Shlock mock horror! A tribute to classic movies, in the tradition and vein of Mel Brooks ‘Young Frankenstein.’ Well… sort of.

A Dark Day.

What a great night the old Count had had,
There’s something awfully good about being bad,
On her side the poor pure pallid virgin lay,
Well… she had been unsullied yesterday.

How had she fallen for this old mountebank?
Had he spiked the drinks she drank?
That sly old dog had pulled out all the tricks
Once she’d removed purity ring and crucifix.

Towards well earned sleep he began to sink,
Daybreak came, revealing her in the pink ,
Then light disturbed his slumber and he awoke-
And the new day and his waters broke.

For it dawned on him, he had overslept
And from a deeply satisfied sleep he leapt,
He snatched frenziedly at the flimsy curtain-
Drac’s no morning person, that’s for certain.

For to be up and awake at daybreak
Could prove to be a grave mistake,
This was the finest sunrise Dracula had seen
Since contracting morning sickness back in 1517.

It’s a cruel cruel world every soul must learn
And Drac’s old poor pupils began to burn,
With mounting fear the Count was gripped,
Then mortal terror as the curtain ripped.

Clear and bright the sun was shining,
No black clouds, no silver lining,
How the old roue rued his dinner date
But Dracula’s last regret was- too late.

When Drac was ‘entertaining’ some fair maid
Ironically a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign was displayed,
Behind the door, snoring in sweet surrender
One lay, young and slender, neck slightly tender.

Now Igor, Count Dracula’s idiot servant
Was slow and simple but not unobservant,
Igor was charged with Castle Housekeeping
And assumed Drac was somewhere sleeping.

Dracula had long been bit of a rover,
Igor thought he must be sleeping over,
And Igor decided, while the bat’s away
He wouldn’t bust his hump today.

It was only as the dark shadows crept in
Igor returned and conscientiously swept in,
As usual, the Counts bier was a bloody mess,
No Count, only a comatose damsel in distress.

The Counts chamber left Igor disgusted,
Just last week he’d had it done and dusted,
Now he’d gone off, but left behind a filthy cleaner
Wondering if White Spirit might shift this patina?

Igor took a dark look around the room,
Then, teeth gritted, started pushing broom,
Last weeks hard work looked hardly worthwhile-
Though by the window he saw he’d missed a wee pile.

Since the dirty Count was beyond caring
He’d give the Castle a damned good airing,
Boy, that backwoods bumpkin went to town,
Igor even turned the belfry upside down.

He transformed a last resort for the unwary
Into a sun-drenched dream home, light and airy,
He made a cold creepy Castle into a keeper
Unless the prospective buyer dug a little deeper.

But since Drac has gone to his dark lord
His helping hand grows lonely and bored,
Now the sparkling Castle is oppressively still,
With no more Drac chat Iggy has time to kill.

Igor misses the old master’s companionship
So he drops into the village tavern for a nip,
In the darkest corner Igor will gloomily sit,
The villagers tend to shy away from him a bit.

Igor casts a sad, tragic and lonely figure,
He has just one friend, butt uglier and bigger,
He has a battered mug, he’s a bleedin’ nightmare,
When it comes to ghastly looks he’s had his share.

He causes quite the stir down at the Shtup Inn,
Striding through the door and shambling in,
Before he begins one of his monstrous binges
He’s already blown the door off its hinges.

This poor creation has been badly built,
With more stitches than a patchwork quilt,
Any good Doc would stop, then start again,
Well… any decent Doctor with half a brain.

But just as long as the tab gets paid
They get a warm welcome from the barmaid,
For it’s with a prodigious thirst both are blessed;
It’s gonna get wetter and wilder than Oktoberfest.

Big Bertha became one busy busty fraulein
Taking the pilsner out to that ugly Stein,
But sadly the more good spirits they uplifted
The more downbeat the mood shifted.

The conversation Igor totally dominated,
His offsider couldn’t be less animated,
Frankly, all he could do was silently nod,
He’s lost his tongue, the poor sod.

It would take twenty thousand volts
To get a grunt out of that bag of bolts,
He’s strong, he’s silent, he’s big and dumb,
But give him 1.21 gigawatts and hear him hum!

Soon the gruesome twosome were knockin’ it back
Tossing out toasts in memory of dear old Drac,
For despite the dark life the Count had had to live
He always tried to turn A Negative into B Positive.

First comes far too many ‘Cheers’
Then come the maudlin tears,
Over this not-so-pretty pair
Settled a funereal air.

Now it’s Igor who silently sits
While his beer buddy falls to bits,
Is there any sight sadder than
A big blubbering Bitter man?

In the olden days those tears would invoke
Laughter and jeers from the towns volk,
And with pitchforks they’d be pointedly driven away,
Now this odd miss-matched couple are here to stay.

Thanks to the terms of Dracula’s will
Igor gets to keep his Castle on the hill,
The peasants long to burn it to the ground
But Igor owns all the farms for miles around.

So there won’t be any torches lit,
No rowdy unruly mob pitching a fit,
Any fiery outbursts, Frank will stomp ’em out,
Peasants, his presence means- no arson about.

Now in a room once cold dreary and eerie
Igor sits by a blazing fire, bright and cheery,
His serfs remember Dracula as vile and hateful;
When Igor stirs the ashes he remains truly grateful.



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