Serenade to Several Tons
of Scary-Looking Electrical Equipment

-- or --
Ygor Won't Do Windows


When the Monster's been chased up a tower,
    which has then been exploded or burnt;
The Mad Scientist's dead on the flagstones;
    And the lesson's been thoroughly learnt
That God likes to smite his pretenders,
    and the end-credits hang in the air,
There is one thing I've never been sure of:
    Who cleans the Mad Scientist's lair?

We know that mankind shouldn't tamper;
    but who has to deal with the tampering,
Ignoring the tentacled vermin
    that off in the shadows are scampering?
Who cleans up the mess when it's over?
    It's a question that nobody asks.
Who deals with the guts in the bucket?
    Who pours out the bubbling flasks?

Who goes to the flasks in the first place,
    uncorks 'em, and gives 'em a sniff?
(And who cleans up the previous cleaners
    who did so, and fell over stiff?)
Who goes through the previous failures
    to see if they're totally dead;
And sorts out the various pieces --
    whose heart, and what hand, and which head?

Who packs up the smoldering ruins
    of all the Strickfaden equipment?
And when all the packing is finished,
    then what does he do with the shipment?
And think of the piles of old papers --
    how the fellow must sort them, and bind them,
And carefully put them in boxes
    where the Mad in the sequel can find them!

So to hell with the Mad and the Monster!
    To hell with the innocent victim!
I want to know who does the cleaning,
    And in what awful process they picked him.
The Guy with the Shovel's the hero;
    And I hope that I make myself clear,
For I've just finished packing my parents',
    and my Dad was a mine engineer.

-- Will T. Laughlin
for Grant Laughlin, with love and exasperation
21 MAR 2004



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