Could someone get Teenage Frankenstein some antiperspirant? It isn’t bad enough that he’s made out of smelly, rotted body parts, but the dude’s got Frisbees as well!
Surely if Dr. Frankenstein was smart enough to play God and get his teenage protege up and around, he could at least provide him with the most rudimentary of personal hygiene equipment. After all, you wouldn’t let your Teenage Frankenstein wipe his reanimated ass with his recently stitched on hand would you? Then how could you let him stink the joint up when he’s out strangling hussies? All the police have to do is follow the B.O. back to your secret lab! Continue reading “I Was a Teenage Frankenstein (1957)”






