ALL ABOUT “THE THING” (A PARODY IN VERSE) by Randall Garrett


... speaking of monsters, Hollywood horrors, and alien intelligences...

The monster here belongs to John W. Campbell, Jr., editor of Astounding Science Fiction—a little horror he created back in 1938 in his alter ego of Don A. Stuart in a novelette entitled “Who Goes There?”

Some ten or twelve years later, Hollywood heard that science-fiction was a coming thing. “Who Goes There?” was one of the first stories sold to the movies in the early “boom,” and after a publicity campaign to end all, THE THING stalked through the moving picture palaces of the country in a positive horror of a picture.

Randall Garrett, as alien an intelligence as I have known, apparently felt that the record needed setting straight, so he wrote the story all over again (in simplified form, designed for reading by creature-movie fans).

* * * *

Here’s a tale of chilling horror

For the sort of guy who more or

Less thinks being an explorer

Is the kind of life for him.

If he finds his life a bore, he

Ought to read this gory story,

For he’ll find exploratory

Work is really rather grim.

For the story starts by stating

That some guys investigating

The Antarctic are debating

On exactly what to do

With a monster they’ve found frozen

Near the campsite they have chosen,

And the quarrel grows and grows, un-

Til they’re in an awful stew.

There’s a guy named Blair who wants to r-

Eally check up on this monster

And dissect it. To his conster-

Nation, everyone’s in doubt

So, of course, he starts in pleading,

And the rest of them start heeding

All his statements, and conceding

That the Thing should be thawed out.

So they let this Thing of evil

Start to melt from its primeval

Sheath of ice; they don’t perceive a l-

Ot of trouble will ensue.

When the Thing is thawed, it neatly

Comes to life, and, smiling sweetly,

It absorbs some men completely,

Changing them to monsters, too!

Now we reach the story’s nub, ill

Uminating all the trouble:

Each new monster is a double

For the men they each replace.

Since it seems a man’s own mother

Couldn’t tell one from the other,

These guys all watch one another,

Each with fear upon his face.

And so then the men are tested

To see who has been digested,

And who’s been left unmolested.

But the test don’t work! It’s hexed!

So each man just sits there, shrinking

From the others, madly thinking,

As he watches with unblinking

Gaze, and wonders—Who Goes Next?

Now, they’ve found that executing

Monsters can’t be done by shooting;

They require electrocuting,

Or cremation with a torch.

When they find these Things, they grab ‘em;

They don’t try to shoot or stab ‘em;

With high-voltage wires, they jab ‘em

‘Til their flesh begins to scorch.

So the entire expedition

Eye each other with suspicion,

For they’re in a bad position,

And there’s no denying that!

Now, to clear this awful scramble,

The ingenious Mr. Campbell,

Suddenly, without preamble,

Pulls a rabbit from the hat.

Here’s the way they solve the muddle:

They discover that a puddle

Of a pseudo-human’s blood’ll

Be a little monster, too!

With this test for separating

Men from monsters, without waiting,

They start right in liquidating

All the monsters in the crew.

Thus, the story is completed,

And the awful Thing’s defeated,

But he still was badly treated;

It’s a shame, it seems to me.

Frozen since the glaciation,

This poor Thing’s extermination

Is as sad as the cremation

Of the hapless Sam McGee.


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