Entries for July, 2009

Dial 'F' for Frankenstory

July 19th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

We’ve all felt the frustration of tying to get things sorted through telephone call centres (Lord knows I had a nightmare trying to get the Frankenlab’s Hearse insured after Igor added the twin turbo) but how many of us spare a thought for the poor operative on the other end of the line? This mini adventure from Andrew and Jane explores what happens when one telesales girl can’t take it any more (but are you on the side of our heroine or the assailant who presumably couldn’t afford his premiums?).

Jenny had been crying again. But she was forcing a smile under her telephone headset, as the inspirational poster on the office wall insisted, so that the callers wouldn’t know. There were already lights blinking on her station, and she sighed. She felt a sudden urge to flea. The responsibility was like a crushing weight pinning her to her chair. She shut her eyes, wrenched herself into an upright position and started to run. She sped past streets, chip shops and supermarkets without looking back. A car drew forward, across her path, and she tried to turn down the street it had come out of, but collided with its passenger door, and a strong hand grabbed her arm through the window. “Don’t move I’ve got you, but If you turn around I’ll have to shoot you.” He wrenched her through the glass and with an interminable smashing of shards in the sunlight she fell from his grip and landed back in her chair.

(see the original story here)

Telephonically yours,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

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Carmageddon

July 19th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Ach Himmel! Why oh why do cars only ever break down when you have to be somewhere?

This morning I had myself a bit of automotive anguish whilst en-route to fulfilling a very urgent errand  (namely returning my long overdue copy of Weird Science to the local video shop before incurring another hefty fine). With only minutes to spare I hopped in the trusty Frankenhearse, popped her into gear and headed for downtown Geneva before ‘Franz Ford Coppelstein’s Movie Emporium’ closed for the day.

Alas I had barely got to the end of the drive before the bonnet blew off in a cloud of steam and I found my self having a Basil Fawlty moment. When the steam cleared away, I took a look at the engine only to find that Igor, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to make a few modifications to the engine.*

That’s the last time I’ll be letting that useless lump watch ‘Pimp My Ride’ I tell you!

Still, a measly 2 euro late fee seems positively pawltry compared to the impending armageddon faced by the mysterious driver in Jennily and Kathykins apocalyptic Frankenstory…

The black Buick refused to start. The driver tried everything, and short of getting out a crowbar and going to town on it – which, while cathartic, wouldn’t be particularly productive – there wasn’t anything else that could be done by sitting on their asses. It was time for action, and He was the man for the job. Vance knew that if they didn’t defuse the bomb, the world as they knew it would be little more than a featureless crater because of the dark purple liquid bubbling, nay, boiling within. There was a reason why no animals approached, and there was a saying that even the Sun never set upon this place of wonders and candy. Vance turned to his life-partner, and as he saw her he saw his future destroyed, tainted by the touch of atomic warfare, and he knew that it was time.

(see the original story here)

But just who is this Vance, what strange powers does he posses and what secrets does the mysterious black Buick hold? Maybe the answer lies in Megan and Joe’s tale where a rather surprising passenger is lurking in the trunk…

God was sitting at the bar one day, with his big hat taking up the two stools to his right. It was a hat that looked just like the Man in Yellow’s from Curious George, only bigger. Although, from inside the trunk of a Buick, everything seems bigger. Could be the slow leak of the gas tank, could be the concussion. After two days, I’m not quite sure which it is. I’m just glad we’re out of vegas. God didn’t like Vegas very much. Too many bright lights and loud sounds for him to feel relaxed. Not that Seattle would be any better. Well, maybe the rain would be relaxing. He just wished the world would leave him alone. I’m tired of being the hero anyway. You see things clearly when you’re about to be buried in the dessert. I spent all my life saving people and now, nobody left to pull my sorry ass outta the sands. Some hero…

(see the original story here)

They never taught us that bit in Sunday school!

Anyway, better run as I can smell the scent of burning carburettors and I can hear Xzibit’s dulcet tones coming from the region of the telly.

“Igor, I thought I said you were never to watch that show again…”

Hi- octane hugs,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

*photo by Helena 40.proof

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If You go Down to the Woods Today…

July 12th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Since time immemorial mankind has harboured fear and fascination for the dark forest. From the Brothers Grimm to Bigfoot to Alan Titchmarsh we have long been wary of the hideous and monsterous creatures that lurk in the undergrowth, making the woods the perfect arena for legends, fairy tails and low-budget slasher movies. It is on one such adventure that the following Frankenstory by Grant and Stan takes place, leading us deep into the leafy shadows… where they presumably stumbled across a forest clearing full of magic mushrooms. I mean seriously guys, WTF is going on in the second half!?!

A long long time ago in the not to distant past there lived a man by the name of Piper. Piper loved to go on adventures with his friends, Once they went into the forest where the evil witch lived. It was a dark forest with moss laden stones and logs and the sound of distant creatures keep entering their ears keeping them present to their surroundings. But just where were they going? Direction didn’t make since anymore. But then… all hell broke loose when Mark began to see strange animals climbing over his body. They were bitting and clawing at him, but his friend saw nothing. Soon they found a place where they could pull over and get some help. Help arrived in the form of tonka sized vehicles. Little ambulances, fire trucks, police cars along with many construction vehicles to assist in the effort. Unfortunately, they realized that they were giants in an unreal, metallic, environment covered by plastic.

(see the original story here)

Psychedelically yours,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

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ExperiMental

July 12th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Here at the Frankenlab we are always very careful to keep a close eye on our experiments. We pride ourselves on our watertight medical ethics, our stringent scientific methods and the fact they we have the most sparkly white lab coats West of the River Rhine. Apart from one unfortunate incident where we genetically spliced 10 kilos of blue Smarties with a meerkat embryo, accidentally creating kids’ TV presenter Dave Benson Phillips in the process, we have a safety record second to none. It is with the utmost confidence, therefore, that I can categorically state that the strange creature terrorising the homestead in Devon and Livvy’s Frankenstory below has absolutely nothing to do with the Frankenlab.

Well, nothing you could prove in a court of law anyway.

There was once a boy by the name of Billy. On a Sunday in May, little Billy was skipping along, until he came to a house. “What’s in that house?”, Billy wondered out loud. when he was finished talking to himself, he made the decision to walk up the path leading to the house. He went up the steps, and realized that the door was ajar. Looking around to make sure noone was watching, he… suddenly let loose his true self; in doing that, tentacles sprouted from his back. These tentacles explored the inner workings of the establishment, and with that tore the house down. His tentacles rested at his sides, Billy breathing heavily. After he caught his breath, a thought popped into his head. “Damn, I really want some ice cream…” and so he ran off into the sunset, searching for the nearest 7-11. the end.

(See the original story here.)

Auf wiedersehen,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

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Transylvania's Got Talent

July 4th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Salutations noble Franken fans!

It has been a time of much excitement this week at the Frankenlab as we learned that our very own misshapen hunchback manservant Igor had progressed through the semi finals of ‘Transylvania’s got Talent’ (Transylvania’s top-rated tea-time family extravaganza!).

Two days ago we took a horse-drawn cab to the local airport and waved adieu to our lumpy butler as he took off skyward in a battered second-hand weather balloon, bound for his home town of Cluj-Napoca (where the finals were due to occur).  This afternoon we received a missive from Igor via carrier pigeon that although he had (eventually) reached his destination, things hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

Apparently it wasn’t because his enthusiastic cover of ‘My Humps’ by the Black Eyed Peas was out of tune or even that his rather-too-revealing ‘Fergie’ costume was a little tight in the booty area. No, the real trouble came at the bar at the after show party where stroppy host, Simön Cowellzakó, had clearly had too much to drink. Poor Igor, still in costume, found himself being pawed by the amorous presenter who clearly wanted to take a closer look at our hero’s ‘lady lumps’.

Needless to say one head butt, three paramedics and a police caution later Igor arrived dejected back at the Frankenlab having been eliminated from the show and deported from the county.

Still, I reckon he escaped with most of his dignity in tact, unlike to poor subject of this musical Frankenstory extravaganza penned by by Kryssi McCluney and Jeremy Snow…

The plunging neckline of her dress attracted the eyes of every man sitting in red velvet seats. The conductor raised his baton and the orchestra began. From her mouth came sugary melodic notes of Puccini’s Quando Me’n Vo’. The audience fell silent. Singing Puccini as karaoke at a bar was outlandish for some, but for her, it was all too common. A retired opera singer, she warbled the notes like an inebriated nightingale,dancing from the stage onto the bar room floor while singing. The hardwood floor smashed into her face. A snap of cartalidge was heard by some. As she sat up in her sequenced dress, a scarlet stream ran from her nose. She thought to herself, ‘Who sings Musetta in a bar anyways?” The bartender had seen it all before. “Poor girl.” he thought as she stumbled over the bar and threw her gargantuan weight down on a bar stool. He walked from behind the counter and yelled “Its over, the fat lady sang.”

(See the original story here).

Until next time stay saucy, pop pickers.

Bootyliciously yours,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

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