Monday, December 6, 2010

Frankenstein's Monster Has No Friends

Do you think if the wolf man smoked pot right before he turned into a werewolf he would become just a really mellow puppy? He’d still be all big and scary looking but he’d just want to go for car rides and get his belly scratched.

You know, pot could totally be the cure for monsters all over the planet. The yeti would just want to drink hot chocolate and see how many marshmallows he could stuff in his mouth. Vampire teenagers would draw inappropriate things on vampires who were sleeping in their coffins, giggling incessantly the whole time. Mummies would show off how they can laugh and have their brains come out their nose.

Zombies we would probably still have a problem with, they come with built in munchies. As a matter of fact, how do we know that zombies just aren’t high in general? The slow, shambling walk; how easy distracted they are; wanting to eat everyone’s brains and not being happy with one serving. Maybe we have just never seen a zombie somber.

Frankenstein’s monster would be a total buzz kill though. He already goes around talking about how miserable he is, and how he’s all emo about being a monster and all. See, he’d be an alcoholic. Getting all weepy and depressed. It’s like, come on, man, you’re a monster, you were given a second chance to be large and creepy, you have a built in Halloween costume and you’d make a fortune writing really depressing poetry/philosophy.

His poetry would probably be really popular with emo high schoolers. It’d be stuff like:

My soul is my own,

But who’s body am I in?

Fingers, toes, nose

They belong to another.

I’m alone in this stranger’s body.

My stitches itch.

It’s so hard to be friends with people like that. You know the ones, their lives are terrible and nothing can ever help them. I can’t stand it. I knew a guy once who would call me all the time telling me how he had a terrible life and his parents hated him and he didn’t have a girlfriend and how he wanted to kill himself. No matter what I said, no matter what option I put in front of him, he would tell me why it wouldn’t work. Finally I told him to just kill himself, cause I was sick of hearing him complain.

After his funeral I decided not to become a therapist.

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