I know. I shouldn’t have interrupted him with my petty complaints. He’s a mad scientist, not a T.V. and stereo repair man. My bad, totally. Dude.
Oh, yes… that’s right. We are not the only ones reading this. Sorry out there in the blogosphere. Big Green is in the midst of a band meeting of sorts. No, we don’t typically do these. Like most groups, we all live together in our funky (i.e. “groovy”) musician bachelor pad, with the retro sixties modular furniture and gooseneck lamps of the type you might find in Darrin Stevens’ house (assuming he actually had a house and not just a set that is, in essence, a house sawed in half). My point is…. um … (yes… it was a house sawed in half, perhaps by some kind of witchcraft, or … craft services….) Damn it!
Okay, I’ll stay on point. We’re meeting about that thing, that bloodthirsty killer. No, not “The Thing”, as in the sci-fi movie “The Thing”. I mean the thing that Mitch Macaphee created in his spare time. He was working on it last week when I tried to pull him off so he could fix our monitor power amp. Simple 
work for a genius, right? I mean, he freaking invented Marvin (my personal robot assistant) using spare parts, bailing wire, etc. Well, he had some more spare parts and, as I said, some spare time, and …. well … he invented some kind of killin’ machine.
What is it called? You may well ask. After all, how else are you going to avoid it, right? Mitch isn’t really good at names. I mean, we call it Freakenstein, but that’s just because we’re not really good at names either. Only Mitch can control it; only he can call it back. But Mitch is like the stereotypical insurance salesman of mad scientists. Once he sells a policy, you never hear from him again. That’s the way Mitch works. He builds something, sets it loose on an unsuspecting public, and then forgets about it. On to the next thing. And if it goes on a mad rampage, well… that’s as it may be.
How can you protect yourself? Well… I asked Mitch, and the only thing that will ward Freakenstein off is that helmet Mr. Spock wears – you know the one. You saw it in the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog every year, right? Well…. should’ve asked Santa for it back in 1967, because that’s the thing that scares the fertilizer out of Freakenstein.
Okay…. band meeting over. I move to adjourn. Anyone second? Freakenstein seconds. Meeting is adj…. FREAKENSTEIN?!?
