hits the floor; I pledge to donate a nickel to charity. My chosen cause is the Association of Scientific Study or A.S.S. as it is commonly known and proceeds will help towards the purchase of three dozen new test tubes and some knock off Bunsen burners. I like to give back; call me a modern-day Robin Hood of sorts and I shall show you my archery prowess and pluck a few chords from my lute. The world may have its issues but nothing that my monster can’t sort out given the chance to do some schooling. The unscrupulous won’t be missed and as for those geriatrics, they’ll have forgotten their rough night by the time they fire up the foot spa back at the retirement village. I am mindful of the fact that any damage inflicted may well reflect on our taxes but I’m sure you will all agree that it is worth us all taking it on the chin in the name of the advancement of science. I’m making history here; our grandchildren will be learning about me for their curriculum long after my monster has booted down. Tom Hanks was understandably pretty pleased with himself when creating fire on the beach from two shards of slate that time but he can suck my left Wilson as his magnum opus ain’t got shit on what I have brewing.

The time has come now one and all. Visors down please; seat belts fastened and vomit satchels at the ready. If all goes well then bag yourselves a selfie as we’re about to go global. However, should I not have deduced correctly and a rampage ensues; run for your lives as I simply haven’t had time to concoct a plan B. I’m firing up the machine now; in a few moments there will be an almighty surge and we may lose power momentarily. The back-up generator should see us good but I must insist on absolute science for the next phase. It is imperative that we don’t startle my monster as it will be a lot to take in all at once. My dear brothers the CarNEvil Klown and Grinder will provide entertainment during the interim and fashion gnarled balloon animals while handing out toxic confectionary. By no stretch of the imagination are these candies intended for y’all’s consumption; instead dish them out at office parties to those who foolish enough to look down their snouts at you. Let’s make this count for something shall we?

It worked. Kinda. The electrical surge was sufficient enough to rouse my monster from its gurney but, at present, it appears as though it is in some kind of discomfort. I’m positive it’s just teething problems and apologize unreservedly for the unsolicited bowel movement. If you received enough volts to light up Electric Avenue; you would likely soil your breaches too. I did what any other budding mastermind would have done in my shoes when selecting my monster its rump shaker; I pilfered the butt flap from a Mr Potato Head, that way it has somewhere to store groceries and the like should it be required to run errands on my behalf. Maybe that was my error; I never really mastered the art of taxidermy so presumed my monster would have no need for a colon or pair of redundant kidneys. Right now, this is looking like a considerable oversight on my part and I’m not sure these Alka Seltzer are going to shake that ache.

Do not concern yourselves with the fact that my monster has broken free of its numerous constraints and is currently wailing as though in considerate discomfort. I’m assured it will pass; it’s likely little more than a heartfelt yawn. I’ve kept up to my end of the bargain; breathed life into my life’s work and gifted it its somewhat shrill but otherwise agreeable voice. The rest, my friends, is entirely up to you. Not wishing to take a dump in your oatmeal but, should darting to the hills be your chosen rejoinder, my monster will deal with any pace setters accordingly. Try a simple hello; maybe stroke its shoulder but don’t be tempted to go in for the handshake whatever you do. Consider this my gift to you for sticking with this to its conclusion; I can draw up any necessary documentation and will leave you ten bucks for chainsaw fuel and Butterfingers. Remember to warn my monster of any over-hanging beams and give its hooves a tickle twice hourly and you should do just fine. As for me, well I’ll be dandy and thank for asking. My friend Seth has picked up a couple of relocation pods on eBay and wants me there at the big unveiling so I really should be flying.

Click here to read Frankenstein Meet Bride