- - - - - - - - - - -E-mail - - - Archives- - - - - - - - - - -

Tuesday, September 14, 2004


I have insane writer's block, so you get crazy monster flarf.

Monster Island Domestic Drama (Already in Progress)

We also learn that all the earth's monsters
Have been collected and put onto one island.
The monsters will fight for you, if you've got
Cash. You and your buddies can relieve yourselves
Of whatever assumptions of complexity and just
Go in pounding each other with monsters. "Arggh!
You will pay dearly," yell the monsters when
They lose. Their monster teammates yell back,
"Arggh!" The monsters are further divided into
More monsters, into uber-monsters, hemi-monsters,
Boss-monsters, loser-monsters, shoe-monsters, mom-
N-pop monsters, but no lame monsters like the blob.
Monster Island is spawning quite a lucrative
Marketing empire: for the bored girlfriends of rich
Guys who back teams of badass fighting monsters
There are boutiques that pop up, selling custom
Monster skins. Go get yourself something blue
And slick, something with flames up and down
The legs, a far cry from the green and warty monsters
Of yesteryear. Have a monster martini. It's got
Campari. Have a monster bean bag toy. Collect 'em
All, and then just try to get them home on the plane.
You'll brush a tear from your botoxed eye, saying,
"I didn't even have room for the Flame Swordsman."
Meantime, your playboy husband is having the mansion
Vetted one last time for monsters; he's gotten twitchy
Since losing 40 grand to a team of mean-as-hell,
Leathing-wearing monsters. You're sure there's no
Monsters here? He prods the guy from the agency, while
Thumbing through a leaflet warning: every day,
At least three people are turned into monsters. Your
Toddler asks at bedtime, "Mommy? Will there be monsters
That are very, very large?" "Oh, honey," you say, thinking
About one sexy-yet-evil croco-man and his cool
Campari-scented sigh, "Honey. There already are."

posted by Reen |link| 0 comments

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

st*rnosedmole is the sole product of maureen thorson and everyone else on the entire planet. if you would like to send us a message, preferably the kind delivered by a white gloved servant in livery, and heavily perfumed with latest scent out of Paris, por favor, send it to reenhead AT gmail DOT com.