To celebrate Halloween!
(Really just an excuse to promote my book Monster Laughs.)
Here are a few excerpts from chapter 3,
a.k.a. ...
a.k.a. ...
FILE #143:
FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER
BOLTS LOOSE
Big and green, mighty and mean,
the most menacing monster
the Hunter’s ever seen.
(So far.)
Most folks call Frankenstein’s Monster: Frankenstein. But that’s the last name of the doctor who stitched together and reanimated the creature in his lab. While the Big Fella himself bore the name Bob. Although he would also answer to Robert, Robby, Bobby, Skip, Skippy, Hey Big Scary Monster, and Eeeeeeyaaaaaahhhhh! Since he’s one of the sweetest guys you’d ever meet, the Big Lug hated being called a monster. And yet, he drove a Monster Truck. Go figure.
Standing seven feet tall, the King of Stitches can be so intimidating, you can sweat through a five-day deodorant pad in five minutes. Or five seconds, if he breathes on you. With his Monster Breath. Green-faced, with bolts and scars. Short, frizzy, black hair. Gray eyes. And clumsy. What a klutz! Old Flat Top never meant to hurt anybody. But when he hugged some folks, he accidentally yanked off their skulls. And ever since, the unforgiving, grudge-and-torch-bearing villagers have tried to destroy him. And that hurts. He’s so sensitive, he exudes more meaning with one mindless moan than Webster does with his entire dictionary.
Although called to investigate the comet crash, I busied myself with my supermodel assistant Penelope Pratts poking my eyes and kneeing my tenderloins during my search for a certain furry felon. With that case closed, I picked up the trail of Bolt Boy after he bounded into Miami.
This is the city: Miami. The name means “That ami belongs to me!” or “I own this ami.” Maybe, my love. Or downstream person. The Magic City. Little Cuba. The Gateway to the Americas. America’s Cleanest City. Cruise Capital of the World. A metropolitan area known for heat, dolphins, and vice. If you’re frozen, this is the place to thaw.
...
Seeing his evil grin, I thawed out and cocked my right fist, ready to punch him back to the North Pole. But I refroze when I realized his strong, massive hands could easily pop my head as if it were something that pops easily. How about Jiffy Pop Popcorn? Okay. His strong, massive hands could easily pop my head as if it were Jiffy Pop Popcorn. Or maybe a water balloon. His strong, massive hands could easily pop my head as if it were a water balloon. Or create your own. His strong, massive hands could easily pop my head as if it were {INSERT YOUR OWN IDEA HERE}. With my life about to end, I didn’t have time to nitpick about minuscule metaphorical musings. Okay. What about a melon? His strong, massive hands could easily pop my head as if it were a melon. A rotten melon on a hot summer’s day!
Never a radioactive spider around when you need one. When the hands of death reached within an inch of my easily-poppable, Jiffy-Pop-Popcornesque, water-balloonish, {RE-INSERT YOUR OWN IDEA HERE}-like, rotten-melon-on-a-hot-summer’s-day-style head, Kay called out, “No!”
Monster Breath turned to look at her, so I ducked with deftness and courage. (I won the bronze medal in the past three Duck Olympics. I keep losing to Donald and Daffy.) Although frozen with fear, I thawed after inhaling Horror-Head’s Hideous Halitosis.
...
Before the Quilted Zombie could clamber to Kay, I whipped out my Poppy’s Pocket Torch and lit it with the handy-dandy Insta-Lite accessory. I fanned the flames into Flathead’s face and fumed, “‘How about a little fire, Scarecrow?’”
The Monster Mash snarled and staggered back.
Felt glad that my addiction to late night infomercials proved useful after all. And that I could deduct some of them as legitimate business expenses.
Kay waddled to me, but I chased after my fleeing foe.
“How ironic they dub you ‘The Modern Prometheus’, when you’re afraid of fire. And not all that modern either. That suit went out of style centuries ago.” I cackled, wielding power over the one who, seconds ago, made me cower. And destroyed my pie.
“Don’t hurt him!” Kay knocked the Torch out of my hand and sent it sailing down a nearby sewage drain. That’s four easy payments of $29.95 plus shipping and handling I’ll never see again. Good thing they made the fifth payment for me.
I quit cackling and recommenced cowering. As the Green Groaner hulked back to me with his arms outstretched, I babbled a like a maniac, as, some might say, is my stock in trade. “No hard feelings. Right, Big Guy? It’s so dark, I thought you could use a little light. And since you were frozen, some heat too. Sound good? And, of course, I was kidding with my comment about ‘The Modern Prometheus’. We cool?”
I gulped. Among other things. Moaning and groaning mindlessly, the Lumbering Lunkhead lifted me off the street with his huge hands. Images of my easily-poppable head flooded back into my brain. My easily-poppable, Jiffy-Pop-Popcornesque, water-balloonish, {RE-RE-INSERT YOUR OWN IDEA HERE}-like, rotten-melon-on-a-hot-summer’s-day-style brain.
... To read more of Monster Laughs, read the sample from the Kindle edition here.
... To read the rest of this chapter, buy the Kindle edition here for only ninety-nine cents!
... If you don’t have a Kindle reader, get a Free Kindle Reading App here.
... Buy the print edition here for only $9.95, plus shipping, unless you qualify for free shipping
.See also: "Monster Laughs" Table of Contents and "Monster Laughs!" - Back Cover Copy.
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