Drop the man who built him in the ocean, perhaps to die when he hits the rocks. Robots: ungrateful bastards, every one of them.

I don’t know what I fear more – the inevitable Frankenstein Jr. live-action movie, or the Aint-it-Cool-News Harry Knowles essay about how cool he thought FJ was when he was four years old, trussed in a flour sack, and watching Saturday morning cartoons.

Thus endeth the book. Praise be.