The Monster Twerk
The Bride of Frankenstein has already removed her wedding ring
for the evening and started ogling ghoulies
getting groovy on the dance floor.
Nobody looks a day over nine-hundred-ninety-eight.
Somebody spiked the cauldron
and now Wolfman’s started drooling
as the ecstasy kicks .
Dracula is sporting his blood-thong and clapping
his pale ass to the rhythm, while a swamp hag
grinds her soggy hips against him.
MC Cryptkeeper crack his bony knuckles
as he spins up another tale from the DJs booth.
The Mummy is growing rapidly nuder as he twirls.
A couple of poly skeletons, attempting to makeout in the corner,
smack and clack their jawbones together
unsuccessfully.
Cyclops won’t stop staring at Medusa’s fat ass
like his anaconda wants to tangle
with all of hers.
Some mad scientist is gyrating
only with his hair.
Mr. Hyde has got his dick out again.
A witch tries desperately to clean
ectoplasm off her cocktail dress.
The zombies only seem interested
in oral.
Nobody will give Gatorface directions
to the orgy afterwards.
The sunset hour grows closer
as the monsters feel ready
to twerk something else
entirely,
and at the back of the mausoleum
a terrified event planner can’t help but feel
a little bit aroused.
