Igor Makes a Friend

"Cold pigeons and caviar!” said Igor. “Pass the burgundy, Horace, we'll make a night of it, eh? Dr. Frankenstein is on his honeymoon, the monster is fishing at the pond, and the time is ripe for setting this cold and cavernous castle on fire with our burning lust."

From the first day I started digging up body parts for Horace, I was smitten with the eclectic nature of his beauty. From the top of his cock-eyed and impulsive head, to the tips of his cumbersome toes, I knew that I had formulated a recipe of love that went beyond the bounds of comprehension. If you will allow me a measure of blasphemy, I can only say that Horace is my Adam and I am his divine creator. If he rejects me, as others have, I'll destroy him. Love me, and he shall be at my side throughout eternity.

RING! RING!
RING! RING!

"Damned phone! Excuse me, Horace."

Can't be let alone for five minutes without an interruption! I know it's the doctor again. But does he ever ask me how I'm doing? No! It's, Igor! Turn down the heat. Igor! No sleepovers. Igor! Wash behind your hump. Igor! Igor! Igor!

"Yello! Oh, hello, Dr. Frankenstein. How are you? What? Yes, the monster is safe in the dungeon. Yes, his rash is clearing up very nicely. Yes, Idid, I separated the cans and the bottles. What? Dysfunctional body parts to go out with the morning trash? Gotcha. What? No, sir, I wouldn't touch a thing in that lab. I wouldn't know a scalpel from a horseshoe. What? Oh. That's Bolero on the Victrola, sir. I beg your pardon for taken such liberties, sir. Thank you, sir. Goodnight, sir.

"Horace! You big dumb idiot! Get your head out of that fish tank!"

It’s going to be a long night.