Thursday, January 19, 2012


One day the front doorbell rang, and I skipped merrily to answer it, singing "La-la-laaaa."  I opened the door, and, to my surprise, Vin Diesel was standing there on the porch, wearing a Girl Scout uniform.

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" he asked in that familiar low, droning voice.

", thanks," I said hesitantly.  "Aren't you Vin Diesel?"

"Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, holding the box closer to me.  "Sure you don't wanna buy some nice cookies?"

"I really don't want any cookies, Vin," I insisted.  "Tell you the truth, I hate Girl Scout cookies." 

"Rats," he said dejectedly.  He turned and gazed down the street, first one way and then the other, as though this were the last stop in a long series of unsuccessful attempts.  For a moment there, I almost thought I heard a slight whimper, like at the end of XXX when he adds depth to his character by crying. 

"Well, okay," he said with a catch in his voice.  "Guess I'll just go home and listen to saaaad music on the phonograph."  He turned and trudged down the steps.

I couldn't restrain my curiosity any longer.  "Vin!" I called after him.  "Why?  Why are you trying to sell Girl Scout cookies?"

He stopped and gave me a wistful look.  "Because...I want to play the lead role in a new epic film about Girl Scouts.  A role that will astound the critics and silence my detractors once and for all.  I want to play Pinky Frankenstein."  He motioned with his hands, trying to summon the right words.  "She's the...the...the most, like, f**kin' awesome Girl Scout of all time." 

He reached into his skirt pocket and pulled out a picture.  It was a petite little girl in a Girl Scout uniform, about eleven years old, with red pigtails, freckles, buck teeth, and glasses.  "That's her," he said reverently.  "That's Pinky Frankenstein.  She sold so many cookies, they had to keep the cookie factory running 24 hours a day, seven days a week just to keep up with her.  And when they finally ran out of cookie dough--"

"Look, Vin," I said, trying to be honest, "for one thing, you don't look a thing like her."

He held up a finger.  "Ah, but that's where acting comes in.  The best performances come from people you wouldn't normally think of in--" 

He was momentarily distracted as Phil Collins suddenly ran past us in his underwear, screaming "ZOOM!!!  I'M A ROCKETSHIP!!!" before disappearing around the corner of the house. 

"--in that particular role," Vin concluded. 

"Well, you sure as hell can't sell cookies," I said. 

"No," said Vin, the tears flowing for real now.  "No, I can't."  He raised his tortured countenance to the heavens, arms outstretched, and cried out in anguish.  "WHY, GOD?  WHY CAN'T I BE PINKY FRANKENSTEIN?"  With that, he ran away bawling his head off until he disappeared through a hedge on the other side of Mrs. Wilson's backyard.

Some time later, I came across some news on IMDb of an upcoming film entitled "The Pinky Frankenstein Story."  Tom Cruise had snagged the lead role.  There was a picture of him in a Girl Scout uniform, with his usual smug, snarky Tom Cruise grin clearly recognizable even under the fake freckles, pigtails, and buck teeth.  Actually, the resemblance to the real Pinky Frankenstein was amazing.  In the background, playing one of the lesser Girl Scout characters, was Vin Diesel.  And even in his festive uniform, bravely trying to smile like a happy little girl, Vin couldn't help but look as though his world had come to a shattering end. 

While reading the accompanying article, I found that Vin's character was known as "Smelly Edna, the stupid little girl who totally sucked at selling Girl Scout cookies."  He was already receiving withering reviews for his performance, particularly from Roger Ebert, who acidly remarked: "Vin Diesel totally sucks at playing a little girl.  Two thumbs way down--his throat, that is."  And Rex Reed cattily opined:  "Vin Diesel's performance is worse than being sucked into a jet engine and ground into cat food.  I wish he'd get hit by a train." 

As for me, I almost wish that I'd bought some cookies from Vin that day.  But like I said, I hate Girl Scout cookies.  I guess I even hate them enough to destroy Vin Diesel's acting career.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012


In FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN, Larry Talbot, alias The Wolf Man, finds the Frankenstein Monster in an ice cavern, frozen in a block of ice.  At the end of that movie, the two monsters get swept away by a flood, and in the next film, HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN, they're both found frozen in blocks of ice.  The last we see of The Wolf Man is at the end of ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN, when he and Dracula plunge to their supposed deaths off a high cliff into the sea. 

Well, I didn't think for one minute that this could kill The Wolf Man, so I undertook an extensive search for him all over the world, concentrating mainly on a one-mile radius around my house.  Where did I eventually find him?  In a block of ice.

I built a fire in the dark, creepy ice cavern right next to the block of ice where The Wolf Man lay dormant in order to thaw him out.  Carefully timing my actions to the millisecond, I knew that he would awaken and revert back to his human form just as the full moon went down, which meant that not only would I be safe, but I'd also be able to talk the perpetually-suicidal Talbot out of trying to kill himself again. Here, then, is the result of my fascinating interview with Larry "The Wolf Man" Talbot...

PORFLE: Greetings, Mr. Talbot.  I'd like to ask you a few--






PORFLE: (gurgling) Talbot!  TALBOT!

WOLF MAN: (reverting to human form) Wha...where am I?

PORFLE:  Whew!  That was close.

WOLF MAN: Porfle!  Why, I might've killed you.

PORFLE:  I don't understand it!  I had this thing timed perfectly!  Oh, wait--daylight saving time.

WOLF MAN: Why?  Why have you freed me from the ice that imprisoned the beast that lives within me?  Why?  WHY?

PORFLE:  I wanted to interview you.  Heh.

WOLF MAN: Aww gee, why can't ya just leave me alone?

PORFLE: Well, "leaving people alone" isn't exactly something they teach you in interviewer school. 

WOLF MAN:  You went to interviewer school?

PORFLE: (resentful) brother Pablo got to go off to interviewer school.  I had to stay behind and care for my aging parents, and help out on the farm.  Oh, I've done what I had to do in order to get by--I don't apologize to anyone.  But now he looks down on me for the kind of life I had to lead.  Him, the big holier-than-thou interviewer, and me, the geriatric-porn-movie fluffer.  We both chose our own seperate paths...MINE was harder!

WOLF MAN: Uh-huh, well...

PORFLE:  But now, I'm going to be the greatest interviewer the world has ever seen!  I'll interview ALL the world's most horrible monsters!  Even Paris Hilton!

WOLF MAN: Yeah, well, I think I hear my mom calling--

PORFLE: My brother Pablo even refuses me a bowl of soup when I go to visit him!  What do I get?  SPAGHETTI-OS!!!  Out of a can!  He doesn't even heat them up!

WOLF MAN: Please, all I ask is that you--

PORFLE: Which reminds me, I have a few questions I'd like to "ask" you, heh heh.  Now, when did you--

WOLF MAN: Aww, go away!  All of ya!

PORFLE: Is that a fat joke?

WOLF MAN: (defensive) You think you've got it tough?  I can't even hold a job at Kwik-Kopy.  Somebody brings in a stack of important business papers to be duplicated, I smile and give them my best "Yes, sir, can I help you, sir" and then whammo! I turn into The Wolf Man and rip out their jugular vein! 

PORFLE:  Have you tried McDonald's?

WOLF MAN: I've tried everything.  I even got a summer job at Disneyland.  Those poor little kids still have nightmares about a 6'3" Mickey Mouse coming after them, foaming at the mouth.  Goofy shot me with a silver bullet, but that never works.  My pink slip came with a personal note that said "I hate you.  Signed, Uncle Walt."  And then there was that Swedish massage parlor--

PORFLE: You worked at a Swedish massage parlor?

WOLF MAN: No, I didn't get past the audition.  I was giving the owner a was wonderful, I was using all my finest oils and creams, everything...aww, he looked so happy and serene as I gently kneaded the tension from his buttocks.  Then I turned into The Wolf Man, bit him in the ass, and threw him through a wall.  No, I didn't get the job.

PORFLE: What did you do then?

WOLF MAN: Well, I went after Dracula and Frankenstein for a while.  I don't know why.  Just something to do.  Me and Frankenstein got into this senseless brawl in Visaria once and then the villagers blew up the dam and the flood washed us away, and we got frozen into blocks of ice.  Later I went at it with Dracula and he threw a flowerpot at me, and I fell into the ocean and ended up in this cave in a block of ice. 

PORFLE: What about your old girlfriend from Llanwelly village?  Gwen Conliffe?  Did you ever look her up again?

WOLF MAN: Yeah, I found her a few years ago.  In a block of ice.

PORFLE:  That sucks.

WOLF MAN: (agitated) Everything sucks! 

PORFLE:  So, what do you want to do now?

WOLF MAN:  I only wanna die.  Only in death will I find the peace that has been denied me in life.

PORFLE:  Let me guess--you're a big hit at parties.

WOLF MAN:  I don't get invited to parties anymore.  The last one I went to--a bachelor party--I turned into The Wolf Man and ate the groom.  Then this girl popped out of a cake and I ate her, too.  With ice cream.

PORFLE:  Well, thanks for the interview. Hope you don't get frozen into any more blocks of ice or anything, ha ha.  Best wishes, and may you live eternally.

WOLF MAN:  I don't WANNA live eternally!

PORFLE:  Right, right.  Sorry.

WOLF MAN:  Wait, what time is it?

PORFLE:  It's...goodness, we've been talking for much longer than I thought.  It's already nighttime again.  The moon should be rising any minute now, and--



Well, The Wolf Man chased me around the cave for awhile, but I managed to get away by the seat of my pants, which he ate.  Later I heard that Talbot had traveled to the Sahara desert to get away from it all, and had somehow managed to get frozen into a block of ice.  As for me, I found the whole experience terrifying and emotionally distressing, and am under strict doctor's orders to avoid monsters and pursue only non-disturbing interview subjects, like clowns and record producers.