Dr.Malpractice and Franky Stien




---->The living dead girl, Franky Stien. <----

Wonderful artwork again produced by the player of Shia and the player of Franky Stien. Due to requests and the cleaning of the Virtue boards by the admins, I am reposting the small story I wrote up along with the artwork that goes with each chapter.

Quick reference links to other artwork by the player of Shia/Franky Stien posted on these boards.
The Royal Jester


Repost of Franky Stien and Dr.Malpractice.
Click on the links in each story for additional accompany artwork.

Chapter One

The cheerful music of the ice-cream truck echoed off the concrete walls, announcing to all that their sweet tooth addictive desires would soon be satisfied. Two adorable children skipped along the sidewalk, enchanted by the cool dairy sirens song, seeking creamy goodness. As if taunting the two sweet children, the ice-cream truck sped up significantly, outpacing the small waddling legs that hurried along after. The hypnotic music of the ice-cream truck tinkered away, farther and farther, into the distance. The adorable, sweet, children soon proclaimed their disappointment at the back of the fleeing ice-cream truck, utilizing an assortment of colorful four letter words. In which, a woman’s face popped out of the side-window of the ice-cream truck, and gave them a farewell blessing, wishing the two children to go forth and multiply; however, not exactly in those words.

Fainter and fainter the uplifting song grew, until no longer could the children hear it over their own panting and startling mature utilization of the English language. The Paragon elementary school system was doing a fantastic job, in this manner. Producing children who could already chew up and regurgitate the local dialect like a toxic rainbow. This particular Paragon school system also produced an even more amazing girl; who could be found somewhere in the high-school level. However, we shall come to this girl at a later time; as she is of no great importance, and no one likes her anyway. She could totally bite the bullet, meet the reaper, grow a halo, push up daises, suffer massive organ failure, and no one would care. Well; except one other woman.

This particular caring female was in fact at this very moment, driving an ice-cream truck, bestowing gracious farewell blessings upon two young ruffian brats, who were regurgitate toxic rainbows toward her person. She couldn’t possibly stop for these two miscreants, because she cared far too much. It wasn’t that she cared for their ice-cream addiction, or their over-gross American body weight, or even anything at all about them. In fact, she entertained the idea of chopping them up and sewing them back together again into various humorous shapes. No, this woman cared for the kidney, heart, liver, and stomach of the human quality. All of which were strategically placed in a bag between the Good Humor OREO Ice Cream bars and the buckets of generic neopolitan ice cream.

In fact, this ice-cream truck carried within it a bounty many would consider ill conceived. Indeed, many of today’s contemporary parental units would frown upon a frozen dairy mobile vendor packed not just with frozen dairy products, but also with human organs, and an incredible assortment of highly illegal substances. In fact, the uppers, downers, tablets of LSD, bags of coke, marijuana, and the rest of said collection could be found lying about in a general mishmash around the interior of the ice-cream truck. Any contemporary parental unit would be aghast at the lack of the organizational skills applied to the mess inside. Upon all of this nonsense, the puddles of slick blood lying about haphazardly would also be an accident waiting to happen.

An accident, as opposed to direct intentional action that inflicts bodily harm. This would explain the frozen slaughterhouse that was an ice-cream truck. It belonged to a rather pleasant aged fellow, who was the target of a ravaging highly evolved baboon. The ravaging highly evolved baboon was named Steve, and he lived in an apartment building at the corner of fifth and seventh. Steve wasn’t always a ravaging highly evolved baboon; in fact, many people would mistake him for being an absolutely normal human, a regular Joe; who spent the total sum of his meager income, the majority of it illegal, on fulfilling his addictions to a plethora of chemicals. Unfortunately, the pleasant fellow who was the original owner of this very wrong ice-cream truck did not fully agree to the terms presented by the ravaging highly evolved baboon named Steve, in which Steve ravaged the pleasant fellow’s head against the unopened crate of Klondike bars until certain substances, which the pleasant fellow terribly did need, spilled all over the inside of the truck.

The woman who was now driving the truck, who we shall call; Dorathoa because that is her name, had approached the ice-cream truck that was now being driven by a ravaging highly evolved baboon named Steve. Dorathoa inquired if she could use the ice-cream truck in the ideal of scientific progress; in which Steve offered the counter-theory that Dorathoa did not descend from apes as he; but from dogs, thus making Dorathoa of the female canine persuasion. Dorathoa strongly disagreed, and suggested that Steve go forth and multiply; but not in those exact words. Steve was so shocked by Dorathoa’s suggestion that he proceeded to ravage Dorathoa. Dorathoa vehemently disagreed with this course of action, and presented sufficient evidence to supplement her compelling argument that she was right, and he was wrong. Dorathoa presented a surgical buzz-saw. The buzz-saw immediately presented itself as the reason why the ravaging highly evolved baboon named Steve no longer had the standard default package of four fully functioning limbs. Quite impressed by Dorathoa’s buzz-saw, Steve saw her point of view, and quickly left the area sans one limb. This limb, an elbow with a very useful left hand, was currently lying directly in the middle of the chocolate chip mint bucket. This was a cataclysmic problem which would eventually play a hand in killing an amazing girl of no great importance.

We shall call this girl Sunny Sunshine because that was her name.
Chapter Two

Sunny did not die because of a gruesome bucket of chocolate chip mint ice-cream. No, Sunny died because of other people. Other people, as vigorously noted by most social scientist, are the prime cause of many of today’s great tragedies. In fact, a majority all believes that other people should stop puttering around and keep their intruding noses in their own business. However, other people did not, and thus the above aforementioned girl of no great importance died.

It is to be known that these two other people were of rather extraordinary make; an irrational man of interesting tropical shading named the Irrepressible Squash; the product of an unforeseen mishap involving radiation and fruit at a local Farmers Market. The other person was a total ninny named Nuclear Winter; who was also the product of an unforeseen mishap involving radiation, and by coincidence, ice-cream. Both of these remarkable men spent the good deal of their time fighting crime as super-heroes, and just also happened to be in the same general area at the same time.

As we happen to be on the subject of ice-cream, once more, it should be noted that the Irrepressible Squash really wanted some ice-cream. Most individuals didn’t try to reason with the Irrepressible Squash, as a general thumb-rule of survival one does not enter into polemics with another being whose total circumference of their neck happens to be larger then your chest. In fact, most conversations with the Irrepressible Squash took place like this;

“Squash want ICECREAM!”

“I can’t stop right now. I’ve terribly important organs to transport. Please go away.”

“Squash want ICECREAM NOW!”

“No, you over-sized baboon. Go away, I can’t stop or spare anything right now.”


“Oh. Well then – all right I suppose.”

In fact, the Irrepressible Squash’s fame as a top notch litigator soon won him an upper echelon position at Microsoft later on in life, but that’s another story presented in, “Fantastic Tales issue #84; the Irrepressible Manager!”

However Dorathoa simple did not take kindly to all this nonsense, and gypped the Irrepressible Squash’s request as much as possible, kicking out a whole entire bucket of chocolate chip mint ice-cream which was glazed in a red syrupy substance, which was, much to the later horror of another person, not syrup.


Chapter Three

Death seems to be a split issue with many people. Various religious consider death as the nauseating eight hour flight before you land in the tropical paradise of eternity, ever to enjoy yourself on sandy beaches with hot sun, flanked upon both sides by tasty beverages and beautiful people. Most of these people are very willing to get on with their eight hour flight for such rewards. However some people think the whole death thing is mostly a bad idea, and should be put off for as long as possible. These people think, generally, the whole religion thing is a silly idea and they would really like it if the earlier aforementioned other people would stop ringing their doorbells and presenting vacation package deals.

But however, sometimes, you get people who just think the whole existence thing is a load of malarkey that would best be characterized by the sound of a lot of air being pushed through a very tight funnel leading to a vacuum. Evolution, if it was so kind, should have stopped a long time ago and left everyone in the seas. This exact thought was currently being entertained by Sunny, a remarkable girl of no great importance. Sunny thought that this would be a much better course of action, because she liked to swim. It was the only thing Sunny liked, really.

Sunny didn’t like many things. Sunny didn’t like herself, or the Paragon Education system, or her two hippie parents who cursed her with the name of Sunny Sunshine, her friends or lack thereof, and the world in general. But she did consider death as a pretty nifty thing, much to the contrast of her peers. Sunny spent most of her time contemplating this subject and subjects connected to it. Right now, Sunny thought how wonderful it would be if she was dead right now, to be exact; if she was a vampire living with a very rich and depressing vampire husband someplace off in the mountains where it thundered a lot and was morbidly overcast, but not totally overcast. They would need occasional sunshine to lament how horrible their existence was, being vampires and all.


Chapter Four

Nuclear Winter was a complete and utter ninny. A very nice ninny who went about saving people with fantastic blasts of cold air he could launch from his person, freezing people that resembled a highly evolved baboon named Steve as to contain their ravaging nature. However, Mister Nuclear Winter did not like the sight of blood. In fact, he couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Growing up as a child, he would constantly pass out during blood withdraws at his regular check ups, claiming that he could positively hear the exact same sound during the blood withdraw that one would hear when they probed the last remains of a bottle of soda with a straw.

Mr. Winter couldn’t stand blood. One would consider that the super-hero position wouldn’t be the perfect place for one with such a delicate disposition. Luckily for Mr. Winter, he typically just froze everyone in huge impressive blocks of ice. He regularly boosted that he was so good and humane, that not a drop of blood was spilled on his watch.

That wasn’t the case now, as the Irrepressible Squash screamed in vengeful rage at the spoiled chocolate chip mint ice-cream that was shuffled off onto him. Luckily for the woman that gave the dashing over-sized baboon his spoiled ice-cream, the Irrepressible Squash had the attention span of a child that forgot to take their Ritalin dosage in a Toys R Us store. Tossing the ice-cream over shoulder, the Irrepressible Squash shuffled off to do things that super-heroes usually do. Like saving the day for hapless citizens, which was what Mr. Winter was doing at that exact moment. Two poor elementary school children were being harassed by a gang of highly evolved baboons, none of which were named Steve. Mr. Winter proceeded to quip some very heroic lines, strike a pose, and then put them all on ice. Even the children. This wasn’t intended, of course, as the trajectory of Mr. Winters icy blast was thrown off by a few significant degrees. He was momentarily distracted by a grisly, bloody, limb on the sidewalk directly in front of him. It had a peculiar shade of green to it.

It should be also noted that the poor frozen elementary children weren’t the only unintended victims of this miscalculated ice blast of Mr. Winter, who was as of now promptly fainting, but also a certain girl dressed up as if she was about to attended the world’s most depressing funeral.

This gothica girl looked very surprised at the illegal slaughter house zamboni driven by a hysterical woman screaming laments about scientific progress, which was sliding in an uncontrolled manner over a large patch of ice. In summer.

The girl was even more surprised when the illegal slaughter house zamboni made direct contact with her person at a breath taking speed, and finally got around to killing her.

That was when Sunny died.

Personally, Sunny thought the whole death thing was the most thrilling event to happen to her ever since she exited another persons uterus.


Chapter Five

Very few people tend to make the eight hour reaper flight trip twice, right after the other in reciprocating fashion, instead of spending an eternity in a tropical paradise with refreshing drinks and beautiful people. Sunny was one of those rare people, who very much enjoyed her sixteen hours of being crammed in an overcrowded plane, all filed up with fat smelly women named “Loretta” and their crying babies. Luckily for Sunny, she had a window seat. In fact, she saw many things from her proverbial window seat. Upon her mind untold knowledge of existence was bestowed. Everything made sense. She suddenly knew the reason of life, how everyone could get along from this point on, and how to make the world a generally nice place to live. This made Sunny unusually happy. Unfortunately for Sunny’s brain, which was strategically situated between the Good Humor OREO Ice Cream bars and the buckets of generic neopolitan ice cream, this information did not keep very well. This made Sunny sad.

The reanimation of dead tissue is a tricky thing. Not many people can manage it. In fact, most of the people who do claim they can triumph over death itself are usually called nut-jobs and dismissed from their profession as a legally practicing physician. This was the case with a woman named Dorathoa, who hours ago, accidentally killed another woman named Franky. However Dorathoa was not a simple nut-job. Yes, she was a nut-job. A massive nut-job who spent the greater parts of her day transportation and obtaining human organs in a less then respectable fashion for someone of the medical profession. Yet Dorathoa was a genius AND a nut-job, because she had completed something that very few can claim they have completed.

She brought Sunny back to life.


Chapter Six

Sunny’s original body did not survive very well with the direct clash between the illegal slaughterhouse zamboni and the concrete. Her new body consisted of a plethora of body parts, all from different individuals of the super-hero nature thus giving her as a side-effect, super-hero powers.
Sunny awoke in a damp, dark cave.

“Satan?” Sunny inquired.

“No, no. This isn’t hell. You’re still very much alive. Again.” responded a voice.

“Oh.” Sunny sounded with a tone of disappointment.

“Lestat?” Sunny asked.

“Who?” The voice queried.

“Oh. Whatever. Nevermind, I guess.. “Sunny lamented.

“Allow me to explain, you’ve died..” started the voice.

“Yeah, I guess I got around to doing that.” interrupted Sunny.

“You what?” the voice asked, sounding surprised.

“You know, ending the mortal coil of life that gnaws at the bones of your soul.” supplemented Sunny.

“Uh. Oh. Yes! Right, all and good. So, allow me to explain..” started the voice, sounding somewhat relieved “.. you killed yourself, and I thought it a horrible tragedy, so I decided to reanimate you! I’ve brought you back to life!” exclaimed the voice in an excited tone.

“Oh. That’s cool, I guess. Whatever. You mean, like Frankenstein?” responded Sunny.

“Yes! Sort of like Frankenstein. Except you aren’t a rampaging monster, and all in all, seem like a very nice and mellow girl. Tell me, as we are on the subject of rampaging monsters with mental deficiencies, how is that brain of yours managing?” asked the voice.

“I guess it’s the same. Whatever. I don’t remember much. It’s sort of hazy, hazy like the.. “ that was when Sunny’s voice stopped working, precisely before the moment of one of her inane poetic statements. Her vocal cords just gave up and quit without so much as a two weeks notice. It took a few moments for the two to understand what just took place, in which the voice, who later introduced herself as the infamous “Doctor Malpractice” as coined by the Paragon Times even through she would rather be called Doctor Dorathoa, later apologized for selecting faulty vocal-cords. Apparently they used to belong to an extremely obnoxious talk show host who simply wouldn’t, much to the chagrin of everyone else, shut up. As such they obtained a large amount of mileage, and finally decided to give up here and now.

Sunny was in poor condition, aside from the super-human feats she could now produce. Aside from a vocal cord, she was missing other useful organs that might come with the default human package. Two eyes, for one. This upset Sunny, as she would constantly be bumping into things in a clumsy manner due to her lack of depth perception. However the doctor vowed she would gather for Sunny another eye, and Sunny thought that would be sufficient, communicating through pen and paper.

All in all, not much changed for Sunny. Things still generally, according to her, “sucked like the vacuum of despair.” This view on life didn’t stop Sunny from being approving of her own new name, as her old name was lost.

“Franky.” suggested the Doctor.

“Cool, I guess. Whatever.” wrote Franky.

“Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?” the Doctor asked.

“No.” wrote Franky.

“Okay” responded the Doctor, but then added, “One thing. Your new body isn’t very water-proof or buoyant. It’s best if you don’t swim.” Suggested the Doctor

In which Franky nodded, in a defeated manner.

Life sucked.