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"Horror Movie"
Dr. Unlikely, we love you so, You who made the double-headed rabbits grow From a single hare. Mutation's friend, Who could have proclaimed the end When the Spider Woman deftly snared the fly And the monsters strangled in a monstrous kiss And somebody hissed, "You’ll hang for this!"?
Dear Dracula, sleeping in your native soil, (Any other kind makes him spoil), How we clapped when you broke the French door down And surprised the bride in her overwrought bed. Perfectly dressed for lunar research, Your evening cape added much, Though the bride, inexplicably dressed in furs, Was a study in jaded jugulars.
Poor, tortured Leopard Man, you changed your spots In the debauched village of the Pin-Head Tots; How we wrung our hands, how we wept When the eighteenth murder proved inept, And, caught in the Phosphorus Cave of Sea, Dangling the last of synthetic flesh, You said, "There’s something wrong with me."
The Wolf Man knew when he prowled at dawn Beginnings spin a web where endings spawn. The bat who lived on shaving cream, A household pet of Dr. Dream, Unfortunately maddened by the bedlam, Turned on the Doc, bit the hand that fed him.
And you, Dr. X, who killed by moonlight, We loved your scream in the laboratory When the panel slid and the night was starry And you threw the inventor in the crocodile pit (An obscure point: Did he deserve it?) And you took the gold to Transylvania Where no one guessed how insane you were.
We thank you for the moral and the mood, Dear Dr. Cliché, Nurse Platitude.
When we meet again by the Overturned Grave, Near the Sunken City of the Twisted Mind, (In the Son of the Son of Frankenstein), Make the blood flow, make the motive muddy: There's a little death in every body.
—Edward Moss
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