Frank N. Furter turned off his “vintage” television set. Michael Jackson rehearsing for his tour, blah blah…Farrah Fawcett in hospital, sad, but he didn’t really care…Billy Mays yelling at him to buy something, fuck off…now it was time for him to actually get some work done. He had trained Rocky very well in being a scientist’s assistant, but his handsome sex slave was too stupid to do most of the work, unlike Riff Raff the last time. The fucking bastards had abandoned him and Rocky 30 years ago, and that Columbia ran off to become a successful dancer. Whatever, she was an irritating little slut, just like that Strawberry Fields bitch who had just stolen the title of Greatest Lover in the Galaxy from him. Well, she wasn’t going to steal any limelight from him now, no, tonight he was aiming for fame by reviving the frozen Elvis Presley! It took considerable effort to find and take him, all frozen in carbonite at the bottom of a depressing mausoleum in a depressing graveyard, but it was fucking worth it. He had shown off the frozen Elvis to various alien guests, and now wanted to bring him to life and take all the credit for it. Resurrecting a legend had to be worth a Nobel Prize or something AND getting recognised as the greatest scientist Earth had ever seen! Frank rode his lift to the lab while striking a sexy pose, despite the fact that nobody was watching. “Rocky!” he greeted the blonde like one would greet a charming husband, “is everything ready for the king’s….resurrection?” He smiled and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, and they paused to admire each other, both as young and beautiful as the day Rocky was brought to life.
“Yes, uh, madam”. Rocky learnt to never call him “sir”, ever.
“Good.” He put on his green coat and mask over his usual black corset. His lab was minimalistic, like all labs, except for the giant rainbow flag hanging on one wall. On the floor was Elvis, still imprisoned by the carbonite slab. The aliens who preserved him in case any others wanted to bring him back had done a very good job of it; however, they would not be getting any credit, partially because Frank did not know who they were.
Frank moved over to the laser’s control board. He selected the “heat” setting, as he simply needed heat to vaporise the carbonite, and guided the laser beam around Elvis to avoid injuring him. It was quite obvious that Frank was enjoying this, bringing the dead back to life was a fucking ego boost. As the carbonite disappeared, much like dry ice, Frank walked over to get a closer look. He smiled and thought: hello there, you look better than what I expected. The aliens who froze him even dressed him, in a 50’s black suit with a green satin tie, which Frank deemed unnecessary. “Rocky!” he yelled, once again trying to sound like a woman from an old ‘50s film.
“Get the defibrillator!” he said with some kind of dramatic look on his face.
“Yes boss” he answered, and did exactly as he was told so his boss could restart Elvis’ heart. Three minutes of CPR followed this, and since it sometimes did resemble pashing, yes Frank was getting off on doing it. Then, Elvis opened his eyes.
“Who’s there? I can’t see anything!”
“Someone who loves you”, Frank said with a deceptively feminine voice, and kissed him for real this time.
“Ginger? Is that you baby?”
He laughed silently, answered with a “Yes, dear” and kissed him some more. Unfortunately for Frank, the blinding effects of the carbonite were quickly wearing off, and Elvis realised that he was not making out with Ginger.
Elvis screamed. “You’re not Ginger, you’re a MAN dressed like a woman!”
“I’m not much of a mayyun, honey, I’m a Sweet Transvestite…from Transsexual, Transylvania…haha!”
“You trying to rape me weirdo?”
“But you liked it, didn’t you?”, he smiled.
“NOT ANYMORE AND GET AWAY FROM ME!” By now, Elvis had the strength to roll out of Frank’s reach, get up and run like hell out of the castle doors, not before stealing some money. He ran to the nearest convenience store, because technically he hadn’t eaten anything in 32 years. After buying and eating a cheeseburger and coke, he noticed an unclaimed motorbike, hotwired it, and started his journey to Dreg’s Den, a place in Roswell where alien time travellers (well the ones who illegally change the past), space pirates and general rebels come to hang out and hide out undisturbed by the US government and every faction of law enforcement. He knew that by going there, he would be able to meet the only person who would believe that he was alive again.