PERSONALITY PROBLEM
Yeah, I know, Doc. I look terrible and don’t smell any better. But you would, too, if you stayed on the go like I do, had a peg sticking out of either side of your neck and this crazy scar across the forehead. You’d think they might have told me to use cocoa butter on the place, after they took the stitches out, but naw, no way. They didn’t care if I had a face like a train track. No meat off their nose.
And how about this gettup? Nice, huh? Early wino or late drug addict. You ought to walk down the street wearing this mess, you really get the stares. Coat’s too small, pants too short. And these boots, now they get the blue ribbon. You know, I’m only six-five, but with these on I’m nearly seven feet! That’s some heels, Doc.
But listen, how can I do any better? I can’t even afford to buy myself a tie at the Goodwill, let alone get myself a new suit of clothes. And have you ever tried to fit someone my size? This shoulder is higher than the other one. The arms don’t quite match, and–well, you see the problem. I tell you, Doc, it’s no bed of roses.
Worst part of it is how people are always running from me, and throwing things, and trying to set me on fire. Oh, that’s the classic one. I mean, I’ve been frozen for a while, covered in mud, you name it, but the old favorite is the torch. And I hate fire…which reminds me, think you could refrain from smoking, Doc? Sort of makes me nervous.
See, I was saying about the fire. They’ve trapped me in windmills, castles, and labs. All sorts of places. Some guy out there in the crowd always gets the wise idea about the fire, and there we go again–Barbecue City. Let me tell you, Doc, I’ve been lucky. Spell that L-U-C-K-Y. We’re talking a big lucky here. I mean, that’s one reason I look as bad as I do. These holes in this already ragged suit… Yeah, that’s right, bend over. Right there, see? This patch of hide was burned right off my head, Doc–and it didn’t feel like no sunburn either. I mean it hurt.
And I’ve got no childhood. Just a big dumb boy all my life. No dates. No friends. Nothing. Just this personality complex, and this feeling that everybody hates me on sight.
If I ever get my hands on that Victor, or Igor, oh boy, gonna have to snap ‘em, Doc. And I can do it, believe me. That’s where they crapped in the mess kit, Doc. They made me strong. Real strong.
Give me a dime. Yeah, thanks.
Now watch this. Between thumb and finger…uhhhh. How about that? Flat as a pancake.
Yeah, you’re right, I’m getting a little excited. I’ll lay back and take it easy… Say, do you smell smoke? Doc?
Doc?
Doc, damn you, put out that fire! Not you, too? Hey, I’m not a bad guy, really. Come back here, Doc! Don’t leave me in here. Don’t lock that door....