It was a dark and stormy night. Deep in the corner of a small cellar in Doomsville, Delaware, the dim light of a lone candle struggled against the overwhelming weight of the darkness, aided only by the occasional flash of lightning. Working too feverishly to notice his visibility waning, Dr. Victor Frankenstein hurried to put the finishing touches on his creation. Finally, it was ready. This climax of his efforts had arrived. Two years of ceaseless labor, all towards one end: life, instilled in the inanimate body he had meticulously assembled, destined to cook gourmet pizza for the doctor’s kick start, Frankenstein Pizza: A Flavor Worth Resurrecting For.His window was narrow. If the freshly thawed corpse lay exposed for even an hour longer, the ensuing decay would eliminate any chance for the prospective chef to ever breathe the cellar air, dank with the thriving colonies of mildew climbing the walls. But Frankenstein was only one switch away from completing a circuit that would send 10,000 volts of electricity through his specimen, jumpstarting the heart, introducing a brand new consciousness into the world. The moment of truth. Frankenstein flipped the switch.Nothing. It was at this moment that Frankenstein was suddenly made aware of the fact that he had been living without electricity for the last six months, having long ago ceased to pay his bills. Hence the candlelight, he thought. Now stripped of his chef, his life savings, the last two years of hard labor, and his childhood dream of owning a pizza joint, the doctor decided to quietly spend the rest of his days in his parents’ basement reflecting on deep mysteries like the meaning of beauty and eating the pizza of those more successful than himself.Join us for FREE PIZZA at 6pm, Tuesday, November 1st in one of the Angell Hall Auditoriums as we take after the spirit of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, discussing the meaning of beauty and the extent to which it is okay to discriminate based on beauty. Frightfully yours,Robert KoehnTreasurer of the Dead Pizza Society