CREEPY CREATURES

Another mediocre-selling flash of genius.  I just don't know what the people want.
I wrote this in the winter of '98 when I got stuck on the N Train because of a gasket problem.
We were trapped in the tunnel between Manhattan and Queens for FIFTEEN MINUTES,
just enough time for me to pen this masterpiece (I scribbled it down in the margins of this great book I
was reading at the time, MANGY MONSTERS by Alexandra Ballé.)  I based each of the characters
on the other hoseheads that were trapped with me on the subway.  Creepy Creatures tells the story of a
misfit crew of monstrous neighborhood types who decide to open up a Dry Cleaners together.

The story takes a turn for the unexpected when Gus, the Satyr, deduces that one of the partners
has been stealing money from the register.  That's why their profit margins have been so thin!

Gus blames Chris, the Abominable Snowman.

Clarence, the Mummy, is like, "I bet it was Klondike, the Sabretooth Tiger.  Everyone knows you
can't trust Sabretooth tigers."

That's when Klondike calls Clarence a racist and eats him.

Polonia, the Vampire, laughs.  "I always hated that smelly Mummy!"

"Well I hate you Polonia!" says the Mr. Hyde/magician type, Carol.  "I saw you near the register
just the other day!  You probably are the one stealing the money!"  That's when Carol put a
stake through Polonia's heart.

"Um," says Doug, the moon, "I think Polonia was helping a customer, Carol.  I seriously doubt she'd
be stealing from us, if it wasn't for her family inheritance we never could have opened this place."  No
one blamed Doug because he could spit marshmallows out of his mouth at will.  The Creepy Creatures
never had to spend a dime on food because they lived on Doug's marshmallows.

"Guys, guys," says Chris, "None of this is necessary.  I did take money out of the register, but it was to pay
the guy who cleans our windows.  I would never steal from you guys.  You guys are my dearest
friends.  Except for Polonia and Clarence -- because they're dead.  Well -- Clarence was the worst,
especially how he'd use up all the toilet paper in the bathroom for his clothes." 

"Oh God," I know, said Gus, "Clarence treated the bathroom  like it was his
own personal office.  He never even asked us if it was OK to put
up those Green Day posters in there.  I  hate Green Day -- I mean, some of the songs are OK,
but if I'm gonna listen to punk rock I want it to be stuff from the 70's.  Ramones on vinyl, all the way."

"I love vinyl too!" says Carol, "And even more than loving vinyl I love to cram it down people's throats
how much I love vinyl!  Sometimes I think I don't even really love vinyl.  Come to think of it, I can't
remember the last time I actually listened to a record.  I should ask myself -- Do I even like music?"
Carol looks to the sky with an introspective sadness.
"I guess I shouldn't have killed Polonia," he whispers.

"You do have a temper problem," says Klondike.  

"Look who's talking!  You've eaten half of our customers, Klondike!  You keep pulling the
'but-I'm-technically-an-extinct-animal' card, but enoughs enough!"

"A sabretooth tiger cannot live on marshmallows alone," says Klondike.  

"Beggars can't be choosers," chides Doug.  "But what are we going to do now?"

"About what?" asks Chris.

"About Polonia, you bloody imbecile!  She was our tailor and a damn fine tailor too.  She could
hem my pants without me even trying them on."

"I've never seen you wear pants," says Chris.

"Why did we open a Dry Cleaners in the first place?" asks Klondike.  "Most of us are naked!  I haven't worn
clothes since I went to the opera last year.  The only one of us left who wears clothes is Carol, and he has
absolutely no fashion sense at all!"   

"So what!?  I've worn the same thing since 1850.  This is what all the cool kids were wearing then!
I hate buying clothes -- it's just something else to worry about!  I am fond of make-up, however --
especially rouge.

We should open a restaurant instead!" says Gus.

"What will we serve?" asks Chris.

"MARSHMALLOWS!" they all scream.