Entries tagged ‘igor’

Grab Yourself a Pizza da Action

November 29th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Ciao e Benvenuto mein wunderbare Frankenfriends!

Isn’t dial-a-pizza wonderful? You pick up the phone, bark out your orders and then half an hour later a fast food angel arrives on his scooter of wonders to deliver flatbread nirvana straight into your eager little mitts. It truly is a miracle of modern convenience eating but, as Will and Jolie’s Frankenstory demonstrates, ordering those delightful discs of doughy yumminess isn’t without it’s perils…

The music on the radio chimed off and she focused her gaze on the door. She hadn’t looked up in 12 years, but she knew something was special about today; she could feel it. A knock: she had a visitor. He held a rectangular paper box which gave off the aroma of cheap food and grease. She let him enter her home after he tipped his red baseball cap, but she failed to notice his queer grin. Snap! And just like that, his entire being exploded and little pieces of man and baseball cap sprayed the woman. “What rotten luck,” said the woman, nonchalantly,”oh well, I mustn’t be late for the party.” She went to said party grinning-and-bloodily. after finding her pizza unsatisfying and eating the pizza man instead. Fortunately, all of the other partygoers thought the blood was fake and she was soon the life of the party, with the pizza man as its death.

(See the original story here)

So next time you’re tempted to order that XXL ‘Explosively Hot’ with ‘napalm sauce’ and double firecracker chilis, you might want to think about opting for the ham and pineapple option instead!

Anyway, got to run – the doorbell has just gone and the tantalising smell of tomato sauce and gunpowder suggests that Igor has opted for ‘The TNT special’ again. Time to grab the napkins. And the sandbags.

Until next time, stay half-baked.

Arrivederci amici,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory.

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Pick Up A Penguin

November 22nd, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Guten Abend meine Freunde!

This week we welcomed several new additions to the Frankenlab, albeit temporarily, when my little birthday surprise for our resident hunchback handyman Igor went slightly awry. Knowing Igor’s soft spot for all things cute and cuddly I decided that it would be lovely to celebrate the occasion by sponsoring a troupe of endangered Antarctic penguins in his name. I jumped on the Frankenlab’s dusty old laptop, fired up my Paypal account and duly went to work funding the cutest bunch of flightless critters my credit card could muster up. Mission completed, I sat back, safe in the knowledge that my lumpy buddy would be enjoying a whole year’s worth of penguin-related goodness from his new feathered friends with tons of cute photos, light-hearted newsletters and slightly fishy correspondences winging their way from our planet’s chilliest climes.

Imagine Igor’s bemusement then when, on the morning of his special day, he flung open the doors of the Frankenlab to find our lawn full of hundreds of hungry penguins fresh from a long-haul flight from the South Pole. It turns out you really have to read the small print on these sponsorship sites to find out exactly what you’re signing up for!

Needless to say, as chuffed as Igor was with his surprise, the novelty of having an entire penguin colony under our protection soon wore off. To be honest, it wasn’t so much their insatiable appetite for tinned sardines or their tendency to huddle en-mass in the Frankenlab’s whirlpool jacuzzi that did it, but rather their surprising love of German Techno music that pumped through the building until the wee small hours of the morning. After just a day we were on the phone to the nearest Zoo to get our new friends re-housed and by late the following afternoon, the Frankenlab was blessedly penguin-free once more.

Which was lucky as, on the very next moring Elsie’s gift for Igor arrived – turned out she’d had a similar thought to me on the animal sponsorship front but her present turned out to be a little more problematic. Who would have thought Bengal tigers liked French hip hop so much, eh?

Still, it looks like we’re not the only ones having penguin problems this week as Louise and JonathanBononathan’s Frankenstory demonstrates (although I like to think out solution was a little more humane!):

There once was a boy who loved penguins. He played with them all day long. Then one day one of the penguins said to him, “Why do you love us so much?” He said to him, little penguin, I love you because….of your tuxedo bodies and ability to slide so well. I’ve always wanted to see a person slide into home plate at a baseball game in a tuxedo. Or I would love to see a penguin direct a symphony or serve orderves at a party. But the penguin was not amused. He was upset with the fact that…. he loved the penguin so much but didn’t give them enoug attention and care. The boy decided he would throw the penguins a big penguin bash. The party would have beers and toys and even a penguin stripper. The penguins were so excited. until they realized that the strippers were really bears disguised as penguins. The bears had the penguins right where they wanted them. The penguins made a run for it but were caught off by the bears. Then the bears ate all of the penguins. The end

(See the original story here)

Fear not, dear readers, as all is not lost! It seems at least one of our black-and-white friends escaped the clutches of those nasty polar bears and went on to become the hero of Sheldon and Carmen’s Frankenstory, proving that penguins can really kick ass when they need to:

As fergie the penguin descended the cavern, he knew that something truly magical awaited him at the bottom. Carefully he lowered him self down the rope. Down, down, down further he went approaching the darkness. What awaited our hero was unknown. But our hero trudged forwards none the less. He continued into the darkness, when out of the darkness came a lizard monster. He used his karate skills, but they were useless. He fell to the dirt when he remembered the words only angels and sparrows may fly for penguins are cursed to the earth and sea.” How he hated that phrase that had plagued his mind for years. The only thing left was to do what he could. He danced a Jig. It was the most beautiful Jig the moster had ever seen. So beautiful, the monster started crying. This was all our hero needed to catch the moster and save the world. He punched the monster and it landed with a thud.

(See the original story here)

Anyway, better run – the sound of Gallic rap music has just struck up from the Frankenlab and its accompanying cacophony of ominous growls suggest that Igor might be in imminent danger of losing a limb…

See you soon Frankenfans,

Zoologically yours,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory.

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Djinn and Tonic

October 28th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Tricky little buggers, genies.

We recently had an unfortunate incident with a dodgy djinn right here in the Frankenlab when Igor returned from his  summer holiday to Morocco. It was there that our lumpy adventurer inadvertently picked up a supernatural stowaway whilst browsing for bargains in the dusty backstreets of old Marrakesh.

Ironically it turns out it wasn’t the 1000 year-old mystic amulet he bought that caused the bother, but rather the innocent-looking bottle of anti-diarrhea tablets that he procured from the dodgy chemist shop round the corner. Who’d have guessed that modern genies prefer the mod cons of mass-produced plastics and child-proof safety caps to ancient tin lamps eh?

Needless to say that the almighty case of ‘traveller’s tummy’ that the grumpy genie inflicted on poor Igor when he tried to stow the bottle in the Frankenlab’s medicine cabinet was truly not of this world! Put it this way, if I’d have had three wishes that day, they would have been for air freshener, ear plugs and a month’s supply of toilet tissue.

Still, a dose of the ‘green apple splatters’ seems positively lacklustre compared to the genie-related grief doled out in the following Frankenstory by Roslyn and Baxter

Once upon a time, I tripped over a small lamp in the middle of the road. It was quite grubby, so I wiped it clean. To my great surprise, a genie popped out and said, “You have three wishes! Choose wisely!” Unbeknown to anyone, it was written in the (unwritten) binding genie contract that the wishes were more open to interpretation than literal translation. Oblivious to this, the air became electric with excitement – it was time for wish number one… “I wish I could turn into a cat whenever I wanted” “Done!” “I wish I really did have 9 lives!” “Done!” Ecstatic, I wondered what else to wish for. It was awesome enough being a cat with nine lives, what else!? Delighted with the results of her previous wishes, she tackled her last with a grin. “I wish that I’ll be this happy for the rest of my life!” “Granted” said the genie, slowly pulling out a gun. And she was.

(See the original story here)

Mein Gott,  I guess they really rubbed him up the wrong way!

Mystically 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 Emporiumclosed 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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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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Suffer the Children

June 28th, 2009 by Dr. Frankenstory

Ach mein Gott, what a morning!

Today saw the Frankenlab’s first (and may I hastily add LAST) ‘bring your kids to work day’.  What started off a morale- building exercise for the team quickly turned to chaos when my little nephew Ralphie discovered the lab’s supply of medicinal alcohol, one of Elsie’s puppies got stuck in the air conditioning outlet and Igor’s socially maladjusted two-year-old son, Klunk, nearly lost a finger whilst trying to feed a Dr. Miriam Stoppard book to our story monster.Still, judging from the submissions we’ve been getting through to the Frankenlab, we’re not the only ones having nightmares about unruly kids!

Take this Frankenstory submitted a while back by Sam and Jeff- a terrifying exploration of what happens if you turn a nursery school class into a bunch of mini Rambos…

Only one thought crossed my mind at the sight of the thousand four-year-olds wielding knives: The end is near. After that, I wondered for a bit about what monster would even arm a thousand four-year-olds, and I ultimately blamed the preschools. The preschools seemed like the only logical choice: who else would have the power to transform one thousand kids into soldiers of destruction and doom? I realized then that I must act alone. No one would believe that teachers were terrorists. Regardless, I had a more pressing issue on my hands – the current group of youthful sprites insistent upon stabbing me in the chest. I knew I had no way of defeating the youngsters in straight-up combat. What could I do? I realized the only way to defeat them was stealth. I fashioned a disguise, made from newspaper, and I waited. One by one, I surprised them with a back stab. It’s just a matter of time before they all die.

(see the original story here)

I blame the parents. But then again, maybe their psychotic urges are coming from a far more benign influence as Katie and Mary’s journey into the dark side of Santa’s workshop reveals…

The urge to kill was rising. Little Johnny Sprinkles was sitting, comtemplating stabbing every last elf in the room. Santa came in, making sure all were working on their toys. Johnny got back to work, building yet another toy fire truck. Ralph loved his job at the beginning — who wouldn’t love the job Tom Hanks got in “Big”? He got to revisit his childhood every day. But now, a year later, constantly coming up with new ideas was wearing on him so he made a decision. The idea had been rolling around in his little elf head for quite sometime. It slowly began to fester, and before he knew it all he could think about was executing his glorious plan to destroy the toy company once and for all. All the Tinker Toys, Legos, and Barbies would go up in flames, and no one would be able to pin it on him — because he would be dead. It was perfect.

(see the original story here)

Terrifying stuff,eh? I bet you’ll all be trying extra hard to stay off the ‘naughty list’ this Christmas knowing that Santa’s little helpers are like a cross between Jack the Ripper and Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down’.

Anyway, must dash, Klunk’s just found our scalpel cupboard and Ralphie’s making a beeline towards my vintage single malt.

Keep the stories coming in!

Scientifically yours,

Doctor Victor E. Frankenstory. x

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