Phillip the Flesh-Monster Is Pissed He Was Forced to Exist

The greatest father and son story ever told.

“You cannot be serious” were the Flesh-Monster’s first words. He spoke them two seconds after being brought to life on an operating table in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. He was not happy. “You’re joking, right?” he asked his creator, the disheveled Scientist standing next to him.

“Um…no,” the Scientist said, looking real guilty as he scratched his bald head and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Happy Birthday, I guess…? Welcome to the-”

The Flesh-Monster raised both of his left arms. “Stop. Please, just stop. Just…don’t,” he said, sitting up on the operating table and looking over his brand-new corporeal form, all seven horrific feet and four-hundred nauseating pounds of it. He turned toward the Scientist. “You…are an asshole.”

“Yeah,” the Scientist sighed. “That’s what everyone tells me…”

“Well, everyone is right. I want you to know that. Everyone is right about you. You are an asshole.”

The Scientist looked down at his feet, sheepishly avoiding all three of his creation’s eyes. “I know.”

“What the hell were you thinking? What were you trying to prove?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”

The Flesh-Monster shook his massive, nightmare-inducing head. “Amazing. Just…amazing.” He hopped off the operating table, landing on the concrete floor with a loud, echoing splat. “So, what’s my name?” he asked, using his numerous tentacles to slither around the makeshift laboratory the Scientist cobbled together in the warehouse. “Do I have one of those? Did you think that through, at least?”

Keeping his eyes on his feet, the Scientist rubbed the back of his aching neck and gave another small shrug. “Well, um, my dad’s name was Phillip.”

“Yeah? Okay? So?” the Flesh-Monster asked, purposefully knocking over random pieces of glassware as he continued slithering. “I didn’t ask for your dad’s name, I asked for my name.”

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking of naming you after my dad.”

The Flesh-Monster stopped to look at his reflection on the side of a Bunsen burner. “…did you hate your dad or something?”

“Um…not really-”

“What do I call you?”

“Uh-”

“Do I call you dad? Are you my dad?”

“…I guess?”

“Okay, well, dad, lemme tell you…” the Flesh-Monster turned from his reflection and slithered up to the Scientist, “…this sucks.”