Welcome friends, both new and old, to ‘The Frankenlab’, the place where I, Doctor Victor Emelius Frankenstory, showcase the finest contributions to Frankenstory.com (the story writing game where two freakishly misshapen heads are better than one).

This week sees much excitement in store for the Frankenstory crew as we leave depart from our secret underground lab  in wintery Geneva, bound for the hustle and bustle of old London Town. Our destination is ‘The Story’, a one-day conference which seeks to unite wordsmiths, raconteurs, fable-tellers,  imagineers, plot-pushers, chronicle-junkies and ragtag vagabonds from the narrative super-highway, all looking to celebrate the joy of a tale well told.

As this is our maiden voyage to good old Blighty (and the first time my hunchback butler Igor has ventured overseas since his disastrous appearance on ‘Transylvania’s got Talent’), we’ve decided to celebrate the occasion with our first ever Frankenstory competition.

That’s right, over the coming months we’ll be challenging our Frankenfans to blow our stinky little socks off with their literary creations for the chance to win a very special prize. To enter, you must  submit a completed story to the Frankenstory website by simply logging on to Frankenstory.com, following the instructions and badgering a friend into becoming the story-writing sidekick to your narrative superhero.

“But Dr. Frankenstory” I hear you cry “pray tell, just what is this fabulous prize with which you tantalise us so?”

Well, meinen freunden, we’ve convinced Mademoiselles Lady and Small to lovingly hand craft a unique piece of Frankenstory memorabilia for our lucky winners. Assembled from authentic bits and bobs from our very own secret laboratory, it promises to be part beast, part marvel and 100% bonkers (and we can’t guarantee that it won’t gnaw your fingers off either). You can’t buy this in the shops (in fact we’re not even sure we’ll get it through customs!) so you can rest assured you’ll have a one-of-a-kind creation to scare the grandkids with.

So there it is, Frankenfans, your chance to become part of Frankenstory history as our first ever competition winner!

Remember to follow me @frankenstory on Twitter where I’ll be documenting our thoughts and experiences  of ‘The Story’ and if you happen be at the conference and you  spot a dashing silver-haired scientific genius and a butler who looks like a haemorrhoid, do come over and say guten tag.

Anyway, must dash – there’s an Easyjet from Geneva with our name on it and Igor’s itching to add to his sick-bag collection.

See you at ‘The Story’

Internationally yours,

Dr. Victor E Frankenstory

Ever had a mental image burned into your brain that you really wished you could get rid of but, try as you might, the Gott verdammt thing just can’t be shifted? We’ll I certainly have and it is a scene of unimaginable horror that all began the night Igor skipped our weekly poker night.

Me and Elsie (my faithful Rottweiler) were seated, as usual, around the Frankenlab’s fold-up dining table, waiting for our weekly Wednesday night ‘Transylvania Hold’em’ session to begin. Suddenly the dining room door opens and in bursts Igor, my trusty hunchback right-hand-man. But instead of the crate of beer and mountain of potato chips he usually brings to the party, he turns up with nothing more than his overcoat and a sheepish look on his misshapen visage.

Turns out our lumpy friend had landed a new part-time job that would see him indisposed every Wednesday night from here on in. Reluctantly we waved him off and rolled up the green baize, knowing that our card night had been consigned to the annals of history (after all, I can’t just play with Elsie- she’s a rotten cheat and besides, she always gets doggy drool on the playing cards).

Seeing as I was now at a mid-week loss, I decided it was time to find a new hobby. After contemplating kung-fu classes (too energetic), flower arranging (too competitive), and yoga (too bendy) I hit upon the idea of art lessons. I duly googled my options and happily discovered a local class starting the following Wednesday to which I immediately signed up.

Over the next few days, I sharpened by pencils, dusted off my sketch book and cultivated a fetching beard-and-afro combo in homage to the late, great Bob Ross (the hair-bear king of landscape painting). By 7pm on Wednesday night, I was sitting, easel prepped, in a draughty community centre with a handful of amateur artists, waiting for the lesson to begin.

Which is where it all went a bit pear-shaped. Or Igor-shaped to be more precise.

You see, tonight’s class was to be on life drawing and, as our tutor unveiled our nude model for the evening, it all became eye-wateringly clear just what Igor had been getting up to every Wednesday evening. Needless to say I simultaneously came to see my butler in a brand new light and developed and aversion to walnuts that will probably haunt me to my dying day.

Still, judging by the following Frankenstory by Lauren and Kel, I’m not the only one to be suffering for my art…

He had decided to kill his professor the previous night after she had humiliated him in front of the entire art class. His masterpiece had been a lovely painting, and after he had finished it he could not wait to show everyone what he had in his pants. The next day, he went wandering in the rain, hoping this would optimize the effects. He knew that the person he admired most would be very pleased with him when he finally revealed his painting, but instead, she had laughed and said all manner of terrible things until she had the whole class laughing. That was when he decided to kill her. He had put a lot of thought into how to do it, so he knew it was going to be beautiful. Finally, the unveiling came. He stood upon his makeshift stage, and, with a deep and purposeful breath he glanced between those who watched him; then, he dropped his pants.

THE END

(See the original story here)

Right then, I’m off to burn my sketchbook in the garden and find myself a decent psychiatrist who can help me erase the unbearable mental scarring.

Sketchily Yours,

Dr. Victor E. 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.

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.

This week sees the 40^th anniversary of Sesame Street, that much-loved stalwart of kiducational television and all of us here at the Frankenlab confess to being massive fans of the show. This is partly because we’d all secretly love to be best friends with Elmo and partly because The Count was an old dance partner of Igor’s mum back in Transylvania (in fact Igor’s slightly pointy canines and obsessive love of algebra does make me wonder sometimes).

Either way we were shocked by the recent  criminal allegations brought to light by Frankenstory detectives Maffew and Alex about a certain well-know Muppet. Could there be really a secret dark side to the world’s favourite frog?

There had always seemed to be a rain storm when there was a new murder, he had gotten used to that over the years, it made examining the scene a bitch, but something here wasn’t right; the blood wasn’t washing off. Kermit looked down and placed his hands under the tap once again, the blood upon his green skin reminiscent of a macabre array christmas colours. All he needed now was some lights and tinsel. He chuckled to himself, was this insanity? Everything started to dissolve around him, the walls became glitter, vertigo hit. Did murdering someone really have this much off an effect on your mind? No, something was doing this, but what, who else knew?! The city was on to him. He never thought Miss Piggy would be so widely missed, she was no Beaker or Gonzo. He would have to admit it all to the police, his status as a Muppet would be disgraced forever. Jim Henson rolled in his grave.

(See the original story here)

Could it be true? Is our beloved singing amphibian really a raving homicidal maniac or is he being framed for a crime he didn’t Ker-mit?

Fear not, dear readers, I have it on good authority that Maffew and Alex are none other than crotchety Muppet theatre critics Statler and Waldorf in disguise, hell-bent on sabotaging the Kermit’s career!

Big Bird and Mr. Snuffleupagus have been duly dispatched to administer some ‘Muppet Justice’ so I don’t think we’ll be hearing from those troublemakers again.

Until next time, stay googly-eyed and endearingly cuddly.

Muppet-tastically yours,

Dr. Victor E. Frankenstory

(P.s. Today’s Frankenstory was brought to you by the letters ‘F’ and ‘S’ and by the number 40. Happy birthday Sesame Street!)

]]> http://frankenlab.frankenstory.com/2009/11/a-nightmare-on-sesame-street/feed/ 1 http://frankenlab.frankenstory.com/2009/10/djinn-and-tonic/ http://frankenlab.frankenstory.com/2009/10/djinn-and-tonic/#comments Wed, 28 Oct 2009 22:11:48 +0000 Dr. Frankenstory http://frankenlab.frankenstory.com/?p=89 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

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

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

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

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