"Sir," the serial killer made up as a clown said as he strained his eyes looking into the monitor.
Dracula, the handsome vampire, turned his airbrushed, Maybelline-covered face his way. "Yes, Jack?"
"We have an unidentifyable monster heading toward the castle."
Dracula snapped his head Zombie's way. "What are the coordinates?"
"He's fifteen kilometers from the castle, master," Zombie gurgled.
Ghost flew in. "He said fifteen kilometers, sir," he whispered.
Dracula frowned. "What say?"
"FIFTEEN KILOMETERS!" Jack cried.
"Oh. okay. What are his dimensions?"
Jack fixed his squinty eyes back on the live feed on the screen. "He seems to be . . . an . . . original monster, sir."
Dracula shook his head. "Bleh. Well. Ahem."
Zombie asked, "Should we destroy him?"
"Of course. He's one of those first-timers, probably thought up by that pesky A. R. Braunschweiger character."
"Drat! I'm so sick of that guy! Why doesn't he sell out like the rest of the authors who've been rehasing us?"
The Super Monster Friends screamed as missles hit the castle, setting them on fire and burning them into oblivion.
"Reload more missles," A. R. Braun spoke in his microphone to his original monster's headset. "There are always more rehashed monsters popping up everyday."